Chapter Text
Etheria’s moons shone brightly over the silent field. Rays of light refracted brilliantly through towering crystal formations that dotted the grassy landscape, sending streaks of rainbow-hued light dancing across the blueish-green grass stalks that swayed gently in the cool breeze. Birds could be heard singing in the distance, their melodious chirps carrying across the rolling hills that encircled the tranquil plains.
The field was—objectively speaking—a beautiful sight. If one cared to notice such frivolous things.
The place was serene, unassuming. Isolated. Who could have guessed that such a locale would become the inception sight of an inter-dimensional portal; A tear in the fabric of space that momentarily linked the dimension of Despondos to the larger universe. A temporary window, offering the unwitting etherian populace an escape from the glorified prison they so happily existed within.
Not that any of the planet’s natives were even aware of such a world-shattering development. The portal had opened and then the portal had closed, once again leaving the etherian’s none the wiser.
Because by some cosmic miracle, this was not the first time a portal had opened on Etheria. Years ago, in a place far from these plains, another doorway had opened. And it had dragged something through from the other side, stranding it in these strange lands.
Something lost. Something confused. Something angry.
Something that wanted out.
Something that had learned of this new portal’s arrival. Something that had converged on its location, but arrived too late to accomplish its goal.
He had, however, arrived just in time to see the doorway close. To see the swirling vortex of black and purple, waver and collapse in on itself, unleashing a mighty shock wave that banished the darkened sky and gales of wind that pressed the tall grass flat against the earth. The crackling electricity and scent of ozone that once filled the air had vanished, replaced with that of pollen and loam.
As quickly as it came, the portal had disappeared. Without the decency to leave even the smallest sign of its existence in the first place.
At the edge of the field, Lord Hordak, supreme ruler of the Etherian Horde, stood atop his skiff. Stood. And watched.
As if staring intently enough would somehow bring the portal back.
As if the universe would reward his patience and persistence, and Horde Prime would swoop down and welcome his little brother back with open arms. And then… And then Hordak could go home. He could have his old life back. He would have his creator’s love and approval. He would have the familiar presence of his brothers at his side, and the comforting whispers of the hive mind in his skull. He wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, with nothing but hollow memories to comfort him in the night.
He could have it all, everything, if he just waited a little longer.
But he knew none of that was going to happen. Hordak had been given his chance, and he had failed. Because that’s what he was: a failure.
He had failed in his duties to Horde Prime. He had failed to cure his worsening medical condition. He was currently failing to conquer a single, measly, under-developed planet. Why was it any surprise when he failed to arrive at his destination in time?
When he failed to send a signal through to Prime.
His claws balled into fists.
When he failed to rescue himself from an eternity of isolation and loneliness. Condemning himself to a continued exile on this backwater world, rife with inferior, selfish, deceitful beings that were also, by some cruel twist of fate, his only hope of ever truly proving his worth to his creator.
All because he failed.
“RAAAAGH!!!"
He hurled his data-pad. The fragile device flew through the air and shattered against one of the crystal formations that littered the maddeningly peaceful field. The effort knocked a lock of Hordak’s blue hair out of place, settling between his eyes.
He screamed again. A wordless cry of pure, unfiltered rage aimed at a cruel universe, at his insufficient self, and at every conceivably smashable object in a twenty-foot radius.
His chest heaved as he took in deep, ragged breaths. His face contorted in fury.
Sixteen Years.
He had waited sixteen years for another portal to form naturally, and he had missed it by mere seconds.
Another scream. He slammed his fist into the skiff’s tiller, the force bending the metal out of place. His eyes clenched shut in an effort to hold back tears. Anguish, rage, and self-loathing all fought and slammed against one another in a brutal contest to see which would overtake him next. In the end there was no victor. Inevitably they all mixed and swirled together, forming a towering wave of suffering that drowned Hordak in a sea of his own impure emotion.
His surroundings slowly melted away; the sound of the birds, the scents of grass and earth, the feel of the wind on his skin. All of his senses dulled to nothingness as his shoulders shook, and the same word repeated endlessly in his mind.
Failure. Failure. Failure.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been—how long he'd stood there, before he heard it; a shrill, high-pitched wail that sliced through the sickening quiet of the meadow.
Hordak’s ears twitched and his eyes shot open.
