Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nokris has fully morphed into a wizard when his sins bleed into his chitin. 

Discussions cracked from time to time, King Oryx’s resolve and the Warpriest’s challenges rendering the Prince-God’s true purpose into faux commitment. The establishment of his nature was torn by promises, all nurtured towards the wrong channeling escape; ever since he was born and raised into his father’s court, Nokris was never meant for whetting swords through a nonexistent brute force like his brother. Of all fates, he was never an equal to the Eater of Hope, less a concurrent. 

In the twist of roles was where Nokris’ secrets trespassed his mind. In being Prince Crota’s antithesis, Nokris sheathed his knowledge in his own throne-world, between reality-wounds and the strictly cracked spots in the architecture of the humble palace he built for himself. That was his haven where he concocted a way to outwit this rule, this hierarchy of Will and Triumph his father had long constructed for his blood—and so was the place he curled in his own skeleton and wept as a failure for his own family. 

The course of his weeping heresy between flesh onto visible stone floor took about three akkas and half a muššagana. As further as Nokris progressed, more he had the stench of death tinkered amissly in his palms; the crimson colors of King Oryx’s court turning him more of a stranger than of a Prince-God; and the Unseen Sister’s disavowal at each forlorn planet visited in means to raise the fallen brethren for his own royal undoing. His excused absence started to ring suspiciously in the First Navigator’s ears, and so soon the punishment would come. 

That was the reason why, at the end of the latter half of muššagana where the Apotheosis Dawn drew closer, Nokris arrived at the door of the Witch-Queen’s flowered palace and knocked as if he was merely a Thrall once again. 

Per usual, her echoes guided him within the dark corners of her throne. Restrictions were built up firm and strong if any other of Nokris’ siblings (or Xivu Arath’s children, or Savathûn’s very own siblings as well) ventured within. However, Nokris had granted himself worth which could bind him as one of the deepest in the High Coven—if he was not perfectly entwined with purpose that was his and his own alone. 

The Prince-God still had his privileges: such as the appearance of Dûl Incaru and her lack of judgment towards what he represented, which was far from prejudice amongst the Witch-Queen’s constantly ideologically-evolving court. Where he would be treated as a spoiled heir unworthy of his crown, no force capable of avoiding him to be stripped out of his life in the middle of the Black Terrace beneath Xivu Arath’s watch, or a stranger walking over carpets in minor courts and thrones, here at the High Coven he’s just and merely Savathûn’s nephew. And for that he was grateful. 

Dûl Incaru brought him to one of the highest towers, where swamp had clear distinction from light-green architecture and none was the same in the horizon. The heavy surge of tithes for the holiday painted the landscape in colorful tones of the Queen’s preferences. Nokris could almost hear his bloated worm singing at Dawn, his triumphs made prose as part of the day devoted for the birth of the Hive. There, now, it was different: they didn’t need to converse about the rumor that unfurled greater and greater and tainted his family’s history, putting into question the King’s determination when it came to his own children; everyone knew it. 

It was why Nokris went straight forward towards his goal here. “Where is the Queen?” 

His cousin gave him a once-over. “She has made a riddle in the space between stars,” she said, raising her hand at Nokris. Long has he seen such a kind gesture at him from his familiars. “I know the place my Queen has ventured into, but I don’t want to go alone.” 

Nokris took Dûl Incaru’s hand, and she opened a rift—a shortcut in the fabric of this reality. There they flew between wounds, worlds, thrones, layers in between layers until the stars scattered amidst a vast nothingness were at their sight. Thus they sailed between systems in ways their Thrall selves dreamed of and played with, staring at the green sky of Savathûn’s world and composing the constellations her mother drew for a personal whim. They always held hands—then and now—and though the conditions are now dire, neither of them wouldn’t skip past recalling those dreams where all was wonderful. 

The Prince and Princess flew towards a black hole, once foretold in Savathûn’s prophecies. 

Then time twisted; figures morphed; their figures blended; darkness encroached; their worms screamed; their voices echoed in long and reverberated syllables which never end; then… then… then…

They found a place inhabited by the Hive; that is, with the exception of one. 

Chitinous figures hid amidst asterisks, swam between them, and arrived at the center of Savathûn’s riddle left for Dûl Incaru. It is a place of many planets brimming with life—and one which had the Traveler pinned, bright and scared, above its very own surface. 

