Molina Elij had the prisoners up and walking again before dawn. No one complained to his face; they were too afraid of falling to the same fate as the Human and Deltan from the day before. Molina was a hard one to figure out, thought Worf as he marched through the jungle in the middle of the ragged procession. He seemed almost Vulcan sometimes, hiding his emotions and keeping an outer calm. But when he was angry, he had the terrifying ferocity of any Klingon, not hesitating to injure or kill if something didn't go his way.

Worf became aware of sweat trickling annoyingly down his face and dripping into his eyes, which were already stinging from lack of sleep. Soukara nights may have been cold, but the days were hot enough to roast you alive, especially in a layered Starfleet uniform. The grade under his feet seemed to be getting steeper, as if they were climbing a mountain. As the air gradually got thinner over the next couple of hours, that proved to be correct. Worf smiled to himself at the irony of the situation.

He and Jadzia- well, he at least- had been considering mountain climbing expeditions for their honeymoon destination. But his temporary good humor vanished when five Bajorans were beaten when they begged for water. Molina had seen to their punishment, explaining first that if water was absolutely necessary, the Pagh'Wraiths would provide it.

The Klingon was surprised when he heard this. He had thought Molina was carrying a supply of water for himself and denying the prisoners a drink. Apparently, though, he was suffering with them. That tiny display of honor was the only thing that kept Worf from attempting to kill him. At about what he guessed to be 1400 hours, they came upon a lake, and word traveled back through the sweaty line that they were stopping to rest.

Molina drank first, then the guards, then the captives. There was a general stampede towards the sparkling lake. Dropping to their knees, the people drank greedily, then were stricken with instant cramps as the water hit their deprived digestive systems. Most vomited it back up, others lay writhing with pain, clutching their stomachs.

Worf wisely cupped the water in his hands and sipped slowly, letting his body accept it. After most of the prisoners had managed to keep some of the precious liquid down, they pushed forward again. In about another hour, they were slowly filing past a fallen log when the Klingon stumbled and fell against a tree, a strange sensation throughout his entire body.

At first he thought it was his stomach objecting to the ice-cold pond water, but-

Worf, becoming contentedly warmer by the minute, sat with Jadzia, her arms wrapped around him from behind. The two of them listened to the pair of animals baying somewhere in the forest. He began to speak.

"When I was a boy, my father used to take my brother and me on camping trips in the Ural Mountains. Every night we would listen to the wolves howling in the distance. Nikolai was afraid of them, but I would lay in my tent for hours just listening. I remember being seized by the urge to just rip off my clothes and run into the night and live in the forest and become something…wild."

Jadzia smiled knowingly and touched his face again. She loved that about him, loved the times when his true, fierce Klingon nature would emerge in his words, the way he acted with total, reckless abandon. You are wild, parmach'kai, she thought. The animals howled again, further off.

"He must have been rejected," the Trill observed. "He's moving away."

Good, she thought with satisfaction. Now I can have Worf all to myself without fear of interruption. The female animal shrieked a thoroughly displeased noise.

"She's not happy," Jadzia said, starting to feel a bit of animalistic lust herself. But that mood was instantly crushed when Worf's head jerked up to peer in the opposite direction. Sensing something was wrong, she sat up straight and clutched his shoulders.

"What? They're getting further away, aren't they?"

"Yes, but it is because something is coming. And it is close!"

Starfleet training instantly kicked in. Both Jadzia and Worf sprang out of cuddle mode and snatched up their few supplies, throwing them behind a fallen log. Grabbing their phaser rifles, they leapt behind the log themselves and lay still, watching the forest for any signs of what was guilty of producing the noise.

Normally they would have used their tricorders to scan for it, but they couldn't here because the Dominion sensors would detect them.

Whatever it was, it was big.

Worf had a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his fingers itched to pull the trigger of his weapon. His worst suspicions were confirmed when three armed Jem'Hadar soldiers stepped into the clearing where they had been sitting just a few moments earlier. As he observed them, he realized that the direction they were walking would bring the soldiers right on top of them!

