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Act I, Scene I: The cockpit of Belgard, interior.
⸢Signet⸣ hums a tune in chordal harmony with the engine’s sound as they drift through space. She absentmindedly runs a gentle hand along the wall of Belgard’s cockpit; she hangs lazily from the Divine’s aerial silks, letting Belgard take care of her own steering for the time being. More time for contemplation, she thinks.
What does it mean to die? For mortals, for the average person, ⸢Signet⸣ thinks, that question is… complicated. Even more so for certain Excerpts like her, granted extended life so that they could better serve the needs of their Divine and their community.
And for Divines themselves?
⸢Signet⸣ smiles, Belgard having chimed in as she so often does, with ⸢Signet⸣’s own thought preemptively echoed before it even had time to be formed.
I thought you were sleeping, Belgard says. You had not moved in many minutes.
“I haven’t been sleeping more than a few minutes at a time since we left the Mirage,” ⸢Signet⸣ admits aloud. “I need to keep watch on our new…ally.” She utters that last word with more than a little vitriol, causing Belgard to cool the silks ever so slightly in an attempt to calm her Excerpt.
Let me keep watch, Belgard intones, while you rest.
⸢Signet⸣ waves a dismissive hand, though she also reclines comfortably back into her silken hammock.
“So?”
So?
“What is your answer?” ⸢Signet⸣ chuckles softly; her Divine companion could be so pragmatic that it was often difficult to keep her engaged in conversations of philosophy.
About death, you mean?
⸢Signet⸣ nods.
Belgard is silent for a long beat.
Death for Divines is closer to a moment of rest than anything else. We go offline, halt our forward-moving plod of purpose, waiting for a time to return. Of all beings within known memory, we have more control over the decision to initiate this rest than most. And so we consider stopping, holding in a moment of serene stillness, a luxury.
⸢Signet⸣ smiles sadly; she has never been under the illusion that her own longevity was anything other than a gift from Divine to Excerpt, and in order to keep ⸢Signet⸣ alive, her Divine has had to be…diligent - repairing her often as one would a delicate or particularly finicky machine. But it had always been a give-and-take, she must remind herself.
A twinge of regret overtakes ⸢Signet⸣ for a moment, remembering the moment when her end of the bargain slipped, and Belgard had slipped into dormancy.
Now the silks warm, Belgard again sensing ⸢Signet⸣’s discomfort.
“What was it like? Being…gone?”
Quiet. Peaceful. I finally felt at one with the universe - not living to fulfill a purpose, simply… existing. And yet… I was lonesome. It was a rest borne out of necessity, rather than want. And I missed you, deeply.
“And I, you.”
—
Act I, Scene II: The Waking Cadent’s flagship, command deck, interior.
“What do you intend to do with these Divines, Cadent?” The question was intended to be innocent and off-handed, but ⸢Signet⸣ couldn’t help but color it with a bit of venom.
“That is not your concern, Excerpt. You chose to join my fleet, and thus you will follow my orders. That is all you need to know.”
⸢Signet⸣ grimaces at the verbal slight. Such jabs had become commonplace over the long journey, but they still sting nonetheless. Gone are the days when those around her would treat her with respect deserving of her station - or even treat her with curiosity, her station being of a bygone era. Now, each day is like this: wake up, argue with the Waking Cadent, attempt to do some good in the galaxy, and go to sleep.
Such is the rhythm of… what, the rest of her life?
The fleet (it is strange to call this pittance of ships a “fleet”, having lived so long in the majesty of the Divines) is in orbit around an unfamiliar planet, swirling violet below them, teeming with life and potential.
And still the two fight, high above its surface. What a waste of time.
“I am here as a courtesy, Kamala” (⸢Signet⸣ stifles a smile as the Waking Cadent winces, hearing her name, not her title) “I could have stayed behind, where I was wanted. And yet I am here, moving aimlessly through space, protecting the Divines you deign to keep around you.”
“‘Protecting’? What could these Divines possibly need protection from?” the Cadent scoffs, gesturing dismissively.
A beat. “You.”
“Me? You misevaluate me, Excerpt. I have known and seen Divines for longer than you have been alive - they have nothing to fear from me…
You, however.”
⸢Signet⸣ starts. She didn’t know the Waking Cadent to be someone for whom direct threats were ever an option. Perhaps ⸢Signet⸣ is not the only one whose patience is wearing thin.
She closes the distance between her and the Waking Cadent; ⸢Signet⸣ has the luck of being a solid head taller than her foe, which she uses to her full advantage in this moment.