A land of ivory pavement and leafless branches existed beneath it, where sky rained fragile flocks of white which resembled ash but were too beautiful and elegant to resemble destruction in any form. Mountains lifted themselves in waves as tall as the clouds in its corners. Cast away in the nearest distance rested a city: a cluster of buildings and architecture and electrical light in distinct colors—somewhat similar to the Black Terrace when minerals uncovered in viscera shimmer at Dawn—nestled beneath the pale god’s slumber. 

It was between snow and silence where they found the Witch-Queen. Such a tall figure, majestic and powerful in its presence, now knelt deep into thoughtful serenity or a prayer rendering her into an utmost pure form. In her stance she worshiped, regardless. Where Dûl Incaru’s heart may have sinked at the sight, Nokris understood the quiddity which led him there; it was for this that he clutched his cousin’s palm and tugged towards her mother and his aunt. She should not be alone. 

They approached calmly—like the tiny glassy-eyed Thralls that loved to pester around her gardens—and hovered beside Savathûn until the rim of their robes brushed snow. Softer than from the worlds visited, those sparkled and could form shapes of its own—but that would be for another lifetime. Instead, six small eyes looked above, expecting.

“It took you long enough to solve my riddle, Dûl Incaru,” she beckoned them. “And you had to bring the child that soon will be cast away from his own blood. I thought I made this only for the two of us, my daughter.” 

“I profusely apologize,” Dûl Incaru placed a hand on her chest. “But Nokris required an immediate audience; I could not let him wait when time was short for him.”

“As always, you do everything at your reach for your favorite cousin.” Savathûn chuckled, both repressive and amused. Despite her tone, her wings swung and fell over them. It wasn’t warm within, instead soft and comfortable and enough to bring them close under her guard. “I will excuse your crime, but only this time.” 

Nokris’ three eyes blinked all at once. “Aunt Savathûn…”

Savathûn raised a hand and waved it quickly. “Don’t. I already know what you will say, Nokris. I know the reason why you approached me in my throne, and it is an iteration of the same reason that took you into my court previous times prior to our meeting in this faraway world. No need to repeat in different words something that is a fact.” 

The Prince-God silenced and his cousin observed without a word. His aunt, however, stared directly at the metropolis protected by the Traveler. Her expression was familiar: the distant glare at an object unseen, whether it being a future foreseen or a past tarnished by flaw. 

Nokris looked at Dûl Incaru, who questioned just the same. The enshrouding wing compelled them even closer, prompting them to be huddled, arms intertwined, sheltered. 

“Perhaps we should glimpse at what lies beyond us, my children,” she spoke. “Such light. Such poisoned peace. Their event horizon is marked in destruction by the very thing they trust most. This will be rubble and ash, no doubt of this fact, yet in our current moment it thrives gracefully. Thus I question: what would you do with the life you cherish most?”

At that, Nokris followed her glance and thought. Thought of his father’s throne and the stars and constellations that appear around this specific muššagana, of his and his siblings’ Thrallhood where he could still dare to love them. Thought of the celebrations, either of Father’s court or from the worlds conquered, so their culture would not be thoroughly dead. He thought of the wrestles he had with Crota when he wasn’t drenched in violence, and when he exchanged books with Ir Anûk and Ir Halak, their smiles wanting to tell him a secret that’d be far more accepted than his own. He remembered the gatherings and playtimes, and when he learned Swords and Lanterns with Dûl Incaru, who was an expert due to the time spent with her own siblings and her mother, who devised this game when she was young and not yet a god. He thought of many and much—and how he would lose everything within the next akka. 

The Prince-God did not know what his cousin thought, but she leaned her head on his shoulder in her own considerations. 

He did just the same: a cheek over the top of her head, a last lingering moment to something precious and unchangeable. 

Savathûn’s gaze loomed above them. It was familiar, this gesture, all the same, every time Nokris gazed up for her assurance. He wondered what was the answer to her own question, though this doubt served more as worship than a matter of bitter resentment. He wanted to know if she saw her children or a reflection of her past self. 

Through a layer of reluctance, she laid a hand on Dûl Incaru’s shoulder. Her three eyes wore a feeling too frail and too distant for him to ever swallow it as weakness. 