A glance at Jadzia and a quick nod made the decision. As one, they positioned their phasers in the holes in the log and fired. Not prepared for the assault, two soldiers went down under the phaser blasts, but the third began firing wildly.

Most of his shots hit only trees, but one bolt of energy maneuvered impossibly through a gap in the log and struck Jadzia in the stomach. The Trill curled up in a fetal position, arms wrapped around her midsection, gasping with shock. Worf, caught up in the heat of battle, sprang to his feet and hurled his mek'leth at the Jem'Hadar, catching him in the chest and driving him back against the tree.

Only when the soldier had slid to the jungle floor, his last breath a gurgling exhalation of blood, did he notice his parmach'kai clutching her abdomen, her breathing raspy, struggling not to scream from the pain. Agonized whimpers escaped her lips as she looked up at him, pleadingly.

"Jadzia!"

The Klingon dropped to his knees beside her, fumbling in the medical bag for a hypospray. She turned her head sideways so he could press the end of the hypo to her neck. The painkiller took effect almost immediately, and she slumped back against the log, hands pressed against her stomach.

Worf eyed the blood seeping between her fingers with trepidation while he commanded, "Lie still!"

"I think I can do that."

He used a small medical tricorder, the power output of which would not be detected by the Dominion, to determine the extent of damage from the phaser blast.

"Can I have the good news first?"

Worf looked up from the readouts.

"No vital organs were damaged."

Jadzia lifted her arm to allow him to place a bandage inside her uniform, directly against the wound.

"And the bad news?"

"The disruptor burst left an anticoagulant in your system."

"So you can't stop the bleeding."

"No."

She groaned slightly and struggled to get to her feet.

"Well, I must not have taken the whole burst. I'm not hemorrhaging that bad yet. Just keep me pumped full of painkillers, and let's be on our way."

Worf couldn't believe what he was hearing. Jadzia must be in shock from the wound. He caught her arm.

"Moving could make the bleeding worse!"

The Trill's eyes were pure, determined fire when he met them with his own.

"Staying here isn't an option!" insisted Jadzia. "Someone's going to come looking for them when they don't check in, and I'd rather take my chances on foot. You ready?"

Sensing his hesitation, she reached out and grabbed the Klingon's arm, squeezing it hard.

"You ready?" she repeated.

Worf wanted to tell her how amazing a woman she was for being strong enough to take a disruptor burst in the stomach and walk away not five minutes later, but had a feeling this wasn't the time.

"Ready," he answered. His lovely wife nodded resolutely.

"Let's go." She only needed to support herself on his arm for a moment before she was on her feet and leading the way into the woods.

Worf looked back, and his gaze fixed worriedly on the huge amount of blood that had pooled where she'd been sitting. Jadzia was going to make it. She just had to.

Worf leaned against the tree, his fingernails digging deeply into its rough bark as if he were holding on for his life. His head and his thoughts were spinning uncontrollably, even though he was standing absolutely still. That persistent Romulan was back with his weapon.

"Keep walking, Klingon."

Worf, trying to look like he hadn't just had one of the most startling and disturbing experiences of his life, hurriedly began to move along with the line. By the hand of Kahless!

This was the place. The log, the clearing- they were passing the area where Jadzia had been shot by the Jem'Hadar patrol! He hadn't recognized it at first. After all, one fallen tree looked like another. But then something in the back of his mind had caused him to remember in exquisite detail the events of that night.

Worf trudged on in a daze, seeing nothing but the pain on Jadzia's face as the Jem'Hadar's disruptor burst pierced her body, and then the sadness in her eyes as she lay, helpless, on Julian Bashir's surgical biobed with an emptiness in her abdomen and in her soul.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, arms on her knees and her head in her hands as if she were trying to fight back nausea, Ezri thought she was losing her mind, and it scared her. She'd known it was going to be difficult to be a joined Trill, having to deal with the combined memories of multiple lifetimes, but never had she imagined anything like this.

