Welcome to Gaia! ::

What was that? It was the only thing that kept going round and round in her head, on constant repeat. The date was September 27th, only a single day after all that drama in the mirrorscape. The day before, after stumbling her way out of the mirror, she’d gone home, Christa in tow. After making sure that the other senshi was settled in the guest room closest to the library, Jada had hugged her sibling-children EXTRA tightly. Remorselessly spoiled the ever-living s**t out of them. Let them pick all the games and all the food that they would be having for family night. Then? Then, Jada had hunkered down and cuddled those blonde little turkey-butts for a solid hour, hauling both of them on her hips when she went to check on Christa and make sure that the other senshi hadn’t passed out in the shower or something.

Mirrorscape drama, magical kidnapping and just down-right confusing s**t or not, their family night was a growing tradition that Giulia and Aidan deserved to have go as unspoiled as possible. So Jada had somehow found some small reserve of energy to try and play effective hostess to the people who had wandered into their day. Somehow. Frankly, the night didn’t last as long as it might have. Giulia had almost fallen asleep in her macaroni, and then again when they were playing board games. Jada had eaten twice the dessert she usually did, on autopilot mode. Aidan had passed out next to Christa, using her legs as a pillow. Getting them upstairs and into their pajamas- and them did encapsulate the children and Kallichore- had been a journey, but well worth it. This stupid, human life was what she fought for. What kept her going, night after night.

Now, Sailor Scylla was slumped in the throne that had belonged to her predecessors, trying to process everything. Absolutely everything. One stupid adventure, and suddenly all of the things she thought she would never have to come to terms with were rushing in. It hadn’t just been the mirrorscape, it hadn’t just been the running for her life; those were the usual things, the to-be-expected things. What had caught her unawares was the Marlo thing. The- why did he do that, anyway? They had been in actual danger, yes. And some people might have actually died in there that she hadn’t been made aware of yet. And there were some people, like Christa, who were bruised and bleeding at the end. But she didn’t- he hadn’t- Where had it come from? They weren’t- Were they? Wasn’t he still with-

Then there were the many other complications. Hope was alive. Jada had no idea which was was up and down on her other… associations. Also, there was the fact that she was actively trying to get some strange form of potentially hallucinogenic therapy from the Senshi of Madness, and a lump of rock that had higher standards than her mother. Did she really have it in her to focus on all this stuff at the same time? s**t, Jada had barely managed to keep up modeling and get her AA. She’d never successfully kept down a job when she was fresh out on her own, living in some shitbag apartment, trying to be a secretary. Ended up getting turned into a cat and fired right around Thanksgiving. She’d been younger then, but now she had the twins, and- Younger then. Had that phrase just actually crossed her mind? She had just turned twenty-five, none of this should be phasing her.

Jada supposed that life was kind of funny that way. None of it now was what she had supposed that it was going to be, when she was a child, or a teenager, when she was a young woman who was barely old enough to drink. Every time Jada thought that she had a plan, something came up and threw a wrench at her. Life was wild, and incomprehensible; heartbreaking, and sometimes it was just achingly beautiful. Then again, frankly, sometimes it just sucked. People won some and they lost more, and no one ever seemed to be able to accurately predict where the next blow was going to end up coming from. They would brace themselves for what they thought was the inevitable outcome, and then something else would sideswipe all those best laid plans, and they would be left free falling with nothing to use as a reference point.

We will be having words about this later. What defined later? Could she define later? Because then later would turn into much, much later. Jada needed to be spending her focus on a hundred other things. Aidan’s B on his math test- he was seven, shouldn’t a seven year old be having easy enough math to be acing it? Did he need a tutor? Did she need to spend more time with him? Giulia was demanding she get her very own ballet studio room in the gym. She had a bag of stuff floating somewhere near the World Pillar, probably stuck on a branch of coral and polluting her ocean. More, she still wasn’t sure what had happened to cause the mirror kidnappings, if the black smoke they had kept falling through was some kind of trick, and Ares had returned, or if the myriad of metaphorically bounced checks that Sailor Scylla had written in her past were finally coming back, her balance coming due. Jada dug her fingers into the chair-

And the world shifted.

The Kings sat at her long table, each and every one of them looking at her, her calloused fingers digging into the arms of the unfamiliar throne. “Repeat yourself.” Andromache told the King who had spoken, eyes fixed on the Haliai woman. Beside her, she could feel Briseis shift, felt the Nephelai’s long digits flick a warning over the back of her neck. Caution. It was a useful warning- had it been given four days ago. As it was, they were past the time when caution may have been useful. Since the slaughter of the last Scylla, the Kings had ruled unchecked, making war with each other and slaughtering each other. They tested her now, and she was failing.

