I've never known the like, not even in the wake of The Transformation...

An eerie stillness settles over the Axxillae system, wrapping itself around any and all who took part in or witnessed the battle that took place here. Communications traffic drops off to a minimum, even though there are hundreds of ships left in distress along Bekalth's path - how can that be, if... if what we all saw here truly represented not only the death of one of The Pandemonicum, but the final, absolute destruction of The White Beast...?

When Darkhawk comes aboard Dominion One, both Brighthawk and I are there to greet her, and despite the power she's displayed, Darkhawk seems... herself, more like the Darkhawk I'm accustomed to than I've seen since she revealed her "ailment" to me, and she began her downward spiral, which seemed certain to end in my friend's explosive passing from the mortal world. She seems so calm, so at ease - Brighthawk certainly doesn't appear to be anxious, fearlessly flinging her arms around her Soul-Sister - but the sense of momentary calm doesn't seem to be radiating from Darkhawk. Could it be that the multiverse is breathing a sigh of relief, now that the lingering cancer of The White Beast has at last been excised?

For the sake of all life in existence, I hope, I pray, that we aren't mistaken in coming to that conclusion.

I stand clear of the blissful reunion, allowing the two 'Hawks their richly deserved privacy, and occupy myself with trying to piece together an understanding of what has happened here. I enter into a four-way telepathic "conference" with the two avatars of Myromar, and Fleet High Defender Nastaan to get their views on the situation, and it isn't exactly enlightening.

***I'm securing our hull breach, as a matter of urgency***, reports the original Myromar, on Dominion One, ***but we're essentially operational, and holding position. Running low on torpedoes, though - how often do I get to say that?***

***I know the feeling***, responds Myromar-Two, my "pilot" on my own flagship. ***I'm attending to our own damage, but we, too, are at combat readiness. Sensors read Dominion Three on an approach vector - The Hellion should be here in eleven minutes - and a contingent of MDI and Dominion vessels are converging on this system and the sectors forming the corridor through Imperative space. They're expecting trouble.***

***No response from the Iekalon so far***, adds "Myromar Prime". ***They're keeping to the corridor. No hostile action as yet.***

***And what about the Faenri, High Defender Nastaan?***, I ask the commander of the Phoenix.

***They - they're holding position***, reports the Hybrine space-warrior, and I can feel the tension, the urge to attack, welling up behind her surface thoughts. ***Some of them broke off to pursue the Nightmare, but the ships are returning in small numbers, showing no further signs of damage. We are awaiting orders, My Lady.***

***As am I***, I sigh in return. ***As am I...***

That's all our ships heard from - now, what about our one remaining asset in the region...?

My thoughts stretch out across the system, sweeping every wreck, every asteroid, every carter and crevasse for any sign of Captain Dominion. It was me who gave the order for him to go and assist Darkhawk, and I've heard that Tony was subsequently sent by Darkhawk to make contact with this "Tsadis Haaren" character, who Darkhawk believed held the answer to the ravages of the LifeStar fragment lodged within her. It appears that those beliefs were justified, but what about Tony? Where is Captain Dominion?

Suddenly, something moves into my sphere of consciousness that seems to bend my thought-probes, like light bends around a super-powerful gravity source, such as a black hole. ***I need to talk to you***, says Darkhawk. ***Please, come to the Chamber of Reverence...***

The Chamber of Reverence is a large room, decorated as a place of worship for citizens of Dominion - it's almost never used, so why use it now...?

When I arrive at the temple, deep in the heart of Dominion One, at least one of my answers is laid out before me as the ornate doors open all by themselves, and what lies within is revealed. At the centre of the chamber, a Darkhawk quite unlike the one who set foot on Dominion One just minutes ago hovers in mid-air, cross-legged, her skin shining with the LifeStar's energy, its light forming radiant streamers woven into her hair - if anyone meets the description of "goddess", right now it's Darkhawk.

"Should I bow?", I enquire. How she reacts to that will tell me a lot; in particular just how much of my friend is left?

