Disclaimer: Do not own Gundam Wing or any of its wondrous characters! If I did there would've been more Dorothy.
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Dawn and Moon Wars
Chapter Twenty-Four
Never had Duo longed for the sun more than this night...
A weary sigh broke the silence surrounding the Elysian, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, as he stared out across the sea---the first, faint rays of sunlight just beginning to touch the castle. Sky and sea would soon match each other in intensity—blocking all other colors from the world except for the occasional floating cloud. Even now he could hear the sound of the morning bells ringing far below, the islanders awakening to a brand new day... Even after the night's events, there was still work to do, businesses to run, and lives to get back to...
Outside his quarters, the sound of quiet footsteps announced the staff's presence—servants bustling about their duties, the occasional courtier making their way through the halls. Most residents would not awaken for hours and, if he had any common sense, Duo knew he should use this bit of time to catch at least a few hours of sleep before the hounds came scratching at his door again. Yet, here he remained, staring out into the sky, wondering how exactly his life had taken such a wild turn in so little time... Of course, he had always known that one day the crown would be his, since birth his life had revolved around the duties and responsibilities of kinghood. Night and day, his life had been a whirlwind of lessons—from diplomacy to sorcery to combat, he had been molded into this role... A role he hadn't thought would fall into his hands for years, perhaps even centuries... Now, he wished he had paid just a little more attention to his father's lectures, his mother's lessons...
But even with his uncertainty concerning his ability to rule, the crown wasn't the true root of his problems... Yes, the crown had fallen upon him sooner than expected, but deep down he had always known this day would come. No, the true problem lied in the variables he had never even considered—the twisting, chaotic time taking over the world around him... This was not the world of his mother and father; the gods' presences could be felt in nearly every essence of magick. The gods were manifesting, returning to the world in a way he had not heard of since the human Crusades...
The night... Never had he ever felt such pure magick strong enough to reach even these hidden lands. Something had happened to the Dawn, something had triggered the royal blood within her—a Dawn coming to full power was always an act to watch with awe, but this had been different... This Dawn was different. She wasn't a mere sorceress; the power flowing through her veins wasn't merely from mortal royalty, but something beyond... This Relena had managed to connect with the Mother in a way no human should---so much power in such a frail, mortal body It could not end well...
Duo turned from the window, trudging through maps, notes, even the occasional coat—his private study looked as if a tornado had swept through it... Instead, it was merely the aftereffects of an emergency meeting with the Council—pompous, scared old men seeking out some explanation for the power surge that had disrupted their sleep... A particularly violent kick sent a garish colored overcoat flying, a scowl marring Duo's usually laidback features. He had barely managed to take a step out of Dorothy's chambers before he'd been surrounded by worried, complaining nobles—all needing answers that he could not readily give.
The meeting had not been much different from the chaos to greet him outside her rooms... Except perhaps worse... Once they had accepted the Dawn being behind such immense power, suspicion had begun to creep among them... Human magicks had never touched their world before and, yet, in a matter of hours, not one but two had managed to shake the very foundation... Before, the mention of war alongside the humans had been met with centuries-old arrogance, now the others examined it with a stunning amount of vigor. There was only one little problem...
To the other members of the Council, the Dawn seemed more of a threat than the Moon... It was her power they had felt, her presence that had hovered over their land, and it was her representative that had summoned the Scyth'llial... A human with so much power made them uneasy, afraid...
Reaching his destination, Duo carefully lifted the silver pitcher, pouring a steady stream of cold water into its matching basin. Finished, Duo plunged his face into the frigid water—rubbing his hands against his tired face before facing the mirror. Running a hand through loose chestnut locks, Duo sent the reflection a roguish grin, "Looking good, as always." The grin faded nearly as soon as it had appeared and a shadow fell across his features, bangs shielding his eyes till only the faintest of amethyst glittered from beneath his hair. The mirror felt cold against his forehead, his shoulders slumping forward as he leaned against its soothing surface. Drops of water slid down his face, dripping from his hair, sliding into his mouth—it tasted like dirt, gritty and just a tad bitter rolling around in his mouth... What should have felt refreshing and revitalizing instead reminded him of death and war... The humans' war stained the air, permeating the very soil till everything tasted bloody and violent.
Glass showered the floor, splashing water across the dresser—jagged, silver pieces reflecting broken images to cold, glittering eyes... Some vague part of his mind acknowledged the throbbing in his hand, painful reminders of his own eventual mortality. For a second, he remained frozen, staring at his bloody hand with fascination—no matter what race, whether human or Elysian, Moon or Dawn, they all bled crimson...
Suddenly, his chamber door slammed open and he turned, fingers reaching into air, his scythe appearing–beautiful and deadly in his hand. The bloodlust flowing through his veins, the desire to take out his frustrations on whatever unfortunate soul had dared to enter his chambers thus, steadily disappeared... Replaced by annoyance, the scythe lowering till its deadly blade touched the floor, eyes already turning from the disgruntled warrior woman. "Nattie... I'm not in the mood..."