What would her husband- no, he was no longer that; she was Scylla, and that life was past. What would the Warmaker do, on his distant world, when faced with this kind of defiance, this open threat to her rank and her welfare? She knew the answer in her bones, she had seen the answer before. The question wasn’t what he would do- the question was if Andromache was ready to do it. She watched the King lift her chin, forced her own shoulders not to tense as the other opened her mouth. The other Kings watched in predatory silence, waiting for the inevitable confrontation that was building.

The words that King Saba spoke were lost to time, only half-heard, half-understood, but the fury that rose in the senshi at the carefully enunciated insult was not. Andromache’s fingers dug into the seat, and she shoved off the throne. Servants scattered like roaches, and a hand clamped on one slender, muscled arm, firm. Holding the senshi, keeping her back, from making a mistake before it was too late. “Husband.” It was Briseis, soft and low. “You are not ready. You are still too weak.”

Weak.

The cry of the cause of her weakness, her youngling son, split the air; for a moment, Andromache’s ire at the world around her faded. She reached out her arms, taking the child into her grasp, letting him seek his mother’s breast as the senshi resumed her seat on the throne, lilac eyes glaring down at the kings. “You will answer to me, Saba.” her voice was firm. “Tonight.” Andromache’s wife inhaled, and the senshi made a gesture to silence her, fingers flickering, briefly.

“I will kill you tonight.” the Haliai King replied with a small smirk, rising to her feet, the other Kings following suit. Briseis’ fingers tightened against Andromache’s neck, flickering out a message. “You will die, weak and unchosen, just like your predecessor. I look forward to your sacrifice. May your death please the Great One, half-breed, for your life would surely not.” There was a flickering of too-large, double-lidded eyes to the son that the senshi held to her. The senshi’s fingers curled protectively around the infant at the unspoken threat, remembering all too well what had happened to her nephew when his parents were killed. The night she was sold to the off-worlders.

In the same moment, separated by a thousand years, two sets of fingers uncurled from the same spot in the chair. The memory had no relation to Jada’s anxieties, triggered only by fingers in a seat; yet the memory still held a message for Jada, tingling in her mind, the fingers traced over the back of her neck by the gentle fingers of a woman a thousand years dead.

Do not hesitate. There is work still ahead.

It was a test of adulthood, to go down there. There was... We sent them out. Stones. I have a necklace of them. It belonged to Andromache- the um- my last.... who I was before? The world drip-drip-dropped away with her words, things losing focus. Who I was before? Who I was before? Who I was before?

Who was I, before?

The world was on fire. She stood there watching it, leaning against her sword, shaking with the sheer amount of effort that it took for her to keep upright. Everything that she could see was sharp; so painfully hyperfocused that the senshi needed to blink, to shake her head, to try and re-orient herself. A familiar voice screamed her name, and with another confused blink the woman half-turned; the Listener knew the name was hers just as well as she knew that it was somehow… not. Listener would do, for now. Until she remembered. The blood that poured from the gaping wound in her planet was welling up around her, splattering her cheek, and dimly she realized that she had fallen. Oh, she thought, we’re- and then the world flashed, and there was an eerie, shrill ring in her ears, and all there was was pain.

Her eyes closed and when they opened, the fires were gone, and she was looking at herself. More than just one herself- the room was dim, lit only by flowing blue, bioluminescence. The room was full of herselves, varying in shape and size and sex. Each of her selves was carefully painted for war, each of them garbed carefully in paint that bled and leaked down their coral sides. Each of them unmoving, silent, and steady as the markers that held what was left of their Selves. Her ears still rang, and her hands lifted. They were not her hands, and the punch to her gut at the realization stole away breath, sent her stomach rioting in confusion. Her hands were pale, and unscarred, and soft. The nails were wrong, and the stains were gone. Who was she, if not Herself? Which Self was she, where- what was her name?

Scylla. it was a whisper, a pulse that beat low in her blood, and one by one the eyes of Her Selves began to open. Brimming, glowing, slowly lighting the darkness. A wall of them, glimmering blue, two by two by two by two. Swirling, spinning like fire, focusing, silently judging her from their inanimate face. Scylla. She inhaled, and elsewhere a body that was both hers and not arched high, screaming. Scylla. it was a chorus, voices low as a drum and high as symbols drumming the word over and over just barely audible. Slowly, the Listener spun, pausing to stare at the woman who stood in front of her. Dark hair, dark skin, eyes that she knew as well as she knew her own. “Scylla.” She knew her, at least, even if she did not know herself. The chant quickened, and they stared at each other, lifting hands and linking fingers together.