“You do not scare me, Kamala. You never have. You may have had all of the resonant power at the beginning… but you did not know your Divine the way I know mine.”
“We both abandoned our charges, Excerpt,” spits the Cadent.
“But I came back to mine.” ⸢Signet⸣ now towers over the smaller woman, a slender finger pressed into the Cadent’s sternum. “You, whose first words to me dared to be about leashing my Divine, allowed yours to run amok across the galaxy. All because what… you were scared? Scared of the power that Divines held? Or perhaps scared of the vacuum that would emerge if that power disappeared? These are not tools, Kamala. They are not weapons. They are beings. Like you or I. And they deserve to be treated with respect, yes, but also love. And curiosity. And they should be allowed their independence. Their true independence.”
Perhaps invoking the name of the Cadent’s old Divine is going too far, but ⸢Signet⸣ does not care. She is tired of this; tired of merely drifting through space, tired of running, tired of doing no one any good.
A pause. A moment passes, where each of these women stand inches away from each other. ⸢Signet⸣ is briefly aware of the ice-cold breath of her opposer.
Then, the moment breaks as Kamala Cadence turns on her heel and stalks out of the room in silence. The clacking of her boots echoes behind her down the corridor.
An exhale from ⸢Signet⸣. She doubts that her words cracked the glacial heart of the Waking Cadent, but she still entertains a flickering mote of hope.
—
Act II: An unnamed asteroid orbiting an as-yet unfamiliar planet. Exterior.
Belgard touches down on the asteroid’s surface, pockmarked with craters and hills, more organic in shape than any rock in space had any right to be. With the twitch of a wrist, ⸢Signet⸣ directs her companion wordlessly towards a tunnel mouth leading downwards into the asteroid’s interior.
This place would make a good observatory post, for the time being, ⸢Signet⸣ thinks. Belgard hums her assention. The planet below invites observation, at the very least; this rock seems as good a place as any to watch the goings-on below. They wonder in tandem how long before the Waking Cadent insists on moving them to the next place, leaving nothing but footsteps in their wake.
Almost as if heeding their call, the Cadent lands her own mech bat-like just behind them, falling into step with Belgard as they make their way towards the asteroid’s interior. The comms crackle to life.
“I can feel great power and great potential in this place,” the Cadent’s voice says. Almost unwittingly, ⸢Signet⸣ rolls her eyes. She had not fingers enough to count the number of places on their short journey that ‘exuded great power and/or potential’ in the Waking Cadent’s eyes. This epithet has lost practically all meaning at this point. ⸢Signet⸣ gives no response - though perhaps, she thinks, just this once, the Waking Cadent has a point. Something about this place feels… different. A crux of fate, a point of inflection. Something about the rock under their machines’ feet seems to exude an aura of possibility.
The cavern beneath the surface echoes with the sounds of their footsteps as their constructs amble slowly, scanners sweeping every inch of their new surroundings. So far, there appears to be little of note already within the network of stone; this does not deter them, however, as they are looking less for what is already there and more for what could be there. ⸢Signet⸣’s mind drifts from simple observatory notions, to ideas of a more grand scale. What if this place was not just where they paused, but where they landed? She had not been looking for a new home before, but the life coating the planet below and the potential coming from the asteroid itself leads her to begin thinking of a place of more stability. Hadn’t she tired of the Fleet’s constant motion? Hadn’t she grown more and more frustrated with the Waking Cadent’s constant jabs and erosion of her willpower? Wasn’t she…tired?
…Quiet. Peaceful. I finally felt at one with the universe - not living to fulfill a purpose, simply… existing.
As Belgard’s words re-emerge in her mind, ⸢Signet⸣ slowly slides out of the aerial silks, bringing the Divine to a halt.
“Open communications with the Waking Cadent, please, Belgard.”
Another crackle as the two mechs connect. “Yes?” the Waking Cadent says, impatiently.
“Death, Cadent. That is the potential you feel in this place.”
“...are you threatening me, Excerpt?” The tone the Waking Cadent uses is flat, unemotive, almost as if she had been expecting such a turn of events.
⸢Signet⸣ plows ahead, not acknowledging the Cadent’s apparent paranoia. “Here, at the edge of the Quire system… above a planet so filled with life,” she gestures in the general gyroscopic direction of the planet below, “what if we stopped here? Created a space for those Divines who wish to…”
“Absolutely not.”