"I'm so sorry, your highness!" A quiet, high-pitched maid bobbed up and down in a curtsy, eyes unnaturally wide and fearful, as she took in the glittering weapon–sweat beading her pale temple, soaking chocolate colored curls. "I tried to stop her!"
Nattie shot the Elysian servant a glare, the girl eeping slightly at the angry glower. "Will ye get out of my way! Lordie, there be a problem with the lady! She be gone!"
Duo spun around, bloody hand tightening around the scythe's length, "Dorothy?"
"Aye! Ya comin' or ya just gonna be standin' there till morn!" With that, the human pushed the sniffling maid aside, her heavy footsteps thudding down the hall.
Fear shot through Duo's chest, feet moving without his consent, carrying him past the cowering maid—feet pounding against marble flooring, the world passing by in a chaotic blur, as he raced after the running warrior. His mind felt oddly numb, his heart caught in a terrible icy grip.
He'd left her... He'd left her... He'd left her!
Pushing his way past curious onlookers, Duo forced his way into the sorceress's chambers–eyes darting wildly about the room, ignoring the frantic, hushed whisperings behind him, their eyes darting from him to the weapon clutched so tightly in his grasp. At first, he couldn't see anything out of place... The room appeared exactly as he'd left it...
Then he saw the crown... The simple golden coronet he'd accidentally thrown to the ground, angry words spilling from his mouth... It sat–glimmering and motionless against the cold marble floor, beautiful and empty in its golden shine... His shoulders felt heavy, slumping forward at the sight—he could feel its weight against his head even from so far away... It slid across the floor, scraping against marble, as he kicked it aside–eyes turning from it toward the scarred human, her form crouching, arms grasping something pale and light in her arms.
Dorothy...
Duo's heart stopped beating, his mind completely devoid of all thought of emotion, except for a single growing wave of fear that threatened to destroy all he was... A madness brought on by weak emotions and dangerous Elysian promises... The scythe fell from numb fingers, clattering against the floor, as the prince fell to his knees–hands reaching for the sorceress, pulling her from Nattie with shaking arms.
Only as he held her did the fear begin to abate, his throat convulsing in a hard swallow, as he realized the sorceress still breathed–her chest moving up and down in a steady, welcome rhythm... Her eyes remained close, however, her forehead creased as if she faced some unpleasant scene. Gently, he shook the woman, not truly surprised when she refused to open her eyes, continuing to float off in whatever trance had overcome her.
"What happened...?" The words were hard and chipped; violet eyes seeking answers in the few forms brave enough to step forward.
"We do not know, my majesty." Liliene bowed her head, legs bent into a low, complicated curtsy. "I was merely checking on my lady when I found her this way..." She glanced up sharply, eyes beady and suspicious, "There was an odd magick in the air... Human magick..."
He shot the woman a look, eyebrows furrowing, "Different from the Dawn surge?"
She nodded, "Male magick, my majesty... The aura was unmistakable..."
Male magick...
Duo's eyes narrowed, a deadly fire glimmering within their violet depths, "That damn bard..." He stood, lifting the unconscious sorceress, shooting the curious onlookers a dangerous glower, "Leave." At the cold order there was a sudden commotion of skirts, noble and servant rushing away from the scene–not willing to risk their lives for an interesting tidbit of gossip. Liliene quickly shut the open chamber doors, locking them with quick efficiency, face stoic as she watched her king to be lower the sorceress to her bed–brushing aside a strand of blonde hair.
"Be her bondlin', eh?" Nattie also stood, hovering over the two, eyes worried and concerned, her hand fingering the hilt of her crude blade. "What he do to her?"
Duo stepped back, eyes never leaving Dorothy's face, "It's a link... A communication spell... He's communing with her, creating a path through her barriers..." He suddenly looked away, eyes haunted and angry, blood dripping to the floor, as he closed his hands into tight, painful fists. "There's nothing to do, but wait... Breaking a link is dangerous... Done improperly it could result in limbo–her mind trapped between realities..."
The human let a low, irritated growl, "Just wait!"
Amethyst eyes glittered dangerously, unable to look either woman in the eye. "Yes." Clipped, heavy words, a shadow drifting across the royal's features, "We just wait."
And from the shadows, Liliene turned her gaze toward the window, watching the ocean roll and seethe below...
The sky was painted black, lightning streaking across its surface in angry, jagged lines. The earth trembled beneath her feet, gravel and sand showering her, as one bolt slammed into the ground, burrowing into the land–twisting and seeking, tearing into the world, into the sky... She had no choice, but to stumble backwards–eyes wide and fearful, panic fueling her limbs, pushing her further and further from the terrible scenery...