“I remember me.” the Listener told the woman, who only smiled, and turned, pulling the Listener after her. They moved slowly through shifting darkness, through halls dripping burning blood, until they were out of reach of the eyes, and there was only themself. Themself, and the chant like drums. “I remember us.” She remembered dying. And for a moment, she thought she could remember being born again. “Everything was on fire.” the Listener needed to become the Speaker, as she tried to keep up on legs that were too short, and sent her stumbling and falling as her body tried to take steps meant for longer limbs. Everything was awkward, and nothing fit. Everything was wrong, and the panic choked her like drowning. She could feel herself gasping, gagging for breath, and cool, calloused hands stroked her face.

A voice, speaking words she did not understand. “Pain,” Herself told the Listener as large hands caressed the nape of her neck, as the voice kept speaking, trying to pull her mind in a different direction than her body, “Pain is a plausible source of power. Vengeance. Sorrow. Hunger.” It was the vague beginning of an answer to a question that hadn’t yet been asked, and for a moment, she was confused. “Sacrifice. We could never make the sacrifice before. We could never quite cut out our heart. It sat there, a burden in our breast, threatening everything we had. It sat there, growing heavy the longer we lived; and the more we lost, the more our heart poisoned us.”

The world was still and silent, a soft breath, a held-in sigh. Barren, cold, the land smooth and unmarked. There was nothing in sight but for people and a few animals that she knew, but did not recognize to provide the names of species, or kind; the Listener watched them patiently, taking a breath and waiting for the coin to stop spinning and finally fall. Waiting, the beat in her blood beginning to slow. Her body quivered, aching with impatience and anticipation, and she leaned forward, leaned in, not knowing what lay beyond this eternal half-breath, but knowing it would be-

The world exploded from within, arms thrusting through the surface, and the world went spinning. In a moment, water flooded the surface, sweeping away the people, and the Listener. In a moment, the half-breath was over, and she was born. In a moment the smooth landscape transformed in a cacophony, the land flung into the sky, a hungry arm reaching for the sky. Scylla! She moved towards it, fighting the rushing water, fighting the heaviness in her limbs. She grabbed hold, felt the world shift, and as she pulled herself upwards, the tentacle turned to coral under her hands. Branched, grew. The rocks flung into the air did not fall. Looking down, the Listener could feel nothing but fear- and looking down, she saw a great eye, and then only waves. Outwards was only blinding destruction. She looked up, and the world went white.

"The Great One had and lost many arms. We had and lost many of our own. Hearts break over and over. Bodies are weak, fragile things."
"Turn pain into victory. Turn loss into gain."
“Listen.”

“That is why the Kraken has many arms, Andromache. Not so that it can destroy, but so that it may defend its territory from every direction." Her mother's voice was soft, the hand in her hair gentle. “Remember, before one can attack, they must have someplace they know they can safely retreat. It is the many arms of the Great One that keep us safe."

“Do not be afraid. They poisoned what we were, but you can start anew.”
“We are gone. It is up to you now.”
“Kill the child.”
“Make a new world.”
“Let the woman be born.”
“Something better than it was before.”
“Pass the test.”
“Become us.”
“Scylla.”
“Scylla.”
“Scylla.”
"Listen."

More and more, the chant starting anew, coming faster and faster, and the panic rose in her throat. She couldn’t- the oxygen was fire in her lungs, and the scent of something burning hit her nostrils, stealing her breath away. It was too much, it was too heavy, and she was beginning to drown in the very air she breathed. It drummed through her like water, bashing and battering her, and she could feel her body jerking, flailing and smashing, but she - the Listener - was standing still, trapped, unmoving. Everything was bright, and everything was wrong, and everything was happening at once while she knew that nothing was happening at all, and when she finally felt the body was was-wasn’t-hers begin to fall, she embraced the advent of darkness without a word.

Silence.

Stillness, and empty, cool darkness. She became slowly aware of wetness on her skin, the cool slick of water pulsing slowly around her. Cautiously, she opened her eyes. No thudding, no impatient voices, no crashing of waves, no burning oxygen. Water filled her lungs instead, flowed in and out of her body as if she had no skin, as though her skin were nothing more than a sackcloth bag full of meat, and bone, porous and only just holding her in one piece from floating bonelessly away. There was nothing, and the absence was peaceful. For a moment, she was content, and for a moment, all was-

“-- afraid, Briseis.”

“It will be fine. You’ll be home soon.”

“I don’t want to be Scylla. I want to be me. I was happy.”

“Liar.”

“I love him.”

“Andromache.” a pause, a sigh. “He does not do you honor. You hate this world. You hate the women he-”

“He’s not from our world. He doesn’t know better.”