Jadzia's perspective had completely claimed her, pushing her own identity to the back of her mind and resurfacing as the woman who had slept in this bed with Worf's arms around her. It was going to be nearly impossible to finish this assignment if Ezri let Jadzia take over every time she touched something in these quarters! Ezri found herself at first blaming Ben Sisko for all this. He was the one who'd sent her in here to confront all these emotions and suppress old feelings so she could read Dukat's message.

But then she realized it was no one's fault, not even her own.

The Trill took several deep breaths to calm her trembling hands and stood up. A sigh of relief escaped her when she was standing in the living room once more and the bedroom was just a memory. Sisko had left the message display on the screen of Worf's comm panel.

No sacrifice is in vain. You'll understand soon.

Ezri shook her head, baffled. The words evoked no remembrance of anything Worf had told her either now or as his wife. Then she reread it. You'll understand soon. That almost sounded like a threat. Alarm klaxons went off in her head. What did Dukat want Worf to understand? She wished she knew. The past few months had been confusing enough without adding all this to it.

Molina Elij crouched over the tiny portable communications unit erected in his tent. Outside it was nighttime. Bugs chirped somewhat comfortingly, and from a far-off hillside a native Soukara animal let out a long, curling howl. Tapping the controls, he sent a message to Bal'gurna. He folded his hands in front of him when the Master's face appeared on the screen of the comm unit.

"It is good to hear from you, Elij. How are things progressing?" "Very well, Master. We are expecting to arrive back at Bal'gurna sometime tomorrow afternoon if all goes according to plan."

The Master smiled, his satisfaction evident. Molina wondered if this success would bring about any future benefits for him. Wisely, he did not voice the thought. His wandering attention was called back to the screen.

"See that it does. Now about the Klingon. He is still with you, I trust?"

"Of course."

"Listen to me very carefully, Elij." The Master leaned forward, his face filling the small screen. "It is absolutely imperative that he be brought to Bal'gurna safely. Do you understand?"

The Bajoran nodded. "Yes, Master."

He paused. He had to admit he shared the curiosity of many of his subordinates, and decided to risk a question.

"Why is this Klingon so important? If I may ask, of course, Master."

Bad move.

The face of the man on the screen contorted with surprise, then anger.

"No, you may not. You forget your place, Elij."

Molina was terrified, and he knew it was showing. He dreaded the times when the Master was angry. His fury was demonic and his temper vicious. He had seen a few unfortunate souls be executed for what in his mind were absurd reasons.

After watching them be put to death, which happened neither quickly nor painlessly, Molina knew that he must always stay on the Master's good side. Worst of all, his eyes would latch onto you with that disturbingly omniscient gaze of his that made you feel naked, all secrets exposed for the taking. Then they would cloud over for a split second. When he blinked and looked at you once more, his eyes would be red. And it wasn't just a reflection of the light or an elaborate optical illusion.

They would be a pure, deep red, the color of freshly spilled blood. It seemed like the Pagh'Wraiths themselves had possessed his body and were passing judgment on you through the Master. Molina swallowed hard.

"I beg of you, forgive me, Master! It was foolish of me to think that I, a mere servant, could ever be worthy of your true divinity! Please overlook the inappropriate curiosity I have displayed! The Klingon is your business and yours alone!"

With that, the Bajoran groveled in front of the screen, pressing his face to the floor of the tent. He was immensely relieved when he heard the Master speak over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

"Get up, my child. The Pagh'Wraiths have forgiven you. But I think it would be a wise idea to perform a penance when you return to Bal'gurna, to ensure that you remain good in their eyes."

"I will take your advice, Master." Molina sat up. "Do you require any additional information from me?"

"No, that will be all. I look forward to your return." With that, the connection was severed. He sighed and turned off his own comm system.