Her foot sank and she jerked, turning to face the rolling, fierce sea behind her... What should have been blue and calm pulsed and seethed–waves dark and angry, as they swept up the shore, closer and closer, reaching for her, wrapping around her ankles. Dorothy screamed, a terrifying and pitiful sound, as she fell–water sweeping over her scrambling form, dragging, gripping... Pulling her toward some dark, unknown depth–filling her mouth, seeping into her lungs, until there was only the taste of salt clinging to her tongue, choking her throat.
Pale, trembling fingers clutched at air and sand—anything was better than sinking into those deadly waves! Lightning shattered earth, a broken sky–anything could be withstood, except for this... This one terrible, dark, secret fear...
Something grabbed her left hand–warm, gentle fingers wrapping around her own, pulling her away from the ocean's hold. Another hand grasped her arm, tugging and jerking, the waves slapping angrily, but hopelessly at her rescuer. Pulling and dragging until she could feel wet sand beneath her back, heard her tired, gasping rescuer collapse to the earth—his hand still wrapped tightly around hers, refusing to release her even as they lay panting, the sea roaring only inches from her feet.
Very slowly, Dorothy turned her blonde head, eyes still impossibly wide–fear and adrenaline pulsing through her veins. "I would thank you," her voice was weak, a mere breathy whisper compared to the elements roaring around them, "but I have a feeling that this is mostly your fault..."
A watery chuckle, more broken sob than laughter, sounded from beneath a shield of blonde locks. Crystalline blue eyes peered out at her, a sad smile adorning his handsome, scarred features. "Yes... Well, I can't say I blame you for feeling that way..." He shifted, his head resting against his knees, one hand wrapped around his legs–his other hand still grasped tightly within her own, lying innocently between them, as she nodded slightly, not bothering to sit up.
"Why did you bring me here?" The question lacked her usual acidic tone, Dorothy's voice and expression surprisingly soft and gentle as she watched her bondling, noticing the tired circles around his beautiful blue eyes.
"I..." Quatre faltered, staring out into the distant angry sea, "I didn't mean to bring you here..." He said the word with a note of distaste, but mostly melancholy—a great cloud rested over the blonde bard, his eyes haunted and clouded by some unknown pain... She was suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia–this was the man she had heard so long ago, his song calling to her across miles of terrain... This was the man she had bonded to, not the crazed possessed man that hunted her...
"What is happening, Quatre?"
He shuddered when she spoke his name, his fingers tightening their hold on her hand, unable to meet her gaze, "There's something... wrong... with me..."
"Possession..." A seemingly innocent word, but it hung in the air between them–more dangerous than the lightning crackling overhead or the raging sea craving her soul...
At the word, Quatre turned toward her, those endlessly blue eyes meeting Dorothy's–time standing still, as the bondlings watched each other. Wordlessly, the bard moved, brushing a strand of wet blonde hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear–his fingers caressing her cheek. A soft sigh and a hundred unspoken words stained the air, as Dorothy's eyes fluttered close, leaning into his touch... In all their time... He had never been able to touch her like this... They had been separated so soon... So terribly soon...
Then he was gone and she opened her eyes, slightly confused as he turned away from her–voice quiet and heavy, "I was weak... I am weak..." He glanced up at the broken sky, "I thought I could save us both..."
Dorothy suddenly sat up, her free hand resting against his arm, trying vainly to ignore the fire racing against her skin at the simple contact. "Save us from what? What are you talking about?"
The bard refused to meet her questioning gaze, a shadow passing across his features, his voice dream-like, "Did you know...in the beginning the gods created one being... One single being to populate the earth... And, at first, all was well... There was no chaos, no death, no murder, no pain... Because there was only one, but then..." One hand sank into the earth, wet sand dripping from his fingers, "But the gods forgot... They had touched the world, bled into it, gave it an essence of magick so pure and wild... The gods had given it a life, a power wholly unlike anything that had come before... They gave birth to It."
Beside him, Dorothy's hand tightened its hold on both hand and arm, a terrible fear slithering up her spine. "What are you talking about! How do you know these things!"
If he heard, Quatre didn't deem a response necessary... Instead, he allowed the sand to fall completely from his open palm, continuing as if she had never spoken, "And It corrupted and twisted the One Being... But the gods did not feel It and did not know It existed, so when their creation began to separate–began to evolve, They were pleased... The first creations were not humans..."
Dorothy jerked away from the bard, clawing at the hand grasping her own, while her other palm strived to cover her ears, "Stop! I don't want to hear! Stop it!" The blonde felt tears against her cheek, her heart pounding wildly with irrational fear. It tore through her body, stole across her mind, till she was leaning against the earth, sobbing, as he continued to speak–his hold on her never weakening...
"Elementals... The birth of the Five----Water, Air, Earth, Fire, and Spirit... The Elementals were the essence of the gods and had little to do with It... But wherever they touched, It followed and It fed..."
"Quatre... Quatre... Quatre... Please... Stop..." Dorothy clawed at the sand, her heart throbbing painfully—an icy horror stabbing into her chest till she gasped, clutching at her gown–panting as she felt the growing wave of power.
