This was the night when, after hours of post-hospitalization exercise on very little food, Fallon Novette-Naim took her prescribed pain medication and subsequently began to hallucinate.

Her bedroom at Crystal Academy sat empty, deprived of the roommate she had been fortunate to avoid for much of her time there. Each time there was the unwelcome promise of a new person to share her space with, Fallon ran into a bit of good luck – the girl either moved or died. She couldn’t be sure which. There was a time when one girl had occupied her space for an extended period, but Fallon had been fortunate enough to be in a coma then, sparing her the painful and difficult process of learning to share. It wasn’t until months later that she learned this one-time roommate was the same Sailor Gunn on whom she had come to trust implicitly in present day. Still, no matter how much she respected Gunn, Fallon was always better off living alone.

But that night, as the junior at Crystal Academy sat down at her vanity to brush through her long dark hair, she noticed another girl sitting on the bed opposite hers in the reflection. Her hands froze, fingers gently twined in a section of hair. Part of her wanted to turn suddenly, but once Fallon began to brush her hair, she could not stop. So she continued, painstakingly combing through each snarl just as she did every other night, her eyes fixed on the reflection staring back at her. After a few minutes, Fallon set the brush back down on the vanity and then slowly turn to face the stranger.

It was not a girl, as she had originally thought, but a woman around her mother’s age. Her physique, however, was in no way like a mother’s. Thick muscled arms were exposed from beneath the folds of a draping white robe. The golden coin belt that offset her waistline fit snugly, revealing a trim, toned stomach. Her hair was held from her face by a golden crown speckled with glowing gems and hanging chains. She crossed one leg over the other, a small gesture that echoed a quiet power, something bubbling below the seemingly benevolent surface. At first, Fallon felt confused, but one look into the bottomless gray eyes of the woman told her all that she needed to know.

It was Ares -- more specifically, it was Eirene, her civilian form from the Black Moon Kingdom.

Eirene narrowed her eyes. "We need to talk," she said sharply. Before Fallon had a chance to object, the figure silenced her with a sweep of an arm. "I should correct myself. I need to talk. You just listen." In response, Fallon folded her arms across her chest and frowned. The defiance brought a touch of amusement to Eirene's otherwise impassive features, but it did not keep her from her purpose.

"You are a vessel, Fallon, for a soul more powerful than your own." Her voice was low and gravelly, but it rang with a command that made the teenager feel weak. "Just as I was... though, of course, in a different way. I had one soul in my chest, a soul that has survived through the ages. The only things that are my own are the experiences I have had in this life -- my mother, my father, my friends. But I have had mothers before and fathers before, and friends too. And you, the little girl who was found to be suitable enough, know these mothers and fathers and friends too, somewhere inside -- but these are memories that are not yours.”

Fallon blinked involuntarily, her eyelashes fluttering. She demanded control of her own situation. She thrived on order. If anyone else marched into her room and starting making these kinds of demands for attention, the teenager was not certain she would be able to maintain her composure. But sitting across the room from a body that had been created to wield the power of Ares, as opposed to her own which had simply been the best of a bad situation, Fallon felt tiny and powerless.

Raising her gaze back to the face of the intruder, Fallon paused to see that Eirene had stood and was now posed powerfully on the center of her Parisian rug, one hand propped on a slinking hip. There was absolutely nothing casual about the gesture. “My soul has always been one with Ares. I am Ares. I was born with the sole purpose of being Ares. The Black Moon looked at us for answers. There were ceremonies each time the reborn senshi were revealed in our children. I had the blessing of knowing from an early age that I would serve Queen Nehelenia. I trained from childhood. I was born and bred to carry the mantle. I have war in my bones.” Gray eyes flashed greedily around the room, drinking in the chaos of the White Earth and its enemies. There had been battles to be fought in the parallel kingdom, but never of the scope and size of what existed in this realm -- well, not since they themselves had battled against Serenity many, many eons ago.

