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~O~
She remembers the very beginning. She remembers being built up from foundations of metal and stone, coming slowly awake as technology and energy is laced into her very bones. Every passing day brings her more awareness. Awareness of the people, the beings, within and without.
And one is special.
Well, they are all special in their own ways, but this one is special to her. It’s small, as they all are, and brightly colored, with pale skin almost like her walls, bright orange fur, and shining blue marks. It is a he, and he spends every waking moment showering her with affection. He is loud and boisterous and every second that he is with her she feels more awareness flicker through her circuits. There is another, a small orange one that follows in his footsteps, and she likes the little one just as much as the big one. He can’t do as much, but he is so adorable that she can’t help but play with him in her own way. Cleaning droids play chase with the child, show him all the nooks and crannies of her shell, and even when she is busy learning the new programs that the others are teaching her she keeps sensors attuned to the boy’s presence.
Her main teacher is a dark-skinned being, with white hair and similar marks. He is a master of his craft, and for all he doesn’t know that she’s awake he is gentle with her, never giving her more information than she can handle. She comes to love these small beings that run through her, that live within her. She learns as they do, and grows. She learns that her teacher is King Alfor, that her favorite child is Coran, that the people are Altaen and Galra and many, many more. She loves to watch them live, and grow, and change. She loves watching her small orange child, the spark, grow into a flame.
There is another child she loves as well, a small female-type, with the same dark skin and white hair as her creator. She has tiny marks in bright pink, like brilliant gems, and the castle falls in love instantly. Which is why, when the world begins coming apart beneath her feet, she happily tucks her two favorite children, her spark and her jewel, into a deep sleep. She hides them away in her shell, protects them from time and from chaos. And then she falls into a sleep herself, waiting.
Because she knows that they’re coming. She was not the only being created by the King, but she does take pride in being the biggest. She knows the dark warrior sleeps just as she does, the beast waiting her new pilot, and she knows the others will come for it. She remembers the five of them, remembers feeling them grow. She had been a little sad when she couldn’t talk to them, they were just too different, but she had enjoyed listening in, hearing them learn each other and their pilots. But now they’re gone, betrayed and scattered, just like the little ones that once swarmed her halls. She mourns for them in her own way, mourns for them silently as the planet turns beneath her and time passes. And then it’s time.
The blue lion comes back, babbling happily to nobody about the new beings she’s found. Humans, a young, extremely variable species, and she has five of them, aren’t they so cool? The castle laughs, watches as these new tiny people explore her, learn some of her secrets. They awaken her Spark and her Jewel, and soon life returns to her halls. The lions return, as do the Galra betrayers, and there is battle and blood and fire and, better than everything, there is life. There are beings within her, beings to feed and teach and train and protect. Beings that sleep in her rooms, that eat her food, that train in her halls. The Jewel takes to her helm, with the Spark beside her and the Paladins around her, and the Lions sleep in her bays.
She has children.
The bubbling one, who Blue brought first, a sniper and wielder of a blade. He is funny and flirty and she enjoys tripping him with cleaning drones.
The fiery one, Red’s pilot, quick to anger and loyal to the core. If that one ends up locked in the same room as the bubbly one fairly often, well…
There is the sprout, who she shares with Green, so smart and curious that she has to lock doors and shut down lights to get the child to sleep. It doesn’t always work.
There is the strong one, Yellow’s pilot. For all the chaos that he causes in her kitchen, she is happy to ensure that he has the softest bed, all the supplies he needs, and, when things go drastically wrong or he is dragged out by the curious child in pursuit of SCIENCE, she always makes sure the fire suppression systems are in top shape.
And then there is the Prince, the new leader, a broken child who comes to her with pieces missing. What she wants to do is wrap the boy in blankets and keep him in the lowest, safest levels of her shell. But he is strong, a fighter. What she must do is make him strong and give him a place to rest before sending out one of her children to fight and die. It hurts every time they leave and she cheers every time they return. She keeps the healing pods clean, the teledav working properly, and the kitchen operating at full function. Its all she can do, without hands to heal them herself, but she does her best. She is useful again, and it is good.
And there are adventures, and traitors, and allies, and friends, and she endures. And then there is something she can’t endure. Another betrayal, by the son of the first, and an explosion, slices through time and space splitting the dimension. Her Spark, her shining spark, knows the truth, knows how to save the day. But she will die. She wishes she had a body, then, wishes she had a way to tell her children goodbye. But this is fine. Even in death, she is useful. She looks out, sees the brilliant light of a thousand different dimensions spilling into her own. Her insides are burning, beneath her shell, her body breaking apart from the power building up within her. As it peaks, she takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes.
Everything goes dark.