As if his name had been the key, Quatre suddenly blinked, turning toward her, eyes wild and horrified, free arm wrapping around her, pulling her against his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Tears soaked her already wet hair, as the bard curled around her, sobbing into her blonde locks, shoulders heaving. "I can't stop It... I can't fight It..."
Dorothy sniffled against his chest, the pain lessening as his words washed over her, "Fight what? What is It!"
He stiffened slightly then seemed to fall against her, all strength fading from his body, as he slumped forward, face hidden in the crook of her neck. "I can't say... But, Dorothy, you must listen to me..." Shakily, he pulled from her, eyes staring into hers, "There are worst things at work than the Moon and his army..."
"Quatre... What did you do?" Soft, terrible words, her eyes widening in a growing horror, as she stared into the blonde's tired, strained features. "What did you do!" And she was afraid... But not for herself or for the Dawn or for even the world in general. No... She feared for the fragile bard in her arms, feared for his life and soul in a way that brought tears to her eyes and tore a hole in her heart.
Quatre only smiled, raising their entwined fingers to his lips, lightly kissing her hand. "I did what had to be done."
And she was crying, she was sobbing against his chest and beating him with her fist at the same time–angry and scared and lost and hurting. "You idiot! You idiot! You fool! You never gave me a choice! You never gave me a chance! You deserve to be Possessed! You fool!"
Quatre soothed a hand down her long hair, smiling gently and fondly, "You are such a strong person, Dorothy... The world needs people like you."
She shook her head against his shirt, tiny fingers grasping at the cloth, "No... It needs people like you... Not people like me... Why didn't you give me the chance to help you...? Why couldn't you have just let it happen, instead of being so damn noble?"
Above them the sky seemed to crack in two and sweat slid down Quatre's face, a quiet, insane fear growing beneath his chest. "And have both of us fall into chaos? No, Dorothy..." He glanced up at the shattering sky, watching as it rained down around them, crashing into the sea, sinking into the earth. "Dorothy... I have to go..."
She held on tighter, "No! No!"
Gently, he pried her fingers free of his shirt, "Yes... Dorothy," blue eyes peered into gray, sad and so loving that Dorothy's heart broke just a little bit more, "you must promise me... The next time we meet... I don't think I'll be myself..." His smile was a tad self-mocking, quirked at the corners so it tugged at the scar, "You must promise me that you will ki–."
But he never finished because her lips were pressed against his—hard and insistent, tasting of tears and sadness and past mistakes and lost chances... And Dorothy cried because she could do nothing else, but sit there–the world crumbling around them, kissing this poor, lost man who had given up everything to save her... A woman he'd barely known...
And when she pulled away, staring into his kind blue eyes, Dorothy felt her lips moving, a lifetime hidden away in that moment–a thousand might haves and could haves on the tip of her tongue... But all she could say, as the world faded around them, was, "I could have loved you..."
Wufei did not like magick, it lacked the honor of a true battle—a weak mage could overpower a strong warrior because of a few well-chosen words and the wave of a hand. And yet, he wielded a weapon of pure, unadulterated magick—a weapon so imbued with the essence of the supernatural that it could not exist without it... He relied on the ancient power entwined in its making to dispense a pure justice...
He did not like magick, but it was very rarely wrong—it was not affected by the heart of humanity, a thing so easily swayed by emotions. When he had been gifted with the sword, he had despised the magick humming within its blade—had hated both himself and the sword every time he lifted its heavy weight. In the beginning, he had denounced it, refused to wield it in exchange for his own physical strength...
And then that terrible night... That horrible memory...
It was only after he had failed so terribly that he finally lifted the blade, finally heeded the warnings she had tried to convince him of... He had known in that moment, holding that simple sword in his hands, that something had changed in the turning of the world—had known he had accepted some heavy, grand fate... And with her dying words still echoing within his mind, he had found the notion tainted—he was not worthy of affecting the world, of deeming who deserved justice...
So, he would rely on the decisions of a blade that knew the gods' wills, that followed a higher power than his mere human heart...
The blade had led him to Millardo's side and then it had led him here, in this broken down hut, his body weak from cold and hunger... It had led him to the healer's side, the strange woman known as Sally who had shown him the strength of mercy and conviction, who had managed to save his life time and time again despite her weaknesses... And he knew that eventually she would lead him to the Dawn, the woman the blade had refused to kill... A woman whose presence called to the justice within the sword... A woman he had never even spoken to and yet he knew that it was to her the blade drew him to.
So, when the summoning surrounded him—the glistening beauty of a Dawn's call—he had found the blade in his hands, its magick singing in response to her call... He had followed its decisions for years now, why should he refuse it now?
The sword shone silver, Wufei's eyes dark, shimmering orbs of onyx... He would accept his fate, this strange path of destiny the gods wove before him... He would accept his role by the Dawn's side, he would fight for her and her ideals because it was what she would have wanted... and because the sword demanded it... He would wield the Sword in her name, this young, forsaken Queen, and he would help her take back the land Millardo had stolen...
