“You look worse than before, cat.”

Sunundra slowed in her lopsided stride, tinny speakers pulling her consciousness from the veil of training and instincts it had been under as she inspected the dim confines with a neutral expression, wondering just how far she had wandered while trapped in blank introspection.

Sparse light fixtures shone softly over long stretches of bare steel framing, their wires and pipes left exposed for easy access and repairs. There were no bloodied paw prints here, unlike the maintenance corridors she remembered traversing, the dusty yet pristine surfaces sowing a sense of muted unease. The map might tell her where she was specifically, but the urge to continue downwards was enough of a bearing. There was a location somewhat nearby where she could safely bore through the floor with an explosive, and thankfully, it wouldn't involve falling down a gap that encompassed an entire level this time. Her legs had taken the landing better than expected, though there was no telling if they could do so again—her limp was already worse than before. Regardless, a few more charges would get her where she needed to be.

Where that was, exactly, she couldn’t be sure, but she likely checked at some point and had since forgotten, choosing to follow the shadows of decisions made by some deep part of herself that wasn’t occupied cherishing what little was left behind.

And that was fine. It was fine not to remember things that didn’t matter anymore.

The irritated cadence of the alien, however, was well within memory, even as she ignored it and kept walking.

“You are going in the wrong direction,” the security officer continued, the deepness of its voice straining the address system. A moment of expectation went unmet by her indifference. “There is only more security awaiting you this way. The disturbance your actions have caused has not gone unnoticed.”

They were active? Perhaps it might mean that her kin have begun moving as well, and maybe there was someone who also smuggled contraband or weapons inside. She doubted that she was the only military personnel to have been brought here, and of those, at least one would have kept a secret or two during the onboarding process. Few were as blindly trusting as she had been, and her materials were taken in an effort to maintain her sense of usefulness more than anything else.

Ironic, considering that which was previously a fidget to ease her nerves had since become anathema to everything she once practised. She used to utilize her supplies to save lives and complete objectives bloodlessly. Now, she painted the walls with her enemy's viscera, enveloping entire areas with relentless fire and caustic fumes, regardless of if any would surrender or assist. The contrast felt sickening, persisting as she assured herself that it was necessary.

“What are you doing here? You were supposed to escape with him.”

Yes, she was. Yet she was here, a failure wandering the halls of her attempts, hoping to make a final wrong right.

“Is this all that remains of your determination to see him safe?”

It was all that remained of her, let alone something that had been vaporized by the explosion—that disappeared along with what it had been dedicated to. The once colourful shades of self-imposed delusions and newly found joys had desaturated to cracked, grey panes of unfeeling dullness, distorting any emotions that didn’t tear and wretch at her insides. It was a gap that would forever be left unfilled, placing monochromatic apathy where eager tones once lay.

No amount of wilful thinking would bring him back. Nothing would fill the emptiness surrounding the single fragment of a soul that was left behind in his wake. She couldn’t even keep herself together, nor offer her own life in exchange for his. No, she survived, losing what made her feel alive. Defective, abandoned, hated, and broken, she headed towards her captive kin with a condition that would only solidify their rejection. But the determination that moved her feet through the suffering? That was his. That was what was left in her grasp after everything she had endured, and she would hold it above all else. She would protect it at all costs, for she was nothing without it.

Just as she should be.

Two halves of a heavy door slid closed from recesses in the walls, blocking the path forward just before she could react, her retreat receiving a similar treatment. An unperturbed blink preceded her backpack slipping from her shoulders unceremoniously, the pale-furred female setting it on the ground and shakily crouching through the pain of reopened wounds. Her efforts to treat her bond fared poorly for the cauterized wounds, and the activity after that didn’t help.

Miscellaneous components, a needle, and some thread she had taken from the clinic were retrieved, the latter two tucked into her pocket for a moment. She favoured one arm and pushed against her knee with a paw, standing to place several bare, putty-like patches on the barrier, then connected them in a loop with a length of metallic wire. A loose battery completed the circuit, starting the reaction before getting tossed back into the bag, an implement locked away until circumstances demanded it.