Worf awoke in the middle of the night from yet another sweat-drenched nightmare, his hand flying down to his boot to make sure the mek'leth was still concealed there. When his hand closed on the leather-wrapped handle, he felt better and was able to relax as much as possible, taking into account the fact that he was laying in the dirt surrounded by the other huddled, snoring lumps that were his fellow prisoners.

The perspiration was cold on his skin, and he shivered convulsively. He hadn't had such realistic nightmares since he was a child, and even then they hadn't had such a lasting effect on him. Now that he was an experienced adult, he should have been able to overlook such things. But ever since he'd been captured by the Pagh'Wraith cult, he'd had the same recurring dream every night.

The same one, in fact, that had caused him to come on this crazy mission of vengeance in the first place. He relived the moment of Jadzia's death over and over again, and every time after she had gone Dukat would appear and ridicule their relationship, provoking Worf to attack. The dream always came to a frustrating end at that point, with him awakening just as his hands were about to crush the Cardassian's throat.

The Klingon glanced at Molina's tent right at the moment the lightstick glowing behind the fabric walls was deactivated, and the woods were flooded in darkness. He scanned the clearing for the Jem'Hadar guards. They themselves could not be seen, but every once in a while a stray beam of moonlight would push through the thick tangle of trees and reflect off one of their phaser rifles. So the masters of camouflage were there, even if they weren't visible. Escape would be impossible tonight.

The Klingon rolled onto his stomach and lay his head down on his arms, wishing Jadzia was there to rub the aches out of his back. It seemed like he'd just closed his eyes when he was opening them again to see that it was daylight. A soft, refreshing rain was falling.

The Jem'Hadar were gone, and in their place were the Cardassians and Romulans, back from whatever secluded spot they'd slept in that night. The people on the ground were sitting up. As soon as they saw a female Bajoran guard with a red armband approach them carrying a large bag of something, they began to clamor and reach towards her. S

he made an expression of distaste as a child's dirty hand latched onto her pants. She was handing out food, Worf soon realized, the first food they had been given since the beginning of their hike into the wilderness. The ration packets were tossed to the prisoners like a zookeeper feeding animals.

The Klingon picked up two packets that landed near him. The labels were printed, strangely, in ancient Bajoran, which he could not read. He was about to tear one open when he heard a cry from behind him.

Turning, he saw the female guard retreating. A young Bajoran woman held a squirming, whimpering child and was talking softly to him.

"I know, Rilo. Mother's hungry, too. But don't worry, the nice people will bring us more food later."

From the look in her eyes, Worf could tell that she had her doubts about getting food, and to her, their captors were anything but nice. But why frighten a child as small as this? He stood up and walked to them, holding out the food packets.

"Take these. Your child needs nourishment, as do you."

The Bajoran looked at him, startled, as the boy grabbed a packet from his hand and struggled to tear it open. Clearly she hadn't expected him to share, seeing as the other prisoners were too desperate for food to consider anyone but themselves. Then she smiled gratefully, an expression Worf hadn't seen in days.

"Thank you! May the Prophets bless and protect you!"

He nodded awkwardly, not sure how to respond to a blessing from gods he didn't believe in. The young mother opened the package of food for her child, who filled his cheeks until they were bulging.

"My name is Teldar Lanya. This is my son, Rilo."

"Commander Worf." Her gray eyes scanned his smudged uniform.

"You're Starfleet?"

"Yes."

Lanya stared at him as if he were one of the Prophets himself.

"Then you can get us out of this! You've got to help us escape from this Pagh'Wraith cult. I don't want my baby surrounded by evil!"

Worf hesitated at the sudden added burden thrust on his shoulders.

"Where is your husband?"

Lanya shifted Rilo to her other hip.

"On Bajor, thank the Prophets. I was visiting a friend on Vulcan with Rilo. Our transport home was hijacked by these people." She threw a glare towards the guards. Shaking her head, she murmured, "Roben doesn't even know we've been captured. We're not supposed to get back until tomorrow." A tear slipped down her olive-skinned cheek. "I just want to see him again one more time before I die."