“You’re not meant to be the wife of some- mortal creature, Andromache.” in the dark, hands cupped her cheek. “Why does the Kraken have many arms?”

Her voice was small as she answered- “Someplace safe. To retreat.”

“Wives protect the home. Where is the Great One’s Home.” stubborn silence. “Who is his first one?”

“Scylla.”

“You were chosen. To protect his world. To protect his hearth. To be haven, and his first guard. You belong to more than just one small, mortal man.”

“I can’t imagine a world is a loving husband.”

“No. I can’t imagine so. But do not let dreams of love be the death of your duty. You will have wives, others to hold dear."

You were chosen.

A great eye opened in front of her, glowing in the dark. Twice taller than her body, and the other so far away that she could barely see it. Around her, bubbles shifted the water, and the creature shifted in the darkness. The water pushed and pulled, and she was helpless to fight the whims of it, jerking one way, then the other. Tides of Fate. Always, always beyond your control, jerking you to and fro like a toy. But you are not alone, Scylla. An arm rose under her body, catching her as she jerked, cupping her patiently in the sucker of one large tentacle. I am with you.

You were chosen.

Chosen.

“I didn't want to be what I became.” the Listener looked up from her seat, to see her other self looking down at her, something akin to pity on her dark, tanned face. “I never have. We never have. That is why so many of us died before we truly became. We weren’t ready. We didn’t want it. We could not adapt. Yet you’re never supposed to choose the one who is too eager. The ones who want it the most are usually the least worthy.” she rose, holding out a hand to herself, and they linked fingers somewhere in the middle between their bodies.

And then they rose, floating towards the surface.

“There is no shame in feeling fear. The shame lies in surrender to it. Dishonor does not lie in choosing to run away, it lies in never returning to the fight.” the world shimmered overhead, and though they crested the waves still they rose, lifted high by something beyond their imaginings. “Sometimes we died in shame, sometimes we died afraid, sometimes we died alone, and sometimes we died drowning in our glory. We will always die, and we will always be reborn again. We start as a child and we grow, we thrive or we die; we pass our tests and become Scylla, or we fail and we die; and always we are reborn to try again. It is no shame to fail, the shame is in never trying. Our world is merciless, but what is left behind to survive... is strength.”

On her older Self’s arm, the Listener could see the markings of waves, glittering and glimmering in the darkness, and she reached out, rubbing at the war paint that crested and drained over the darker skin. It did not brush away. Instead, it spread from the other herself to her, over her, through her; into the coral, and spilling out into the world.

In the sky further yet, beyond, the World Pillar began to glow, the frozen tentacle that it had been sprouting into life. The land, which its power had torn asunder, hung steadily in the sky and began to bloom. The ground began to creep into color, starting with the crystal blue of the ocean, and white-tipped waves, spotless sands, greens and browns in the mountains high overhead, dripping down the vines like glowing paint. “We are Scylla. We are the servants of the Great One. In serving him, we bring destruction and death - but we also bring life. The death of an old world, to bring forth a new, the death of a tree in the forest to fertilize the saplings; it is all connected, and it is nothing for us to fear. My death brought your life. Your death will bring mine. And we will continue on and on in a circle, always defying those who would stop us.”

Merciless... strength.

The cacophony bloomed silently around them, and she could feel the heartbeat of her world beginning to thrum through their bodies, low. Their shared name, called, over and over, a wordless rhythm, and below them, the Great Eye, slowly closing. They lived on, rising higher and higher. The sun rose in the sky, and set, and spun over and over, and around them the coral grew, the planet flowered, and the people moved again. Over and over, and still they rose. One stopped, and she began to rise alone, towards her other self, her now-self melting as she came higher and higher, oozing around the other Self like a warm skin, a painted spill, coloring dark skin a different hue, turning brown hair inky black, and lilac eyes deeper, darker.

Until she stood alone, on top of the world, on a Pillar that had once been the arm of the closest thing she’d had had to a god, in other lives. She looked down at a harsh, uncaring world that she had been chosen to guard and to tend. It grew and bloomed and died, and life curled out of the most unlikely of places. Her home was what it was meant to be, and so too was she.

We are gone.
Listen.
Start anew.
I will wait for you to grow…
Protect.

The words came fast and loud, a chorus of voices that were all her own, and this time they did not overwhelm her. They grew inside her, brushing at her fears, drowning them in raucous chorus, shoving them aside like rubbish. She stood there, looking out at her tenacious world, the circle of life that sprang from the violent ends of the weak. It created Chaos, havoc, destruction. And yet every time there was destruction, there was life.