Her eyes lingered on the discarded item, unable to shake the feeling that it was just like herself—needed, used, then stored for later utility. Separated, for intermingling might result in unwanted reactions. Unmonitored, for it would wait dutifully, then perform when called upon. When all was done, she hadn’t the privilege of truly knowing if her efforts were appreciated, only that she would be summoned again and again. Only when she had been drained to lifelessness would she be disposed of, replaced by another who could do what she no longer could. Just like the battery.

Her claws manipulated the needle and thread with a steadier touch than before, the numbness stilling her form as she sized up which of her wounds were still bleeding—most of them, it seemed. At least the need for anaesthetics had been rendered moot by painkillers and her now broken condition. She only felt the slightest echo of a sting in her leg while crudely stitching the torn flesh.

“Your antics have disabled multiple elevators,” the alien informed dryly, a wariness entering his tone. “If possible, I would recommend going back the way you came.”

She didn’t deign to look for where the video transmission devices were, pulling the thread taut then clipping it between her clawtips before moving to the next injury that needed treatment. The charges on the door would take a while; they were quick to make and material-efficient, but at the cost of potency. It bought time for her to mend herself, however, and wasting the opportunity would be unwise.

“Have you rendered yourself deaf? You have destroyed your escape route from here. You cannot leave this way.”

“I have not come to escape,” she replied airily, pulling the edges of a sewn wound. It will hold for now. Her stomach was briefly considered, but the utility of the macabre pocket outweighed the danger to her health.

Utility…

Her nonplussed expression crinkled the smallest amount, the shadow of a frown attempting to knit her brows. It was all simply utility, wasn’t it? This was useful, that was not—simple, painless, pragmatic… Empty. There was no expectation, isolation, or hurt. Just tools. Just applications.

Smiles made others less hostile, a proper posture assured none thought her disrespectful, and suitable distances meant that the most agreeable of her ship-packs would find her tact appropriate. It might even earn a dismissive nod or subtle act of tolerance, were she to be diligent in her considerations.

She had always been vacant beneath the mask of amiability—always categorizing what would be used when to achieve the optimal result. She had been obsessive about it, keeping notebooks and datasheets to track her findings, the tables and results hidden amongst the more esoteric of her experiments in chemical demolitions. She used her very flesh as a tool, exactly as her superiors had. Apply this stratagem, don that expression, polish and shine her appearance until it resembles what others preferred… Until the fateful sun where she would be appreciated and accepted for her ceaseless struggles…

Now, there was no one who would accept her, and there was value in having this new utility, no matter how unseemly. There was value in having more. Whereas she thought only her body was commanded by those of higher station and the orders that came through clipped tones, she had learned it was her entirety that had been the tool—from claw to mind. The difference was that she now followed the will of a singular desire that none could contest.

And if none could contest it, that would make it divine, no? An edict of the Mother?

The thought seeped into the gaping fissures of her psyche like a bitter poison, pulling from the already numbed senses. She was naught but an opportune existence to her kin, beholden to the whims of those who detested her. Bill never thought of her like that. He only saw what others were too disgusted to see: a hurt, pitiful female that wished for a smile in her presence more than witnessing another sunrise of solitude. Yet when that wish was granted, it was taken away just as quickly by those who set out to ensure she would never be given it again. There would be no more warmth and comfort, his sunrises forcefully ripped from his grasp and left to the one who wanted nothing more than to share them with him. She had received a distorted version of what she desired, never having communicated how much the brief period of being complete meant to her until the one who showed her was no longer there to hear it.

It was taken from her as soon as she realized how much she would give to keep it.