That was the last time Nokris remembered them. His last joyful memory before his worm sang alone, and his triumphs were but dust erased from the history of the High War. 

That was the life he cherished most: to forever be encrusted dearly before parting ways. 

Chapter Text

The times Mara’s seen her brother exit her throne were the times she feared she hadn’t said enough for him. 

Once, at the last meeting of the day, where Uldren would confide his weekly reports to his Queen and turn on his heel with a smile only children with their special secrets would have. Mara had the Dream—that which would define her as Queen in her ascension to godhood, that would etch her most righteous act into the story of Sol System, and her forever doom for those who remained—then sought for him. The dust in her fingertips was her answer, and she never had a chance afterwards. 

Twice, beneath three cunning eyes ensnared in a chrysalis. For she had glimpsed at the shell where her brother once existed and found but Light tainting its walls, its exterior, even his eyes—so soft and lighthearted she could feel her stomach twist within her royal mask. He—the Hunter, that… Crow—had always looked after the wrong sovereign for too long. When his true and vehemently Queen stood beside, the one lurking above with a friendly face was who granted him true safety and understanding of himself. And what a heresy that was! What a predictable, but unsatisfying outcome was his pain when truth rose in plain colors. 

He—that Crow, that brother of hers Mara was difficult to recognize yet—refused to reach back. She laid an offer to him regardless, though her tea grew cold and bittersweet with time. 

Mara learned of his endeavors. More and more the lump in her throat swelled when learning the paths Crow ventured into, his decisions taken at heart, and the nightmare soon turning into memory and acceptance. More she yearned to be close, and the more she faltered, knowing she shouldn’t disrupt all his development as someone new and free of her control. 

However, she had words to say. 

But she was patient. And through this patience, all the things she wanted to tell blossomed and withered and blossomed into a new form and thought as much as this yearning changed her. So was the poison Savathûn left for the twins, seething into Mara’s perfections until it revealed her barely healed wounds. 

And then there was the Shadow Legion, the Queensguard, Amanda—

And Crow arrived again. Besides the loss and the hurt that could make him part, he stayed. 

Mara’s eyes strained against the purple shape of the Veil, noting every plan and outcome that’d follow her bargain with Riven. She’s been there for hours. She barely noticed who came and went through the portal between her and the Ahamkara’s ghost; she knew of her intimidating presence and how it often pushed people far from her orbit. 

That was, save for the one who was familiar with it. 

Crow massaged his eyelids and sighed, tapping pen against paper. Glint was on continuous calculations alongside a duo of Techeuns, and though it seemed as if they were on a fair road, equations ended up nowhere else meaningful. 

When time was late, Techeuns were dispensed. Crow was about to follow them, but when Mara saw the same shade of a goodbye she both respected and despised, she stopped him with a question: “Where are you going?” 

That question was a step beyond the boundaries they’ve silently threading, but never spoken aloud. And of course, Crow frowned. 

“Back to the Tower. I got some business to attend tonight that I can’t delay for any longer,” he said, but thought for a moment. There was something in Mara’s face that perhaps felt uncanny enough for Crow to make him reconsider his words. “Well, unless you’re troubled enough and might need my help; I’m already late. A few minutes or an hour will do no harm.” 

She pondered the next words carefully. “I am not,” she said. “I just wanted to know.” 

Crow glared at her with the same care, then… he chuckled. Was Mara making a fool of herself? 

“Know why am I leaving or what are my next steps?” 

Mara would lie just to keep her composure, but the smallest lilt of sarcasm in her brother’s tone picked up a nerve on her. She quietly exhaled, and replied: “Yes.” 

Crow wore a smile on his lips as he crossed his arms, whilst Glint stared at the two of them. Rare was their bickering as siblings are supposed to do, and when it happened during the Shadow Legion’s siege on Earth, it lightened the mood graciously. Or that was Mara’s impression, or Devrim had a tongue bigger than his mouth; nonetheless, something happened and Crow took a liking for this thing between them. 

“It’s Dawning this month,” he explained. “Around this time, some Guardians volunteer to help with decorations all over the Tower and anywhere else they’re needed for some assistance. And I… am one of them.” 