Suddenly his head was above water and Hordak was back on Etheria. The clone’s head swivelled in an almost mechanical fashion, eyes scanning the horizon for the source of the familiar noise.
His ears twitched again as the pitch increased. Yes, definitely familiar.
He wasn’t exactly proud to admit he recognized the sound of crying infants, but these things tended to happen when one was in the business of subjugating worlds. Although, this time it seemed... different.
In his past experiences, the shrieking of frightened children had simply been part of the background noise; along with the hydraulic groan of his bots, the incessant hum of laser fire, and the deafening roar of exploding buildings. All of it melded together into the trademark cacophony of war that Hordak had become so intimately familiar with over the years.
Usually, it was merely white noise, a droning din that thrummed unceasingly while he and his soldiers committed all manner of violent acts in the name of “peace and order”. But this was different. For some unfathomable reason, he felt drawn to the cries. They helped him to focus, tossing him a lifeline with which he could drag himself out of the pit of despair he had been wallowing in.
His ears perked up, searching, zeroing in on the source of the disturbance. Eventually, he narrowed it down to somewhere in the field ahead of him. Forty-to-fifty meters from his current position if he had to estimate. Hordak’s brows pinched together, it was roughly the same area as—
His eyes widened in realization.
Something had come through the portal.
It took him a moment to realize his body was already moving, his legs carrying him off the skiff and steadily marching through the knee-high grass in search of this mysterious new arrival.
His shock began to fade as he took a figurative step back and started to properly analyze the situation. It made sense; he too had been brought to Etheria by a portal. Until now he’d assumed it had been a freak accident. But the odds of a naturally occurring inter-dimensional portal, coincidentally, forming directly on top of a living organism twice in a row, were so infinitesimal that they might as well be non-existent.
Which meant there was a purpose to it. There was a reason Hordak had been stranded here.
He didn’t understand what in the universe that purpose could possibly be. He decided he didn’t need to understand. Hordak had spent the last decade and a half carving out his own destiny on this wretched rock. He wasn’t going to waste time now, pondering what kind of brilliant plan involved kidnapping people, seemingly at random, only to dump them in an empty field hundreds of kilometers from the nearest civilization.
(He was, apparently, going to waste time tracking down whatever pitiful creature had just become the portal’s latest victim.)
The cries grew louder. Hordak wasn’t sure if it was a matter of proximity or the child growing more distressed, either way he quickened his pace. He reached the site of the portal, which, to his petty disappointment, was as equally unremarkable as the rest of the surrounding field.
Save for the extraterrestrial infant, of course.
Hordak loomed over the tiny bundle. Inexplicably, it managed to be even smaller than he expected. He leant forward slightly to get a better view.
Lying nestled in a flattened patch of grass, swaddled in a soft, blue blanket, a child continued to scream and thrash. Its eyes were screwed shut, its tiny face was streaked with tears and coloured bright red from the exertion.
Hordak felt something inside him snap. That… wasn’t supposed to happen. Clones weren't programmed to feel mercy or compassion. Such concepts were weaknesses, and embracing them would be to welcome the darkness with open arms.
And yet... And yet, Hordak couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the unfortunate creature that lied before him, because he understood. He knew what it was like to be ripped away from his home and his brothers and from the only world he had ever known. To suddenly have everything he’d ever cared about torn away as he was dragged across the universe, kicking and screaming. To be dropped into the hostile wilderness of some Prime-forsaken world trapped in a shadow dimension, scared and alone, without the faintest clue as to what had just happened or why.
He didn’t have to imagine what this child must be feeling. Hordak was already painfully familiar with the overwhelming sense of fear and confusion that they must be experiencing. He winced as a particularly loud shriek escaped its deceptively small mouth.
His fists nervously clenched and unclenched as he continued watching with morbid fascination. Suddenly Hordak was remembering his own first day on Etheria; The hours he’d spent sobbing on the edge of that accursed pond, mourning the loss of his old life, allowing his impure emotions to consume him, because—because what else was he supposed to do? He was nothing without Prime's guiding light.
He still wasn’t quite sure how long he'd lied there before he finally worked up the energy—the strength to do something about it. To get to his feet and save himself from this horrible fate.
He had a sneaking suspicion that this girl wouldn’t last nearly as long. Not without help at least.