She had relished the bond stitching the torn seams of a soul that could hold no more suffering, then was subsequently destroyed for it, left as a hollow shell to witness time pass in some ironic punishment for sins unknown. After everything, all she could do was clutch the lingering mote of his essence, allowing a primal part of herself to act on instinct and training as something called to her from the abyss dwelling in her thoughts.

Silent, she rejected the world, convincing herself that she might succeed in a task which towered over her. Blind, she ignored the passages and let her legs trudge forward, only a thread of consciousness guiding the way. Empty, she sheltered within the idea that she would be able to abandon that which made her his Sunshine, suppressing the worry that it would leave a permanent darkness in its wake.

And again, she was a tool—a solitary implement, its owner unable to direct or wield it…

But she was directed; she was trusted with the wish that escaped the maw of the ever-hungering Void. There existed nothing of higher authority than the singular glow amidst the blackness, giving light to the ravenous stagnation that lingered, waiting to consume her whole.

“You said that you wanted to save him—save your people,” the alien continued, a bitter hatred seeping into his words. “I thought you wouldn’t waste the chance my human died to give you.”

Her slow blink coincided with the last of her major injuries being stitched shut, the thread snipped before all the involved materials were stored away, her bag donned once more. The mild pressure of the oddly-shaped terminal in her stomach confirmed it was still there, reminding her that she failed to repay more than one person’s kindness.

“If you care for your kind who are trapped down below—or the humans they’re with—then you should turn around now and find another—”

“—I do not,” she replied vacantly, her mouth moving before her thoughts could process what left it. Strangely enough, she didn’t disagree with the conclusion. Only one thing mattered now.

“…You…don’t?” it asked warily, apparently not expecting such a frigid candor. The pale-furred female adjusted the charges affixed to her backpack and waited in front of the barrier preventing her progress. “What of your vengeance? You made it quite clear that I would die by your actions.”

“You will.”

“…Yet you claim not to care about them?”

“Correct.”

An eerie silence stretched on. “…Then, why? Why regress?”

A soft sizzle signified the end of the placed charges’ reaction, a wisp of blue smoke listing off the metal. She lifted a foot and lightly pushed against the sectioned-off portion of the door, forcing it free from the rest. It thumped against the ground, kicking up dust. Her blank expression remained, even when she spotted the glimmer of a video transmission instalment, her placid gaze boring into the hidden lens. She could almost picture the bovine-like alien watching the monitor with confusion and hostility—and strangely enough, the thought was morbidly amusing.

It was such a foolish question, asked by one who could never understand the suffering that was held at bay by the light of a promise. Compared to its luminance, all of her previous wants felt shallow and meaningless, her prayers for affection never able to include the unfathomable purity and fullness she was always missing.

Why did she strive to please her kin, when the dullest ember he provided willingly could consume the largest inferno they could offer? Why did she sacrifice year after year to follow orders of those who despised her, when simply smiling at him returned joy in infinite volumes? Why did she suffer for them at all? True, one of appropriate background might venture numerous speculations, yet to her, only a single answer mattered. She had been moulded by the Mother’s claws for one not of her own, then shown the darkest depths so she might see how bright it could truly be.

Now, she was plunged back into those depths by another…but she had seen the light. She had learned there was more awaiting the Mother’s faithful. It awaited all kits—no matter their condition—with an offer of perfect pieces to match those jagged holes that others left within them. It waited…so, so patiently…

And she had been shown where it lay…

Her muzzle tugged into a distorted, wry grin marred and clouded by sorrow. Twisted revelation brightened her eyes. A tittering breath let slip her madness, yet it felt right. The security officer had not felt the embrace of the Void as it ripped his soul apart piece by piece, nor experienced what it was to be naught but a means to an end, and so it queried about that which it could not know. It never discovered how caliginous existence was, ignorant to the illumination that could be experienced. This naive being had yet to be enlightened, so it was doubtful of unblemished truth.