Beside the resolute warrior, Sally blinked, lifting her bowed head to watch him–meeting that fierce black gaze... And slowly, the healer nodded, the Call fading from the room, leaving the air tingling with power, her body thrumming with new, revived energy. "The Dawn is summoning her army..."
Wufei nodded, finally standing, sheathing the shining sword, "Yes..."
From across the room, Hilde's gaze resumed some of its normal dark, blue coloring–only a hint of bloodlust still shining within their glittering orbs. The blood warrior ignored the slightly terrified glance sent her way by Catherine, not bothered by the sudden appearance of strangers, "We have to move. Now."
Trowa nodded, his hand wrapping tightly around warm gold, glancing down sharply at the Cup held within his grasp. For a second, he felt a tendril of fear creep across his skin, quickly pushed aside by the more important situation at hand... He could leave his questions concerning the Cup at a later date, when he had more time to ponder his own role in this chaotic mess of a war. "I seriously doubt we were the only ones to feel the Dawn's awakening. The Moon will send men to find her..."
Hilde met the man's emerald gaze, there was a spark of recognition in her blue depths, but she held her tongue–glancing sharply between him and the oblivious healer. The acrobat remained still during her inspection, refusing to allow his emotions to show under her watchful eyes... Whatever the blood warrior saw seemed to please her though and she smiled, an easy, open gesture completely at odds with the red-eyed banshee from only minutes ago. "I assume you two are allies." She dropped her gaze toward Catherine, the older woman clutching the simple rag doll to her chest, eyes cloudy and worried. Hilde arched an eyebrow, as the woman met her gaze—there was something regal and commanding in the woman's haunted gaze... Old pain and confusion existed, but beyond it all was the backbone of nobility, of command.
"My duty has always been to the Dawn," Catherine's hands were white, as they closed painfully tight around the simple doll, "I don't know who you people really are, but I do know what my role in this war is... If the Dawn commands me to go to her side, then I will go..." She fell silent, voice eerily resolute, plain black button eyes watching her, condemning her... How many other children had fallen? How many other dolls had lost their mistresses during the raid on the Galaxy Court? How many people could she have saved had she ignored the seer's words and warned the others?
"Wait..." Sally turned from the others, their feet carrying them toward the door, her legs burning with that strange, odd desire to find the Dawn–to place her life in her Queen's hands... But even with the Call still fresh in her ears, Sally could not leave... Not while a soul cried for healing...
Kneeling, Sally reached for Midii's trembling hands, staring into the gray-eyed woman's face. "Midii?"
Outside, the sun began its slow, agonizing crawl–its rays seeping across the land, glistening off stubborn patches of snow... Carefully, Sally raised her gloved hand to the Spy-Mistress's chest, placing it over the woman's wildly beating heart. Staring into shadow eyes, the healer wondered what the spy must have felt during the Call... Had Relena's power been strong enough to reach past even the veil surrounding this sad little woman?
There was only one way to find out...
Sally's Hand began to shimmer, heat flowing from her palm, as the healer sought the power to heal... Heal not physical wounds of blade or sickness, but deeper, more deadly scars... Sally sought the power to heal a damaged human heart... And while the others could only stand and watch–Wufei's eyes brimming distrustfully at the sight of more magick, Hilde's blood burning with the desire to find her Mistress, Trowa's face shrouded in shadow, the Cup still clutched within his hand, and Catherine–her heart pounding, her fingers tightening, pain eating away at her own fragile human heart—while they stood and watched, Sally did what she did best...
She longed for darkness... And she longed for light... Either would have been a welcome change from the constant, shifting gray mist that clouded her vision... stole her breath... tore at her skin... picked at her bones... Leaving her numb and skinless and oh so alone... Always alone... Ever since that terrible night, ever since she'd committed that horrible sin... She had signed away her soul, handed it over on a blood splattered plate...
And there had been so much blood that night... and before... and after... and always... And she remembered the color of blood even in this gray world of shadows, this gray world that twisted and tainted even that memory... Here there could only be gray blood dripping down gray, lifeless skin staining gray, dry dirt...
They had given her a home when no one else would... Had given her a life when the world had offered her nothing... nothing... nothing...
"NOTHING!" Midii grasped her head, falling to her knees, pulling at her once wispy blond hair—gray now... everything gray and lifeless and her hair fell through her fingers... Unsure if she had actually grabbed it.. Unsure if she had hair or a head or a body... or a soul...
>Midii?>
Nothing existed here... Nothing but the shades and the voices of the past... Fleeting fades running through the gray mist–whispering in her ears, pinching her skin... if she had skin... did she have skin anymore? Or had it been burned away? Torn aside by the pinching, clawing fingers of those who once were... Did she have bones? Or blood? Or a life at all? Did these memories exist? Or were they lies created by a mind that never really existed? Did she exist?