For a moment, Mara saw a quick and brilliant glimpse of Uldren in him. She pushed it away before it even left by itself. Then blinked, thinking about the last time she went to the Last City; though she had paid little attention to the state of the streets, she saw it was not clustered with ornaments as this holiday was heavily advertised as. The atmosphere was yet to be thoroughly settled, but it already brimmed in jubilation. Mara wondered how it would look now. 

“Decorations?” She asked for… a reason unknown. 

“Yeah. String lights, holiday banners, trees, candles…” He shrugged. “Sometimes stained glasses, but they often leave the job for Titans.” 

The silence between them stood for nothing but three seconds—just enough Crow could pinch at another of Mara’s suggestions. 

“It’s beautiful out there,” he commented mindlessly, just leaving the lure in the air. “You should see it for yourself.” 

Mara’s face flickered.

“I shouldn’t,” she replied immediately, already numbering her priorities from first to hundredth and structuring those in a precise order so Crow would understand in its completeness how she is a Queen, and a Queen cannot— 

“Right,” Crow interjected, “I won’t mind if you want to stay here; I just thought…” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “You would want to see how we celebrate at the Last City.” 

Mara had another glimpse, this time of Uldren guiding her through the paths that led to hidden wonders of the Reef. Things missed by her eye then revealed by her brother, whose pride glimmered bright amidst the Night of Ascents. She was aware of how the Awoken celebrated at the City with their own traditions. Mara’s no stranger to it. 

But, as Uldren had shown her treasures known to him, Crow could do just the same. 

And the way he stared at her… he didn’t want to hide the offering to bond with his sister once again. 

“Well, if that’s your choice,” Crow started, turning on his heel with Glint still staring between them with a keen curious eye. “Let me know if you need me for anything.”

Her lips were shut then, but the moment she faced Crow’s back, the long cloak floating behind him, she knew she shouldn’t make a habit out of their absences. Thus she said: “A company.” To which he stopped at the entrance. “I would like to accompany you in your duty.” 

Mara heard a small chuckle—or Crow purposely made it audible enough—as he turned back to her. She despised the fact she took the bait willingly and his victorious grin directed at her. Yet, Mara could not amend the glimpse of warmth in her chest at the palm extended to her, and how she fought to remember that this was Crow—the Hunter, the Lightbearer wearing her brother’s skin—to whom she clutched the palm to let herself be guided once more. 

There was the Tower and the Hangar. 

And there was Saint-14 and his pigeons, commonly unmoored to the arrival and departure of jumpships, but excited when the Queen landed on firm soil with her brother. The Titan had seen her around a few days prior and made a promise to keep her apparition a half-secret, yet that did not change his immense sympathy for Mara. 

“Queen Mara,” he bowed to her, “it’s an honor to see you here.” 

It was, she thought without nodding—and thought for the next dozens of people who bowed and repeated the same phrase and even for those who side-eyed her in annoyance. She walked through them with awareness of her position and never with her chin down, not even for an instant or for a cat in the stairs, as she followed Crow side by side. His pacing was quicker, steps larger like a Hunter used to risky escapades and so and so, and harder to keep with. Uldren used to have a little more patience, a little more of obedience, and… 

Snow reached her knees as they stood at the entrance of a small, humble store. White seemed to be kicked off many times before. It looked like a lost cause without the sweeping frames to help.

Crow opened it and invited Mara inside. Of course there’d be a strange feeling of her presence there, within this cloistered (but thankfully organized) place, and of course she would be too analytical of their surroundings: Lightbulbs, Dawning trinkets, wrapping papers, boxes…

And an assistant, possibly so, raising from behind the counter. “Crow? Thank the Traveler you’re here! Eva’s waiting for you this entire night—you can’t just do your things and…”

Two Human eyes went directly towards Mara. She was used to this, she really was. 

However that person was—curious, to say the least, with her arrival. 

“Yeah Ramos, I know,” Crow said and looked behind him. “Queen Mara Sov of the Awoken. My sister. Here in the Tower. Now, would you tell me where the roof lanterns are, please?” 

They exchanged some small talk. Then Mara was left with Glint and this man for a few awkward minutes as Crow walked towards the inner corridors of the store, only to return with a few boxes of his own with something more than asked for. He exchanged more words with Ramos—who never took his stare away from Mara for a single moment—and nodded, storming outside. 

At least, Glint nodded back to the man. “Thanks for the help, by the way!” 

