Valiant

[Valiant #48: Shattered]

Log Date: ?/??/?????

Data Sources: Feroce Acceso, Kiwi

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

The Fountain of Souls

7:42pm SGT

Within the Fountain, I feel as though I stand on the edge of eternity.

It is an abyss that is vast and dark, seemingly without limit or definition; yet it is not entirely a void. Pale mist flows over the ground, black as night; curtains of light billow through the dark, twisting and winding before fading again. Some of them brush past me, getting caught on me as if they were actual fabric, before disintegrating and falling apart; and around my boots, the mist seeps over the edge of what appears to be a bottomless pit before me. I can tell, by the way it curves ever so slightly at the edges of sight, that it is a circle, but I cannot see the sides, nor what lies in the depths. The mist drifts down the sides of the pit, and eventually disappears beyond view, leaving no answer as to what waits for me.

But I don't need that answer, because I know Kiwi is down there.

And whatever else gets between me and her will simply be an obstacle to be pushed aside.

With that certainty, I step off the edge of the pit and let myself drop into it, the air beginning to rush past me as I pick up speed. It should terrify me, going into a freefall like this, but I’m not entirely sure there’s a bottom that can be reached. Whatever this realm is within the Fountain, it’s likely that it’s not bound by the rules that hold in the land of the living.

My suspicion seems to be validated when I just keep falling and falling without end, descending eternally into a massive pit so large I can’t see the far sides. Additionally, I seem to be falling further and further away from the side that I started on, as if I was being drawn closer and closer to the center of the pit as I fall. The silent curtain of mist seems to be growing more distant with every passing second, and I’m sure with enough time, it will fade beyond view. If it were the only thing happening, I might’ve been content to simply watch it happen.

But there are other things starting to come into definition around me, pale shadows that are starting to resolve the further down I go. Tilting my head back to gaze into the depths, I see hundreds… probably thousands of outlines; individuals that are, like me, are in endless freefall within this abyss. Unlike me, each of them seem to be streaming a long tail of dust behind them, almost like comets in the night sky; looking at the nearest one, I realize that the glowing trails are not merely ornamental. The person is slowly being eroded; there are holes in their ghostly outline, patches where the very fabric of their being has disintegrated into so many of the glowing motes now trailing behind them.

And I quickly realize that the abrading wind is not just for the dead, because I can feel it begin to grind past me as well, like a divine sandblaster blazing up from the pit below us.

Wincing at the sensation, I throw an arm up over my head in an arc, like I was pulling a blanket over myself. With my Spark still active, a curtain of blue light follows the motion, forming an envelope around me and protecting me from the unseen force flowing up from the depths of the pit. Even though it shields me, I find myself having to refresh it every so often, since the abrading force is constantly wearing away at it. I find myself understanding now how Masks are ground down into the dust that eventually forms new Masks.

With that protection in place, I turn my attention to the thousands of other outlines scattered throughout the pit, glowing in the dark. I can only assume these are other Masks, or at least fragments of Masks, represented by the forms they would’ve had in the land of the living. By that logic, Kiwi must be somewhere here among them — as a matter of fact, there might be multiple of her scattered here, since Makalu shattered her Mask. I’m not sure how I’m going to find her, and for a moment, doubt begins to creep in. Even if I can find shards of her Mask, I’m not sure I can find all of them among the thousands of souls here, and even if I do find all of them, I’m not even sure what I’ll be able to do. I don’t know how to get back out of here, and even if I can, I don’t know if her Mask can be put back together. I don’t know anything about how this works, and whether any of it is fixable.

But when I think about the alternative — coming back empty-handed, living without Kiwi — I can’t accept it. I won’t accept it. Even if I don’t know what will happen, I have to try. I have to bring her back with me.

So I twist and start to angle myself, seeing how much control I have over my motions here and whether I can navigate this abyss. I find that I can generally move in the direction that I want to go, so long as I tilt myself in the direction; the only way to judge my movement is by my position relative to the other souls in this abyss, since there are no other landmarks or geography to use as reference. I start working my way sideways through the scattered field of souls, gazing quickly at each one, but after the first dozen or so, with none of them looking like Kiwi, I’m starting to realize how difficult this is going to be — especially since many souls simply look like indistinct lines of light at a distance.

But that is the only option I have available to me at the moment, so that is what I will have to do.

I continue working my way through the abyss, gliding past soul after soul, searching for any sign of Kiwi. I find myself refreshing the curtain of blue light around me every few minutes or so to keep the abrading force from grinding me down, and it’s on one of these instances, when I’m casting it around myself again, that I notice a cerulean glow around my wrist. The runemarks that Kiwi used to tangle with me are active, and their brilliance seems to swell and fade as I move my hand around — and particularly, they brighten whenever I move my hand in a certain direction.

I think I have a compass.

I immediately change direction, tilting in the direction that seems to produce the brightest glow around my wrist. Souls start to pass me by even faster, and though I give them passing glances just to make sure I’m not missing anything, most of my attention remains on my glowing runemarks. Whenever they dim, I adjust course until they brighten again, and eventually the brilliance starts steadily climbing — and I look up to see that I’m fast approaching a soul that, even at a distance, I can tell is Kiwi.

Problem is, I’m moving to fast to keep myself from slamming into her, so all I can do is try to brake as I come up on her and throw my arms out to catch her.

But the moment I do —

“So, out of curiosity — would any of you ever consider leaving the service if you found somebody?”

The others all give me looks, some of them easier to read than others. Tony, as usual, gives away nothing; Tarocco looks away and sips from her drink, while Cahriu grins. “You thinkin’ about giving the Council the middle finger so you can run off with your fairy-tale vampire?”

I shrug. “Maybe. I just wanted to get the take from other Masklings, see what you guys would do if you were in that situation.”

“I mean, it’s not like being in the service keeps you from being in a relationship with someone outside of it.” Tarocco says. “There’s plenty of people that are married or bonded or tangled that have partners outside the service, and it works just fine for them. You don’t have to leave the service just to be with Songbird.”

“Yeah, but she has to answer directly to the Council, right?” Cahriu points out. “She’s expected to do more than your normal Mask Knight. Figure it’s different for her.”

“It is different for me. That’s why I’d like to leave if I get the chance. Work for the Valiant directly, instead of being an asset that’s on loan from the Republic.” I say, rocking my drink a little. “I wanna be in control of my life. Don’t want to worry about being yanked away from the person I care about.”

“The Council’s not going to do that, Kiwi.” Tarocco says, rolling her eyes.

“You say that, but…” I mutter.

“What do you think, Tony?” Cahriu says, shifting his attention. “You haven’t said anything.”

“There is more to life than just love. A person can find purpose in more than just being someone else’s partner.” Tony answers as she examines her drink, detached and aloof as usual. “There is nothing wrong in dedicating your life to your nation, especially when you are working to better the lives of your fellow citizens.”

“You say that, but I’m pretty sure you’d change your tone if your pretty little kitty was on the table, instead of being monopolized by the slutty vampire.” Tarocco mutters from behind her drink.

Tony narrows her icy eyes at Tarocco. “That’s rich, coming from someone that’s been single for half a decade.” Taking a sip of her drink, she goes on. “I have learned to be whole and complete whether I am single or taken. If you let someone else become so much a part of you that you lose yourself when they are no longer there, then you have inflicted that damage on yourself. I appreciate the value of love just as much as the next person, but to lose yourself in it is weakness. If you cannot imagine life without your partner, then you have made a mistake, or you are refusing to plan for the future.”

“Bleh. This is what we get for asking the sleeper agent her opinion on love.” Cahriu groans, leaning back in his chair.

“Fair point. You have to be a bit of a sociopath to take a deep cover assignment.” Tarocco agrees. “Able to emotionally detach while appearing normal on the surface.”

“I hardly find it classy to remind both of you, but it was my dedication to maintaining my cover that allowed us to recover the Cradle. That mission would’ve failed had I not bided my time and acted at the right moment to sabotage the Commander.”

The ribbing continues, but I find myself quiet as I process Tony’s words. I hadn’t thought I fit into that category of people that were wildly in love with their partner and couldn’t live without them, but I sit here, thinking about what my life would be like without Feroce.

And I find that I can’t imagine it, because it is incomprehensible to me.

—back in the abyss once more, tumbling through the void with my arms around a ghostly Kiwi that’s clinging to me. For a brief moment, I can see the flicker in her eyes as she recognizes me; but right as I’m about to speak, she disappears in my arms, or at least it seems like it. It takes me a few seconds to understand that her ghostly manifestation has collapsed down into a piece of something that I fumble to grab and hold onto — realizing, once I catch it, that it’s a shard of green glass with red accents.

I’m holding a piece of Kiwi’s Mask.

I stare at it for a moment, then tuck it away in my jacket where I can keep it safe and close to my heart. Checking my runemarks around my wrist, I find that they’ve dimmed now that I have the shard, once more acting as a compass as I tilt my arm in other directions. Somewhere out there in the abyss, there are other shards of Kiwi’s Mask, waiting to be retrieved.

One down, many more to go.