The Klingon laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You are not going to die." He looked at Rilo, happily chewing, and saw for a moment a dark-skinned child with even darker neck spots and forehead ridges. "And neither is your child."

Lanya smiled.

"Thank you, Commander."

Suddenly, Worf felt uneasy. Lowering his voice, he said,

"It would be wise if you addressed me by name rather than rank."

The Bajoran's face was blank, not understanding.

"What for?"

" I do not want to attract undue attention."

"Oh. All right."

A voice booming over the crowd temporarily halted their conversation.

"Move out!" Molina bellowed. "Our goal is to reach Bal'gurna by this afternoon."

Lanya grimaced as she tucked the remaining ration packet in a pouch at her belt. They began to walk, letting themselves be swept along with the rest of the prisoners.

Seeing as there were no guards in the immediate vicinity to prevent speaking, she asked, "Why are we going to this…Bal'gurna? What is it?"

"I am uncertain."

Actually, he had a couple of unpleasant ideas, but didn't want to frighten Rilo. Trying to explain, he gestured with his eyes towards the boy, who let out a huge yawn. She nodded, getting the point. Thankfully, Rilo was asleep within minutes. They weren't able to talk then because a Cardassian guard fell into step beside them and remained there like a parasite for half an hour. When he finally moved off, Worf was about to speak when Lanya's stomach gave a noisy rumble.

She chuckled.

"Excuse me."

Awkwardly, she balanced her son on one hip and struggled to retrieve the rations from her bag. The Klingon noticed the difficulty she was having holding the child and working the clasp holding the bag shut.

"Would you like me to take him?"

"Thanks."

The Bajoran allowed him to take the slumbering child and rest him against his shoulder. Without bothering to read the label on the rations, she tore the package open and scooped out some of the contents with her fingers. She fought not to spit it out, apparently not enjoying it as much as Rilo had.

"Well, at least they're feeding us." On second thought, she offered the bag to him. "Want some?"

"No, thank you."

"Are you sure? You should eat something, keep your strength up."

Worf smiled inwardly. This woman was obviously a good mother. Jadzia would have been a fantastic mother to our baby.

"I will be all right."

She shrugged and nibbled daintily.

"What were you going to say about Bal'gurna before?"

The Klingon didn't want to alarm her, but a closer look at her tanned face revealed a lattice of scars on her cheek, back near her ear. She must have been a Resistance fighter, even at her young age. She could handle the truth.

"I am expecting it to be a labor camp. Or possibly a mass extermination site."

Her expression didn't waver. "I've been through my share of those. I never thought I'd see another one again after the Occupation was over," Lanya paused. "You know what makes me so angry about this whole thing? Them."

She pointed to a stony-faced Cardassian guard, marching silently, phaser raised. Now her eyes were set aflame with hatred. "I spend the better part of my life fighting for my freedom, so me and the rest of Bajor can live how we did before the Occupation. We finally drive the Cardassians off our world and have our old lives back, more or less, and can worship the way we want and let our children go out on the streets without fearing that they would be captured or shot down just for chasing a ball into the path of a self-important Gul. But now I'm a prisoner again, not just by the Cardassians but also the Pagh'Wraiths, the two most hated forms of life to us Bajorans."

She shook her head. Her hand ventured out from the sleeve of her cloak to stroke her sleeping child's hair. "Most of all I hate that Rilo had to be dragged into this. He never had to experience the horrors of war or the mindless brutality of the Cardassians. I was hoping he could just grow up leading a normal, peaceful life. But now that's impossible."

Seeing the way she was looking at Rilo, with undisguised adoration and sadness, Worf began to hand him back over, assuming she would want to take him into her arms. He and Jadzia had done the same thing after a particularly dangerous battle where the odds in their favor had been less than reassuring. They would just kind of melt into each other when it was all over, savoring the victory.