The process of odd glances returned. Or stopped for a short moment. It varied from suspicion to awe, sometimes a glance that reeked in arrogance; all felt and thoroughly ignored by Mara. 

Some thoughts which were not her own surfaced: the strides of Awoken walking past her—some acknowledging her, some not obliged to—were like breezes to recall her influence where she became a royal purple dot amidst people who might not know her in person. Mara didn’t sink so easily, though. Her chin still stood high and the soft sparkles peppered through her shape made notice of a welcomed guest in the City. 

Then there was Eva Levante and her lovely smile, and Mara Sov became more than an Ascended Queen in the frontline of this war. 

Everything held its own beauty. 

Mara watched the so-called lanterns Crow hung at the edge of rooftops, all in its shining gold filigrees at each devised corner Eva told him best to place. Around her she saw Guardians, some of which she witnessed toilsome fights within the Dreaming City and the Ascended Plane, doing simple architectural tasks with the same dedication they had at battle. Except for the cries and the violence and the esoterism. 

There were too many of them and some called out for Eva, who finally broke her sweetened expression to give a long, long sigh. When she gave them attention, Mara turned to Crow; he was just finishing tying an ornament with false red berries around the pillar of a restaurant. She waited for him to face her for a moment, and when he eyed her minutely, she didn’t avoid it: “For what reason do you comply with this duty?” 

Sheer curiosity wrapped her question with a silent plea she could not allow to be shown, but she gently pushed a necessity to be seen face-to-face directly into his thoughts. Crow did as demanded. 

“I like it,” he answered simply. “This helped me get close to the citizens when I came to the City. Eva made those clothes I’m wearing now, especially the cloak. All handmade.” Crow stopped, and ran a hand over his nape, sighing. “It was a gift from Savathûn for me, like many she gave me before.” 

The very mention of the Witch-Queen’s name made Mara’s shoulders tense. She wanted to know which were the others gifts vaguely mentioned by him, but that was nothing but pettiness from her own side. 

“After everything that happened,” Crow continued, “I thought I owed something to Eva. Though she briefly heard about Savathûn and Osiris and doesn’t hold any grudge now, she did something for me without even knowing who I was. And I am grateful for it.” 

“But did she demand your assistance?” Mara questioned. 

“No,” he chuckled softly. “No. That’s why. I reached out to her first, and she liked me.” Then he smirked. “Guess it’s my charm.” 

Mara had a remark for Uldren: how he was snarky and somewhat arrogant to Guardians, but he adored the young and the elderly Awoken. Stories on the tip of his tongue, a child’s game he was always eager to learn, and an ear for an old lady’s wisdom she wished to share from the times of forgotten Distributary. However, beside everything tucked in the past, Mara mostly wanted to know what were the Crow’s ways to sympathize with the young, the elders, and his Lightbearer peers. 

And at the same time she realized her desire to know more of her brother, who stood right beside her and didn’t leave. 

Mara just had to question once more: “Do you feel like you are one of them?” 

Crow didn’t answer immediately. He waited—like he wanted to know if she'd add anything else that could draw him into her orbit or if she was genuine. Mara could read that, feel that at the unspoken sentences which cut themselves half-way to its end. Yet so she could sense those words hanging close to hers, that Mara herself let those exposed if that’d be anyhow helpful to be closer, to dismiss the structure of their previous bond and forge one anew. 

Thus he saw, gently, what she truly meant with her question. 

“Sometimes, yes,” he replied. “Sometimes I feel like I belong to the Reef, too. Sometimes I feel like I belong out there, elsewhere I can find something new. And there are times I… find myself missing a place I cannot ever return.” 

She saw a glimpse of a memory—it was Osana. Framed as the last time seen eons ago. They brought the same picture together. With it, a pang piercing softly in a settled grief, the promise of a conversation to be taken in a near, more comfortable future. 

It lasted no longer than two seconds. 

“Doing what I do might seem silly to people like you and me,” he continued, “but it’s in getting in touch with those around us that we learn how to… be someone. Be ourselves.” His eyes focused on hers. “It helps us remember we are not a walking ghost pretending to be alive.” 

This was how he finished it. This was how Mara stood partly with that familiar lump in her throat, tamed mildly with the assurance of his well-being. She couldn’t stop herself from worrying, but she was glad.