Silence had captured Fallon’s voice, but she found it now in the wake of Eirene’s distraction. “I have war in my bones,” she said, rising from her seat beside the vanity. “I have not always been Ares, but I am now. I am building an army, I am building my army, and we will take back Destiny City from those who would try to fight against us. I will protect this world because it is my world for the taking. This is where I live; this is where Ares lives. I am capable of what you achieved and more--”

“No,” Eirene said flatly. “You’re not. As long as Fallon remains, Ares will be stifled. As long as you think of yourself as Fallon first, you will never fully embody the power of Ares, and you will fail our Court. You will fail our Queen. You will fail our soul.”

The air between them filled with tension, a string slowly tightening. Fallon was not accustomed to being spoken to like this. She was not accustomed to following the orders of others, not like this. Her lips parted, words dancing on the tips of her teeth, but her head grew fuzzy. The image of Eirene in front of her blurred and became two, then three, then six, then twenty. Her bedroom began to fill with bodies, all female. Each appeared completely different from the other, save the same bottomless gray eyes on them all. They surrounded her on all sides.

When Eirene spoke now, her voice was a chorus, all lips and mouths and tongues moving as one, each set of eyes in the room fixed on Fallon. They chanted in such a pounding rhythm that it was almost like song:

“YOU ARE NOT ONE OF US
BUT MUST BECOME ONE OF US
YOU WERE NOT BORN TO US
BUT MUST BECOME BORN OF US
YOUR BLOOD IS TAINTED
YOUR SOUL IS WEAK
IN ARES, YOU SHALL GROW
IN ARES, YOU SHALL PROSPER
IN ARES, YOU SHALL TASTE BLOOD
CARRY THE MANTLE
CARRY THE MANTLE
CARRY THE MANTLE OF OUR DEAD WORLD.”

The bodies around the room, all the previous incarnations of Ares, rose hands above their heads gripping a familiar henshin pen. In unison, they transformed -- a room full of Senshis of Smoke -- and then, in unison, they launched their attack. It took an instant, and Fallon’s bedroom turned pitch black with smoke. She sucked in a breath, but it was too late.

Smoke invaded her lungs, making her dizzy. Fallon staggered toward her vanity, but two pairs of hands shoved her back. Where was her henshin pen? Her hands groped feebly in the blackness, but she found only boots that stomped her fingers and hands that ripped her hair. The chorus of voices shouted, “DO NOT FIGHT BACK. YOU ARE ALREADY BEATEN. YOU HAVE ALREADY LOST.” The full weight of the attack had gripped her. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, hallucinations dominated her reality, and her vision disintegrated as her brain began to bubble from oxygen deprivation.

Collapsing to her rug, Fallon began to seize, her head bouncing and tongue lolling uselessly out of her mouth. A hand gripped her jaw and yanked it hard, swiveling her head to the side. Even as the clouded air brushed over her skin, she could sense the shadow of a face mere inches from her own. Fallon forced herself to open her eyes and stare straight ahead. A face contorted with rage snarled at her, a familiar face -- her face. ”I will not be stifled by your humanity, little girl,” she hissed.

The gray eyes dulled to black. She gripped Fallon by her hair and yanked her upright. Ares cupped one hand over Fallon’s panting mouth and leaned so close to her ear that her lips brushed its lobe. “Breathe deep,” she whispered. The hand on Fallon’s mouth erupted with a column of smoke, but the teenager was too weak to fight it. It streamed past her lips and teeth and filled her throat, then her chest, then her stomach, until every part of her was immersed, until every inch of flesh had been bathed in blackness.

The hands released her, and Fallon tumbled backward on to the carpet. Her mouth remained agape, a tiny curl of smoke gently wafting out from her mouth, her ears -- and her bottomless gray eyes staring blankly at the ceiling above.

Then, a lingering whisper: Carry the mantle. And she was alone once more.