Even if the battle had been lost, it was always a success to them when they both came out alive. He'd never actually expected that he'd have to go on, to win, without her at his side. Instead of reaching for Rilo, Lanya asked,

"Would you mind terribly if I imposed on you to carry him for a little while longer?"

"Not at all."

In fact, Worf relished the chance to hold a child.

"Thanks."

The fire had vanished from her eyes as quickly as it had appeared. Now she was simply a young, frightened mother again, concerned only for the safety and well-being of her son. A smile flitted across her smudged face. "He was getting a little heavy. I'm not used to the exertion and the heat at the same time anymore."

As they walked, Worf looked down at the sleeping boy he cradled in his arms, being careful not to jostle him with each step. Rilo's small weight against him was relaxing. It had been a long time since he had held anyone, even a Bajoran toddler. Again, the boy's smooth forehead seemed to sprout bony Klingon ridges, and dark brown spots appeared to materialize on his face and neck.

Not for the first time or the last, he deeply regretted not being present for most of Alexander's childhood. Just because Alexander hadn't chosen right away to follow the path of a warrior didn't mean he wouldn't amount to anything. Now, his pride of his son increased daily, as did Alexander's prowess in being a soldier and carrying out his duties with honor. He felt he was ready to father another child, now having some experience and wanting to know more. And the areas of parenting in which he was a little bit shaky…well, Jadzia had enough knowledge for both of them.

They stopped for water about an hour later. Bodies of water seemed to be rare on Soukara, but the ponds and streams that existed contained water of the finest quality, pure and untouched, sparkling like priceless diamonds. The rain had stopped, but a wet, heavy blanket of humidity hung in the air. There was no breeze, and in the stillness of the day distant sounds gradually became audible. A clank of metal on metal. A faint rumble, unidentifiable as of the moment. And occasionally voices, giving a shout or two and then fading.

Worf sat on the bank, wanting to empty the sand from his boots but not able to, as he needed to keep the mek'leth concealed. Rilo still dozed in his arms. A short distance away, Lanya had produced a tiny, hollowed out gourd from under her cloak and was dipping it in the pond to fill it with the precious water. She came to sit next to him, and told him, as she pushed a cork into the mouth of the homemade canteen,

"My father made this for me during the Occupation. It's held many things, from water to explosive charges." The Bajoran gave a wistful smile. "He was killed on a raid on a Cardassian warehouse, but this bottle has always been kind of a good luck charm for me. Its contents have kept me alive on many occasions." Suddenly a faint shout echoed in the distance. She tilted her head. "Did you hear that?" Worf nodded.

"No doubt we are approaching Bal'gurna." Lanya had an interesting question.

"Why are they making us walk all this way? Couldn't they have loaded us onto a transport or something?" The Klingon considered this. It hadn't crossed his mind, as he'd been preoccupied with other thoughts. The answer came to him almost immediately.

"There is a Dominion base on Soukara that is equipped with a limited sensor array. It is possible that this cult wants to keep their presence unknown, but build their headquarters in an area inside the Dominion's sensor range. The sensors can detect large machinery and computers, but not organic matter. Therefore, ships cannot be taken into the forest, only people on foot. Molina or the guards may be carrying PADDs or communicators, but nothing larger or they would be instantly detected."

Worf didn't mention how he knew all this, and hoped Lanya wouldn't ask.

She didn't.

"That makes sense," the Bajoran agreed. "I take it their weapons can't be detected either."

"Correct." Her nose, already ridged, wrinkled further in concentration.

"Then if they can't bring any heavy machinery or computers in here, Bal'gurna must be operating under primitive conditions. No replicators, no comm systems, just relying on the efficiency of its inhabitants to get things done." Her eyes met his. "Why does that not make me feel better about all this?"

The Klingon knew what she meant. If Bal'gurna was a labor camp, the manual work was going to be a lot more difficult without the aid of machinery. Worf shifted Rilo so he lay more comfortably against his chest and said,

"What is puzzling is why the cult wants to hide from the Dominion in the first place. If the Jem'Hadar and Cardassians are here, that indicates that they have an alliance, but the Bajorans and Romulans are not part of the Dominion."

