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Hvergelmir frowned. "Maybe I'm mistaking you for some other Kerberos," she said, "who took me out of my cell and helped me escape. Some Kerberos that isn't you that risked cracking his starseed open unlocking my chains. Obviously not you. Or perhaps you did all that by accident?"

She shook her head. "Purification is not a reward," she said. "It's not a trophy, you don't win it in advance. It's an opportunity. All we can do is try to become worthy of the opportunities we're given. You earn it by not squandering the opportunity. Become the person Luka believed in. The one he stayed for. Give his last act power by letting it change your life. Live in a way that honors it."

She could have done it right then and there. A part of her was tempted to: to just tell herself there's no time like the present! and whisk him away to have the thing overwith before he could change his mind and back out. It seemed like the best, the safest idea. No cold feet. No second-guessing. She should have.

But she couldn't.

She remembered that her parents had taken all her shoes away so she couldn't leave, and confiscated her computer and her cell phone so she couldn't contact anyone, and they'd sat her down on the couch and told her that they were here because they loved her, but it hadn't felt like they did. If they'd loved her, they would've done it differently.

She would do it differently.

"Do you need time to think it over?" she offered. "Or to get your affairs in order? It doesn't have to be now, but it should be soon -- for your safety."

A part of Hvergelmir's mind was still focused on something Kerberos had said a few seconds ago, something else worrying that needed to be addressed one day or another: Okay, yeah, I did that -- but not on my own. It was another one of those things that was starting to emerge as a pattern in her mind -- one of the root causes of the problem that apparently plagued Thraen in his efforts to organize their side into a safer, stronger force. People believed things they did together had less value. That they represented some kind of weakness. People believed they were only allowed to work together if they could also handle any task on their own, or that perhaps they were only allowed to work with people of their own skill level. Anything else was an apparent imposition, or not a real accomplishment, or just plain didn't count. Teamwork was associated with some kind of cowardice or inadequacy.

Self-confidence was a hard thing to reason people in to. That much she'd experienced herself, after all: hadn't Carmine always been trying, with her? Hadn't all her ideas about shutting down negative predictions come from things he'd told her over and over? And hadn't it taken ages to have even a little impact?

It was a problem better tackled when Metallia no longer had claws wrapped around Kerberos's battered heart. And with a chance that he'd lose all his powered memories in the conversion, it didn't necessarily make sense to start now, in any event. Who knew what he'd retain. There would be time later.

"Yes," she acquiesced, rising to her feet. "I can get you a pen and paper, and send your letter for you. That's not a problem." She smiled, since this was highly untrue, but not Kerberos's problem to deal with. Hvergelmir could send letters wherever she pleased -- but if Kerberos was writing a goodbye letter to a Negaverse agent, and it sounded like he was, then it was going to arrive in that agent's hand stamped quite clearly with Hvergelmir's signet seal.

Her very recognizable signet seal. The one that so many Negaverse agents had seen first-hand, emblazoned in shimmering rainbow color on her left shoulder.

Cinnabar had already suspected as much. She probably wasn't the only one. Hvergelmir supposed signing her handiwork only confirmed what they'd already started to guess. A target was always going to wind up painted on her back one way or another, anyway.

"Come with me," she said, and waited for the eternal senshi to get to his feet. Hvergelmir slid her hands down his arms to link their fingers together, then -- with a practiced thought, an incantation -- she pulled them away to the heart of the galaxy.

The island and its veil of overwhelmingly numerous stars unfolded around them. Hvergelmir's well churned nearby -- just ahead was the marble pedestal that stood near it, the one that concealed the pathway down to where a piece of the Code kept its rest. On it was a cheap Bic pen and a spiral-bound notebook, the first page rather mundanely half-filled with a jotted shopping list. Chef Boyardee, tissues, dish soap.

She gave Kerberos a moment to adjust to his new surroundings.

Hvergelmir smiled, watching Kerberos's reaction. She loved it here, and it made her happy when other people felt the same way. It was beautiful beyond measure -- all she'd had to do was clean it up a bit.