Who was she?
She had forgotten... Somewhere along the way... It had been forced aside, hidden away under layers and layers of what the world needed her to be till she forgot... forgot the scared little blonde girl she'd once been... Forgot the face of her mother, the hands of her gentle slave father and his sons... Her brothers, all tiny and innocent and weak and beneath her even when she was only a common peasant girl working her mother's land and craving a life of more... Something more than dirt and vegetables and cattle and milking... Something beyond the simplicities of chasing chickens and plucking feathers...
>Please, Midii, answer me!>
Once she had cared for them... Cared for her simple-minded brothers... cared for her hard working mother... cared for her bent, hobbled father–though she had never once called him by something so loving as father or daddy... But then she had grown so disgusted... Hated the dirt on her hands and the taste of boiled turnips against her tongue... Hated the way a rake felt in her hands... Hated the way her brothers scuttled about doing meaningless chores... Hated her mother's coarse, plain way of talking... Hated it all with such a passion... Hated the world that had given them all such a harsh, unpleasant life... She had begun to think in ifs...
If we were rich, we'd have enough slaves to do the hard labor...
If we were nobility, my idiot brothers would have been sent away...
If we had more, then life wouldn't be so hard...
If, if, if... A thousand ifs on the tip of her tongue, a thousand petty reasons to build the growing fire of disdain and disgust within her chest... But there was nothing to do... Nothing to stop the simple little life awaiting her... Nothing to change the tides of fate...
Except... She had been wrong...
>I can't feel her at all... It's so dark... So terribly empty...>
And when bandits swept across their simple farm, runaway criminals crossing the border between Dawn Lands and Carthan, her mother had taken her by the shoulders–pushed her toward the door, eyes wide, coarse voice shaking in fear. "Run, girl, run!" She'd cried in that raspy tone Midii had grown to hate over the years because in her naive idiocy she had seen it as another sigh of her commonbred ways—too many years chewing and smoking cheap tobacco... She'd sneered at that voice, cursed it, hated it—and yet, in those last few moments it had cared only for her well-being...
So, she'd run... Across burning fields of barely ripened corn–coughing and spluttering and occasionally dodging the meaty hands of some dirty bandit... Coming close to capture if not for the sudden yell of her youngest brother–his little form darting across her vision, slamming into bandit flesh, voice yelling for her to run, to escape, to leave...
And she had left... Left her mother to a burning hut... her brothers to savage and brutal murderers... and her father... she had no idea what had happened to his frail, crippled body... Whether by flame or sword, though, she knew she had left him to death as well...
After all her harsh words, all her disgusted looks, all her irrational hatred... They had died so she could run...
>Midii! MIDII!>
Midii sobbed into her hands, bent and shaking—terrible, wailing, choking cries pouring from her lips... Tears dripping down her face, cascading to the gray, gray dirt–seeping into her wailing mouth, down her throat, filling her with a dozen years worth of sadness and self-hate... She had tried so hard to forget the life she'd left behind, the family she'd forsaken... Tried to forget the terrible, selfish girl she'd once been...
Pushed it all aside so that when a second chance arose, she'd be ready... Prepared to hold penance for all her terrible close-mindedness... She would be a better person... She would be grateful for her life and the people in it... She would be something better... Someone better...
She'd made a thousand little promises to herself... If the Mother would give her back her family, she would be better... She would never complain... she would never be mean or cruel... she would teach her brothers so many things and she would tell her mother how much she loved her and, and, and...
A thousand meaningless promises... The Goddess would not bring back the dead... And so, she was alone...
And then, one day, she wasn't...
"Little girl, why are you crying? Don't be so sad! Are you hungry? I'm sure mother won't mind if you dine with us!"
She had sworn that this time it would be different... She had found a new family and this time she would protect them... She would not allow cowardice or pride to blind her heart... She would protect Cathie and Lady Pluto with all her soul...
Except... that had gone all wrong, too... She had messed up... Allowed her selfish love for Cathie to destroy the other girl's life... Destroyed it just like she had destroyed her own...
She had sold her soul to the devil to protect Cathie... She should have known better than to trust such dark evil to keep its word...
>It's different... I can feel her, but she's... There's so much pain...>
Her fingers sank into the earth, tearing into ashy soil, clawing deeper and deeper–struggling in vain to hide, to escape the terrible memories of her past... All the terrible things she had done in pride and ignorance, done when she was only a mere child with barely two coppers worth of sense in her thick head... And then what had come after... All those horrible deeds committed by blood-stained hands... Lurking within the shadows, waiting and watching–face hidden, eyes hooded... Not even blinking as the blade slid against papery thin skin, leaving trails of red, red blood across her face...
Even in this gray, gray world, she could remember the color of blood... It was the only constant she'd ever had in her life... Rich or poor, intelligent or dim-witted, male or female–they all bled red... In her line of work there had been no difference... There had only been the color of red staining her hands... And the truth that all humans looked eerily alike when lying at one's feet, blood pooling on the ground, eyes staring accusingly up at her...