I don’t waste time in heading towards the next shard, knowing that time is of the essence here. The longer it takes me to retrieve all of Kiwi’s shards, the more time they’ll spend exposed to the eroding force within the Fountain. I don’t know how long it takes for a Mask, or a piece of it, to completely disintegrate, but I’m not interested in finding out. I’m not going to lose any part of Kiwi if it can be helped, and I plan on gathering all of her shards, because I want all of her back, not just fragments of the person I loved.

It takes me a few minutes to reach the next shard, which feels like a long time, but relative to the size of the pit and the number of souls in here, isn’t as bad as it could be. This time I know enough to slow down before I reach her, so it’s less of a tackle, and more of a gentler grab. This shard of Kiwi seems a little different; I can’t quite put my finger on it, though in the seconds before I reach her, I think it’s either her jacket or clothes — she’s not wearing the Valiant jacket or uniform—

“He knew what he was getting himself into.” Forecast says as I pull the sheet back over the dead Maskling. The fissure marks across his torso are all too familiar by this point, but I still don’t like looking at them.

“You always say that.” I reply quietly. “Do you really believe it?”

“In the sense that it might demand his life, yes. It is part of the risk we take on when we join the service. Each Mask Knight knows this.” Forecast answers with his typical calm and reserve. “Freedom is not a bloodless purchase. A better future is often built on the backs of those who will never see it.”

“He was… nice.” I murmur, letting my hand slip off the sheet covering him.

“Oh?”

“He didn’t feel the need to prove himself. Wasn’t interested in sleeping with me. He was…”

“Mm?”

“…almost… like a friend, I guess.” I say after a moment of searching for the words. “Draining him felt different from draining my other handlers.”

“Is that so. Would you mind elaborating on that?”

“It’s hard to describe. I guess I felt… guilty about it.”

“That is not a bad thing.”

“I didn’t like it.” I say, turning away from the table where the body is laid, and walking around Forecast on my way to the door. “I don’t want to feel that way again. When they’re selecting my next handler, I want to see the candidates and pick the one I want.”

“I will pass the request along. I cannot guarantee it will be granted.”

“I’ll take it up with the Council if I have to.”

“Just to remind you, the S-Twos through the S-Fives don’t get a choice, Feather.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m the S-One.”

I’d been planning on saying something to Kiwi after coming out of the next memory, but what I saw has me disoriented. I have enough time register that she’s clinging to me; there’s that moment of recognition; and then her ghostly form collapses into another shard, one that I’m quicker to grab this time. As soon as I’ve got it safely tucked away, I shake my head, trying to compartmentalize the things I’ve seen. After remembering to refresh the curtain of protective light around me, I’m back on my way once more, moving to the next shard among the many other ghostly specters falling in this endless abyss.

It takes me a little longer to reach the next shard, and then a little longer on the next one, and the one after that. And every time, it is the same; I’m treated to the quick flash of a memory as through Kiwi’s eyes; a moment in her life that was either defining or formative in that period of time. Every time I reach another shard, there’s something a little different about both her manifestation and the memory, and though I struggled to put my finger on it at first, I eventually realize what it is that I’m noticing:

With each shard that I collect, we’re moving backwards in time through Kiwi’s life.

That becomes clear to me on the eighth or ninth flashback; even though she isn’t getting any younger because Masklings can control their aging, the maturity itself is regressing bit by bit, and the memories reveal a timeline in reverse. That’s solidified on the memory of the first time Kiwi met Tarocco, their friendship beginning with snark rather than sincerity; and there are other milestones that mark the progression of a life. Thirtieth birthday, first (and last) female handler, second time dying, third time picking up a new Maskbearer — on and on and on. Some of these things are ones that I’d known about; others, she’s never told me; and each one is a glimpse into life as Kiwi knew it, seen through her eyes.

And it occurs to me, somewhere around the fifteenth shard, that if this keeps up for much longer, we’ll soon be delving into the depths of Kiwi’s childhood.

That’s something that becomes apparent as I continue hunting down her shards among the thousands of souls here in the Fountain; each time I’ve come upon one, there’s something a little different about it, like snapshots of Kiwi taken at certain points in her life. Her hair might be done in a different style; her clothes usually vary from the ones that the previous shard was wearing. And after the most recent shard, I’m starting to realize that all the shards have started to look younger as we progress back into Kiwi’s early twenties — and now, with the shard I’m reaching out to, her late teens—

“Are you kidding me? Just let me have this! It’s literally one elective class!”

“We have already explained to you, multiple times, that preparing you for your future takes precedence.” Forecast says patiently. Always with that calm tone of his; I just hate it. “If you would like to pursue this hobby during your free time—”

“What free time? I literally spend most of my time on homework and training when I’m not in school!” I snap at him. “I crammed all my required courses last year so I could have this gap in my schedule this year, so I could take something that might be fun! I should get to choose what class I get to take for the gap!”

“School is for preparing you for your future, not for having fun.” Forecast says, and the tone is familiar. I know he’s not going to budge on this, and I already know how it’s going to end, but I’m not going to just lie down and take it. This isn’t fair and if I have to be miserable, I’m going to fight him all the way and make it miserable for him too. “If you can explain to me how taking a beginning-level art class will make you a more capable Mask Knight, then I will let you take the course.”

“Why do I need to justify everything to you?” I demand. “Why do you always need a reason? Why can’t I just do something because I like it, huh? Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

“Because we do not have the luxury of doing things simply because we like them, Feather.” Forecast says, folding his arms. “I have explained this to you before. We do the things we do for a reason, and the reason is to make the galaxy good for others. These luxuries that you want to enjoy — someone has to fight for them and protect them. We are the people that do that, so that others may enjoy those luxuries, and one day, when we have rendered our service, we may enjoy them too.”

“I don’t want to wait decades to have to enjoy something! And why we do we have to be the ones that make the sacrifice for everyone else?” I shout at him. “Why can’t other people make the sacrifice? Why can’t we just have everyone do what they should to enjoy these things? Why do we have to be the ones to protect it for them?”

“Because that is our duty.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, Feather.”

Anger. So much anger; the anger of youth, the resentment of someone who did not get to choose who they got to be. Even coming out of the flashback, I feel it still lingering, disrupting my ability to think straight, and when I finally manage to shake it, the ghost of this younger Kiwi has already collapsed into the shard I hold in my hand.

Tucking it into my jacket, I have to collect my thoughts before I start pursuing the next shard; these glimpses are revealing things about Kiwi that I would’ve never truly understood, even if she had told me about them. It’s only by learning about them this way — seeing it through her eyes — that I’m really starting to understand what her life was like. It’s only by experiencing these memories that I’m beginning to grasp why she wants to break free of the Council so badly; to leave the service of her nation and be her own person. This is all she’s known, even since she was young, and she never had the option to be anything other than what they planned for her to be.

There is something akin to dread building in me as I weave around more souls, closing in on the next shard; a feeling that stems from what I’ve seen so far. Part of me that wants to know more, wants to better understand this person that I’ve tangled with, in senses both literal and metaphorical; but there is also a part of me that is scared of what I might find, or what I might see with each new flashback. That perhaps I might find out something I shouldn’t know, or that I might not recognize the person I thought I knew so well.

That concern is only reinforced as the next shard comes into view, and I find that she is in fact becoming less and less recognizable the further we go into her past. This young tween version of Kiwi isn’t entirely human, and looks more like an avian vashaya’rei, with long, feathered ears that have independent movement, and downy fluff around her eyes and the back of her neck. She’s lanky and awkwardly proportioned, as if her growth spurt isn’t hitting all the same characteristics at once; it has this weird effect of making her look smaller than she is as an adult, but bigger than she should be as a child. Yet even so, I reach for her arm as I arrive—

Wretched.

I have never felt this way before. Well no, that’s a lie. I have felt this before, little bits and pieces of it. It has always been there, lurking below the surface. Whenever people pick me last for gym games at school. Whenever people avoid sitting near me in the cafeteria. Whenever people try to trip me on the bus while I’m trying to get off at my stop.

The feeling that I don’t belong; that there is no place for me in this world.

I sit on the living room floor with my knees pulled to my chest, staring at the door of the apartment, hoping that any moment now, I will hear a knock. That someone decided to show up. At first I hoped it would be some of the people that… well, I wouldn’t call them friends, just classmates that felt sorry for me. But if they wouldn’t show up, I was hoping that some of the other people I gave invitations to would show up. The people I barely knew… even the people that were mean to me, that laughed at me when I offered them the cards.

Somebody. Anybody. Even the people I hated.

Because that would be better than nobody.

A creak in the kitchen gets my attention, and I look around to see Forecast standing there in the threshold. He’d taken off for this today, to help set up the decorations and bake the cake. I hadn’t expected him to do this because we usually don’t do things like this. He almost never let me go to parties for other kids, so I hadn’t expected him to let me have a party of my own, and I was so happy when he agreed. But now that happiness was just ashes in my mouth.

“Nobody came.” I say, my voice quavering as the tears finally start to break through from where I’d been holding them back.