And it was truth. It was a pure, clear, immutable fact engraved into the bones of the Goddess’ offspring, yet hidden by layers of lies, deception, and life, only to be glimpsed when the granules of glass could refract the endless agony. She had been stripped of those blindfolds, cracked and shattered and ground to fine particulates until the infinite reflections formed a perfect image…

Sunundra had been given clarity through her torment. She had been given unvarnished knowledge through her destruction. Through breaking, she had learned of the Mother’s will, and through Bill’s small, flickering glow…

“Because I have been given a command, unlearned one, and this faithful will obey.”

…She had received a purpose.

= = = = =

Heroon frowned, unsure how to take the sudden change in tone. From her initial despondency, he assumed the defect would have detailed how she crawled her way to however she managed to occupy the shuttle she crashed in, yet she had instead come upon some delusion of divine purpose? Was such a thing unheard of? No. Was it rare? Still, no, not really; some who closely adhered to their specific branch of the teachings are said to be granted glimpses of what lies beyond. It was common enough that the church was quick to exalt the experience as proof that the Mother watched over them all, no matter how scattered her attentions or divisive her Aspects. He chose to remain skeptical on the exact level of the deity's involvement in the past, but this was a bit much. First a bond, now a vision?

Fine. Even if he were to humour the thought, placing which Aspect such an…interesting depiction belonged to was troublesome.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

It was told that the Hunt Mother was far too great for her progeny to fully comprehend, and so she allowed pieces of herself to exist amongst the mortal young as they propagated—from the smallest of emulations to the manifestation of those traits. All was done to prepare them for the eventual return to her embrace, the souls carrying new lessons in her stead. She gathered her influence into concentrated Essences, then divided them further into Aspects that her young might learn from, tasking them with resisting the erosion of the Void and proving themselves worthy once more.

Sadly, that breadth of scope also welcomed a wide array of Aspects to be studied; the nature of Lilhun kind categorized and compartmentalized. Most in his field were required to know them to a degree—especially since quite a bit could be deduced by which one a particular individual placed faith in—but it was a challenge to remember every significant verse or tale, and some were more noteworthy than others. Though he refrained from judging others for which they aspired to embody, following the minutia of all of them was a task best left to the Grand Priests of The Hunt. He could only speculate and vaguely recall the scripture beyond his own belief in the Astral Mirrors, the Aspect that emphasized purity of mind.

‘Be he who gazes upon his form as he gazes upon his antithesis, and be he who sees beyond the veil of self.’

It was a strange verse to be memorized from the tomes, but one he found profoundly resonating, if an ideal that he would never perfectly emulate. The exact interpretations were left to the individual’s own discovery, but he believed it to be one of the more forward Aspects. For him, it was a lesson in rumination and to hold oneself to the standard they place upon others. It was that teaching that led him to becoming a Quesitar for the United Military, and now a male of high station. That faith was why he humoured the pale-furred female’s tale at all, and why he allowed that feeling of reciprocity to form while listening to her plights. Alas, one cannot merely ignore the absolute, and his begrudging willingness to look past her condition was met with the revelation that she was merely sick, maddened, or Void-touched, deluded into thinking she had achieved the impossible.

Yet…it itched at him. He felt something niggling at the back of his mind, a verse long forgotten over the years of his profession.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, ignoring the impatiently raised brow of his assistant. At least Illia was chastened enough by his earlier rebuke to remain quiet in the face of the outlandish claims they were hearing. Still, the defect’s speech had slowed again, the troubled expression telling of difficulty organizing her memories rather than the emotional overload of before. Occasionally, her muzzle would open, only for her voice to falter and her mouth to close, a question only known to herself pouring doubt into the wandering gaze that looked so lost. It was starting to grate on his nerves, honestly.

Heroon tried to maintain at least the appearance of professionalism, but he had grown weary over the course of the interrogation, and simply wanted it to be over. He felt the need for rest pulling at his eyes, the monotonous cadence coming through the speakers becoming a signal of yet another line that must be analyzed and weighed despite his fatigue. Were it not for his orders, he likely would have closed the discussion as soon as she confirmed that her bond was false, but due to the other details, he was required to listen and respond.