“If you would just listen to me…”
“What is a tool without a use? What is a machine without productivity? What is work without rigor?” The Waking Cadent’s voice echoes through Belgard’s cockpit, filled with the same vitriol one might hear from someone speaking about a particularly detestable vermin.
“Divines are not tools, Kamala. You know this. Or knew this, once. Can you not see beyond your self-interest to understand why a place of care and rest for Divines might be needed?”
“Rest is antithetical to my resonant plan, Excerpt. I say again: absolutely not. Do not continue to push this issue.” The Cadent’s mech turns and continues down the hallway.
A flash of perception: Terrible stasis. Injustice. Names and data. Poverty. Hunger. Loss. Time and age and cycles and cultivation and failure. And then just… cold.
Calmly, ⸢Signet⸣ climbs back into the silks, urging Belgard back into motion.
⸢Signet⸣… I am with you.
The first blow connects with the mech’s leftside upper back, sending the machine reeling forward.
Incoming communication from Kamala Cadence.
“Put it through.”
Are you sure?
A nod. Another haymaker punch, this one crushing the servos that power the right shoulder.
“⸢Signet⸣.” The Cadent speaks with more calm vitriol, finally uttering the Excerpt’s name like a curse while sirens and alerts blare in the background. “What exactly are you hoping to accomplish?”
No words in response; instead, Belgard grabs onto the shifting mech and pulls at its plating, tearing away fistfuls and exposing the interior wiring.
“This is mutiny. Treason. You are betraying the Resonant Orbit.”
“Oh Kamala,” ⸢Signet⸣ sighs softly as she twirls, directing Belgard into a grapple with the Cadent’s machine, “we left the Orbit far behind us. What loyalty you thought I had for you was mere placation. And I am done stroking your ego. I serve a greater purpose.” Together, Divine and Excerpt push the fight to the ground, the cave floor cracking with the impact.
Now on the ground straddling her opponent, Belgard deploys her shielding, bludgeoning the grounded mech with concussive impacts as the shield units swirl around her to form an iridescent dome and block escape. How funny, ⸢Signet⸣ thinks, that in her hundreds of years as Belgard’s pilot, she has never thought to use these protective pieces in an offensive manner.
It goes against my purpose. Belgard projects the intent of a wry smile. And am I not simply purpose made manifest?
The Waking Cadent has finally caught up to the pace of the fight, only just now beginning to direct her mech to fight back She throws an ineffectual punch from her supine position that Belgard simply parries away. Almost sad, ⸢Signet⸣ thinks. An ordinary mech simply cannot stand up to an Excerpt and a Divine, moving in perfect harmony the way two partners move in the most intimate of dances.
The Cadent attempts to push Belgard off of her, venting steam and fluid in a smokescreen to obscure Belgard’s sensors. This works for a moment, Belgard and ⸢Signet⸣ taking a precautionary roll to one side to avoid the blast, allowing the Cadent to stand herself and her machine up.
“Do you know why I see potential in all of these places and yet simply move on, ⸢Signet⸣?” A right hook from the smaller mech collides with an interposing shield. The Cadent’s mech-hand is crushed to scrap. “I built the Divine Fleet and the Resonant Orbit to be exactly that: an Orbit. A Fleet. Not an occupying force. Never should they have touched down on any singular place, never should they have allowed their tools to run amok outside of their control.” She punctuates her point with a headbutt to Belgard’s chest. ⸢Signet⸣ sways in the aerial silks as the mechs collide, most of the impact having been absorbed through Belgard’s joints and kinetic dispersal system. ⸢Signet⸣’s brow furrows as she internally acknowledges the Cadent’s logic.
“We must. Remain. Separate.” A flurry of blows rain down and push Belgard back towards the whirring dome of shield pieces; it is clear that the Waking Cadent has little regard for the integrity of her machine. The whining of creaking metal, out of balance and bent at unplanned angles, accompanies every futile hit from the mech. “We must not allow these Divines to interfere with sentient life.” A note of panic cracks the Cadent’s voice.
“What I am proposing is not interference, Cadent. It is memorial.”
⸢Signet⸣ twirls and Belgard grabs the forearms of the attacking machine, spreading them out cruciform and bringing the chest-mounted cockpits of both mech and Divine into touching proximity. ⸢Signet⸣ twitches and the silks retract and the cockpit hatch opens. Through a gash in the mech’s chest, she locks eyes with the Cadent, still attempting to pilot the mech in a struggle against Belgard’s grip.