Their conversation only ended when Eva Levante approached them. She gave him instructions for hanging white light bulbs over the roof tiles. Mara noticed this should be better if done by two people, but Levante steadied herself over her cane every three minutes and Glint, perhaps, would not transmat untangled strings for Crow. He was already stretching the staircase, the box was open, and the light bulbs were horridly intertwined. 

She gave one step forward. “Mrs Levante,” she called, “I don’t intend to question your decisions, but I believe this is a task he cannot accomplish alone.” 

Eva simply stared at her with a short, condescending grin. “Your Majesty, if you mean to offer help for our festivities, I will not be opposed to. Any assistance is appreciated.” And she leaned near the Queen, and whispered: “Especially if it brings you two closer to each other again.” 

Mara frowned at Eva’s suggestion. She would demand where Levante found familiarity to speak of their relationship with such property, but perhaps Eva only had the best intentions in mind as Mara saw her smile becoming gentler, and her head nodding to where Crow worked. 

A little curl of lips cracked Mara’s regal and unshaken expression, never leaving its elegance behind. 

Then she walked towards the box, and calmly began to unfurl the light strings with her brother so they could decorate that restaurant together.

Chapter Text

Lady Sloane, Stoneborn out on the depths of Titan’s methane sea. 

She had celebrated just enough in the Tower—at least in a well hidden place her peers could find her, could shake hands, and bring out their best and most traditional meals and gifts to shower her into for the years she’d been missing. Some of those were heavy ammo, distinct guns and swords with pretty engraving in its steel, repairing tools for her workstation and, funnily so, Hive trinkets. The latter was of Drifter’s hand, manufactured with guidance of an expert and meant for protection. Sloane hadn’t time to make one for each of them and even wished to be capable of—but they all shrugged off and told her: “No need to. Your presence is a gift already.”

She settled with that. Stubbornly so. But promised herself to make it up for the next Dawning. 

Sloane left all and every of her gifts on a table nearby, reaching towards the window that allowed her an expansive view of the sea’s depths. Ahsa was meters below the dive tank, hibernating between the waves. She wouldn’t bother the proto-worm’s well-earned rest… but she placed a palm directly onto the acrylic. The familiar thrum, like an echoing drum in its slow, comforting tempo, reverberated across waters toward her fingertips. 

Sloane felt it like it was her own. It weighed her eyelids like an inviting approach. 

Through the clear, perfectly filtered connection they shared, Sloane sensed it was far from an invitation, but a place she could stay whenever she wished to. A place free of thoughts, unmoored from the physical burden of existence, where Ahsa thrived in serenity.

Sloane gave a deep breath. Then, she submerged. 

.

.

.

A place of utter darkness. Silent. Speechless. Dormant. 

Sloane floated in the open ocean. Pressure rendered her to a grain of sand. She was and was not there; just as the places Ahsa pulled her within her memories. 

She saw the link between them, a will like many others floating alone where dead things end, curled her finger around it, and tugged. 

There were only shapes and shadows. Her own twisted if she strayed from her essence, the one not brought with her own birth but the one needle-pierced through her corpse. Wherever outside that spectrum was nonvolatile and hostile. This sea lived in swords, every tip too close from her flesh to pinch and spill. None sought her Light with a pure heart. All wished to devour it out of fear or jealousy or hatred, which were in themselves bound in the same feeling. 

Except for Ahsa. 

She lurked between blades and coiled herself around Sloane, her scaled length forming a barrier between the Titan and the logic beyond. Sloane was cradled, nestled in warmth and safety. Often were the times prior where Ahsa offered this protection. Often Sloane took it kindly, lowering her guard for a creature she delayed to know its name. 

And there, now, was the time Ahsa could accept a small repaying. 

Sloane traced her fingers along the scales, digits finding solid carcass for a mere second before vanishing into palpable mist, then meeting Ahsa’s softness in the lines of her palm. She caressed her gently. The proto-worm hummed and its vibrations lurked beneath her skin. 

Their voices were but voices. Echoed quietly in this land of sharp nothingness. 

|You cherish life with those of your own|

“I do.” 

|Why do you dive in the deep?|

“You are one of my own.” 

The coil tightened, and their forms touched. 