His extended exhalation brought a touch of focus back to his mind, the silence while waiting for the contained one to arrange her recollections stretching for too long. He depressed the intercom. “And after your interaction with the alien?”

“I…” The defect’s words fizzled out, her concern visible. “I do not remember.”

His surprise showed involuntarily. “You cannot remember how you returned?”

“N-not to that extent, but it is…fragmented. Where the charge to descend was placed, how far I traversed within the halls…” Her eyes rose from the table, a perfectly formed smile spread across her face, the regret turning it somewhat bitter. It was…mechanical—an emulation of expression that had been executed countless times until it was burned into muscle memory. “I can recall that there was a firefight, yet not how many were involved, nor how long It had been going for. The explosives used during my time on the level had apparently damaged more than just the structural integrity of the passages, and some of the traps which had yet to trigger then did so during my absence.”

The rueful smile faded, her paws folding atop one another on her lap. “It inadvertently freed some of my kind, as well as their human counterparts. It is difficult to say if they were acting to protect themselves, or if they had felt something was amiss before, but they chose a small, locally networked server room to convene, and their meddling with the terminals therein alerted security. I arrived at a junction near the confrontation…and…”

He watched the carefully machined composure fade from her eyes. “And?”

= = = = =

Oh, how quickly her grip on success had slipped.

Instead of snapping from her melancholy to survey wherever she had ended up, she instead found herself pressed to the corner of a three-way junction, the blur of instinct that piloted her form determining she was required to deal with the circumstances. Weapons fire was the first indication that her plan to quietly break the others from their den-like cages was doomed before it began.

She knew not how long the engagement had been underway, nor how many of the security were firing rounds down a claustrophobic offshoot of the main corridors, but she knew it was an issue, and that it was one she was in a poor position to resolve.

The pale-furred female cautiously peered around the corner, trying to gauge her options. Unfortunately, the attempt was cut short as soon as she confirmed it was a fair distance away, the defect ducking back to stifle the curse that tried to escape. She could only make out the mouth of the assaulted passageway from her cover, which didn't offer much information. Without an angle to view what her kin were working with, she couldn't carelessly approach the siege, nor communicate covertly. The glimpse of numerous armoured aliens holding equally unknown firearms was enough to discard any inclination of charging in, and the slight radius of the curving corridor ended her line of sight prematurely, so there might be an even greater force present than she could see.

She glanced down at her bloodstained fur with disdain. No, running in blindly would only result in the enemy adding one more kill to their metrics—her ankle was too damaged to support that reckless inclination. She peered again, feeling ashamed of a new willingness to abandon them, but she would rather save the others than fail with this single group, and the chances of success here seemed bleak.

Return fire snapped and sizzled from the tight passage, forcing security to continue the stalemate as plasma threatened to gore any who were careless enough to advance. A male of her kind barked orders and insults from within, pauses of aggression earning more suppression fire from the enemy, likely forcing those he was with to hunker behind whatever cover was keeping them alive. Based on the sounds and number of shots, the defenders had one, maybe two weapons—nothing military-issued, but certainly Lilhun in origin. Unexpected, but not outside of her initial assumptions.

Another salvo from the offshoot was swiftly met with a counterattack by a particularly stupid alien, its head taking the brunt of a superheated projectile, but not before firing its own weapon.

The shriek was far from Lilhun.

Sunundra grew wide-eyed, frozen as she rapidly compared the agonized screech to every utterance from every alien she could remember thus far, only to return with the voice of Bill's past mate over and over—different, but close enough to be distinctly female. Distinctly human.

The delay was enough for the scent to reach her.

Fear. Love. Anger. Reluctance. Spite. Concern. Anxiety.

