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Rover did not exist until she did. Her existence began and likely will end with a sword in her hands.
The world sees her as a greater power, and this is something that Rover has never believed in. Sometimes, she even believes there is something, someone before her, and in those quiet moments to herself, she looks at her reflection for a reminder of what she is. A leader. A protector. A fighter. And are these roles burdensome? Naturally. But knowing that she is here, always there, weapon-ready with welcoming arms for humanity from the beginning- that is the comforting weight of her sword. She is not letting go of it.
She doesn’t let go of it even as titles are placed on her head the way a smitten man adorns his lover with roses. Astral Modulator, Lady Arbiter, Chief Steward- she accepts all of them with grace, bashful maybe, but she does not accept them without acknowledging the solemnity of it all. Each acceptance is a promise she makes to the people of Solaris III. If Rover is the world to humanity then humanity is the world to Rover. Humanity, with their love and laughter and endurance- when Rover picks up her sword it is for all of those things.
She fights for the love of humanity, and maybe if she thinks this enough, she won’t crack under humanity’s pain.
Rover is not lonely.
She doesn’t have parents, or any kind of guardian figure. But she likes to think that when she founded the Black Shores, she found family.
”Family” wasn’t a concept she came to learn quickly. It’s still not one she knows well. But if there’s anything she learned from walking among humans, it’s that each person has their own meaning attached to the term. To her, perhaps family is… simply having a home to come back to. Over the centuries, the members of that family die out and are taken in, but they all bear the Blake bloom. They all bear the responsibility of humanity’s survival.
She tries not to think about how she’s different from them. The fact that she stays when her family dies of natural causes or the Lament’s cruelty is something she simply has to accept. Just because she stays, that doesn’t mean she gets to linger. Pay her respects, recount their memories, move on to the next fleeting life, repeat. There’s too much life in front of her to focus on the scent of death trailing behind.
But. It’s the ones who don’t go quietly that walk by her side.
Dying is inevitable, for the mortal. The Astral Modulator, as powerful as she is praised as, has accepted that fact as being a core limit in her abilities. She also firmly believes death is a necessary part of life. Even she, an immortal being- she’ll have her end, in time.
But if death is a necessary part of life… is it reasonable, then, to be at peace with death for the sake of life? Is it worth it to die, to give up your tomorrow, so others can have theirs? Is it simply an inevitable tragedy? Rover always wanted to tell those fallen heroes that they should fight for their next morning as hard as they do for the morning of their loved ones. But isn’t that her, a being with few bounds, being detached and unrealistic?
She doesn’t know if she’ll find that answer in her lifetime, but the questions walk behind her, begging her every second of her existence to look them in the eye.
So, no. The Astral Modulator is not lonely. She hears her friends' voices every night. The voices are always screaming, but at least they’re present. It’s like a lullaby, now.
The Black Shores needs an interpreter for the Lament’s data, a middleman. A woman with sky blue hair and a dress that trails like the gentle fluttering of butterfly wings enters — “Instance Two” is born.
Not that Rover would ever refer to someone as something so dehumanizing. Rover isn’t human, neither is “Instance Two,” but they are of humanity and deserve names.
Shorekeeper is hardly a name, and Rover expresses to her as much. She wants her to choose her name, but that kind of choice can only be made in time on the woman’s own terms. However, as the Astral Modulator quickly comes to learn, her word is Shorekeeper’s word.
Rover does not like that.
It isn’t something she will ever fault her for, of course — she’s been dropped into a world with nothing but a duty to face the horrors of this world and protect its people from them, just like Rover. And perhaps this initial understanding is why she feels the strong desire to give Shorekeeper more than that.
So Rover does. She brings her on missions in the overworld, provides her with the name of every flower they pass in Rinascita, tugs her along to the Moonlit Festival in Huanglong, asks her to close her eyes as the wind passes through the wind chimes in Mount Firmament so that she can hear the melody. She teaches her how to play a song on the piano that will calm her being after each time she gives up her body as an interpreter for Lament data. She wants to show her that, in this world of chaos and agony, there is a constant beauty among it all.