He takes a deep breath; there is that expression on his face that he always has when things go the way he expected them to, and they go badly. He had warned me; had said that he didn’t think it was a good idea and that maybe we could go to the zoo for my birthday instead. But no, I wanted a party.

A party no one came to.

Crossing the living room, he kneels down next to me, and I turn and wrap my arms around him as I burst into tears. It all feels so stupid and foolish now. All the ribbons and balloons that no one would see, all the cookies and cake that nobody would eat, all the games I’d pulled out of the closet that no one would play. It had just been a waste of time and effort, and I feel like such a fool for thinking that anyone would want to come to a party for me.

“W-why don’t they like me?” I hiccup through my tears. “Is it because my ears are so big? Is it because I have feathers, and I, I, I look different from everyone else? Why can’t I look like them? Why do I look like this? Why can’t I look like you?”

“There is nothing wrong with the way you look, Feather.” Forecast says, wrapping his arms around me. “This is how you are born. It was not your fault. And I only look the way I do because I have to. My job requires that I look human, but that is not what I want to be.”

“I don’t wanna be a Maskling!” I wail. “Nobody likes me and everybody hates me and I just wanna be human and have friends like everyone else and, and n-nu-nuh-not this!”

“I’m sorry, little one. We don’t get to choose what we get born as. We might be able to hide it as we get older, but we will always be Masklings. We might be able to change what we look like, what we are, but we cannot change who we are — and we are Masklings.”

It was just the first of many times I’d be taught this lesson. Again and again, because I was hardheaded and bad at learning, but this was one lesson that the universe was willing to teach me, over and over again.

That life wasn’t fair, and it didn’t care.

It hurts.

That last memory stabbed itself into me and stayed wedged in there, somewhere right near my heart. I find it hard to breathe; I barely have the presence of mind to grab the Mask shard before it gets beyond my reach. I hadn’t known; I hadn’t realized. To me, Kiwi had always seemed like a fully formed and developed individual, and while I’d known she’d probably had a childhood and upbringing, I had just never thought about what she might’ve been like as a child. Had I been prompted to think about it, I would’ve assumed that a young Kiwi wouldn’t have been all that different from the adult Kiwi: brash, confident, and charismatic.

I would’ve never guessed my partner — for as attractive and self-assured as she was — had been so insecure and lonely as a child. And it broke my heart to know that she had struggled as much as she did. Not that it mattered some thirty years after the fact, but I just wanted to hug that younger version of her and tell her that it was going to be okay; that she would eventually grow into someone amazing, albeit flawed.

It takes me a few minutes to recover from that, and once I do, I’m back on my way once more, in search of the next shard. But as I go, I notice that the scattered souls in the abyss have thinned out, as if there are fewer and fewer of them at this depth; I’m not having to steer around quite so many of them, and most of the ones that I pass seem to be close to completely collapsing into dust. You can barely make out the people that they used to be, with so many holes and such large chunks of them missing or entirely eroded away. And a fear starts to rise in me that any shards of Kiwi past this point might also be in that state; so I lean further in the direction that my runesmarks are pointing me for the next shard, hoping I can get there before the scattered pieces of Kiwi suffer too much damage.

But when the next shard comes into view, I realize, almost immediately, that something’s wrong with it, and it isn’t what I’d been expecting.

Where the other souls are all disintegrating and being eroded, this next shard of Kiwi looks like a glitching hole in the fabric of reality, a geometric black spot that shifts and jumps around. Behind it is what I assume is the shard itself, taking the form of a younger version of the Kiwi I just encountered, but it’s hard to tell with the erratic shroud covering most of it. I check my runemarks again, just to make sure I’m headed in the right direction, and they’re glowing brightly towards the anomaly that I’m approaching. There’s no doubt about it; that’s Kiwi. But something isn’t right.

Still, that doesn’t stop me — so even though I’m not sure how to handle this one, I reach out to it nonetheless as I draw near. With the glitching shroud getting in the way, it makes it hard to catch hold of her, but it moves off of one of her little arms for a passing interval, and I take the chance to reach out and snag hold of her hand—

My earliest memory, before even Forecast had rescued me—

Something isn’t right. This memory is—

—the forest, so green in the spring, thunderstorms washing through each week—

—tampered? Redacted? There’s holes where important details should be—

—the place where he found me, starving and thirsty and lost—

—this feels… intentional, like things are being protected, withheld—

—beneath the red tree, my brown-eyed boy—

—the things she’s talking about have been blacked out with squirming, erratic voids—

—my first friend, my first love, my Frosh—

—is this something hidden, or lost?—

—and then I am here again in the abyss, the glitching fragment collapsing down into a shard of her Mask that seems stable. I’m not sure what happened there, or what’s wrong with this shard; this flashback felt like it had been heavily manipulated to conceal and withhold information, with the purpose for doing so being unclear. It was something that, in my present circumstances, likely did not matter all that much; but it still stuck with me, even though there were other, more important things to worry about right now.

Like the fact that my runemarks are no longer glowing.

They’ve gone dark and inert, and the only reason I can imagine for that is that I’ve managed to collect all the shards of Kiwi’s Mask. Looking around, I see that the number of souls roundabout me has dwindled to almost nothing; I am still falling, but past this point, no souls have survived the erosive force within the Fountain. Below me, there is only more darkness, an eternal fall with no discernible end. Perhaps I am the only one that has ever fallen this deep, and survived.

At this point, I am not sure what to do next. I don’t know how to get out of here; I could try going back the way I came, but I have no way to head back up, and I don’t know what lies below, if there is anything below at all. All I know is that I did what I came here to do, which was gather the shards of Kiwi’s Mask, and I have them now, safe within my jacket. Closing my eyes, I start to curl up around them, hugging them close to myself as I fall deeper into the endless abyss.

No matter what comes after, I’ll keep them safe, for however long it takes.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Makalu’s Krigstein: the Cavern of Study

??/??/????? 6:29pm SGT

It takes me a while to come to my senses.

I’m lying on something soft and warm, and eventually realize that it’s sand. I don’t know how long I’ve been here; the last thing I remember is gradually losing consciousness after spending an unknown amount of time curled up, sinking into the abyss within the Fountain of Souls. Everything slowly fading into oblivion as I remained curled around the shards of Kiwi’s Mask—

The shards.

My eyes snap open, taking a couple seconds to focus and get adjusted to the light. In the sand around me are the Mask shards I’ve gone through so much trouble to retrieve; I start to push myself up, reaching for the nearest ones.

Only for a boot to come down on my arm, pinning it in place.

I grit my teeth and try to twist around, seeing that the person pinning my arm down is a petite woman with pale, pale blond hair, and light blue eyes, dressed in black uniform with green highlights. I recognize her, even though her name isn’t coming to me — I know I’ve met her before, though I can’t quite place it. If nothing else, the reflexive anger I feel when I look at her tells me that I’ve probably fought with her before. Behind her, the hulking frame of Makalu is rising from a chair next to a stone workbench, delicately taking a pair of spectacles off his face as he speaks.

“It cannot be… do not injure him, Vakalahi. This has never happened before; it must be studied.”

It clicks as soon as he says her name, and all the memories come rushing back. This was one of the S-Twos that attacked me in the garden on Nichoyae, burned my eye out of my socket with her iris runes. It was the one that wanted to know how Kiwi tangled with me without consuming me like she did with all her other handlers.

I immediately twist in the other direction, swinging my other arm around to hit her leg and try to knock her off her feet by grabbing the ankle of her other leg and yanking. She goes sprawling on her back in the sand, kicking furiously as she tries to scramble back to her feet; I’m halfway to doing the same before a crushing force flattens me back against the sand, keeping me pinned down. Makalu walks over, a hand raised with an orbit of orange runes around his wrist; the amount of power he can put into his spells is just unbelievable.

“You told me he was dead!” Vakalahi hisses as she gets back to her feet, brushing sand off her uniform.

“That is what I believed, for only the dead go into the Fountain.” Makalu says as he comes to a halt, standing over me. “He told me he would return, but I assumed this was the hubris of ignorant youth. He does not know our stories or culture; he did not know that it was not possible. And yet he has returned. I must know why, and record it for the sake of our people.”

“I understand that, but what are we going to do with him afterwards?” Vakalahi demands. “We cannot keep him here, and we cannot let him go back! He has seen me, and he would know where this planet is—”

“Be still, Vakalahi.” Makalu commands, and she instantly goes quiet. “He may be brash in his youth, much like you, but he has accomplished something of great import. We do not reward excellence with death; and until I know how he managed to return from the place where only the dead go, he will remain alive. He is proof that there is always more to learn, even when you have lived as long as I have.”

Vakalahi clearly doesn’t like the verdict, but it’s also clear that Makalu’s command is the final word, and she has no desire or ability to defy it. “Understood. But we will need to figure out what to do with him. We cannot let him go back; he would be a significant breach of our secrecy—”

“I will decide what to do with him when I have learned what I need to learn.” Makalu says with finality, making it clear that the topic is not up for negotiation. With Vakalahi silenced, he turns the singular focus of his gaze on me, the molten glow of his orange eyes unnerving. “I remember you entered the Fountain in pursuit of the woman you loved. It is not uncommon; many have done this before. We have stories about how they never returned, and they serve as parables to our children, to caution them against the madness of love, and also to teach them that the Fountains are for the dead alone. And yet here you lie, with a shard in hand and many more around you. Tell me, young vampire — have you done what I think you have?”