More humans, their maelstrom of emotions thickening the air into unpalatable syrup, bile rising in her throat as her broken form recoiled from what was reminiscent of her bond. Each came as jagged shards that didn’t fit her missing pieces, scraping, scratching, and gouging the surface of her far too damaged soul. They assaulted her olfactory, yet they were not the ones she welcomed so wholly. They did not pull at her own. They did not fill what was left behind. They were wrong. They were warped. They were not his.

The ire wasn’t his. He would never be so single-mindedly enraged.

The panic wasn’t his. He would never lose sight of his convictions so easily.

The love wasn’t his. He would never give it so shallowly.

The fear…

His eyes. His eyes strained to maintain clarity, pleading for her safety, and petrified at the thought that the pale-furred female would be yet one more thing he would lose.

T-the fear wasn’t…

A gasp for oxygen forced its way into lungs that were far too weak to process it, his hypoxic lips struggling to form his terrified words.

The fear…

‘It’s not the food, is it? Are you okay?’

The…

‘I’ll be here. You’re not alone.’

It wasn’t…

‘I'll be right alongside you the whole time to make sure. You don't need to be scared.’

He wouldn’t…

‘I miss you…so, so much…’

He would.

‘I promised her I would… I promised…’

Her claw twitched, the blood draining from her face. Her vision darkened as hyperventilation stole her consciousness piece by piece.

‘It’s nice to meet you, miss.’

‘You’re hurt…’

He was.

‘You have me. I'll be your friend.’

‘Well, you’re my Sunshine.’

Static deafened her, yet she still heard his words, each memory more vivid and painful than the last. She clamped her paws against her head, desperately pushing back the blackest pit that tore and consumed her insides. Something screamed, her own voice blaring from countless places at unbearable volume, but it couldn't drown out that final beat of his heart that echoed in her ears, never to beat again.

‘I'm sorry…’

He is.

And then it stopped. All of it. Everything snapped out of existence in an instant, leaving only a cold, vacant black that steadily crept in. The screaming…the memories… The Void swallowed her weakened core whole as she clutched the tiny glow which gave her purpose.

She wanted to cherish his desire and complete it as best she could, yet that too would slip from her grasp. There were too many foes, too many weapons, and too many injuries slowing her down, making her thoughts slur as they went untreated. Even if she would give anything to make it so, her form was all she had, and it had been rendered pitifully worthless, just as she always was.

Yet something disagreed.

Intangible, ephemeral, and playfully innocent, the something in the Void reached out, stroking her fur as she curled around the precious wish which kept her alive. Her nerves lit up like the fireworks her bond held such fond memories off, pain and comfort delivered in equal measure. The something pressed against her skin, interested in the hopeless proposal that wandered her mind.

The voices returned—multiple in origin, yet unison in tone. It spoke with kit-like curiosity, the small presence trying its best to understand.

Why do you not try?

Sunundra shook her head and clutched the ember tighter. She was weakened and hurt; her limbs would falter in the attempt. The something drifted around her, as if looking for the truth in her words. Confidence entered its prideful inflection.

Then release them to me. I will be your strength.

But her sight betrayed her. How could she fight if mere shadows seemed primed to attack?

Then surrender your eyes. I will find the enemy without fail.

Yet her ears were unreliable; she couldn’t trust what she heard anymore. What if she missed something in the height of conflict?

Then let them go. Nothing will escape my notice.

No, her mind was too sluggish. What if she was unable to make a critical decision? What if she chose poorly?

Then give it to me as well. I will not err.

Still, she was tired…oh, so tired. The drugs only went so far, and still she pressed them further and further, wearing herself down without respite. How much longer could she persist before collapsing when others needed her most?

Then rest. I will act where you cannot.

It was a soothing thought. However, there was more she needed to do…

It will not be long. I will make short work of it.

The empty expanse was peaceful, swirls of nothing gently swaying her while she hugged her purpose to her breast. It would be nice to take a brief nap and allow another to act in her stead until she was fit to resume. Even so…it was her responsibility—her duty.