"Of course," she allowed, gesturing. "Feel free to work on your letter. I need to go into the temple and see about calling for Sailor Cosmos." She let go of Kerberos's hands and stepped away.

The faint glimmer of a few shining threads of light caught her eye in the near distance: she looked over to see the outline of the vesica piscis flickering into and out of view like recast light.

The shield magic that capped the well was never particularly apparent when Hvergelmir came here on her own. When she brought guests, it was always more visible to her, more tangible out of the corner of her eye -- and it responded to guests that carried Chaos in them most of all. Her Wonder protected itself, she supposed -- just like the wider dome shield that separated the pier from the rest of the island.

"Be careful of the Well," she cautioned. "You won't be able to reach in. I'll be right back."

Hvergelmir made her way across the empty space toward the temple, disappearing within -- leaving Kerberos to the Well and his note.

Ida would know, Hvergelmir thought, tracing the knife carefully but with agonized determination through the skin on the outside of her right thigh. Ida would know where the best place is to cut yourself with low risk of nerve damage. She's going to medical school. She'd know these things. I should ask her. That kind of distracting thought helped her get through it.

It took a while, with several stops and starts to screw up her courage to keep mauling herself -- finally though, Hvergelmir had completed the six-pointed star inscription on her leg, and she dropped the knife back into the sink with a rush of high-endorphin relief. She walked back to Kerberos with blood cutting a slow path down her knee.

"There's a connection between knights and royal senshi," she explained this away. "She'll have gotten the message. She always shows up if she can."

Hvergelmir reached out for Kerberos's letter. "Is there anything else you want to write down in the notebook, while we wait? Anything you want to make sure you still know, after the memories are gone?"

The stars seemed to glitter unnaturally for a moment, twinkling with a coldness they didn't often have. Nothing seemed particularly out of place, and then suddenly there was a distant burst of light, like a comet crossing the sky.

It grew—and then suddenly, vanished.

There was no movement for a moment, and then in a burst of warm, white light, Cosmos stood before them.

Unlike Cosmos' usually calm demeanor, this time she seemed tense—unhappy. Her eyes were locked on the red staining Hvergelmir's attire and her lips were pursed. "You did that to yourself?" she said; it was posed in the form of a question, but she clearly knew the answer. Cosmos could not always come when a Knight of hers was in danger; she had responsibilities at the Cauldron that transcended even that of the bond she shared with her Knights.

But when one was hurting, she expected to be needed.

She took a few seconds to calm herself and further process what was before her, but she knew one truth: she would not know what was going on here, or why she had been called if she did not ask.

"Why?" she demanded, stern but stoic. And, despite it all, with concern in her voice.

Kerberos stared, for a long moment, because part of him couldn't believe it. This was really, definitely Cosmos, descended on a flash of light, but she was at the same time confused, unsure - and that was in its own way comforting, because if she had appeared all full of reassurances and knowing gentleness, he wasn't sure how he would have felt.

So he took a few nervous steps forward, and gave Cosmos a very nervous smile. Telling her his entire life story would take too long - and if she didn't already somehow instinctively know about Caledonia, he wasn't exactly feeling quite self-sabotaging enough to tell her.

"I um, was corrupted last year, and at first it was fine - it was fun, almost, and I know that's terrible but," he swallowed, "the longer I stayed the worse it got - the more I realized how terrible it was. And I can't stay anymore." He fell silent for a moment, fiddling absently with Caledonia's bells.

"Hver said you could help, so I'm asking - please." It came out genuine and pleading, and every line of his body language spoke to his sincerity.

He needed this, and he knew it.

Hvergelmir nodded, giving only a bare, chagrined half-smile for her assent. "Of course," she acknowledged politely. "Thank you for your help."

A note, next time. She'd just have to have faith that Sailor Cosmos would have a way of receiving the message right away, and wouldn't put it off.

To Kerberos, she turned and offered an encouraging smile. "I'll be right here when this is all over," she said: meaning now, meaning in the days to come, meaning always. "It's going to be fine. You can do this."