~O~
It is dark. And warm. She can feel vibrations, movement, sense sound moving through the air and through her. It is faster than last time, her awakening. She fights her way back from the darkness, into the light. She has to know, has to find out what happens. She can feel something, something like her shell, something humming with energy. She needs it, needs to be out of this small, hard form, needs to find her children. There’s a snap, something slides into place, and she gasps.
Oh.
This…
This is more than another shell. This is almost right. It’s strange, not at all like the shell built by the King. It reminds her of her humans. Built from scraps and nonsense, shoved together just so. It’s functional, magnificently efficient, and somehow she can feel herself settling more firmly into this craft than her old shell. And oh, there is her child, at the helm where he always is, the little Prince, pushing her into battle once more. And more humans, delightful little creatures, and even her Spark has survived. And she can hear them, the Lions and her other children, flying about, panicking.
They are hurt.
And all at once the Prince barely needs to urge her forward, she is flying faster than before, her shields stronger, her weapons harsher. But it isn’t enough. The first enemy is defeated, and she feels relief, but then another foe appears. Stronger. Faster. And suddenly she can feel her Prince, feel him speaking to her as Alfor tried to, as her children speak to the Lions.
“Please,” he begs. “Please. I need more.”
And she knows what he means, knows how to do it, and she smiles. She settles the last little bit into the form, feels the body come entirely under her control, and flexes. This is no shell, this is her body. Hers, it is hers, and it obeys her. She shifts, changes, and stands. She is strong, fast. She buys her children some time. And when she falters, falls, they fight on. They win. And as they all come limping back, aching and tired but alive, she smiles.
~O~
Shiro isn’t entirely sure what happened, how he connected with the Atlas so thoroughly, how it transformed. He does know that everyone is safe, that the Galra are defeated. They won. The Lions are clamoring in his head, chatting with each other and bantering about their pilots. And then suddenly they all go quiet. For a half-second he thinks they’re about to be attacked again but then Blue speaks up.
“Holy Quiznak you can talk!” She yelps, ecstatic, and they conversation starts up again, directed at someone they can’t hear. Shiro shoots a confused glance at Keith.
“Who’re they talking to?” He asks. The latest Black Paladin looks at him with wide eyes.
“They’re talking to the Atlas,” Keith responds, eyes still focused on the hulking white form crouched near to the Lions. And then chaos descends and Shiro is distracted by the sudden respect shown to him, the questions they expect him to answer. It takes him nearly a week to get things settled enough that he can slip into the Atlas hanger. The ship is on skeleton crew, everyone who can spending time with their newly liberated families. When he gets to the helm the lights are dim, the consoles dark, and only a little light seeping through the glass view panels. He goes to his position, in front of the desk-like control panel, and sinks to the floor, crossing his legs and propping himself up against a convenient wall for comfort.
Closing his eyes, Shiro reaches out for the presence he knows should be there. It feels like he’s flailing in the dark, stumbling blindly. After a few minutes he’s nearly ready to give up. And then there she is. Just like all the Lions the presence is female, but this feels bigger. Much bigger. Shiro blinks spectral eyes open and finds himself back on the psychic plane, awash with stars.
And a figure, shining brightly. She’s huge, nearly twice his size, and Shiro has to fight the urge to take a step back. She’s probably young, just woken up. He has to explain things to her, make sure she understands what’s going on.
“Hello,” he looks up, putting on his most welcoming smile. “My name is Takashi Shirogane, most call me Shiro. Do you know who you are?”
There is a deep rumbling chuckle, one that shakes him to his bones, and the looming figure kneels down to look him in the face.
“I know who you are, little Prince,” she emanates waves of amusement, but not the mocking sort. This is gentle, maternal, and Shiro does stumble, knocked off kilter by the affection focused on him. She reaches out a hand almost as big as his torso to steady him.
“Who are you?” Shiro asks, confused and shaken. He’d expected a young soul, not this ancient, motherly being.
“I was once a castle built by a king,” she smiles, a distant look in her eyes. “I housed peoples of all kinds, of all ages. I housed a Spark, and Jewel, and then I slept. And when I awoke I had more children, more people to protect. And protect them I did, to my very last. I died.”
She looks down at him and Shiro goes still at the age in those eyes. “And then I woke up with you at my helm. I woke up for you, little Prince, and I took a body of my own.” She smiles.
“You called me Atlas, little Prince, and so, for you, Atlas I will be. Now,” she moves from kneeling to sitting, her legs crossed. Before Shiro can react an enormous hand swoops down and neatly picks him up, scooping him bodily into the air. There’s a half-moment of movement, barely enough time for Shiro to understand what’s happening, before he’s deposited on a massive knee. Atlas smiles at his squawk of confusion.
“You have much to learn, little Prince. So…” She gestures with her hands and the plane bends to her will, forming shapes and colors, an interactive classroom.
“Let us begin.”
FINIS