Surrendering to one didn't mean abandoning the other, it was just a different way of serving it.

She knew the way to peace. All she had to do… was fall.

And so she did, arms outstretched, body arcing towards the sea.

Jada had spent the entire week considering, jotting down the confusing mish-mash of things that she had dreamed when Kallichore had come to her homeworld, those events that had jumped out at her the most from her 7-hour vision. It was strange, how some of it she could remember word for word, and other parts were just a flicker that lit her blood, raising her pulse until she thought her heart would drum out of her chest. The young woman had spoken to no one of her adventure while under the Senshi of Madness’ magical hallucinogen, instead preferring to try and translate everything for herself. Whatever message was there wasn’t something that someone else could translate for her. She hadn’t lied to Kallichore. What she had sought, peace, had not been found. Instead she had discovered that there was a puzzle hidden in Scylla’s bizarre dream, that communication with… herself?

When this had all started, Jada had sought something akin to Kallichore’s self-assurance. Now she knew that was something that she wouldn’t ever find. She would make mistakes, and it was something she would have to learn with in other means. What Kallichore was- what Christa was- it wasn’t Scylla, wasn’t Jada. Trying to emulate someone else who had the cool confidence that Earth may have expected from Jada Chamberlyn… wouldn’t work. A planet whose magic was something wild and primal could never be controlled without passion, and passion came from feeling. The emotions she had been trying to deny herself, the beasts lurking in her subconscious… My death brought your life. Your death will bring mine. And we will continue on and on in a circle, always defying those who would stop us. Her dreams weren’t the thing to fear. It was being complacent, and letting them become reality without trying to stop them. The thing to fear was not being on that stage with the last of those who defied Chaos.

The senshi of the Kraken stood on the low branches of the World Pilar, staring down at the ocean. The waves swayed in rhythm, and she had all the time in the world to figure it out. As for the fall, and what she planned to do… her bones wouldn’t be able to handle the fall from higher branches, or at least not very well- the shock and the impact would push too much breath from her lungs, like it had before. She could see the tools she had brought before half-floating, still trapped against the coral; this time she had arrived on Scylla already prepared- there would be no bag to pull her down, to get trapped where it had been before. There would be no delay in what she had to do, though her limbs quivered with fear and nerves, the memory of the last time she had tried to do this fresh in her mind- the remembered salt scraping her lungs. There is no shame in feeling fear. The shame lies in surrender to it.

Long ago the journey that she was about to take had been a test of adulthood for everyone, not just a trial for Scylla. If the Scyllan survived their childhood, and a good many did not, then they earned the right to collect their first Messian gem. For them, there would be a celebration. One that would be a last party for many. It served as both a goodbye, and as gratitude given to the Great One for the joy the child had brought with their life. In the morning they left with a practiced hunter, venturing to the World Pillar and descending the great stalk. Many times, the hunter returned alone. Sometimes, neither returned. When both returned, it was cause for celebration. The first gem was bound and corded, and their honor necklace began. Dishonor does not lie in choosing to run away, it lies in never returning to the fight.

There were no predators to chase her, this untrained, alien Scylla. There was no council of Kings to judge her for her weakness, to threaten to kill her like they had before. The only judge was herself, the only one to celebrate with her was a fossil. She had brought no witnesses, she would bring no glory to herself, for the people who would have celebrated her were dust and ash. There was nothing to gain from doing this; all there was, was a chance that she would fail and make an a** out of herself again, collapsing choking and vomiting water everywhere. Which was the reason she’d left Earth from the shower in her bathroom, but that was details. What mattered, she supposed, was that she could pick and choose how to grow- as Scylla, and as Jada. She could rebuild, her dream had told her, and make things different than before. But Jada was a believer in honoring the past. Of the few Scyllan rituals she remembered, this was the one that had the best ratio of violence to meaning. It is no shame to fail, the shame is in never trying.

Jada could remember the fall as clearly as she could remember anything else from that dream. The way her dream-body had arced, shifting in a way that Jada Chamberlyn was unfamiliar with. She would not be that perfection when she finally fell. She could not be a perfect representation of Scylla, not as it had been. Andromache hadn’t been perfect, either. Perhaps all of those past Scyllae had imperfections and doubts. But where had she given herself the impression that she had to hold herself to ancient standards? Perfection was an expectation from her life as Jada, and she had long since come to terms that she wouldn’t be able to be everything her family had dreamed for her, or that the society of her birth expected of a girl meant to inherit such extreme privilege. We could never quite cut out our heart.