I bare my fangs at him. “I warned you I would return. You did not listen.”

“I heard you, but I did not believe.” he says, slowly crouching down and resting his burly forearms on his bent knees as he examines me. “I have known too many like you, who thought that love would be sufficient. Who thought that emotion or stubbornness alone would be enough to surmount the impossible, and typically made fools of themselves as a result of their hubris. And yet somehow, here you lie… so clearly there is something that sets you apart from them.”

His eyes come away from me, a ring of molten runes glowing to life around his other wrist as he twists that hand, and the shards of Kiwi’s Mask start rising out of the sand around me. I try to reach out and grab them, but that crushing, unseen force flattens me back down into the sand again, and even the one shard I had managed to grab is pried out of my hand. “Do not test me, Makalu; if you do not give her back to me—”

“Calm yourself. I am not going to harm either of you; you have more value to me intact, as anomalies that need to be studied, so we can better understand them.” Makalu says. “I am not above learning from my enemies, though I do not consider myself your enemy, even though you may consider me yours. And even if you were, I am a man of the old ways. I believe in treating my enemies with respect, and giving dignity to those who are willing to suffer and die for the causes they believe in. It is not an easy thing to do, and it should be recognized as such.”

Though I don’t necessarily relax, my willingness to escalate fades a bit. Despite all he’s done, despite how dangerous he is, there is something… honest about Makalu, something forthright and… noble, is the only word that comes to mind. There is a quiet wisdom and dignity in the way he holds himself, and in the way he treats others, even when they oppose him. He’s unlike any other enemy I’ve ever had before, and it’s for that reason that I don’t entirely know how to deal with him. At times, I almost catch myself admiring him — that maybe I can learn something from the way he treats his enemies.

“I shattered this Mask into so many pieces, and yet…” Makalu muses as the shards of Kiwi’s Mask are pulled through the air until they form a loose approximation of how they fit together like a puzzle. “…it seems like you have gathered every piece. Not a single fragment is missing. It may be broken, but you have retrieved her whole… I am curious: what did you plan on doing next? A broken Mask cannot have a Maskbearer; it is unable to fuse with a host as fragments alone.”

I stare at the hovering shards of Kiwi’s Mask, being unable to provide a good answer. The truth was just that I hadn’t thought that far; there was nothing more to it. All that had mattered in the moment was that I get her back. “I would’ve figured something out. I would’ve made it work.”

“From anyone else, I would’ve assumed they were delusional, or in denial.” Makalu says, starting to stand back up, the shards of the Mask floating with him. “But after what you’ve done, I am not fool enough to believe it would’ve been beyond your reach. Vakalahi, put him to sleep for now.”

Realizing what’s about to happen, I try to struggle to get back to my feet, but the unseen force is still pinning me down. Behind me, Vakalahi has snapped her golden runes out around her wrists, and is pointing them down at me; I try to get purchase on the sand to squirm out of the way, but I can barely move more than a couple inches. As certain runes lift away from the orbits around her wrists, a glow starts to build in her hands, until—

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Makalu’s Krigstein: the Cavern of Study

3/??/????? 7:38am SGT

When I come back to consciousness again, I find that I’m strapped to a stone table that might resemble an operating bed if it was in a medical location. Although ‘strapped’ is a loose description; looking down, I see there’s no physical restraint on me — the only thing holding be down appear to be runes carved into the stone, glowing and keeping me plastered on the surface as if I was magnetically drawn to it. I still appear to be in the same location as I was before; the Fountain of Souls is right there in the corner of the cavern, and Makalu is sitting at the stone workbench carved out of the cavern wall, not far from me.

“It is good to see you are awake.” he says without looking up from whatever he’s working on. “Your consent was needed for this next part.”

I furrow my brow at that, trying to get a grasp on my groggy thoughts and make sense of what I’ve woken up to. “What?”

“This must understandably be confusing for you.” he says as he finishes assembling something that looks like a syringe with runes etched into the glass. “At this point in time, since you have returned from the Fountain, you have spent more than ninety-five percent of your time unconscious. Conversations were had, and research was conducted, while you were indisposed.”

I blink several times, trying to clear my head. “Are you going to run experiments on me?”

“Tempting, but I have decided against it. The decision was a product of many factors, one of which is my growing respect for you.” he says, testing the syringe’s plunger before setting it down on the workbench. It looks like Kiwi’s Mask has been assembled on the bench, all the pieces carefully arranged in the locations where they would be if the Mask were to be pulled together and made whole. “I have instead decided that questions will suffice. I would very much like to know what your experience was in the Fountain of Souls.”

I try to move again, but whatever runes are keeping me pinned to the table, the magic is damn strong. “Why do you want to know?”

“There are a number of reasons. Some of them are scientific; some are religious; some are philosophical.” Makalu says, turning in his chair to face towards the table I’m on. “I would like to know what you saw in there, and how you retrieved the shards of the Mask.”

“Why should I tell you?” I pant.

“Professional courtesy, I hope. I have elected not to kill you, so I would like it if you reciprocate a portion of my generosity.” he says, taking a notebook from the workbench and opening it. “Your answers may one day help define the Maskling understanding of the cycle of life, death, and renewal, if it helps. What you choose to share with me about your experience in the Fountain could influence what billions of people believe in. But, no pressure, of course.”

I’m struggling to wrap my head around this surreal experience. “You enabled Prophet. You helped a religious psychopath kill billions of people, and now you’re strapping me to the table and asking me about the afterlife like it’s… some sort of… research experiment? What is even going on?”

Makalu’s brows draw together at that, as if he found my words perplexing. “Indeed, I did enable Prophet. Something you witnessed with your own two eyes; something which I freely admitted to you of my own accord. Let me ask, Songbird: how long were you in the Fountain?”

I furrow my brow again at that. “How should I know? There’s… you can’t really tell in there, there’s no way to track the passage of time. It’s just an endless abyss without a bottom, filled with souls…”

“No sense of time, and an abyss of souls.” Makalu says, starting to write in his notebook. “Very good. This is a good start. And the souls that you saw in there — can you describe them to me?”

“No. I’m not going to do this.” I grunt, trying to pull free of the slab again. “I’m not here to be your— your— I don’t know. I didn’t go through everything I went through just to sit through this. Now let me — rrrgggh — let me off this stupid bed—”

Makalu watches me struggle for a moment, before putting his pencil down in his notebook. “I suppose this would test your patience, wouldn't it… having crossed the veil of death to save your lover, and returning to the realm of the living, only to be given a scientific interrogation of your journey. It must seem trifling, to be troubled with something so trivial after all you have gone through.” Closing his notebook, he sets it back on the workbench. “Very well. You are owed the service you have earned for having gone so far, and having sacrificed what you did.”

My struggling starts to die down a little. “What? Wait, hold up. What do you mean by that?”

“Your purpose in entering the Fountain was to rescue the girl you loved. To bring her back, even when you did not know how to make her whole again.” he says, turning to pick up the syringe on the workbench. “You lack the knowledge and the means to accomplish the restoration of her Mask. Something which I happen to possess.”

I go completely still at this point. “Wait, you… you know how to—”

“As a matter of showing my respect for what you have accomplished, and because I know that you would struggle to find others who possess this same knowledge and means. They are very few and far between.” he says, standing and walking over to the operating table. “Of course, something of this matter does require something in the way of sacrifice to make it happen. A broken Mask is not easily mended; the Maskling orthodoxy insists it is not possible. This is categorically untrue, but most of them are not aware of it, mostly because they have been unwilling to consider the lengths to which one must go to make it happen. Which is why this question requires your consent.” He holds the syringe up in both hands, ensuring I have a good view of it as I go on. “I can put your partner’s Mask back together. It can be done. But it cannot simply be glued back together like a broken vase. Much like welding or soldering, high energy and a joining element is needed to permanently fuse the broken parts back together, and make the Mask into a single piece once again.”

My eyes flick down to the syringe. “And… you need something from me in order to do that…?”

“A Mask is not made out of metal. It is a physical manifestation of a soul.” Makalu explains. “In the same way that broken metal needs a metal solder to be joined back together again, a broken soul must be mended with similar material. In order to repair your partner’s Mask, I need an extraction of soul to join the pieces and fuse them back together again. Technically, a little bit of anyone’s soul would do, but traces of that individual will become a part of her. It stands to reason that if we are to introduce traces of another person into her, then it should be someone who is important to her. And since you are the one that is seeking this repair, you should be the one to give up a little bit of your soul in order to make it happen.”

I stare at the syringe, then up at him. I don’t dare ask if he’s serious, because he clearly is; but I can’t wrap my head around why he’s doing this. “Why would you… offer this? You’re the one that shattered her Mask in the first place, and now you’re offering to fix it? Why?”