“Have you cherished it too? You and your siblings…”

Memories. Crushing underwater. Beneath rested dust. Above lies the Leviathan. Between Mother and siblings and the beast, the same length beyond existed patches of land timid with life. With chittering beasts struggling to survive and their frail traditions at the verge of shattering.

|No|

Sour and bitter filled tongue. 

“I’m sorry.” 

|You are no perpetrator|

A huff.

“I know. I know. I just wished…”

Though. Possibility. The proto-worm, safe. Siblings unchanged. Mother still nurturing. 

|It cannot be undone|

Everything vanished. 

Cheek upon scale. It coiled and coiled. Memory and thought intertwined. Little remained of them to distinguish. 

|You have protected me|

|You trusted me|

|You are one of my own|

A gentle intimate whisper.

“Then let’s cherish each other.”

A hold. Thought. Possibility. A warm embrace. Forms locked into one another. 

Thought turned Will turned Reality. 

They became one. Together. 

Chapter Text

“Hey! You’re home!” Nimbus eagerly cheered Rohan’s arrival. “I got something for you.” 

Their mentor’s eyes were usually worn with age. However, they framed it perfectly in their mind: when those landed on the bouquet of chrysanthemums, planted on a white vase wrapped in a pink ribbon, silver irises bloomed with life with something so dear for him. 

“Nimbus, this is…” He gently took it in his hands. “This is beautiful.” 

“Heh. I thought you’d like it. Because of your, um,” they said and shyly pointed to their own chest, on the right breast. “Y’know.” 

Rohan scoffed. “You paid attention to my tattoo.” 

“Yes? I mean—not like that,” they chuckled softly, “I needed a reference on something you’d like, since it’s our first year together and we’ve been so buried in our duties that we can barely share the stuff we like with each other. And since you’ve taught me about the value of observations… well. Story tells itself.” 

His stern expression, that hardly twists into something lighter and less concerned, suddenly had a grin. One which Nimbus appreciated its sight every time it appeared. 

“Good to know you’ve been putting my lessons into practice,” he noted. “Yet I must emphasize you still have much to learn.” 

“Yeah yeah, sure.” Nimbus grinned, but deep down they were a little nervous. “But you liked the gift, didn’t you? Tell me you did.” 

Then Rohan laughed. Something so hard to witness they almost believed impossible to happen—but he did. And that was wonderful. 

“I loved it,” he answered. “Thank you.” 

However, even if their mentor seemed genuinely appreciative of the flowers, his brows furrowed and he winced for a quick moment. He sighed, again his worry persevering on his features. “Sorry,” Rohan said suddenly, “I should’ve given something in return for you.” 

“What? Oh! No, you don’t need to!” Nimbus waved both their hands. (It still felt funny to see them so big, and gesturing it made them look like a giant kid.) “I’m not asking for a gift in return, old man. Just to see you happy like that already made my night. And even if you really want to, I’ll like everything you give me at any time. Don’t worry about it.” 

This moment, he did—they could see clearly how the lack of a proper exchange made him a little uneasy and even ashamed with his own protégé—but later on, he was just fine. A fair and overly gentle treatment lasted about a week after, then everything returned into normality. 

(Nimbus came to the conclusion that Rohan had promised himself to give it next year. They ended up right, after all.)

For the second year, Nimbus was making them both some warm tea after the fourteenth hour of the day. Rohan asked for it. 

When they turned with two cups about the size of their hands and a teapot, and maybe some delights found in the fridge, they were met with their mentor with a shiny and refrained skyboard on his hands. Tied in a pink ribbon. 

The younger Cloudstrider laughed in disbelief. “What’s that?”

“Your gift,” Rohan said boldly, matter-of-factly. “Or did you think I had forgotten it?” 

They opened their mouth, closed it, then grinned. “I did, for a time,” they admitted. “But I’m not mad.” 

Rohan didn’t say anything. Maybe he wanted to, given his face, but Nimbus didn’t pay much mind to that. He was like this sometimes, and he’s learned their traits as much as Nimbus learned his own. It’s been one year and a half, their second cycle together, and they were pretty familiar with each other’s particularities now. 

So Nimbus left the utensils on the kitchen counter after a considerable time, then approached Rohan. Gift in hands, they swiftly removed ribbon and ties and looked at every detail of it. A week prior, Rohan had asked them to handle their skyboard for “maintenance reasons”, saying that “every Cloudstrider needed to pass this process once for a while”, and Nimbus clearly didn’t fall for it by the belief it was just a joke. They laughed, because Rohan was funnily predictable; then their laughter became child-like, lovingly joyful at the clean shine of their skyboard and… what else?