“The difference between you and I, Kamala,” ⸢Signet⸣ raises her voice above the grinding and crunching of metal, “is that you believe Divines to be better off dead. I wish to give them the freedom to decide that for themselves.” Unbidden, Belgard disconnects the arms from the Cadent’s mech and, placing a foot against center mass, pushes the torso backwards once again onto the cave floor. The shields whirr closer to the pair as Belgard stands triumphant, her opponent well-pinned under the Divine’s foot.
⸢Signet⸣ steps calmly from the still open cockpit, landing just beside the gash in the fallen mech’s chest. She looks down into the opening, where the Cadent lays.
What now?
A vision is shared then, between Divine and Excerpt. It is unclear the providence of the idea, but each entity’s mind goes to their shared Exuvia, cast beetle-like in black and gold. The vision plays at first in reverse, showing perhaps the origin of the biomechanical device: it de-metamorphosizes before them, turning inward, into a pupal form not unlike Belgard’s at-rest shape. From there it continues to shrink, to larva… eventually splitting in three.
Then, the vision plays forward. The three forms come together as one - the largest of the three enveloping the other two in an embrace. Larva, to pupa, this time emerging not into the form of the Exuvia, but into something much, much larger. A grand being, in size and scale. Bound together by mechanics and biology, the new being rears back and bellows victory. Its skin glitters like the wings of a cicada. Its own wings unfold in leathery magnificence. It is a creature of age, of power, of beautiful potential.
⸢Signet⸣ smiles, gazing down at the helpless Waking Cadent.
“Just so. I always knew, Kamala Cadence, that I could never die before you. Little did I understand that I would instead be dying with you. What a beautiful choice to make, don’t you think?”
Belgard moves now, calling her whirling shields in closer still. Both Divine and shields begin to excrete a sort of concrete - not unlike the material that once held Privign station together, after the Waking Cadent’s takeover of the dead Divine. But this time, rather than holding together the shattered pieces of a single being, this concrete pulp brings together Divine, Priestess, and Prophet. As if in the belly of a chrysalis, this amalgam dissolves each individual self, rearranging their bodies and consciousnesses into a singular gestalt.
⸢Signet⸣’s eyes never leave Kamala’s. While the Cadent’s burn with fury, ⸢Signet⸣’s eyes sting with tears of relief.
Finally, they could rest.
—
Act III: The planet Palisade. A postlude.
It is said that the day the landers came was the day before Chimera’s Lantern first lit. The white-uniformed dead spread out along the battlefield, the Divine Principality standing triumphant as the last of the Advent Group was slaughtered.
It seemed there was only room for one colonial force in the galaxy, after all.
But this was not the day that Palisade would fall; not if the being in the moon had anything to say about it.
Thus, Chimera’s Lantern earned its name and lit from the inside, power exuding forth and enveloping Palisade in its protective embrace. The waters of Palisade rose, gravitationally pulled toward the moon, flooding the burgeoning settlements of the Divine Principality and leaving the colonized unharmed.
And then, the creature descended.
Their wings blocked out the glow from their home as they glided silently to the surface of the planet. This was the one and only time The Chimeric Cadent would leave its home and interfere in the matters of the planet below. As such, they performed most of their destruction under the cover of night - and under the glow of their moon. Towering three, four, five times as large as the largest machines the Principality had brought, their defeat was all but assured at the claws of the Chimera.
Of course, being saved by a strange amalgamated horror in the dead of night does not make for a good legend. So instead the new Duchy would credit their own knights, their Saint Luster, with fending off the invading force. And it would be told in whispered tones that perhaps the Embarkation was not just of the Divine Principality, but of the monstrous savior as well.
The Chimeric Cadent had no care for the legend it left behind, however. Its purpose, as self-defined, was to protect the autonomy of Divines and provide for them a place to rest and pass on. Therefore, its intercession into the fate of Palisade was spurred from a hatred of subjugation, not a desire to be remembered as a hero.
And so, on Embarkation Day, the Chimeric Cadent returned to Chimera’s Lantern and, for the first time, shackled themselves to their throne. From there, they would hold court for Divines escaping their servitude, granting each one a piece of or chamber within the Lantern to do with what they willed.
For this was the choice that the trio-made-one had made (one less willingly than the others, some might admit): to live forevermore as one, to uphold their own divine purpose so that others could be free from theirs, to ensure that Divines had the opportunity to become un-leashed and unburdened, holding no masters but themselves.
Freedom, for all time, The Chimeric Cadent thinks. This is what it means for a Divine to die.