How long will my air last? She’d googled the question, and come up with absolutely no concrete answer. She would just have to wing it. She didn’t know how deep she would have to go, or what the pressure would be like, and the only real protection she would have was her fuku and her senshi magic. Adjusting the oxygen mask, she took a deep breath and hopped off the branch, sinking into the water feet first. Please- please god, let there not actually be anything still alive down here. It was going to be creepy enough just trying to deal with the memory that once there had been. She really didn’t want to come across any creepy, rotting corpses, or… for ******** sake, they’d probably be all be pretty well preserved, wouldn’t they? What would she do if she saw one? Have a heart attack? What was she thinking, she was out of her mind. Still, Scylla let her body sink. Worst case scenario she could like…. tentacle the corpse, right? She assumed her magic would work. The thought made her feel better. Maybe she should have brought something like…. A dart gun, or… You’re still too weak.

Her inhale through her oxygen was short, jerky, settling her nerves. Or trying. The depth of her inhale just set off her worry about how much air she would have. It had been a thousand years. The base of the Pillar had been frozen in ice. There was nothing surviving except plant life. Whatever she saw down here would be long-dead. Unable to harm her unless she did something stupid like try and touch it, or get too close and trigger some kind of cephalopod-like muscle memory that sent it after her, like those creepy videos of squid in Japan, where you poured the soy sauce on and NOPE. Okay- before she freaked herself out completely, she really needed to focus on her goal, not the wide variety of things that would be really hungry after a thousand years in hibernation. And how succulent and tasty a treat she might be. What had she just told herself about stopping? Our world is merciless, but...

She would have to find strength in herself to move onwards, further down. No one else could give it to her. Not her friends, not her family, not her homeworld, not the corpses of the predators within. There was no hunter by her side to guide her through the unfamiliar dark, she had no sword, no spear. The past was a thousand years dead. The rituals and the traditions meant nothing to anyone, anymore- except for her faint, half-hewn memories. Scylla in the future would be what she would make of it; heart and life and poison and restrictions and insecurities and foibles and humanity tangled up into a ball. What had come before wouldn’t be forgotten, if she remembered it; but she would pick and choose the best to move on for a future she wanted to create for this barren little orb that was the only thing truly hers. ...what is left behind to survive... is strength.

Further down she went, sinking deeper into the smothering darkness, until her human eyes could hardly make anything out. She took her time as she went, trying to orient herself, closing her eyes as she could feel the current moving in the dark. It was colder, here, than on the surface. Not unusual. But in the dark, her mind was working overdrive to try and imagine what could be there, lurking. She had brought a dive light, and her fingers closed around it. Would it be better to go down blindly, pretending she could not see? Wait for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, hope that the coral lit up under the sea like she thought she remembered? How deep did it go? She really needed to get her s**t together. She had planned this; she couldn’t keep doubting herself. Pass the test.

She let her body move further down, feeling coral brush against bare legs. Her sandals provided minimal protection for her feet, and her toes curled in the golden shoes, chilled. Sinking grew harder, and she had to make her way down. Her ribbons caught, and she swallowed back panic. How much longer could she make it without turning on the light? She had never been afraid of the dark. She was only afraid of what she had known came here before. None of it was alive. None of it. It was only the corpses of the devilfish, with their scythe-like arms and teeth the size of her body; it was only the remains of the dreken, those smaller cousins of the Kraken. It was only the remains of those man-eating eels, and the poisonous fish, and the- she was out of her mind to be doing this. Sometimes we died afraid.

The further she sank, oddly, the easier it became to ‘see’ in the dark. The coral did begin to glow again, far enough away from the surface to no longer be controlled by the whims of the light. Eyes flicked to how much oxygen she had left- still plenty. It was still secure. It was still safe. She was still safe. She took another moment, to blink, to inhale the fresh, clean oxygen from her tank, to tug a ribbon from her fuku free of a lump of coral. And then she pulled herself down again, remembering only vaguely how it had felt the last time- when she was someone else. Long-legs, bare feet, brown hair braided; she had been holding the air in her lungs instead of having to use a mask, and her eyes had been unprotected from the cold sea water. Briseis had been her Hunter, the other woman nothing more than a shadow of warpaint and skin, leading her downwards, helping to keep an eye out for the multitude of dangers that could be lying in wait.

There was a current, here- she could feel it before the 8 trailing ribbons of her bow shifted to follow the sway of the water. It swept in and out from the Pillar in a patient rhythm, like there was something breathing just beyond the edge of her sight, slow and steady. Sleeping. She dropped down, clinging to the coral as she moved, struggling against the current that tried to suck her deeper into the Pillar. That was not where she was meant to go. She had to get closer to the base before she could move inside the Pillar for her goal. She thought. All that she truly remembered was that she needed to move down, ever down. There was a brightness, further on- that was what she was looking for. She thought. It was what felt right. She could come back for the mysteries of what lay within the core of the Pillar later. If she didn’t s**t herself and die of self-inflicted terror on this trip.

