For this century, I would like to begin with the newest changes amongst the Tidewalkers.
Oswort stands as our premier Tidewalker, the epitome of manipulating one’s Tide. While his many Covenants allow him to wield all Tides equally, he faces dire restrictions in their use. Emulate his power, not the path he strode.
There are some new up-comers amongst the Tidewalkers, however. The Designation is home to only those who specialize in their Tides, whether it is Hydro, Cryo, or Arido. Only Necto is excluded.
Otherwise… Vicar would be present at the top of almost every Designation.
Let us give praise to:
Praetor Sun, heir to the Drowned Dragon’s spirit. Her waves hold his ferociousness and his love in spades.
Praetor Landon, patriarch of House Gilward. His steam is quite remarkable. Reminds me of our late Legate Quinton.
Praetor Gael, newly ascended and still green, but I see a grand future for his Humidity. Hints of Swane lie in his mastery.
* Yarnen, Anomaly 0, Year 3986, in her Century Report.
The rough fingers of an Araki man clasped tightly with mechanical whirring in the background. Throughout Archimedes’ work on the broken ship that required a few days of repairs, Rejo set himself upon a goal.
He would catch up to Dante.
It was an impossible task for him. The human had always been far above and beyond any other he had ever met. And as he heard more and more about Tides, the Lightsea, and the Dirges that plague the worlds, the man’s admiration had only grown more revered in nature.
Rejo had never been what one would call a sane man. He left a wonderful and safe homeland for a life of adventure, blood, and death. The reason?
He wanted fun. He wanted to live. He wanted... to be someone, to be something.
And he always saw Dante Penance as the epitome of such. They had worked together for many months, both had gone through countless acquaintances, and Rejo had been offered far more payment with other organizations, but he stayed with Dante.
Was it because he believed only Dante could lead him to greatness?
Was it because he thought those other organizations only wanted to take advantage of him?
Was it because his instincts screamed Dante was never to be crossed?
It was none of them.
Rejo had found a man with the ambition to seize the stars themselves, and he had to embark on such a journey himself. No one else seemed to comprehend the depths of Dante’s initiative, but Rejo believed he did.
While his mind swam and ballooned with wonders, the man stared intensely at his palms. He saw futures where they conquered planets, managing to overcome a nation-state. But it didn’t end there. From planets to Sectors, they cleared their way like an unending monsoon, the kind that plagued his homeworld.
From Sectors to Regions, and finally, the galaxy itself, it would fall before Dante.
At least, that is what Rejo believed. Few thought him wise in any capacity, but he saw himself as shrewd beyond measure. For such an incredible being such as Dante Penance, Rejo would give his all. He would give his everything.
Why? Was he a follower to his core, unable to choose for himself?
No.
The scenery within Rejo’s pupils changed as his mind took over. Here, the Araki found himself within an endless field of maize. The crops extended into emptiness so far away it was immeasurable, but Rejo was too focused on the figure before him to care.
A human stood tall at the center of the maize field, his silhouette framed by the golden stalks swaying in the wind. He radiated an aura of unshakable confidence, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the sun dipped below the stars. It was a confidence unlike any other.
Even that Caesar would pale compared to the Araki’s chosen captain.
In Rejo’s mind, Dante was a figure whose very presence commanded the universe to bend to his will. If he wanted something, he could have it. It was only a matter of time. The cosmos itself seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat.
As he watched, in awe for a moment, he saw how the radiance of the star withered with Dante’s blinks. Again, that reverence grew. The Araki wished he had such power, and the only way he would ever have it was by riding the rising tsunami.
Rejo approached, his steps deliberate and growing in exuberance, sensing the weight of the countless victories they had already shared. In his imagination, the memories were vivid—so much so that a Psion would find them should they search, and the false scenes quickly became permanent.
There was the time they had snuck into the citadel on Rorsach VII, outnumbered and outgunned, yet emerging victorious with Dante assassinating the Centurion in charge, with Rejo at his back, insuring his escape.
Another flash of memory showed them injured atop the smoldering ruins of the Troupe’s hidden laboratory on Deneb Prime. The scent of ozone and burnt metal was nearly as heavy in the air as the tang of blood from the criminals indebted to the underground’s ruler. Rejo knew Dante held distaste for such things but bore it, regardless. The captain had turned to him then, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and clapped a hand on Rejo’s shoulder, “To the next one, you and I.”
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Dante beamed, and Rejo’s spirit soared.
Even so, the best was still yet to come. They were destined for more impossible things—Sectors would quiver at the mere mention of Dante’s name, and Rejo would be there, always at his side, ensuring that the human’s plans always went as they should. The Araki was convinced that Dante’s rise to power would be meteoric, but... to him...
It was his job to protect him from the things he was blind to. Companions. Crewmates. Dante always had a soft spot for those who worked with him. He hated to show it, but Rejo knew it to be true.