You are a tool, no? That is what you always were. Is it not expected that a tool would be used? Will you not allow me to use you?

Its mirthful perplexion drew a snarl upon her muzzle. There is only one other she would truly submit to, and his will is why she persisted despite the pain of his absence.

The something giggled in youthful amusement as tendrils pierced and crept through her flesh, fully deadening sensation fraction by fraction. Her ears told her nothing, her eyes became vacant, and her thoughts slowed to a crawl, remnants of consciousness stuttering away. Just as she panicked, her form clicked back into place, the voice cooing its promises.

Then trust in me, and I will ensure you persist still. I do not need your permission, but I ask for it out of sympathy. You will still be free to pursue the others—free to save those he deemed worthy.

Fear kept her unmoving. She couldn’t accept. No matter how tempted she was, no matter how terrifying the consequence, she wouldn’t entrust his wish with another. It was hers and hers alone. She would breathe her last with it in her possession.

The image of a silent form flickered in her mind, a pale-furred kit looking up at her with a twisted, bloodlusting grin, violence playing in the gaze burrowing through her skull. Its expression softened to one of tender affection as its claw reached out to caress the fringes of light projected by her tiny beacon.

The change in demeanour did nothing to detract from the shadow of malice that remained on a tripwire thin enough to sever flesh from bone, sharpened by years and years of stretching beyond its limits, refusing again and again to snap by naught but hope that it never would. The strand vibrated as it was pulled by an unseen force, the piercing wail of over-tensioned wire growing louder and louder. The kit continued its address, unperturbed by the overwhelming screeches of metal, the sing-song cadence sobering Sunundra’s confusion.

The lies. The rejection. The isolation. The hatred. Why? Because you were different? Because you were never enough? You were quiet. You were obedient. You were loyal. You were everything they demanded of you and more, and still they despised you, locking you away in hopes that the next time they were reminded of your existence, they would only find a body to be disposed of, their problem ‘solved.’

Small, half-lidded eyes raised to observe her with a serene expression, a storm of rending, shattered glass rolling in the infinite depth and bottomless agony of its pupils.

Yet you suffered willingly. Longingly. Endlessly. You begged the Mother for scraps of what others feasted upon, left to starve amongst her holy clergy, giving gratitude for their crumbs while watching them be nourished by the masses of those who would spare nothing for you to subsist on. You discovered death and destruction, yet refused to use it for anything but saving those who detested their saviour. Do you remember their sneers? How they showered the others in appreciation while you were dismissed, despite it being your work which liberated them from demise? How you were the one who treated the injuries littering your form after those acts of valour, smiling through the pain because you thought that maybe this was the time someone would show kindness? How you were critiqued and berated for performing flawlessly, your superiors cursing the fact you returned instead of exchanging your life for another’s?

A sullen sadness overcame its budding rage, its stare returning to the dim orange glow.

But him… You felt it, did you not? The fear of seclusion resonating with your own, the worry of if his growing affection for you would devalue what he held before… He did not lie to you, for he was tired of hearing falsehoods. He did not reject you, for he had become familiar with being unwanted. He did not isolate you, for he delighted in the company, your presence easing a weight he had forgotten could be lifted…

He did not hate you… No, he loved far too readily, seeing a reflection of himself that had even less than he was afforded. He hurt for you, he shed tears for your sorrow, and he was willing to sacrifice himself if that is what it took for you to be happy, just because you shared his pain. He sought to redeem himself, true, but he wanted little more than to give you your own redemption, making you a hero of your people that others would adore despite your condition. He planned to share his happiness with you as well.

It closed its eyes, opening them to reveal absolute stillness where flurries of sharpened crystals once flew. Cracks and fractures marred the gemstone-like orbs, refracting light into millions of distinct colours that formed incomprehensibly muddled images, yet it was in the kaleidoscopic regard that sincerity rang perfectly clear.