“I did shatter it. And I have had time to reflect on that, and come to the conclusion that perhaps it is something that I should not have done.” Makalu says. “But also, your return has changed things. It has exposed me to possibilities I had not considered before, so consider this my thanks for having opened my eyes to new ideas.”

There is part of me that is wary, that wants to reject this on reflex, knowing what Makalu was capable of and how dangerous he is. But I can’t turn it down, not after what I went through, not when this might be my only chance to bring Kiwi back. “So you’re asking me if I want to give up a little bit of my soul to repair her Mask?”

“Correct.”

“If that’s… the only way… then yes, I’ll give that up.”

“Very well.” Makalu says, positioning the syringe over my chest. “You should be aware, before we begin, that this will feel… unpleasant. It will not hurt, as such, but it will definitely leave you feeling weakened and unwell.”

“How considerate of you.” I grunt, eyeing the needle. “I’ll get better, right?”

“With time, yes. A few days and you should be back to feeling fine.”

“Let’s get it over with, then.” I say, closing my eyes. I’ve always found it’s easier for me to look away when there’s a needle being put in me, and this isn’t really that much different.

A moment later, I feel something cold enter my chest, and the sensation that Makalu had warned me about. It feels like something is being drawn out of me, with a corresponding feeling of weakness working it way across my body; it does not last for long, and the cold sensation retreats from my chest, leaving me feeling tired and spent. Opening my eyes, I can see Makalu turning back to his workbench, with the syringe now full of numinous blue… stuff, which I can only assume is a portion of my soul, swirling around inside.

“Alright. You have what you need; can you let me off this table now?” I demand, trying not to let the exhaustion creep through in my voice.

“You and I both know that I will not be taking that risk.” he says as he sits back down to the workbench, carefully laying the syringe next to the shards of Kiwi’s Mask. “I can only imagine the trouble you’d get up to if I let you roam around freely, even when you are weakened. You will remain on that table until I am ready to send you and your partner on your way; and since you will be unwell for the next couple of days, I recommend you take the opportunity to rest while I am working.”

I purse my lips at that; it makes sense, but I’m still annoyed. “What are you going to do with us afterwards?” The ‘send you on your way’ comment was fairly vague, and could mean a number of things.

“Your organizations have need of you, so I will send you back to them. There is still work for both of you, and this galaxy will be better off with you doing it.” he says as he begins printing a rune circle onto the stone bench beneath the shards of Kiwi’s Mask.

“You’re just going to let us go? Even after we stopped you in Losinadae and disabled Prophet's weapon?” I say in disbelief.

“The galaxy has need of your presence. The dogged determination you showed in Losinadae will be needed elsewhere.” he says, lifting a hand with runes towards me. “As I told you before, you should rest. You will need it for what lies ahead of you.”

I don’t want to yield, but a sudden weariness is rushing over me, and I realize almost immediately that it’s happening too quickly to be natural. I can feel myself slipping into sleep, and see a faint orange haze tinting the air around me; but there’s nothing I can do to fight it, restrained as I am. Despite how I try, I can’t keep my eyes open, and everything fades into darkness once more.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Makalu’s Krigstein: the Cavern of Study

3/1?/????? 4:16pm SGT

When I wake this time around, it feels much more… relaxed.

I can tell right away that there’s a difference between the ways that Vakalahi and Makalu knocked me out. Vakalahi’s had been sudden, and while it hadn’t been as painful as getting clocked in the head, there was something… aggressive about it, like having your consciousness forcibly turned off. It left you disoriented when you were coming back from something like that. Makalu’s method, on the other hand, had been gentler, like being lulled into the dark, instead of being forced into it. As a result, coming back from this most recent bout of unconsciousness was easier than it had been the first time, and it’s not as hard as it was to get my bearings the first time.

“You slept for longer than I assumed you would.” Makalu remarks from his chair, reaching up to take his spectacles off. “It was a miscalculation on my part. The strength of that spell is intended for strong, young individuals, but with having a little bit of your soul extracted, you were under the weather, and it kept you down longer than I intended it to.”

I let out a long breath. “Yeah. Still don’t feel great.”

“To be expected. A few more days of rest and you will be returned to your full strength.” Makalu says, finishing writing whatever he’s writing in his notebook. “We undertook some scans of you while you were sleeping, hoping to find something that might explain your exceptional capabilities, but we were baffled to find that you seem to be painfully normal, as vampires go.”

I let out a small puff at that. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You have nothing to apologize for; the absence of something unique is, itself, evidence for the importance of the will of the individual.” Makalu says, setting his pen aside as he closes his notebook. “As far as I can tell, there was nothing propping you up in your fights. The strength of your arcane talent appears to scale in proportion to your mood or state of mind, presumably in concert with the music that you are so fond of. I am aware of the foundational concepts of sonic sorcery, and I would’ve liked to have studied them in greater detail; but I doubt you will have the patience or desire to humor my curiosity.”

I narrow my eyes at him, searching for the words to vocalize what I feeling. “You… aren’t like others. I’ve seen my share of villains, put hundreds of criminals behind bars, and some of them in the ground, when I had no other choice. But you, you’re… something else. You’re more than just a bad guy.”

“I appreciate that you see that, Songbird.” Makalu says as he lays his notebook on the stone workbench. “I do believe I see a little bit of myself in you. Your sense of rightness, your yearning for a better galaxy, your desire to provide to others what you could not have for yourself… it feels like a distant memory. Reminds me of the young man I used to be.” He laces his fingers together as he looks at me. “We are more alike than you may realize. You know what it is like to be ostracized; to be cast out and seen as a villain, to have perception of you flattened into a one-dimensional image, a cardboard cutout for people to cast their tomatoes at. We are both outcasts; exiles, misunderstood, and weighed down by the burden of the responsibilities we still carry. Perhaps that is why I cannot bring myself to see you as an enemy, even after all you have done to vex and foil me. I look at you, and I see myself.”

I’m speechless for a moment, then shake my head. “I never would’ve created that weapon. I wouldn’t have fired it, like you did.”

“Perhaps not, at your current age. In another three thousand years, perhaps my actions will make more sense, if you live to the age I presently am.” Reaching over, he picks something up — and I realize that it’s Kiwi’s Mask. “Your soul was an excellent solder for mending your partner’s Mask. It was very compatible; it joined easily and held fast. The bonding element is so strong that I didn’t have to employ any of the reinforcing measures I typically use for this sort of mending.”

I can’t help trying to sit up, even though the runes on the table still keep me pinned against it. “All the pieces—”

“Everything fit back together perfectly.” he says, turning her Mask so I can see it. The green glass, fading to wood at the edges; the red accents around the eyeholes, denoting facial markings; the absence of a mouth for the Mask — it’s all familiar as the day I first saw it in the Cradle. But this time, it’s seamed through with fracture lines — extremely thin and glowing blue from where the pieces were joined back together. “One of my better pieces of work, I must admit. But I was given good materials to work with.”

Relief washes over me, even though I’m still pinned to the table. A weight comes off me, because I know that Kiwi’s alive, and and now it’s just a matter of finding a Maskbearer for her. “And you haven’t done anything else to it? You didn’t try to sneak any modifications or weird shit in there?”

“Hardly. That would’ve taken me much longer.” Makalu says, standing up and making his way over to me. “I found, while I was working on it, that I did recognize this Mask. It has been many years since I last saw it, and it has undergone many changes in that time, but it is of my own design. Perhaps that is why I found it so easy to repair.”

“Wait… wait, what do you mean by that?” I demand, my eyes flicking between him and the Mask, trying to parse what that remark implies.

“Let’s just say that I do not do this for your benefit alone.” he says, turning the Kiwi’s Mask around in his hand. “For now, this will be farewell, Songbird. We may meet again one day, but for now, we must send you back out into the galaxy, for you are sorely needed there.”

With that, he lowers Kiwi’s Mask towards my face, and realize too late what’s coming. It’s not like I could’ve stopped it, pinned to the table like I am, but I still try to jerk away, to no avail. The Mask presses down on my face, and in an instant, I’m pulled down into the dark, to that place we both share beneath the red tree, to that bridge between souls—

Event Log: Kiwi

Makalu’s Krigstein: the Cavern of Study

3/15/????? 4:21pm SGT

I’m alive.

The first thing I find myself doing is jerking upright, gasping for breath, rolling off the table and falling to the ground, staggering to my feet before collapsing back to my knees again,  wrapping my arms around myself as I hunch over, ripping ragged breaths into my lungs. I can feel Feroce inside me, within my mind, struggling to get back to the surface, and I’m putting all my focus into pushing him back down, trying to partition him off and keep us separate. The more he struggles, the more I can feel our souls starting to blur together at the edges, and I know if I don’t get control over this right now, we’re going to find ourselves back in the same situation we were in back at the Cradle, where being peeled apart from each other was agonizing.

“He’s a fighter. I must imagine that makes it difficult for both of you, considering how obstinate you are.”