"Our Shadow..." They had whispered, surrounding her, touching her–pressing spidery, sharp fingers into her skin, covering her with cold, chapped kisses... "We welcome you, Our Shadow, Our Child." Empty meaningless words... Their icy gazes boring into her soul... Then, young and inexperienced, shivering naked and scared before their gazes, she had felt something terrible in their gaze... Recognized something...
It had taken years before she realized where she had seen their eyes before... In every victim, in every dead body she'd come across... Her teachers had the eyes of the dead—cold, inhuman, and accusing... Beyond the normal vein of humanity—beyond simple kindness and caring, love and friendship... To be a spy was to forsake all ties to the human spirit, to give one's self solely to death—to die even while you lived...
She had feared the day she would look into the mirror and see a dead woman staring back...
Losing her family had damaged her soul... But it was when she was fifteen that she finally managed to kill it... That terrible day she had sold an innocent boy into a horrible future and caused the death of a kind and giving woman... The day she'd inherited the hate of her one and only best friend, the only human she'd ever truly considered family after the loss of her first...
Her soul died... Leaving her empty and lifeless—a killing doll for her heartless teachers, a mere puppet... Her life had no meaning... And for years she had allowed them to do what they would with her skills... She would feel no joy, no pleasure... She had destroyed something precious and wonderful... She would not try to find happiness again.
>How can one person live with so much pain? Midii... Please... She's drifitng... I can't... I can't find her!>
But the Goddess smiled down on her... Favored her despite all the crimes she had committed in her short life... And somehow she managed to find herself before a Queen–a Queen seeking her own penance, a woman capable of seeing the shadows within Midii's soul and understanding the delicate spirit still fluttering weakly within the fragile young woman... A Queen who bought her freedom, dragged her from the darkness, and allowed her to once again see that there could be kindness and happiness and joy in the world... Perhaps... Perhaps those frail emotions were not meant for her, but that didn't mean they couldn't exist...
A new world could be created... It could be protected... Before she had been selfish... She had wanted that glittering, golden world of happiness to belong to her... But this time... This time, she would be content with merely protecting the Queen's vision, guarding the world Katarina so desperately desired for her people.
The youngest Spy Mistress in the history of the Dawn Lands...
"It doesn't seem right... There are others better qualified, your majesty..."
"Of course there are others, but, dear Midii, I need a Spy Mistress whose eyes still flicker with life... A dead woman knows nothing about protecting the living."
"...How...can you look at me and say that? If I am not a dead woman then...what am I?"
"Scarred, my dear one, merely scarred..."
A cold breeze shook dead tree limbs, rattling them against each other like bones... Her fingers ceased their wild digging, raw and clumsy and bloody... Midii refused to look up, instead trembling as she stared into the ground—one hand rubbed against her face, leaving a trail of wet, gray mud...
>Something's wrong, something's wrong! Goddess, Midii! Something's WRONG!>
And then she SCREAMED! Shattering, breaking apart, clawing at her face—crying and cursing, lips moving in a rapid series of words and sound. She HURT—goddess above, she hurt and she was so tired of hurting... So tired of losing the people that meant the most to her... so tired of always doing the wrong damn thing.
"I forgive you..."
>She's fading! Midii! Why can't I heal her! MIDII! MIDII!>
So tired...
The Galaxy Court was in an uproar... The streets ran with blood and chaos, men and women alike shoving and screaming... Fire roared along the south border, but few bothered to run for water or help... Women burst through every crevice, every nook—flooding the streets with weak, parlor magicks and the sound of metal against metal...
Through all the chaos, Noin shifted Sylvia's weight, pressing against rotten timber, sticking to shadows, as she watched the city crumble around her... The Dawn's Summons had created a turmoil that the Moon and his men could never have predicted... Those loyal–woman and man alike–were overcome with the desire to escape, to find their precious Queen—and not even the Moon's soldiers could stop such a flood of people without shedding blood on both sides...
She wondered how Zechs was handling the sudden revolt... She had not seen him amidst the fighting, only armor garbed Moon soldiers—some ruthless in their pursuit of order and obedience, others hesitant and incompetent–obviously newly freed slaves who barely knew how to hold a sword, let alone swing one...
It secretly amazed her at how many of her countrywomen had managed to hide from the Moon's sight—some in cellars and hidden basements, crouching and waiting, only able to rely on loyal slaves to bring food and water, and some she knew had to be like Iria—playing their meek little roles until the time was right...
Was the time right?
Noin did not think so... Too many of her countrywomen would lose their lives this morning... They were weak and tired, frail beneath the oncoming flood of trained, fed soldiers... Most were simply citizens—untrained and poorly educated, knowing only their respective trades... Women and men, who had once lived relatively peacefully, who knew nothing of the outside world, content with their precious city... Women and men who now fought tooth and nail to escape the prison their beloved city had become...