Silver blades unsheathed from the board, edges sharp and easy to penetrate. Its design was more detailed, more akin to Nimbus’ peppered details over their body and augments, and it was beautiful, beautiful. The simpler form was already good for them, given their past as a wingboarder was all based on simple materials equaling mesmerizing adventures. Getting one all geared for flights and fights made their chest swell in affection.

They haven’t realized their massive smile on their lips. Only when Rohan decided to talk. 

“You are a good fighter like every other Cloudstrider is, but I noticed you are far better in hand-in-hand combat than with the best of our guns,” he commented. “A dagger or a blade would’ve done well, yet what is a better weapon than the very thing we stride with?” 

Nimbus’ face ached. The blades refrained with their commanding touch, and they looked at Rohan. Nothing stopped them from wrapping their arms with the skyboard and all else and pulling him into a hug, one too tight and firm that could crush their mentor in a single snap. Rohan gasped and hesitated, but it wasn’t long before he did the same, but gentler. 

“Thank you,” they said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I loved it! It’s way better than my previous one!” 

“I know it,” he answered, and they believe he’s smiling. “I’m glad you loved it.” 

When they parted, Rohan had just a little curl on his lip, but it was enough. 

And then—they remembered it just well—he had to say: “Just be careful with it, please.” 

In the third year, Nimbus cleansed their skyboard alone, and often they glimpsed at the planted chrysanthemum next to the wide windows to the city. It has grown more, birthed a few more colorful blossoms. By this hour, Rohan would be watering it while mindlessly humming an old song from his decades. If only he was there. 

They sighed. The door knocked then. 

“Nimbus? You still up?” Quinn Laghari’s voice sounded from behind the door. “I just received a package from Earth meant for you. The sender is Osiris and Saint-14, and it’s warm and smells really nice. You better hurry up or I’ll eat it!” 

Few steps made to the door. They stared down at Quinn’s avatar followed by a frame she borrowed to deliver this package—and other things Nimbus didn't want to assume—that was nothing but a light-green box resembling neither of the Guardians' visual identities. The frame raised its arms and they eagerly picked it up. Quinn gave them a short grin, and Nimbus repaid it. Much was said in this small talk. 

Nimbus’ loneliness wasn’t so strange. With a lesser number of Guardians in the city and Osiris back at his home on Earth, they only have Neomuna—now much more prone to judge their decisions—and its citizens—who are independent, but in larger threats they are heavily dependent on them and they were too aware of this fact. None to share their struggle in late night conversations, or to fight by their side as an equal.

They opened the box carefully. Cookies of many flavors and different frostings wrapped within a transparent packing, no ribbons or ties, accompanied by a letter on top of it. When Nimbus caught the term “Dawning” on the paper, and they read about how they were a part of its celebration, they felt disconnected. Sure they knew which time of the common year it was. Sure they knew that within a few months, Neptune would accomplish another sidereal year. Jisu Calerondo will announce this every now and then and Nimbus would be one of the many icons of the Neptunian Revolution. 

But they didn’t feel excited for any of those holidays. Not one bit. 

Nimbus left the letter for the cookies, knowing that thinking too much about time and what they’re missing wouldn’t be anyhow cheering for tonight. These were well-scented and indeed warm, and perhaps they should share some of it with Quinn; but only after they taste it themself. 

One bite and they remembered home. Three, the cookies began to melt in their mouth. Four, and they thought that Rohan would’ve loved those; to the point of eating one too many and falling asleep on the couch. At the last bite, they missed Rohan so dearly it was impossible to not feel their heart sinking within the cavity of their chest. 

Nimbus stopped just to let the feeling wear them down, head to toes and limbs, in regards to the echoes every movement of theirs did in this large, empty lounge. Without his usual grumbles or his voice calling them for a reason, whatever it would be. It would persist until they became acquainted with it, until it no longer brings them this eerie solitude as if a piece missed. 

After the lump in their throat came the reminder of their true value to others and themself. To how life goes on even if it was dire to continue. 

When they felt like they could swallow, they ate the next cookie, and tried to read the letter again.