"If you want, but it's not compulsory", she replies, smiling sweetly. She certainly sounds like a goddess, her gentle words echoing as though the temple is a vast natural cavern. "You don't need to be afraid - I'm not holding back any cosmic hunger that's going to have me eating stars and destroying planets... I've not 'gone Dark'. I've just... found myself at last."

This is Darkhawk, who knows me well enough to tap into my love of comic books, and attempt to defuse my anxiety that just such a transformation is usually destined to have terrible consequences. I'm somewhat reassured, but I still have understandable doubts. "Excuse me, but my fear is my own", I tell her, "and it'll be me who'll say just when it's been laid to rest."

Darkhawk nods slowly. "It's all to do with the LifeStar", she explains. "It's not just some kind of energy conduit - it's part of me, a piece I left behind when Dominion was created. That piece had five hundred million years to grow, to develop into its own entity, and when we touched, during the Faenri attack, it... well, it recognised a stray part of itself - me. This whole business with The Spark - that was the LifeStar's way of trying to bring us back together."

"And that's what happened here?", I ask her. "The two, made one...?"

"Yes - and no", she replies. She unfolds her legs, extending them to the ground, then she walks over to me, leans near to my ear, and whispers something to me.

"This isn't forever", she reveals to me. "A time will come when I will have to be reunited with the LifeStar, forever. It's inevitable - and I'm totally comfortable with that. I'm not quite ready yet - I have time to do all I need to do before I 'catch up' with The LifeStar."

"And what do you need to do?"

"Destroy The Pandemonicum", she tells me. "I've done it with one of them, I can do it again. I need to take time to fully come to terms with the changes I've gone through, but soon, the hunt can begin."

There are clearly things a "mere mortal" such as me is not supposed to know, but one question remains that has to be answered. "And what about Brighthawk?"

"It's too soon", says Darkhawk, her "goddess" form shrinking back into something less awe-inspiring, and more like her previous self. "I'm trusting you with the truth, knowing you'll do what's right, and keep my secret. I'll know when the time has come for her to be told, and I'll do it myself. Let her have her joy, for as long as it lasts."

I step back, and nod. I'll do my very best to prove myself worthy of this great gesture of trust, not as a Mistress of Dominion, or an ambassador of Mystalorn, but as a friend, and as friends, we simultaneously reach out to each other, and our hands intertwine, one layered upon another, in the old Ealvonhaian tradition, then we draw closer again, so that those hands are all that stands between my heart and hers...

"Now, what about your troubles?", asks my friend, as our hands part. "I imagine the Faenri came as quite a surprise - they certainly surprised me..."

From the moment they started attacking the Nightmare, I'd been under the impression that Darkhawk has somehow come to terms with the Faenri, and they'd come in fulfilment of some secret agreement. "Obviously The White Beast pissed them off, too..."

"Call him what he is... what he was", Darkhawk insists. "Bekalth - there, you can say it. The whole universe could say his name all at the same time, and nothing would happen. He's gone. That's probably the only certainty to come from all this."

"That, and our inability to make contact with Tony", I reveal. "Myromar told me you'd sent him ahead, but there's no trace..."

Darkhawk eyes shift, focussing somewhere beyond the area of space I occupy. "He was here", she murmurs, in her echoing goddess's tones. "He carries the LifeLight with him, so I can sense his passing this way, but something isn't right..."

A current of strong psychic energy, well beyond anything I can generate, ripples out from Darkhawk. "I've called for assistance", she informs me, her voice returning to normal. "The Traveller will be here shortly."

"Anything I can do?", I offer. I bear some responsibility for putting young Master Fulcher in whatever predicament he now finds himself...

Again, Darkhawk displays a whole new scope of perception. "I think you'll be getting an answer to that question fairly soon", she says, as though half awake, and telling me about a rapidly-fading dream. "Any... moment... now."

"Sorry to interrupt", says Myromar over the comm-link, "but I'm getting a message on the long-range link. It's on a special secure channel - I believe it's Rhagaan Tyrho."