Kneeling down, Hordak carefully wrapped his claws around the blanket and lifted the child off the ground.
Much to his surprise (and greater confusion), the infant settled the moment he lifted her out of the grass. Her cries dying down as he gently gripped both sides of the bundle and stood back up, holding the child at arm's length. The girl’s eyes blinked open, and steel-blue met blood-red as two aliens examined one another.
It took a second for him to recognize the look of wonder that sparkled in her irises. Hordak felt a strange, warm feeling spark in his chest. How long had it been since someone had looked at him with anything but fear or hatred?
The child made a fascinated cooing sound that snapped Hordak out of his trance. He should probably say something. Anything that his new acquaintance might find remotely comforting. He brushed the odd feeling aside and cleared his throat. It was still sore from his own bout of screaming.
“Have no fear, little one. I mean you no harm.”
The girl cocked her tiny head to the side and made a confused gurgling sound.
Hordak was suddenly very aware of the fact that he had exactly zero experience interacting with infants. It hadn’t been necessary until now, he and his brothers were all “born” fully grown and programmed with all the information they needed to properly serve Horde Prime.
But this girl—this baby didn’t have those luxuries. In fact, if Hordak was to guess, he doubted she could even feed herself without proper assistance. He probably should have found it pathetic, weak. Instead, it was strangely endearing. A being so fully dependent on its creator was something more familiar to him, even if this was a rather extreme case.
He chose to continue his attempts to reassure her, regardless of the very probable language barrier. Perhaps she would pick up on the words’ meaning if he simply repeated himself enough.
The bundle shifted slightly. The girl looked down at the vast, empty space between herself and the funny-looking thing that was holding her. She studied the gap for a few long moments until, finally, it clicked. Her eyebrows knitted together in determination.
With a bit of wriggling the child managed to free one of her little arms, extending it towards Hordak and making a grasping motion with her hand. A small pleading sound escaped her lips.
The clone arched a brow, confused. When he didn’t react further, she made another sound; this one more demanding. Hordak looked down at his chest, which he assumed was the object of her fixation. Was it the Horde insignia? The bright red wings clashed heavily with the dark blues and greys of the rest of his outfit. The child must be drawn to the dichotomy.
Another demanding squawk. Hordak frowned at her tone. It was rather irksome to have such a minute, helpless creature demand things from him. Scratch that—it was irksome having any creature demand things from him. He was the Lord of the Fright Zone , none were entitled to his services. Hordak provided his assistance only when and if he so desired.
She squawked again, desperation replacing insistence. Her face scrunched up and tears began to form in the corner of her eyes. Hordak felt an uncomfortable twinge poke at his heart.
Perhaps he so desired after all. Besides, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to witness his small concession. Hordak pulled the bundle closer. Close enough for the girl’s tiny hand to touch the densely woven fabric of his tabard. Her face lit up with a wide grin.
A grin that dropped almost immediately when she realized she wasn’t getting any closer. The girl’s next sound was much angrier. She curled her fingers into a poor attempt at a fist and slammed it into Hordak’s chest.
The clone’s eyes widened in indignation. Had she just tried to punch him?!
He received an answer in the form of a second not-fist bouncing harmlessly off his cuirass.
Hordak glowered at the sheer audacity. "Cease that at once," he ordered, in his most authoritative voice.
His assailant's head tilted upward to face him. The child looked him dead in the eye... and struck him again.
"Enough!" Hordak exploded. "I am trying to help! Have you no concept of gratitude?" He growled, indignantly.
Still not getting the desired reaction, the girl changed strategies. She grabbed hold of the fabric (a task that took longer than it should have, due to her continued inability to properly ball her hand) and gave his tabard a purposeful tug.
Hordak suppressed the urge to groan. Such visceral displays of exasperation were beneath him.
“I do not understand.” He spoke through gritted teeth, “What could you possibly want from…" Hordak's voice trailed off as he watched the infant continue to pull at the fabric. No, not the fabric…
Oh.
Slowly, carefully, Hordak altered his hold on the bundle. Leaning the girl into the crook of one arm, while the other gently held her in place. Once he was satisfied that he was holding her correctly, Hordak hugged the child to his chest.
The girl made another small sound; joyful and satisfied. She raised her tiny hand once more and awkwardly brushed it against the dark cloth she was now pressed against, making a remarkable little giggling sound as she did so.