The spontaneous man would have to be the one to guard him. He would prevent any more betrayals. No knives would ever pierce his captain’s back.
The maize field rippled with a sudden gust, and Dante turned, his eyes locking onto Rejo’s. The intensity caused the plains to warble under its might. This was it—this was the moment that all their shared victories had led to.
“Rejo,” Dante’s voice was deep, more profound than usual. But, of course, it was. This was the ultimate form of the legendary man, possessing enough scars to kill any other man. “The stars are waiting for us. But we can’t afford to falter. Not now.”
Rejo nodded fervently, his fists clenching with determination, “I won’t let you down, friend. We’ve come too far and fought too hard. Nothing will stop us. We’ll reach the center of the Great Cavity!”
Dante’s gaze unwound, and for a brief moment, Rejo believed he saw a glimmer of pride, of appreciation, in those emotionless eyes. It was all the confirmation he needed. They were brothers—not by blood, but by battle. It was by the shared dream of conquering the stars that connected them immortally.
“Good. I knew I could rely on you. Now. Become strong. I don’t want to leave you behind,” Dante ordered his sailor before falling silent.
The plains faded with his words, bringing tears to Rejo’s cheeks, for the man knew Dante would. That is just who he was. It wasn’t a fault, but the piece that made him so unique.
The human would let nothing stop him from what he wanted.
He was Dante’s best and only true friend, the one person who understood the weight of the captain’s ambition. All the others that have come have their own motivations and goals hidden beneath their allegiance. Not Rejo.
His heart was pure.
No matter how they valued or qualified the human, he would always surprise them, but he would never overwhelm his friends.
As the imagined scene faded, and Rejo found himself back in the reality of the cold, metal corridors of the abandoned ship, he still felt the ardency of that connection. It fueled him, coerced him to train harder, rage fiercer, and shield Dante with a zeal that was as boundless as the heavens themselves.
But the cold reality did not distort his gut. If anything, the chilly metal brought out a part of Rejo he wasn’t aware he owned. He stood as if possessed and strode outside the small ship meant for only a handful of passengers.
The Araki exited the ship and bee-lined for Lucius. The soldier was aiding Archimedes in carrying scrap and electronics from the mess to the vessel for the kid to use. Sonna read a book a mere few feet away while Joan was currently off getting food.
Rejo didn’t waste a second. “Lucius. Train me!” His excitement and determination were enough to put any military instructor into a fever.
Unfortunately, Lucius cared little for such things. He simply shook his head and ignored Rejo’s delirious ramblings, “Go be crazy somewhere else. Can’t you see I’m busy? We can’t help Dante if we don’t get the ship working.”
Despite being turned down, Rejo’s spirit wasn’t hampered. He nodded as if expecting such an answer, and so he trekked around the ship to an unknown portion of the scrapyard. The trash heap was devoid of people because of its toxicity, and as such, only Lucius could dive into it without care for parts. Rejo, however, didn’t care. A higher power called.
The Araki’s mind cut out the words calling to him, and he sat down upon the detritus. His eyes closed as his imagination grew. Instead of Lucius, another voice guided him.
“Think deeply. Move your emotions, your soul, toward the Lightsea. Yes. Perfect. Now, revolve it within your body. But don’t overexert it. Slowly, pull it all toward your hand. Then, like a bubble expanding, let the world see you,” Dante’s words taught Rejo how to move his Tide. The Araki didn’t even question the knowledge, as if it was always a part of him.
And, when he unfurled his eyes, a crackling aura came from his hands before dissipating without effect. No sound congratulated him other than the nonsensical hymns in his mind, but the Cryo expected such. Dante was not prone to acknowledgments of trials.
He only respected the strong.
As such, Rejo devoted his all to being second to only his captain. And he was not strong yet. He didn’t know what he had just done, but he believed in his captain, returning to create that expanding bubble. That is until a shout finally broke him from his imaginary stupor, “Hey, maniac!? Get out of the poisonous sludge!”
With a dim smile and shaking his head, Rejo turned to find Joan uttering a groan while approaching him. The four-armed woman urgently retrieved a serum of some kind from her duffel bag of endless poison, “I can’t believe you’re this stupid. Did the fumes get in your brain or something? No, it doesn’t matter. This should remove the toxins.”
The liquid from the syringe entered Rejo’s bloodstream, and it removed the ailments that were plaguing him unknowingly. Yet, his conviction was unharmed.
“I was ‘raining. See?” Rejo grinned through his tendrils while Joan was dumbstruck by his stunt. The man had poisoned himself to train. Worse yet, it seemed to hold results. Joan wasn’t sure what that weird feeling she got as she approached him. She would have to also have a Qualae to be assured.
Rejo? That’s... is he actually smart? No, that’s impossible. He’s as dumb as rocks, good for only shooting and displacing. Still... he used his Stigma the most compared to everyone else. Hmm... I’ll have to keep an eye on our dumbass. He might not be so stupid after all.