The voice fills me with dread; I jerk my head to the side to see Makalu standing there, towering over me. Fear races through me, but I can barely function in this state, struggling to quarantine Feroce within me while Makalu looms to one side. I know I can eventually subdue Feroce, but I can’t beat Makalu. Not on my own, not like this, not while I’m trying to get a handle on my boyfriend being my Maskbearer.

“You… sick bastard…” I choke the words out, my arms still wrapped around my ribcage. “Of all… the twisted shit you could’ve pulled… you did this to us…”

“You two go well together. Like cookies and creme, or strawberries and sugar.” he says, folding his arms behind his back. “I’m surprised to find that you’re resisting it so vehemently.”

“He’s my partner, not my host.” I cough, gritting my teeth as I fight the instinct to lower the barriers and try to integrate Feroce into myself. This is like someone shoving a piece of candy into my mouth, but then telling me not to chew or swallow it; I’m fighting against reflex and my own nature trying to subdue Feroce and keep him partitioned so that we can continue being two separate people. “I need him, but not like this…”

“Curious. You would pass on the power he would grant you as your Maskbearer, for the sake of keeping him as your partner.” Makalu muses, sounding none too bothered by my ongoing struggle. “That’s a unique relationship you have. I am interested in seeing what it becomes in time.”

I dig my fingers deeper into the sides of my jacket as I realize that I’m wearing Feroce’s clothes — everything’s just a size too large for me, and I can feel his various pieces of equipment hanging on his beltline and the interior of his jacket. “What do you want?” I hiss at Makalu as the partition I’m building for Feroce starts to grow more stable and firm. “Do you get a kick out of watching me struggle with this? Is it all just one big experiment to you?”

“Life itself is an ongoing experiment, and we are all subjects in it. There is always something more to learn, if you are willing to look for it.” he says, walking past me. “But you are no prisoner here. Remain if you wish; I will not complain about the opportunity continue studying your unique connection with your partner. But if you wish to leave, you will follow this tunnel to its end, taking only the left turns. You will eventually end up in a hangar, where a small cruiser with a runetech stasis chamber has been prepared for you. A course has already been laid in that will take you to the Cradle, where the Republic can provide you a Rasa Maskbearer so that you can be removed from your precious partner.”

All I can do is stare at him, still breathing heavily. After all he’s done, after how he killed me, this is wrong. This can’t be right. “You’re lying.” I pant at him.

He motions to the tunnel leading out of this section of the cavern. “I understand you have valid reasons for not trusting me, but the longer you spend arguing with me, the longer you have to struggle with not fusing your partner into yourself. If I was in your position, I would take the win and get out while I still could.”

I don’t want to trust him. I don’t want to believe him. But after what he’s done to me and Feroce, with what I’m struggling with right now, I’m desperate, and afraid. Afraid that Makalu might be right — that if I wait too long, this partition keeping me separate from Feroce might fail, despite my best efforts to keep it in place.

So I get up without saying anything, glaring at him the whole time. He doesn’t move, simply watching me with that stoic patience, as I stagger to the tunnel, keeping my distance from him. When I reach the tunnel itself, I use a hand to steady myself against the cool stone wall as I enter the tunnel, and as far as I can tell, he remains where he is, opting not to follow me. The only sound in the tunnel is my feet in Feroce’s oversized boots, sand gritting between soles and half-submerged stone, and my own labored breathing.

And I walk that way, in the cavern gloom and almost completely silence, for a long time.

Most of the time I spend walking, I’m only halfway focused on where I’m going and what’s around me. There are occasional cracks in the roof of this shallow cavern system that allow light to filter through, lonely golden shafts that illuminate the lazy swirl of dust in the air, and the worn sides of the tunnel I’m walking it. But when I’m not paying attention to my surroundings, I’m focused on keeping Feroce contained; even though his struggling has mostly died out, every now and then there’ll be a sudden thrash or a spasm as he tries to fight his way out of the quarantined zone of my mind that I’ve trapped him in. I don’t think it’s malicious, just something he’s doing on instinct, because many of my past Maskbearers have done the same thing. But it’s still not easy to handle, and one of these fits is severe enough that that I have to stop, leaning against the tunnel wall as I crouch down with an arm around myself, trying to catch my breath.

“Please, Feroce.” I huff as my vision blurs and swirls a little. “Just… please. Trust me. I’ll get us out of here, I promise…”

I don’t know if he heard me. Maybe he sensed my intent, because his struggling starts to ease off soon after. Gathering myself, I get back up and continue walking, doing my best to regularly filter some reassurance towards the spot he occupies in my mind, trying to keep him soothed.

It takes another three or four minutes before the tunnel opens up to a much wider canyon that must be the hangar that Makalu was talking about. The smooth sides of the canyon look like they’ve been carved by centuries of wind or water; portions of the canyon’s floor have been leveled out into spaces where cruisers or skippers can be parked. The sides of the canyon itself are lined with equipment for the maintenance of these vessels, with open garages built over them to partially shield it from the wear and tear of time. The evening light is gleaming orange over the edge of the canyon, and in the area closest to me, there’s a cruiser parked but idling, the door open and a soft hum filling the air around it.

That’s the one.

On another day I’d be more cautious, but I don’t care at this point. All I care about is getting out of here, getting back to somewhere that I can get help with fixing this situation before it gets to a point where permanent damage might be done. Staggering to the cruiser, I catch the railing on the ramp and pull myself up into the ship, coming up against one of Makalu’s cloaked lantern guards within. I tense up, expecting a fight, but an armored hand lifts out of the cloak, pointing to the right, where the passenger cabin looks like it’s located just behind the cruiser’s small bridge. Warily peeking around the corner, I see the stasis chamber waiting as promised, not too different from the one that was used to hold the Maskbearers in the Cradle.

“He told you where to take me?” I rasp, returning my suspicious gaze to the cloaked lantern guard.

“I will deliver you to the Cradle. What the Republic chooses to do with you after that is out of my control.” the lantern guard says, their voice muffled and slightly distorted. “I take you there. I drop you off. I leave. Nothing more.”

I still don’t like it, but I don’t have much choice at this point, and this is probably as good as it’s going to get. Pushing off the wall I’m leaning on, I stagger into the passenger cabin and over to the stasis chamber, turning and halfway tripping into it, struggling to get into a position where I can lay down in it. Feroce’s too-large clothes are making movement harder than it would otherwise be, and I’ve only just barely managed to get into a resting position by the time the lantern guard has arrived to the stasis chamber, green runes lighting around one wrist. I start to ask something, but they’ve already activated the chamber’s interface, more runes lighting up around the edge of the chamber’s cover as it slides down and seals into place with a pneumatic hiss. There’s the low sound of gas flooding into the chamber, and this time my vision gets properly blurry as I start to lose consciousness. I’d been hoping to have a little bit of time to brace for this part, but I can already feel myself slipping off into darkness.

I can only hope that when I wake up, I’ll be in the right place to get the help that both Feroce and I will need.

Event Log: Kiwi

The Cradle: Hangar 2

3/29/1???? 10:30am SGT

It’s cold, and my vision’s blurry.

It’s hard for me to register that I’m conscious at first. I have only a general, liminal awareness; of my sensations, which are muted at best. They’re slowly coming back; it feels like the feeling is starting to return to my body, bit by bit, as if I was thawing out. Sounds, which were just indistinct white noise, are starting to separate out into distinguishable rhythms and tones. My vision, which was once a colorful swirl, is starting to straighten out into defined patterns and shapes, acquiring depth as the feeling returns to my face. There are people standing outside the retracted lid of my stasis chamber; they’re in uniforms, and there’s someone that’s directly in front of me that looks like a fox. A fox Halfie.

“Do you recognize me, Feather?” it asks, and its voice is layered, a psychic whisper preceding the spoken voice by about half a second, like a faint echo cast into the future.

“Venox?” I rasp.

“Good. She’s cognizant.” he announces to whoever else is with him. “Tell Forecast. I’m sure he’ll want a lights-on escort anyway.”

I blink a couple of times, starting to twitch my fingers and see how much of my body I can move. “Stasis… how long…?”

The blue glow of Venox’s eyes turns back to me, and I can hear the rising rustle of his psi voice before it fades away again, as if he decided against saying something. “The person that delivered you didn’t say; they would only say that they had been ordered by the Exile to bring you to us, and they would not stay. As soon as we confirmed it was you, notice was sent to Forecast and the Council. A medical escort is being put together for you right now so they can get you to the Cradle’s hospital and ensure you are in good health.”

Those words trigger something in me as the rest of my brain starts coming unfrozen; I start thinking back, trying to rewind in my head and figure out how I ended up here in the first place. Shifting in the chamber, my wrist bumps against something hard and unfamiliar; tilting my head down with some stiffness, I can see a bladeless hilt clipped onto my belt.

I don’t carry swords.

This isn’t my belt.

These aren’t my clothes.

I suck in a sharp breath. “Feroce.” I breathe, suddenly trying to sit up, despite how stiff my entire body feels. “I need— I need to get down to, to, to the things, the place—”

Venox puts a pawhand out, planting it on my shoulder and pushing me back down. “Feather, calm down. You came out of stasis less than five minutes ago; your body is still adjusting.”