Hordak tilted his head upwards, and just… stared into the horizon. Stunned. That strange spark had burst into flame, and the warm feeling was spreading throughout his chest like wildfire. It was… pleasant. It was not hot like anger, nor did it burn like shame. It was simply warm.
Hordak wasn’t sure if it was familiar. He’d been having trouble remembering certain details of his old life lately, but he thought that maybe it was. Hoped.
His brow furrowing, Hordak looked down to find the girl smiling contently. Her skin had returned to its natural pale and a lock of blonde hair had freed itself from its fabric prison. Her gaze seemed to be locked on the sky overhead. It wasn't something he could really fault her for; Not many planets possess twelve glowing moons that also miraculously gave off enough light to substitute a sun.
But while she watched the sky, Hordak watched her. He stared intently, trying to piece together this strange puzzle he'd stumbled across. He had seen children before of course, both up close and from afar—the Fright Zone was full of orphans. In the earliest days of his Horde, he'd even helped to collect several of the creatures. Hordak hadn’t felt anything for any of them.
So why was this one different? Why did she elicit his compassion when none other had?
Then he looked at her, truly looked at her. What he saw was an alien. An outcast. A stranger lost in a strange land. She did not belong here. Etheria wasn't her home, it was her prison. One she had surely been sentenced to unjustly.
Yet, she was here regardless. And because of it, she would never again see the stars shine overhead. She would never be given the opportunity to explore the spectacular expanse of the cosmos. She would never be held in the arms of her creator and told that she mattered. That she was worth something. That she had a purpose within this dark and chaotic universe.
All because that infernal portal had brought her here. She, out of trillions of beings had been chosen—had been condemned to such a cruel fate, and for what?
Hordak didn't have an answer, but he was beginning to understand why he was drawn to her. They were one in the same. Kindred spirits.
The girl caught his eye and flashed a bright, toothless smile, then let out another giggle. The warm feeling flared up once more. Without thinking, Hordak began gently brushing her cheek with his thumb, the girl instantly leaned into the touch. The clone felt a sense of melancholy overtake him.
“You did not deserve this, little one.” He said softly.
She was so small. So helpless. She could never have made something of herself in this bizarre, disorderly world. Hordak sighed. The least he could do was give this lost soul a place in his empire. At least then she would live. Maybe even thrive.
It was the least he could do. But some small, probably insane voice in the back of his mind began to wonder about his best…
His thoughts were interrupted when, without warning, the girl grabbed hold of his thumb. Hordak froze, his eyes locked on the clumsy set of digits that were just barely wrapping halfway around his finger. Soft, pink skin pressed against his own scarred, calloused flesh. Dull, blunt fingernails, laying mere centimeters away from the sharp claw at the tip of his thumb. The comparison only further emphasized how fragile she was.
Hordak blinked slowly. The gears in his head, grinding to a halt.
The child was staring at him again, her expression a mixture of joy and reverence. She squeezed his finger, the change in pressure was so minute that Hordak might not have noticed had his attention not been so thoroughly rapt. With dull curiosity, he started to pull his thumb away. The girl held on as tight as he imagined she could, she even tried to pull back. It wasn’t anywhere near a contest, but Hordak let her drag him back anyway.
The clone’s head tilted to the side. His lips parted as if to whisper a reasonable explanation to himself, but no words came out. The warmth still did not burn, but now it had a weight to it, and it was pressing down on Hordak’s chest harder and harder the longer he stared.
A realization came to him slowly—almost cautiously, as if his brain knew that revealing it too suddenly would frighten him off. This girl: she wanted him to hold her, and she wanted to hold him in return.
She... wanted him?
Hordak blinked. And then he scowled at his own foolish conclusion. What was he thinking? He shook his head on the off chance that he might feel whatever loose implant was causing this malfunction. He scowled harder when it seemed that the contents of his skull were all still firmly in place.
No one wanted Hordak, the very notion was preposterous. His own creator couldn’t even find a valid excuse to keep him around, not when there were oh so many brothers that could replace him at Prime’s convenience. What value did his life hold when another could be grown in his place on their god’s whim?