"You go deal with that", advises Darkhawk. "When you're done, come back to me, and I'll see what I can do to help."

I open a short range portal, and step directly from the Chamber of Reverence to the command deck of Dominion One. The regal face of the former Emperor of Kirugar, and former occupant of my current position as commander of Sentinel Station, is indeed waiting for me on the main screen, and he seems rather surprised to be talking to me, and not Darkhawk.

"Darkhawk is presently unavailable", I tell him. "Once word reaches you of what just happened, I think you'll understand."

"We have heard of some upheavals in the Mutual Defence Imperative", he responds. "There's been a ship of the Vaggtshaersken causing us a lot of bother in the last couple of months, but they just suddenly pulled out of the Earth system, just hours ago. That anything to do with you?"

"Possibly", I reply. "Now, I'm assuming that isn't what has you calling on Darkhawk from half a dozen galaxies away..."

"Indeed it isn't", says Rhagaan. "It's Tony Fulcher. His parents just gave the go-ahead for some radical treatment to bring him out of his comatose state, and it seems to have worked."

"What do you mean, 'seems to have worked'?"

"He's awake", reports Rhagaan, "but he's in considerable distress, and with no discernible medical cause. I have a man in the field at all times, but he can't intervene, only report back to us, and from what he's saying, Master Fulcher appears to be in extreme pain, and he keeps crying out about being trapped, or tortured - 'They're cutting me apart!' is typical of what he's saying..."

I don't wait to thank Commander Tyrho, or even instruct Myromar to close the comm-link. My portal has barely had time to close before it's prised open again, and I'm back in Darkhawk's presence. "It's Tony...", I gasp...

"I know", says Darkhawk. "Now brace yourself - I can't go running to his aid, not right now, but someone has to. Do you trust me, Mane-of-Night?"

"Of course", I reply, even though I have no idea why she's need to ask.

Darkhawk reaches into space, and the fabric of it swirls, distorts, parting to form a tunnel like one of my magical portals, but far exceeding my meagre reach - is... is that Earth on the other side...?

"Go", instructs Darkhawk, the "LifeLight" in her hair and eyes, like wisps of flame-tinged mist. "I can't hold this open for long, not while I'm still weak. Tony needs you."

I step into the aperture, here in the Axxillae system, and my very existence is stretched like elastic, then released as I'm pulled from that place to my faraway destination; a stark white corridor, lit with overhead electric orbs, signs written in one of the major languages of Earth...

I stagger out into the corridor, the portal snapping shut behind me, with a dull sound like distant, muffled thunder. I only just avoid slamming into the wall, within arm's reach of a silver-grey garment, bearing the number 80, enshrined in a glazed frame alongside a still two-dimensional image of a man in what I recall is the uniform of a player in the sport of American Football. "Steve Largent... Seattle Seahawks", I murmur, reading the small brass plaque beneath the framed football shirt. "Earth - definitely Earth..."

This is it - the wing of the hospital in the United States' city of Seattle where Tony Fulcher has been cared for since the accident that left his mind and spirit trapped in a paralysed body. I know I'm in the right place, for I can hear the boy scream...

Journal entry paused...

The Traveller looked up from the control console of the Endless Sunrise, an eyebrow raised in alarm. The interior of the spherical dimension-ship was unexpectedly bathed in an unusual amber light, relaxingly warm, but still rather unnerving - and he was not the only one to sense that all was not well. Moments later, the graceful form of The Traveller's adventuring companion, the elegant witch Pratisha Westerly, strode into the control chamber, her gaze turned this way and that in search of a source of the new, unfamiliar light.

"What's wrong?", asked the leather-clad Indian woman, with unaccustomed anxiety in her well-educated "Mumbai by way of the West End" accent. "Did you break something...?"

The Traveller would normally rise to such an accusation with an expression of playful outrage, but not this time. "Miss Westerly", he said solemnly, looking her right in the eye, "we are summoned."

...to be continued...