By pulling Rejo by his pointed ear, Joan hauled the man all the way back to the ship before dumping him next to Lucius. The Araki shrugged and closed his eyes, once more meditating on the ice within him.
Lucius and Joan both glanced down at him, not sharing a single word, while the soldier hefted a hefty panel over his shoulder. The doctor raised an eyebrow, following it with a question, “Are you going to use it?”
The soldier narrowed his eyes, and Sonna looked up from her book, “Use what?” The second woman’s curiosity was insatiable, eagerly hanging onto Lucius’ word, but the man had a non-answer.
“The bathroom. Yes. Thank you for not just taking it,” Lucius, while light on the uptake and deft in mind, bore the weight while heading into the ship. Sonna perked her lips but didn’t care for their drama more than her scarce moments of calm, returning to her only sanctuary of relaxation.
Joan followed the man and leaned against an interior wall only a few feet from Archimedes. The young man was deep into his profession, welding together wires and pipes to finish up the fueling system that was damaged.
“Hmm? I know you have the Qualae. I used Rat to spy on Centurion Heron’s men, and you two weren’t all that discreet.” Joan boasted her Biotics as she could at every chance, and Lucius bowed his head slightly.
Her explanation made sense to him. That ‘Rat’ of hers was so hard to detect. It made her the size of a rat, with all the wisdom of the wily doctor.
With a sigh, the soldier had already thought of giving her the device, and in response to her insistence, he merely nodded, “Sure. You seem like you want it. You can have it. But what’s in it for me?”
Joan’s grin stretched out as she splayed one of her four hands outward, a violet vial in her palm. The liquid was steady within, but Lucius knew it wasn’t ordinary in the slightest. Yet... it wasn’t like the other three she had shown so far, Rat, Juggler, and Pouncer.
It was something new, something novel.
“It’s not finished yet. I need a test subject first, but I call it Brute. It will last for one hour and increase physicality drastically. It should... theoretically cause a normal man to match a Martian. Momentarily,” Joan explained her creation to Lucius, but the man wasn’t so ready to believe her words.
They were a team, yes, but Joan was always distant. He didn’t want to be a ‘test subject’.
“Right. What are the side effects? What could go wrong? Is just one dose the payment? For a Qualae?” the soldier’s hands waved with skepticism, but the woman seemed to have all the answers.
She put up three of her hands and set one against her heart, “I must ask you to trust me. Yes, there are side effects, but you should be able to deal with them. That is why I need a test subject. But we can’t do it here. Any deaths or missing persons will be investigated severely. Though with your metabolism…”
Lucius’ eyebrows refused to lower, and as such, Joan sighed, opening up her mind even further, “Fine. It’ll likely lead to permanent muscle and bone loss, but I can negate that effect. I just need to perfect the serums. Rat makes one’s spine perpetually damaged while Juggler does the same to the arms, but I’ve created pills to neutralize such things.”
Finally, the man saw her words. The power such a thing could grant would be massive. He had already seen how her Biotics allowed a powerless Harenlar like her to compete against Anaphages and even wound an Anarchy.
For him... it’d be a well-needed boost.
“Fine. But I don’t just want one dose with the pills. I want three, and then I’ll help you with this test subject. For now, though... give me it,” Lucius’ conditions were stiff, but he knew where the limit lay. He could only ask for so much, as these Biotics were precious. Furthermore, he had no one else to sell to, so if Joan turned away, he’d be screwed.
Mercifully for Lucius, the doctor only bit her lip in frustration before conceding, “I can do two. I don’t have the materials for any more past the first, though. But I’ll do you a favor and wait to make the second until it’s perfected,” Joan spoke with a rare honesty. Then, she put out one of her left hands to seal the deal, and Lucius took her offer.
A moment later, a midnight vial was in the man’s hands while a luxurious box was in the woman’s. Lucius was a soldier. While the effects could be lethal without the preparations, he’d rather have an ace up his sleeve than none.
At the same time, Joan’s grin grew. She had wanted to wait until she perfected the Brute, but she thought she had gotten far enough. The Harenlar yearned to experiment with the Lightsea. She wanted to see what it held for her.
With excitement clear in her cackling, she pried open the bizarre-shaped spherical box, leading to a shard of darkness lunging toward her, diving into her flesh, and vanishing inside. With a frown, she looked to Lucius, “Is that normal?”
The soldier shrugged, yet Joan appeared unfazed. A second passed after the sudden darkness filled the room, then two. Then three.
At the fourth, Joan’s eyes bulged, and she fell to her knees, clutching at her throat. Lucius could only lift one side of his lips, patting her on the back, “Now, that’s normal. I’ve seen that before. The other three skipped this part. You though… good luck inheriting a curse.”
Then, the man walked away to continue Archimedes’ repairs, leaving Joan to seize on the floor alone.