They would see Heaven.
It moved through the cities of its enemy. Countless ships hovered above the dead world, guarding it from things without and within. All life on Z'ha'dum had gone. The Shadows had obviously taken their pets and their children and their puppets with them. Still, they would have left some tricks behind.
And there was one who would have stayed.
There was no need for deception here. No need for encounter suits or illusions or angels. It could move freely, a mass of energy floating between rock and earth and air, as freely as through the clouds of home.
Besides, there would only be one being alive here, and He could see through any illusion.
"I see you," said a voice, and the Vorlon shimmered as the Eldest walked forward slowly. He was in His mortal form, the one He had been born in. It was flesh, and flesh is weak. The Vorlon was puzzled why the Eldest would clothe himself thus when he had his true form, of light and energy and beauty.
<It is over, Eldest. This world is ours. This galaxy is ours. We come to pay respects, and homage.>
"And to prove to me that you were right all along?"
<We have won, Eldest. Of course we were right.>
The Eldest shook His head sadly. "I never wished to say this to you, but you do not understand. You have not won, and it is not over. It will not be over for a long, long time. One day, you will understand."
Lorien was the first sentient being in the galaxy. He had seen countless millennia of life, known millions of different races, seen wonders and terrors in equal measure, but there were some things even He was unaware of.
One thing He heard now He had never heard before.
The laughter of a Vorlon.