I grab his forearm. “Venox. I need a Maskbearer. Right away, as soon as you can get one from the place where they were storing them here on the Cradle, I know we have them, thousands of them, all in stasis, I need one—”

Venox’s brow furrows. “But you already have one.”

“This isn’t my Maskbearer, this is Songbird!” I hiss. “We were fighting Makalu, and he killed me, and then, then, he put my Mask on Songbird— I’m using Songbird’s body right now, I need you to get me one of the Rasa Maskbearers!”

Venox pulls back at that, giving me another look as if realizing that the clothes I’m wearing are just slightly too large for me. “This is both you and Songbird?”

“I’m keeping him contained for now, he’s not resisting since we just came out of stasis, but it’s hard to keep a partition up, especially with someone as strong as him.” I blurt out, my words tripping over each other as I try to drive home how important this is. “He doesn’t know, doesn’t understand what’s going on, so he keeps trying to fight his way through the partition because he doesn’t know that’s what’s keeping us as separate individuals, so I need a Maskbearer right away. I don’t know how long I can hold him if he wakes up again—”

Venox turns to one of the officers beside the chamber. “Tell Forecast. We’re going to need a security detail along with the medical escort. Bring the team at the hospital up to speed; contact the staff at one of the Rasa bunkers and let them know we’re going to need to bring one out of stasis on short notice. Authorization is coming down from a Mask Knight, and if that isn’t enough, loop Forecast into the conversation so he can cut through the red tape.” After that, he turns to the other officer. “You. Sleepy gas.”

I tighten my grip on Venox’s furred arm. “Venox, we need to go now. I barely made it to the cruiser when I was escaping from Makalu—”

“I know, but we can only make these things happen so fast.” he says, returning his attention to me and pushing me back down into the stasis chamber as I try to pull myself out again. “You know how the bureaucracy is. It’s going to take at least a few hours, at best—”

“We don’t have a few hours!” I protest. “If Songbird wakes up, I can’t hold him for that long—”

“I know.” he says again as the officer returns, holding a breathing mask with an attached tube out to him. “That’s why we’re not taking our chances.”

With that, he takes the breathing mask and plants it on my face, holding it there. Almost immediately, I can smell the cloying, chemical smell of knockout gas; similar to the stuff they used whenever I had to go to the hospital for a surgery. Part of me wants to resist on reflex, but I also understand why Venox is doing this. They don’t have to worry about Songbird breaking free if both of us are unconscious.

And besides, those few seconds of hesitation are all that’s needed for my grasp on consciousness to start slipping, before it fades away altogether.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

The Cradle: ???

3/29/12??? 8:21pm SGT

“Hold him down, hold him down!”

It’s a struggle. I’m seizing, thrashing, being held down on a table, I think. Hands on my arms, on my legs, on my shoulders, on my chest and on my sides, so many hands.

Hands on my face, on the Mask that’s being pried off my head.

“Kiwi!” The word starts out guttural and has escalated to half a shriek by the end, a raw, unhinged noise that I didn’t know I had in me. I jerk upwards, trying to grab the Mask as it’s pulled away from my face, but the dozens of hands slam me back down against the table, and I can see many of them outlined with rune circles around the wrist. There’s a harsh light shining down from above, blinding me and keeping the faces of the people around me in shadow, but I don’t care. I twist and squirm, trying to get out from under these hands; they’re taking Kiwi away from me and I can’t let them—

“We got the Mask off, knock ‘im out!” I hear someone shout, and I start struggling even more. But all these hands holding me down make it hard to move, and I can feel someone pressing something cold to my forehead—

Then a flash of light, and nothing.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

???: ???

4/8/127?? ??:??pm SGT

“Whoop, there it goes. Looks like the enchantment is wearing off.”

I hear the words before my eyes open, and that’s not the only thing I’m aware of before my eyes open. I’m sitting down, and my hands and legs are… restrained. Not just cuffed, but completely enveloped in something that feels soft but doesn’t allow for a lot of movement.

“Just in time, too. The Bastion’s about to let us in.” says another voice. Opening my eyes, I take a breath and look around.

I’m in what looks like the passenger cabin of a vessel, although it’s one where modifications have been made. Seats line the sides, but they look like they’ve designed for containing prisoners — metal harnesses that look like they lock into place over the occupant, clamps on the armrests and legs of the seat, meant to completely envelope arms and legs. Sitting across from me are two people, one with fluffy ears and facial markings, the other with horns and faint blue tinting to their skin — they look like a fusion of different races, which means that they’re probably Masklings.

“Heeeeeey.” the one on the left says, giving me a tentative wave. “Songbird, right? The first thing they told us to tell you is that Feather is safe, and she’s currently at the Cradle, receiving treatment from the best doctors that the Republic could spare at the moment.”

“They said that it was important that we tell you that, so you didn’t fly off the handle and try to kill us the moment you woke up.” the one on the right adds. “You understand what we’re saying to you, right?”

I take a deep breath. Okay, Kiwi’s safe. That’s good, but… “Why… why do you have me chained up like this?” I ask, trying to pull my arms out of the armrest clamps, which have engulfed my arms all the way up to the elbows.

“Just a safety precaution.” the one on the left says quickly. “Because we didn’t know what state you were going to be in when you woke up, and they told us we had to lock you up like that for our own safety.”

“But only long enough to make sure that you weren’t going to go ballistic after waking up.” the one on the right adds just as quickly. “They said that once you calmed down and we confirmed you weren’t going hurt yourself or anyone else, we could let you out.”

“Oh, and so you know where you are, you’re currently on a transport cruiser from the Maskling Republic.” the one on the left says. “Our orders were to take you back to the Sunthorn Bastion and give you back to the Valiant. We actually just got clearance from their port authority, so we’ll be landing pretty soon, and you can see all your friends and stuff!”

I exhale a long breath at that. Their eagerness makes it pretty obvious that they’re trying to keep me calm, and I have to admit it is working — they’ve answered a lot of the questions I would’ve asked anyway, and calmed a lot of the fears that would’ve come from waking up in this situation. “Okay. Okay, I understand. That being said, can you please let me out of this, because it is really claustrophobic, and my shirt is all twisted up and riding up the back of my jacket right now, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure!” the Maskling on the left says, quickly, getting up and coming over. One keycard and a couple moments later, and the clamps around my wrists and legs release, allowing me to move my limbs around once more. I let out a breath of relief, sitting forward so I can lean on my knees and pull the back of my shirt down beneath my jacket.

“You feeling okay?” the Maskling on the right asks. “Can we get you water, or a snack, or something?”

My anxiety is starting to rise over the fact that Kiwi isn’t near and I’m not able to check on her, but I remind myself to take another deep, calming breath. “I appreciate that, I do, but no thank you. I’m a vampire, so unless you’ve got a bottle of blood on hand, nothing I eat is going to make me feel better.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that…”

“That’s not something we carry on these ships, is it?”

“Yeah, I don’t think so. Unless, like, they’ve got some plasma in the infirmary for transfusions.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” I tell them, rubbing my fingers over my forehead and trying to organize my thoughts. There’s just… a lot to deal with. Need to find out what’s happening with Kiwi, need to figure out how to get her back, need to figure out if anything else happened with Makalu, need to get up to speed with the rest of the Valiant, and just need to generally catch up on everything… there’s so much I don’t know right now. “You said this ship is going to be docking at Sunthorn soon?”

“Yup! We might already be in the hangar, honestly.” the left Maskling says. “Matter of fact — you wanna come with us, take a look out the window, see where we are in that process? Might feel a little better, getting to see home and everything.”

I press my lips together. “You know… yeah. I would like that, if you don’t mind.”

“Perfect.” he says, heading for the door and motioning for me to follow. “Right this way. The Valiant got told ahead of time that we would be bringing you back to them, so they know you’re coming. Maybe they’ve put together a welcoming committee for you!”

Pushing up out of the chair, I wince at how stiff I feel, and go limping after the Maskling as I try to stretch my legs out. Leaving the passenger cabin, the halls of the ship are decidedly utilitarian; the walls, ceiling, and floors are made from solid, sturdy-looking metal with multiple points of reinforcement and handholds, as if they expected occupants to be navigating in a zero-grav environment. The design reminds me of the brutish durability of Mercurial mining vessels, and I could easily see something like that being repurposed into a prisoner transport vessel, or whatever this was meant to be. These Masklings have treated me a lot nicer than their ship looks, so maybe they just sent me in this ship because they were concerned I’d go berserk if I woke up and found I’d been separated from Kiwi.

“Unfortunately, we don’t really, like, have a ton of windows on this ship.” the fluffy-eared Maskling says as we turn a corner down another hall. “It used to be a mining rig that was used for extracting ore from asteroids, so there’s not a ton of focus on the scenic side of things, so to speak. The only windows are these little porthole-lookin’ things, though, from the looks of things…” He pauses to peer through one of them. “Looks like we’re already in the hangar, so we’ll be setting down in a minute or two. Figure I may as well take you to the airlock at this point.”