Zechs had been a fool for not forcing them out before this night... Why had he never gathered the women of the city? He had to have known that one day they would prove a problem for his plans?
Unless... Unless...
It was a terrible thought... A terrible, cunning plan that turned her blood into ice...
What if he had planned for something like this? So many of his soldiers were former slaves... unused to the idea of raising a hand, let alone a sword, toward a woman... If he had sent them out to gather the females of the Galaxy City, perhaps some would have been unable to pull the poor, trembling women from their homes... Some might have turned... Some might have helped their former mistresses...
But... now... with the women wild in their desire to reach their chosen Queen—their hands wielding weak, yet occasionally dangerous magicks or blood-stained, steel swords... Instinct overcame all–those that might once have hesitated, now reacted without thought—fear for their lives forcing their hands to swing...
In such chaos, Zechs could gain control over his men... In chaos, he could continue to sow the seeds of doubt and suspicion—remind them of the cruelty some had been forced to encounter, reveal to them the true, feral nature of their former mistresses... In chaos, Zechs could mold them into his perfect soldiers...
Horrified, Noin's stomach twisted painfully—he had kept the women of the Galaxy City for target practice...
Sylvia moaned, a small, pathetic sound that tore at Noin's heart, dark, tear-stained eyes darting toward the Representative's trembling form. Without a second thought, Lucrezia pushed away from the building, darting into the destruction—ducking and dodging spells and weapons—teeth gritting as a wayward fire spell singed her right leg, stumbling briefly before ignoring the pain and continuing onward... Ahead the walls of the Galaxy City loomed—misshapen and broken ruins teeming with people struggling to escape the Moon and his soldiers...
Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she watched a small group of guards, their eyes cold and heartless as they knocked aside man and woman alike... The road seemed flooded with blood and bodies where the five stood–back to back, swords and spears held with ease... Mercenaries... Original Moon soldiers, trained and loyal to their leader...
Coming as close as she could without being seen, Noin kneeled, carefully depositing Sylvia into a dark alley. Leaving the unconscious woman so vulnerable did not sit well with the former Captain and, yet, if she were to find any help for the weak Representative, it would be outside the walls of the city... And there was only one way to the other side.
Pulling her cloak off, Noin draped it across the younger woman, offering some weak coverage, before pulling her short sword free—stepping through the grime and bloody remains of soldier and citizen alike. As she walked, her eyes grew cold, an icy fire burning along her flesh. When the Dawn's Capital faced attack, she had been unprepared... Her Dawn had fallen, her Swords executed, her home destroyed... There had been no chance for fighting... There had only been panic and sorrow—rage and hatred... It had fallen so suddenly, so quickly...
But now...
Lucrezia Noin raised her sword and rushed forward—a terrible scream on her lips, as she swung. A thick, heavy broadsword met her smaller blade—dark, black eyes glittering at her from beneath a rusty helmet. Noin grunted, throwing her shoulder and weight against his blade–metal sliding against metal, sparks flying through the air, as they sprung apart–her chest heaving...
She couldn't see his leer, but she felt it through the inches of thick metal... And her lips twisted into a nasty smile—the problem with armor was it made a person feel invincible... And they tended to do stupid things...
Like lunge forward when she feinted to the left...
Noin twisted in mid-motion, ducking slightly as she brought her blade up sharply. The man's heavy weight pulled him forward even as he strived to correct his mistake, but nothing could stop the pull of gravity as it threw him into the path of her sword–its tip piercing just below his left arm. Lucrezia's shoulder slammed into his chest, digging the blade as deep as it would go—feeling blood spray against her tunic.
Then she pulled free, turning to face the next soldier even as the one behind her fell to his knees. Noin sneered at the spear aimed for her unprotected chest, easily parrying–dropping into a crouch, one leg swinging in a low arc, knocking into the back of the spear-handler's knees. He stumbled, spear dipping at the sudden motion and Noin sprung forward—blade tearing easily through skin and bone, barely batting an eye as his body fell, head rolling through the sludge.
Blood clung to her eyelashes and she quickly wiped a hand across her vision—the last thing she needed was blood dripping into her eyes... The second nearly cost her, as she barely caught sight of metal flashing in the air just in time to dodge—air hissing between clenched teeth, as the blade slid across her left shoulder.
Panting, Noin turned to face the remaining three—they'd finally noticed their comrades' fallen forms and had obviously decided that of all the citizens struggling for freedom she seemed to be the most dangerous...
A smirk tugged at her lips; they would have been better off had they realized that before two of their own had fallen... Five would have been a bit of a challenge at once, but three... There was a wild, almost crazy gleam in the Captain's eyes, as she raised her blade once again–ignoring the stabbing pain within her shoulder.
The rising sun gleamed off navy blue locks, her usually white teeth stained pink with the blood of their fallen allies. Her lips twitched slightly, the only warning the three soldiers received before she flew forward, "LONG LIVE THE DAWN!"