Even with all the power and strength the Astral Modulator wields, this is the best she can do. Digging up beauty from the ashes of another disaster is this world’s rhythm. If she can’t break it, let her revel in its small windows of flexibility.
The Shorekeeper is not as in tune with expressing her emotions, but Rover learns to recognize when she’s in pain.
“Duty is… sacrifice,” she tells her as she thumbs at a small crack on the other woman’s hands. She forces out the words even if she doesn’t quite believe them herself. Who is she, if she doesn’t say what needs to be said no matter her own grievances? “You carry the burden of the fallen’s pain. I know how it affects you. I won’t ask you to keep doing it.”
“The Tethys System requires my interpretation.”
Rover smiles wryly. “I’m not asking about our needs, my Shorekeeper. I’m asking about your will. What do you want in this life?”
“I…” Shorekeeper pauses, thoughtful. She seems to come up short, though- her eyes are lidded now, and she lets out a small breath. She looks… lost. “I do not know.”
Rover lets go of her hand, returning her fingers to the piano keys. “I didn’t know for a while either. Your answer will come with time and experience.”
Shorekeeper is silent for a moment as Rover plays. Then, she says, “What do you want in this life?”
“What do I want?” Rover chuckles. “It’s been a while since someone asked me that, actually. But, I’ve known my answer for a while, now.”
“I think I know it.”
Rover hums. “Alright, shoot.”
“No, I know I know it. I’ve felt it.”
She stops playing abruptly, turning her head to look at the other woman. “What?”
The Shorekeeper takes over the playing, playing the song Rover played just a moment before. Her playing is more hesitant, wary, but the music is almost clearer that way. She plays like she’s trying to understand every note. “Your feelings are always there when I interpret Lament’s data,” she says. “Like… a faint instrumental behind all the screaming. When it reverberates through me, I feel… helpless. But at certain points, the melody quickens and becomes sharper, and I feel a sense of hope. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to give humanity hope. And I think… you want to give yourself hope, too.”
Something in Rover’s chest swells. There’s a heavy weight in there, but for once she feels it being held, ever so gently. The Shorekeeper, ever observant, can see right through her, and for once, Rover lets herself sit with that vulnerability.
The Tethys system runs on human emotions. The Astral Modulator turns this realization over and over again in her mind, but doesn’t let it sink in long enough before she’s already delegating researchers to different parts of Solaris III with a newfound sense of urgency. She steels herself as she does so, letting her voice flow as usual, kind but firm, allowing no one to pick up on her anxiety. It’s a performance she’s familiar with, but she feels herself breaking out of the character with each fruitless report.
It’s the same routine she’s been following for centuries, but she’s praying to deities she’s not even sure exists that someone will find something. And isn’t that out of character for her already? Genuinely praying? In some parts of the world, she’s who people are praying to.
She’s not someone worth worshipping, especially when she has found that solution she and everyone in this godforsaken world have been praying for, searching for, fighting for, for 10,000 years.
What kind of god is she if she’s hiding that truth, for the sake of her own desire?
Right. She’s not a god.
This, she thinks to herself, bitter, is as human as she gets.
Rover is humanity’s constant. She’s the tempo of the world’s song, she is not allowed to stop. She doesn’t stop fighting when her body gives out, she doesn’t yell when her patience is spread thin, and she certainly doesn’t let anyone see her cry.
She won’t sleep.
She won’t yell.
And she certainly won’t let her Shorekeeper see her cry.
”What the fuck were you thinking?” she asks, but it sounds more like an accusation than a question. She knows she shouldn’t be blaming her. She knows, she knows- but the words keep tumbling out. “What did you expect me to do when I came back from Ragunna and found out you were dead?”