Those. as she approached the glow, she could see that they were softly glowing orbs- Messian Gems. Strange, that there were so many, after possibly centuries of harvesting them to ship to off-worlders or to serve as prizes and trophies. What created them was a mystery to her; these strange gems that were so valuable for their hard beauty, and for the firelike shimmer in their watery depths. Perhaps the thousand years the planet had been in stasis had allowed whatever created the gems in the first place to continue its process, and kind of… regrow them? Here, in this place, surrounded by light, Jada could feel the tension drain from her spine. These, here, were little chips. But she had found the right area, and it hadn’t taken too terribly long. Her oxygen tank was not quite half-used, so she would have time to peruse. She hadn’t thought about how exactly she would get a gem- just that she was going to collect one. In the darkness beyond the glow she thought she could make out hazy, half-hung shapes.

She’d pass on risking meeting any corpses today. Sliding closer into the coral, it was both a relief, and a detriment. The coral was big, but it was also thick; it made the spaces in between that she was trying to slide into harder, and she could feel them scrape along the tank of oxygen that she carried. There were bigger gaps, of course; gaps that clearly had let creatures much larger than herself slide in and out of the depths of the reef. She could have used those, but they felt less… in this situation, the illusion of a little extra protection made her feel more secure. The gems decorated even the inside of the coral where she was, sprouting from the edges like flowers. But too small for her purposes, yet. Earrings, perhaps, or small -

Her foot slipped, and she lost her grip on the branch she was holding. It sliced open and she cried out, losing her bite on the mouthpiece to her oxygen. It drifted through a gap in the coral, lodging between two offshoots. Great. She shifted, reaching for it- and in the darkness, she thought she could see a large, glassy eye. Her shriek was quiet in the water and she grabbed for her mouthpiece, right before whatever it was made contact with her piece of coral, sending it shattering. Her blood rushed, and she dropped lower, trying to dive down. It seemed to be coming after her, with her, that large eye blank and unseeing and she did not try to identify what creature it was, she jerked herself further down, ignoring the world pillar cracking behind her as she moved. As everything fell.

Salt stung the cut in her leg, her heart pounded, and she shoved the mouthpiece back in, greedily guzzling what air she could, pushing herself downwards. Still, the creature came, and for a moment it wasn’t a corpse; for a moment the eye shifted to intelligence, and instead of a bumbling downward angle there was purpose in its gesture, and she knew the monster that followed her as certainly as she knew her name. Death came for her, a corpse lumbering haphazardly down; that hungry mouth could still swallow her, those teeth could still saw her in half, the scythe like arms separate top half from bottom. Even if- she turned, pointing up, and jerked the mouthpiece out. Scylla’s Hunger! it was wordless, unheard, but the thrashing of her magic, a brief use of her power, tore the coral and sent the body spinning in another direction. And she huddled bleeding in the cold ocean dark for a moment, surrounded by the thrashing protection of her magic.

Her inhale reminded her that her oxygen was free-floating, and she choked, coughing it up, shoving her mouthpiece back in. Not too much further. And please no more nasty surprises. Her leg hurt, and her arm, and the cold was beginning to make her shiver. Her lungs hurt, she’d wasted oxygen- but as she descended again, her eyes lit on the end, in sight. Here, at last, were the gems that she sought; they were about the size as the ones on Andromache’s necklace. They grew in a large cluster, and here, at last, she could see clearly. After thoroughly examining the small coral chamber she was about to enter, Scylla slipped down, wriggling her way through the hole carefully, grateful no one was below to witness her graceless squirming. It wasn’t a large area, by any means. There were surely larger pockets that she could seek for, but this would do. Long fingers traced over the gems, and she took a moment to revel in the warmth and the light that they cast off.

But her oxygen was low, and she couldn’t stay for long. She needed to get back to the surface with her prize. Once more, she would need to brave the currents, and the darkness. It would be easier, going up. Wouldn’t it? All she would have to do was ascend. She could try the outside of the coral again, or take the inside path. One would be faster, but there were probably more bodies floating out there in the dark. She blinked slowly behind her mask, wincing as the seal shifted against her skin, and reached out to try and harvest her gem. Her gem which didn’t move. Are you f-cking kidding me? But of course. She pulled off her heel, and started chipping away at the coral, grumbling. It didn’t take long, but she was even lower on oxygen by the end of it, and she was far below the surface.

