This had been the most trying of times. The fighting was over and the prisoners entombed. There was little else for a soldier to do to occupy the time remaining. Jakor was tired—a deep down tired from physical fatigue and mental anguish. There would be a black stain of guilt upon his race for what they had done this day; whether History remembered it or not, Fate would not forget, and Fate had a way of making all who defied her pay and pay dearly. He settled his massive frame on his spartan bed and closed his eyes. He relaxed each part of his body, allowing the deep sleep to take him. “Jakor!" a voice whispered in his mind. “Jakor, please reply." The soldier opened his eyes and became alert. “Who is contacting me?” he replied, broadcasting a general telepathic reply. “You must come to the Great Hall in the Council, we will meet you there.” Jakor stood, and silently made his way to the Council Chamber. He entered the vast hallway that was created from living rock, and made his way toward the Great Hall.