Shorekeeper doesn’t look at her, instead focusing on some random point behind her with hands folded as if she was relaying the outcome of a meeting. But Rover saw the cracks peeking out from out her clothes, with some even scarring her face. How is she acting so passive about it? As if her obvious pain doesn’t matter? Why is she trying to act like she doesn’t matter?
Why is she acting like her Shorekeeper doesn’t matter to her?
When Shorekeeper doesn’t answer, she lets out a steady breath and asks, “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to-“
”It was not that I wanted to die,” she says, and her bluntness stings. “I was carrying out the most efficient solution.”
She knew. Rover was a fool to pretend sealing her lips would stop her careful observance. ”Fuck, I- what? What about letting yourself die to be Tethys’ puppet is a good solution?”
“You said it yourself. It’s a loop. We cannot keep using the Lament against itself. You started a new expedition to find alternative solutions, but it’s already been established that I am the best solution. You want a remedy for the cause of the Lament, and I am here to serve your will. Your desire has always been to stop the Lament in its entirety-“
Shorekeeper abruptly stops talking. She reaches for Rover’s face.
Rover didn’t realize she was crying.
“My star-“
Rover interrupts her by grabbing her hand, turning it so it’s palm up. “You think this is what I wanted? Look at your hand. Look at the cracks. Look me in the eye and tell me that this is my will.”
Shorekeeper’s eyes flicker to her cracked hands. “I only want to ease your burden.”
”My Shorekeeper,” she says, pleading, “I know that’s not the only thing you want.” Rover intertwines their fingers. “You said that it’s not because you wanted to die. I know you want to live. Don’t you want to ride the gondolas in Ragunna? Watch the new plays in Jinzhou with me? Don’t sacrifice yourself for the sake of others when there’s another way-“
”My star, your knowledge is nearly boundless, but you don’t know that.” Shorekeeper’s eyes finally reach her own, and there’s a challenge in them. She gently pulls her hand away from hers, and Rover starts to wonder if this is a fight she’s actually going to win. “And is duty not sacrifice?“ Rover winces at her words being thrown back at her. “I understand what I’ll be losing. I’m one life, Rover. One sacrifice. It will be worth it.”
She stares at the Shorekeeper, the one who’s been by her side for thousands of years, in disbelief, her words “It will be worth it” tauntingly repeating in her head. “So you’re giving up?”
The other woman’s hands curl into fists at her side, and she looks past Rover into the endless sea. “No.”
”Then what do you call this?”
”My duty-“
”Why must that involve your death-“
“I want you all to be at peace.”
The Shorekeeper steps forward, reaching for her face until Rover is being caressed by her gentle hold. “I know the burden you carry. I know the nightmares that plague you, the voices you still hear even when their owners are long dead. I know you love humanity, and you taught me to love it too. I know what I want now. I want to fight for the humanity we hold so dearly. Let me do this last service to Solaris III and to you.”
Rover stands there, her being held by the only person she’d allow herself to be seen by. She wants to continue being held by her- tomorrow, the next day, and each dawn that follows.
Her Shorekeeper wants to give her tomorrow to everyone else. She should find beauty in it, no matter how tragic. But Rover cannot. She doesn’t see it. And, really, she admits to herself now, fully, truthfully, that she has never seen it.
What is sacrifice, if not a chance for others doubling as a surrender of yourself?
The realization hits her as gently as the fingers caressing her face. “You want to make a sacrifice?” She covers Shorekeeper’s hands with her own. “Live for me.”
“I…” Shorekeeper stares at her. “I don’t understand your request.”
Rover detaches the hands from her face and pulls her Shorekeeper into a tight embrace. Maybe if she holds her close enough, she’ll understand her message: “You do everything for others. For me. I’m begging you, my Shorekeeper, let me fight for you, even if it’s hard for you to do so. Please.”
A wave of silence ebbs in, but soon Rover feels hesitant arms wrapping around her. “… Okay.”