He continues walking down the hall, and I peek through the porthole as I pass it. Outside is the familiar view of one of the Sunthorn’s hangars, massive and lined with a number of parked vessels — there’s more strike fighters and drone fighters than I remember there being in the past. But aware of the fact that the fluff-eared Maskling is getting ahead of me, I leave the porthole behind and hurry to catch up with him.

“My friend and I were talking about it on the way over here, but I’m pretty sure that all your Valiant buddies are gonna be over the moon, hearing that you’re back.” he says as he starts to slow down near an area where the hall widens near an airlock door. “I heard they took it pretty hard after you and your girlfriend disappeared. Honestly a shame, because you guys had all the momentum back then; you were just hammering CURSE into the ground with the Nova Incident. If you ask me, I don’t think CURSE would’ve survived if you and your girlfriend had been around to put the final nail in the coffin.”

“Dude. We weren’t supposed to talk about any of that.” the Maskling with the horns says.

“I mean yeah, but he’s about to find out from all his friends anyway.” the fluff-eared Maskling says, the ship rocking slightly as it lands and starts to power down its thrusters.

I fold my arms. “What’s keeping us from putting the nail in the coffin now?”

The two Masklings exchange looks, and the fluff-eared on shrugs. “I mean… I’ll let your friends do the explaining, they could probably bring you up to speed better than we can.”

“Oh, so now you want to follow orders.” the horned Maskling says, rolling his eyes.

Though it’s tempting, I don’t try to pry either of them for further clarification. I’m not sure it’d be worth the effort it would take, and I’m pretty sure answers aren’t too far away now. The airlock in front of us is already cycling, the interior door unbolting and sliding open, shortly followed by the exterior door at the other end of the airlock. A rickety ramp is folding out from the side of the ship, support struts locking into place as it meets the hangar floor and settles.

“Well… after you.” the fluff-eared Maskling says, motioning to the airlock as an invitation to be first out of the ship.

I step into the airlock, heading to the ramp with a hand self-consciously tugging at my jacket — after everything I’ve been through, I don’t know how I look right now. It’s something that quickly leaves my mind as I step out of the ship, and the hangar opens up around me; it’s busier in here than I’ve ever seen it. Some drone fighters are taxiing down one of the runways; maintenance crews are active around several of the parked fighters, with maintenance carts cruising across the hangar’s floor along the lit lines marking the safe lanes. Just in the hangar alone, there’s almost enough people in here to make a third of all the staff the Valiant’s hired up until this point.

“What in the world…” I murmur, trying to wrap my head around this level of activity.

“You might want to head on down there, looks like your welcoming party’s arriving.” the fluff-eared Maskling encourages from behind me, point out a group piling out of one of the maintenance carts that’s pulled up to this docking area. From here, I can recognize the white gleam of Sierra’s Challenger dress jacket, and the uniform cap she’s wearing.

I start down the ramp on seeing that, moving quickly because if Sierra’s here, then that means she managed to make it off Makalu’s planet safely, and probably got Ridge out with her. By the time I hit the hangar floor, some of the people that left the maintenance cart have almost arrived, some of them faster than others because they’re running — and Renchiko is one of those, catching me in a hug as soon as she reaches me. She doesn’t say anything, but maybe she doesn’t have to, with how tightly she’s holding me, and I hug her back, simply basking in this moment of being reunited with family.

She only lets go when Ridge arrives, stepping back so he can grab me in a hug as well — I had been expecting it from her, but not from him. And the hug is stronger than I expected, though it’s briefer than the one that Renchiko gave, and we’re soon letting each other go as Sierra calls over. “Hot damn, bluebird! Here I was thinking you died and left us to clean up the mess!”

“Things didn’t go the way I expected. I’m just glad to see that you followed my orders and got the kid back to safety.” I say, letting go of Ridge as he steps back, and realizing that he’s dressed differently. He’s wearing a Special Agent jacket like mine, and he’s got the knife that Sierra gave him belted to his upper arm, and then several other knives strapped to his forearms and belt — though the blades are all made of the blue crystal he’d been learning to extrude and control. Renchiko’s likewise dressed differently than I expected — she’s currently in her armored plugsuit that she uses when she’s piloting the Shrike, but she’s wearing a modified Special Agent jacket over it. Her haircut is different… actually, both of them look different, though I can’t quite put a finger on it.

“Wait, are both of you… taller?” I say, peering more closely at them and realizing that I’m not looking down at them as much as I was before.

Ridge snorts at that, hitching a hand on his hip. “I guess so. It’s been three years, hasn't it? Hadn’t really thought about whether I’d grown any since then.”

Those words hit me like a fist to stomach. “What?”

Renchiko blinks, as if realization was dawning on her. “Wait… Feroce, did you not know how long it’s been?”

Those two words are still bouncing around in my head. Three years. “No, we were… it was only… it can’t have been that long…” Trying to get a grip on this information, I twist around on the Masklings. “This is what you two were hiding from me?”

The fluff-eared one brings his hands up quickly. “Whoa whoa whoa! Those were the orders! Look, they brought the Mask Knight to the Cradle, like, a week ago, and then once they separated her from you, they stuck you in the transport to be shipped back to the Valiant. We got you here as fast as we could — we have no idea where you were or what you were doing for the three years before you arrived at the Cradle.”

“Oh shit, he doesn’t know?” Sierra remarks as Luci sidles around her. “Well, that makes me feel better. At least we know now that he didn’t go AWOL for that long on purpose.”

I turn back around. “No, it— there’s no way. That means we were in the Fountain for three years?… no, that can’t be right, it was a day, maybe three at most? It didn’t even feel like three days, it felt like less than that… it can’t have been three years…”

I’m aware of the others staring at me, and I know I should be engaging with them, but with this information, I’m having trouble organizing my thoughts. Renchiko reaches up, resting one of her suited hands on my arm as she looks up at me. “Wait, so, Feroce, for you… the fight in Losinadae, the Hammer of Dawn, all of that… it was less than a month ago for you?”

“Not even that. It barely feels like it was two weeks ago.” I say, looking around again with fresh eyes. Everything’s starting to come into focus now — Ridge is taller and stronger because he’s three years older. The hangar has a lot more staff because I’ve been gone for three years, and the Valiant have probably been recruiting the entire time. Both Ridge and Renchiko look slightly different now because they’re adults now; their faces and bodies have lost some of the softness of childhood as they’ve matured.

Three years gone, in a matter of days.

“We should probably get him into the Bastion proper and get him caught up.” Drill grunts from where he’s finally reached us, apparently uninterested in rushing to get here. “There’s a lot we need to bring him up to speed on, and the sooner we get him caught up, the sooner we can see about deploying him.”

“Wait, what?” I say, confused about that. “We need to go get Kiwi back, she’s… she’s at the Cradle, right?”

“I hear what you’re sayin’, Songbird, but we’ve got bigger shrimp to sauté right now.” Drill says, taking his vape out of his mouth and puffing a cloud of vapor. “The Masklings will send Kiwi back to us when they’re ready. In the meantime, we need to get you back up to speed so we can get you back into action. We ain’t got time for fairy tale endings and true love right now.”

I give him look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He’s about to answer, only to be cut off by the blaring of a siren in the hangar, a klaxon call mingled with orders over the hangar’s intercom. “Clear the runways! There’s another wave of Cicadas inbound! Launch the drones! Strike One and Strike Four, follow on deployment!”

The last words are already being drowned by the roaring of thrusters firing, with a set of drones fighters hurtling down the runways, one after the other, in quick succession — launched out of the hangar by a combination of the magnetic catapult system and their own thrusters. After they’ve taken off, a set of strike fighters start taxiing onto the runways next, moving into position to launch.

“Suffice to say, the galaxy kept spinnin' while you were gone.” Drill says, motioning his vape to the hangar’s entrance. “While you were on walkabout in the land of the dead, the rest of us have been fighting for our lives, trying not to get sent there.”

I finally turn to look to the front of the hangar, and find that I’m staring out into the depths of space, with the blue-green curve of a planet dominating the view. Framed against this backdrop is a freckled landscape of ships in orbit, the mottled outlines of Collective vessels sprinkled among the more angular ship designs of Colloquium nations. Lines of light mark where directed lasers are lancing through low orbit; tracer rounds leave glowing streaks across the black as point-defense turrets chase after deployed fighters. Every now and then, there’s a burst of light as a fighter is hit and explodes, sending a glowing spray of debris through the void.

“As you can see, we’re a little busy right now.” he says as he arrives beside me, giving me a pat on the back as the strike fighters go shrieking out of the hangar and into the battlefield. “Three years of war tends to do that to you.”

“Hold on, you’ve been protecting this planet for three years…?” I say, appalled at the scale of the battle before me.

Sierra snorts behind me. “What? No, we just got here. We’ve been helping with evacuations all over the place. We usually get asked to go to hotspots where it looks like the Collective is gaining the upper hand.”

The implications of that are slowly starting to sink in. “Wait, so if you’ve been doing this in multiple systems…” I say slowly.

“That’s right.” Drill says, puffing another cloud of vapor as he nods to the battle right outside our front door. “You came back to a galaxywide war, my friend.”