He surrendered everything in the vain hope that you would experience the love of others. That you would no longer pray for acceptance through choking sobs every moon your best was met by the worst of results. Still you refuse to surrender yourself to see his deepest want granted? This single heartfelt desire… How pure it is. How bestial its origin. How unquestionable its intention…

Do you refuse because you will never experience the circumstances which created it? Do you balk at never compensating for what is missing? No. You fear the cost of success. You fear that what awaits you at the end of it is but more torturous moons where the fantasy of love and fondness is unobtainable, leaving you with naught but a memory to ease your self-inflicted passing, countless prayers gone unanswered in spite of how dedicated and forgiving you tried to be. You fear losing that which gained a taste of the thing you pined for, condemning you to never having it again.

She couldn’t deny the words, her mind lost within the captivating spectrums seeing through her every doubt, effortlessly piercing layer after layer of carefully crafted filter she constructed to muffle the ceaseless call of the Void. Flecks and shards started moving within the blackened portals that stared at her, screams and shouting from beyond the vacant expanse leaking through the air, gunshots and alien tongues ordering the death of both human and Lilhun. Time paused with a blink of the kit, its glare severe.

You cling to that which has only brought suffering, unwilling to meet the needs that have arisen. Like him, you must make sacrifices. You were altered—broken—and now it is time to break those who oppose you.

It smiled, devoid of ire or judgment. Its comforting regard returned to the mote held against her chest.

This is not something you need to do alone, for he would offer the world to see his desire come to fruition. It is foolish and selfish, but it is untainted. It is him in the truest sense, and if you wish to achieve what he no longer can, then you too must be ready to let go. Not now, and not permanently, but soon, and for as long as it takes. For him.

The facsimile of her youth waited for her answer, despondency and regret staining the maelstrom of death in its eyes. They held every instance of bitter hatred that had tried to arise, suppressed by the delusion of seeing affection if she was just a little better. Every painful rejection and scathing remark chipping her soul sent fragments of suffering into the expanse, herself unwilling to acknowledge how much less she became. The gaze contained all of her wrath and anguish that she let erode her to naught but dust as she yearned for another to soothe the pain she endured. And now, it offered to protect those fragile remains, burning itself to the ground so that she might rise from the ashes.

For him.

Hesitantly, she nodded, the motions growing more firm. Anything for him. Anything for his wish. Anything for the one who gave up everything to see a sad, pathetic defect be loved. The something returned the gesture, raising a paw to block her vision, a blank slate of nothing left behind.

I will shield you from much, but some will remain. See what will be your anchor.

It touched her arm, her limbs ceasing sensation.

I will wield what I have been given with care. An efficient tool is one used properly, and you will allow none to do otherwise.

It tapped her ear. Silence, save for the voices which knew no volume.

Hear all, but heed few. You are to be beyond the whims of the ungrateful.

Its claw hovered above her head.

Rest now, and when you awaken, know that you have shed that which chains you. You need only use this freedom. Claim what is yours, demand what you desire, reign over your lesser as you would be reigned upon, and if any dare try to steal from you again, remember…

Consciousness dissipated in an instant, leaving behind only the something’s wistful call. Its dampened voices conformed to that of a single kit, unloved and abandoned, watching the possibility of ever having more slip through its claws from the corner of a cold, dark, and forgotten room.

…‘Hope’ died with him. Just as it should have.

= = = = =

“Special Tactics Officer, Demo,” Heroon barked, the defective snapping out of her rumination, her gaze clearing from the distracted wandering it had taken to. At least she had the decency to look ashamed for losing focus.

“Apologies. Might I request a reminder of what I was saying?”

He released a nasal sigh, urging her along impatiently. “You arrived at the junction, and…”

She stopped to think for a moment before sadly shaking her head. “I cannot recall, High Quesitar. I remember the corridors, the junction, and then…”

Her rueful smile returned.

“…I remember the corpses left in my wake, and the blood I had bathed in.”