But the end was in sight. Tucking her prize into her sash, she began to clamber her way… of course. She was stuck. If she wasn’t the worst Scylla ever, she was at least a close second for that crown. Her oxygen tank was nearing the dregs, but she needed to make the surface herself. Going home from here wasn’t an option; she needed to complete this. There wasn’t a choice anymore in which way she could rise to the surface. She’d have to go through the outside, if she was going to complete this. It was possible that this was the last time that someone would have the chance to perform this ritual. It wouldn’t end like this. Scylla kicked her way out from the chamber, feeling the skirt of her fuku tearing, feeling the chill setting into her bones, her breaths beginning to run shallow as the oxygen ran low- and she began to rise. Fingers digging into the outside of the coral, locking into the twisted reef, feet kicking. Rising was easier, it would have to be; she locked her eyes upwards. The adrenaline was pumping her blood, her body shaking from cold and nerves.

She passed the coral, and for a moment she thought that within she could see the gleaming of that great eye from her vision through that large, missing section of coral; timing had that breathing, living current rushing out as she passed, and it pushed her, lifted her. She tried to inhale, but there was nothing left. She needed another boost, she needed- She pushed the useless mouthpiece away, letting it hang free as she rose, clawing her way for the surface. The glow was there, she was- she wasn’t going to- Everything was spinning when she broke the surface at last, a choking cough finding its way from desperate lungs. Everything was dark- she’d been under long enough for night, or she had something on her face, or- She inhaled desperately, her lungs protesting as she gulped painfully deep breaths, wheezing and coughing out the water that had been seeping into her at the end of her climb.

Jerking her mask off, Scylla chose to remain slumped across the low branch of the Pillar, and closed her eyes. The waves crashed around her, and the coral against her front grounded her, and the her mind turned to everything around her, trying to focus on this instead of the echoing of horrible thudding in the dark. Breathing. Focus on that. With every deep breath in the Pillar rose under her, and the exhale was the sensation of a controlled, gentle fall. With every inhale, Scylla pulsed around her, warm and alive- awakened. Her planet called to her, clear as a bell, comforting. “Darn right you are gonna be nice to me,” she informed the planet, eyes still closed and body relaxing into the smooth heartbeat, “that was ridiculous.” Water dripped out of her hair, pooling between her belly and the coral, and she grumbled, discontent. In her sash, she could feel the gem that she had obtained pushing into her midsection, uncomfortably. Wheezing out a breath, she rolled over onto her side, and tugged the gleaming gem out of her ragged, torn fuku. “You,” she wheezed to it, “Are trouble.” the gem didn't respond, only twinkled merrily in her hand, a gentle glow.

She needed to get up and move her a** back to the Temple. Probably not a necessity, but it felt like the right way to end this little adventure. It was going to be quite a swim, but the waters were lit by bioluminescent algae, and whatever natural ingredients gave the spray that glimmer and gleam- like stardust. And then she remembered the bag and sighed. Well, she was wet anyway. Doing it now made sense, even if she’d feel like her adventure was a bit incomplete. There would always be next time, though. And it wasn’t as if there was actually anything relevant to the adulthood ritual- not that she could remember, anyway.

Odd, she had just expended so much energy, and been so stressed, that the adrenaline wearing off should be leaving her exhausted physically; strangely, she felt energized, like she had been doing nothing more exciting than a jog through the park. More irritated, than exhausted. More importantly, there was no fear, now, of what lay in the dark. She peered down, then dropped into the water below, dropping until she could unhook her bag of old supplies from the coral and shove it up, into the branch. Settling the bag carefully, she lifted her arms, pulling the oxygen tank off her shoulders and tucking it in through one of the holes. “I’ll come back next week,” she told the shimmering Pillar, as if it cared, “I’m just going to get this lump out of here. Stop polluting the water.” Jada pulled out her phone, tucking the Messian Gem into her sash and hauling the bag up into her arms, and then pressed the button to return home.

The shower that she returned to felt odd after her time on Scylla. Inorganic, glass doors and tile walls and flooring that pressed achingly cold against her bruised, cut skin. Scylla sighed, doing a quick check for auras. There were none to be sensed. Good. She would have hated to have to chase a Nega off her lawn. Taking advantage of being Scylla she opened her eyes, gripped the bag, and turned to push open the door to the shower. She could drop it on the balcony and shove it down the stairs later. But something stopped her. In the glass, the reflection that looked back at her was different. The bag clanked loudly against the tile as she lifted her hand to her forehead, tracing the glowing edges of the symbol that lay there, her tiara gone from her brow. In its place lay a glowing mark, both familiar to her and jarringly out of place after so long

Oh. Well. That wasn’t what she’d expected.