Welcome to Gaia! ::

Asimov tucked Phoebus a little higher against her chest. They had closed Mistral days ago--six days ago--amid news of the Surrounding’s fall and the outer asteroids going dark. She smoothed a hand over his downy blonde hair, shushed him when he whimpered, as if pretending that they weren’t there would lead to her uncle and mother forgetting that Mistral Squire and her little Babylonian cousin were there; it didn’t work. Uncle Mendel and her mother both turned to look at them, tucked away on a stack of books between her uncle’s desk and his bookshelves. “Asi,” said Mistral Knight, “you shouldn’t be in here. I thought I told you to go wait for transport.”

“Liora is waiting,” she said, “but she said we could wait in here, it’s too cold outside for Phoebus unless we cover his face, and…” She shifted him up, the tiny two-year-old baby. She was only fourteen herself, barely more than a child--although they sent off Virgon senshi younger than Asimov was now--she wasn’t ready to leave Mistral and Babylon. She wanted to stay and fight. “Why do I have to go? Can’t Liora or Phae take Phoebus to Earth?”

Earth was faraway and strange, a place of superstition--a place where magic was said to roam freely but also to be a terror to most of the people meant to be protected by it. She didn’t want to go there, she who had been raised among knights and scientists, to stupid backwards fearful Earth. Everyone said they’d done things to their senshi. Awful things. She didn’t want to go there, because she was sure she would die there.

Asimov surrendered Phoebus to his father with reluctance. She loved her little cousin and didn’t want him to get hurt, didn’t want him to die, but she didn’t think she could make her uncle or her mother see that Earth wasn’t going to do any better. If any world was going to survive, it’d be Mercury, with its advanced technology and its brave knights. No one could make Babylon fall, and Mistral was already snowed over, every door locked tight and waiting for the sigil of Mistral to press against the locks. “Everyone says they burn anyone who uses magic,” she said, “Do I have to give mine up?” She liked to summon Other-Asimov and talk to her sometimes. Every part of her knew that it was just magic, and not actually a twin of herself, but she still didn’t want to stop talking to the decoy copy of herself.

“With Mistral gone, your magic will probably fade,” said Mistral Knight clinically. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she looked over the family trees one more time, fussed with the signet ring on her hand. “Asimov, listen to your uncle. He’s correct. If you stay, the line of Mistral ends. Forever.”

The awesome responsibility of safeguarding the future knights of Mistral and Babylon didn’t seem to mean much when they might not need safeguarding, she thought. She hugged herself and tried to disappear into the wall behind her, wondered if her magic would trick her mother and Uncle Menachem long enough for her to stay. But if she did, who would take Phoebus and remind him of the lights? “What if Earth falls too,” she asked, “What if everywhere falls? What do I do then? Where do I go?”

She didn’t want her magic to fade, and she normally wouldn’t believe someone telling her it would, but she could trust her uncle to know what he was talking about. Uncle Mendel and Mother together were the two smartest people she knew. She took the canister, ran her fingers over the comfortingly familiar Mercury sigils. They’d been all over her uniform as a Page and as a Squire, and now that she’d surrendered all those clothes, they glinted at her from the oiled leather. Instead of her Squire’s clothes, she wore nondescript Mercurian clothes, warm against the wind, pale blues and dark browns where she was used to purple and gray. She clutched the canister to her chest and followed her uncle out into the Knight’s Square. Her mother shut the door behind them, settled a maternal hand on Asimov’s shoulders to urge her forward when she faltered.

Up above them, Babylon was miraculously beautiful and bright, untouched by the darkness that everyone said was coming. Before them, looking up at those lights, were two knights in the green and brown and gold of Earth. The taller one noticed them first, swooshed off his cape and draped it over Asimov’s shoulders. “These are the two, then,” he asked, looking towards Menachem and Mistral Knight. “We’ll look after them. The monastery’s pretty untouched, Menachem.” Behind him, his lady friend crossed her arms over her chest.

“Excuse me,” said Asimov’s mother, and the older knight moved, held out his hands to take Phoebus from Uncle Mendel. “Asimov, to me,” she said, and Asimov looked, big silver eyes wide and worried. Mistral Knight removed the ring from her finger and held it up between them. “This is yours now,” she said. “You are Mistral Squire of Mercury, no matter how your magic fades or how alone you may feel. Your children will not awaken, but they are still our line, and it is your duty to propagate that line and protect it. Do you understand?” She pulled off Asimov’s glove and slipped the signet ring on, pressed her lips to Asimov’s knuckles. “One day, Mistral will call for you again. If not you, one of your children. So you must keep our traditions alive. Help Phoebus remember Babylon. I have given Exeter a book of everything Menachem and I can remember. I promise you, you will be fine.”

She cupped Asimov’s face in her hand for a moment before she rose, turned, and walked away, heading up the long central street. Asimov watched her go, clinging to her canister, the signet ring a heavy weight on her finger.

“I understand it,” says Exeter, shifting the baby further up, accepting a fox fur from the lady knight to wrap around Phoebus’s shoulders. “Children are always welcome. So, we’ll take care of him. The monastery’s quiet now, mostly.” Asimov watched him until her uncle turned to her, and then she gave him all of her attention. She stepped into his arms and squeezed him as tight as she could, trying very hard not to cry, because even with the barrier it was cold enough to freeze tears on her face.

“I’ll remember,” she told Uncle Mendel, “I’ll make sure Phoebus remembers, too. I’ll tell him everything except the parts that might get him hurt but I won’t ever let him forget you loved him, Uncle. I promise.” It was a promise from one knight to another, she knew that. Even if she’d never wear the uniform, or discover a new device, or see her own knighthood project come to fruition, or help maintain the protection magic on the bottommost levels of Mistral.

Only she didn’t want to go. She sniffled and scrubbed at her face, and then let her uncle go to hug the canister of family trees close instead.