Lanya had the answer to that one. She took a swig of water from her gourd to moisten her throat before replying, "If they're going through all this trouble to hide, the Dominion must have shown some hostility towards them in the past. As for the Spoon-heads and Jem'Hadar being here- well, they must have some ulterior motive. Money, maybe. Promises of power, I don't know. But one thing's for sure: my people, even those who worship the Pagh'Wraiths, wouldn't be working side by side with the Cardassians unless there was a damn good reason."

Another cry filled the silence; this time it was Molina's now-familiar "Move out!"

The Klingon and the Bajoran got up, Lanya groaning as the movement put pressure on the blisters on her feet. The gourd disappeared back inside her cloak. Their conversation had stirred many thoughts; they walked and contemplated them. Suddenly Worf felt the child in his arms stirring. He looked down. Rilo gave a yawn and a stretch, doing an adorable mimicry of an adult waking from a restful slumber. His tiny eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, he frowned, disoriented, at the strange man carrying him.

"What your name?" His voice was angelic, bearing none of the underlying hardness characteristic to so many Bajorans who had suffered through the Occupation. Worf smiled at the boy.

"My name is Worf."

"Oh."

That was it. No further questions. No distress at waking up and finding himself in the arms of a strange Klingon in the middle of an alien jungle. Just an acknowledgment of Worf's answer, then back to sleep as if he'd never awakened. So trusting, apparently supposing that since the Klingon seemed to be his mother's friend, then he must be okay. A pang of grief pierced Worf's heart, along with a thread of envy.

The new recruits were drawing nearer by the hour. The Master could feel it. Anxiousness unlike any he had ever felt gripped him as he sat rigidly at the table on his favorite balcony of the house high on the hillside. Kolara had brought him lunch, but it sat untouched and cooling in front of him. It was ironic, really. Not long ago he had been one of them.

A simpler person, living unaware of the existence of the glorious Pagh'Wraiths. When they had revealed themselves to him, his life had been changed in so many ways. At one time he had cared only for himself and his people, but that all that was different now. He aspired passionately, as a better man looking up to a higher power, to help others, regardless of race, understand how much the Pagh'Wraiths cared for them.

They had explained to him in a vision that since they wanted to rule the entire known universe, everyone inside that space must come to feel their love. But the Master was having a difficult time convincing his followers to open their hearts and accept the Pagh'Wraiths as their gods.

When completed, Bal'gurna would be the first of many holy cities devoted entirely to worship. Many races would converge here, many people would be enlightened and accepted, and as their community grew, others would join them. The Master dreamt of loyal followers overflowing beyond the walls of his city, and more cities being constructed.

For those who didn't believe that the Pagh'Wraiths genuinely cared for everyone- well, there would soon be the example of the Klingon. With his arrival, and eventually his shared rulership of Bal'gurna, their followers would come to see that everyone was welcome in the omniscient eyes of the Pagh'Wraiths.

The Master stood and walked along the balcony with his hands in his sleeves. His mind was full of thoughts about the times to come; perhaps that was why he almost collided with his servant, Rek. The Bajoran cringed apologetically.

"Excuse me, Master! If I was not so clumsy this would never have happened!"

He dismissed it with a wave.

"Never mind, Rek, the fault is mine alone. What is it you need?" He straightened up.

"The new group of workers is entering the valley as we speak, Master."

"Thank you. That will be all."

Rek nodded and withdrew, and the Master hurried back to his chamber. There he donned a simpler cloak, and concealed his head in a loose hood.

When he went down among the residents of Bal'gurna, those who weren't fortunate enough to have spoken directly with the Pagh'Wraiths, he hid his face, reserving a glimpse of his features for when he felt they were ready. Slipping out the back exit, he made his way down a little-used trail and into his city.

Go to Part V