Ah, and there was the heat, the anger. Not directed at Prime or his fellow clones, but at himself. He knew it was his own fault. He was a defect and a failure who'd been practically handed everything a clone could possibly ask for, but still managed to ruin it for himself. He didn’t deserve to be wanted—not yet. Not until he proved he was more than just another expendable follower. Proved that he couldn’t be replaced. That he was worthy of Prime’s love and respect.
It was how things were. It was how things would always be, and Hordak had come to terms with it long ago.
But now this girl was watching him with that amazed gleam in her eye, like none of that mattered. As if he didn’t have to claw, and fight, and drag himself to glory just to earn the right to be looked at that way. As if him merely existing was somehow enough.
He pulled his hand away and let it fall limply to his side. The girl protested, tried to reach for the talon, and made a puzzled face when it exited her line of sight. Then she looked up, and her confusion turned to amusement as she stuck out her arms and grasped at Hordak's face.
There was a sort of wrenching sensation after that. It didn’t hurt as he expected it to. It did, however, leave him stunned. His breath caught in his throat and his thoughts trailed away to nothing. Nothing but this strange, tiny life-form that didn’t know anything about anything, but still wanted him.
Despite himself, the corners of Hordak’s mouth twitched upwards. With barely a thought, he hesitantly brought his hand back up and slowly waved a claw in front of the girl’s face. Within seconds, she took hold of his finger again and began to giggle hysterically.
The wrenching became a soft flutter.
Hordak looked down into a pair of blue eyes, so full of trust and innocence and warmth. He realized he didn’t care if he deserved it or not, he wanted this girl to continue smiling and giggling and looking at him. He also realized that for once in his life, there was nothing keeping him from his wish.
On a paranoid whim, he quickly glanced around the field. No one. Then scanned the horizon. Still no one.
"Well," He said, turning back to face the girl with a weak smile on his face and a flicker of hope in his soul. “It would appear that you are stuck with me, little one.”
Maybe… Maybe Hordak didn't have to be alone anymore. The girl’s wordless babbling wasn't the echoing thrum of the hive mind, but it was still soothing in its own strange way. Her eyes shone the wrong colour, but so did his, so maybe that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She wasn't a clone. She wasn't perfect, but that didn't mean she couldn't be taught how to be. None of it meant she couldn’t be accepted into Hordak’s little flock of one.
And if he could prove to Prime that he was wrong—that Hordak was more than just the miserable defect he thought he was—then surely he could convince his brother to welcome another lost child into his light.
The girl chirped happily in response, blissfully unaware of what a poor guardian she had just been saddled with.
A cool breeze swept through the field, and even though Hordak barely felt it, he somehow knew that it was too cool. How long had he been standing here? He went to check the time, stopping with an annoyed growl when he remembered that his data-pad was now in six to seven pieces. He looked up to the sky, trying to remember what position the moons had been in when he arrived.
After a few seconds had passed, he decided that the chronology didn't matter nearly as much as getting back to base alive. Something that probably wouldn’t happen if he kept sky-gazing in the middle of contested territory.
Heading back the way he came, Hordak began re-wrapping the thin blanket that the child had arrived in, a gesture which she fervently protested.
"Quit fussing," he grumbled, tucking the blanket under her chin. She grumbled back in response, which, to Hordak's ears, sounded a tad too argumentative to be complete gibberish. He gave her a warning look and let out an amused huff as they exited the tall grass.
He boarded the skiff with less difficulty than he expected given one of his arms was occupied with what he cautiously assumed was extremely fragile cargo. With his free hand, Hordak reached for the tiller… and found that it was currently bent at an entirely unhelpful angle.
Hordak growled, then purposefully clenched his jaw because his first impulse was to hit something else. And that wouldn’t fix anything so instead, he forced his fingers to wrap around the straightest portion of the lever and give it an experimental tug.
...It would suffice.
“Brace yourself, this will not be a smooth journey.” He warned the child. And then felt like an idiot when he remembered what he was talking to. She was already as braced as could be.
He turned the key and the engine rumbled to life. The skiff shook a little as Hordak tried to test the steering in motion. What he found immensely unsettling, the girl apparently found endlessly amusing, if her laugh was anything to go by.
The shaking slowly stopped as he eventually got the hang of the altered controls. His companion’s laughter trailed off in a similar fashion. He shot her a small smirk, which she returned in the form of a beaming smile. Hordak's eyes burned a little brighter as he hugged the bundle closer to his heart, and set course for the Fright Zone.