Welcome to Gaia! ::

Aquamarine's continued presence helped to keep Jet calm. He felt dizzy and worn down, running on the remnants of adrenaline. If he had any blood left in his face he might have been a bit flustered from the Queen commenting on his modesty.

He didn't think of it as being modest, though. He thought it was only fair that his teammates received the same recognition. They didn't have to agree to help him, to put themselves in danger. He was forever grateful that they had, because there was no way he and Aquamarine could have taken on more than just Ganymede by themselves. Maybe if he hadn't been so injured already, but Sessrumnir and his summon needed at least three Generals to keep him under control at one point.

Jet didn't look away when Laurelite pulled out the black box, although his eyes did widen a bit in surprise. He hadn't expected anything in return for their successful mission. He was proud that they'd stopped Ganymede and her allies from creating something that could have damaged the Negaverse, and managed to capture Ganymede as well.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he said, a bit breathlessly as he made an unsteady step forward to receive the medal the Queen had made for all of them. He needed Aquamarine's help to keep him from surely falling over, so he walked slowly.

Ganymede's laughter was obnoxious, but she didn't deserve any attention beyond keeping her under control while the Queen and Axinite were in the room.

Aquamarine followed Jet. He gave no indication that he felt any which way about the medal. The Queen liked to commemorate special occasions; to Aquamarine, the successful capture of a Princess seemed special enough to warrant one. What took up space in his thoughts was her confidence in Jet and their team.

As much faith as he put in Jet, Aquamarine did not expect the mission to end this way. That Jet was alive was a relief; in his mind, it had never been a guarantee. Aquamarine usually expected the worst out of any given situation, particularly when a mission required him to place his trust in others. Coping with failure and loss was easier that way, but it meant victory often came as a surprise.

He took his medal with a respectful bow, and muttered along with Jet’s, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

His hand slipped away from Jet’s back, conscious now of his own hovering. He knew Jet would not want to appear weak when his only ambition was to faithfully serve the Queen, and the organization she represented. Aquamarine stepped back and resumed his previous position. His eyes never left Jet; the moment it seemed like he might need assistance, Aquamarine would move to offer it.

At his feet, the Princess stirred.

-

Ganymede’s quiet laughter grew louder — less breathy, more a show of obvious amusement. She managed to lift her head and put a hand beneath her like she meant to rise. A sharp pain shot through her wounded shoulder and robbed her of the opportunity, sending her crashing back to the floor.

Still, her gaze lingered in the direction of Jet and Laurelite.

“You went through all that trouble,” she said, voice soft enough to be mistaken for calm, “and all she gives you is a silly little pin for your jacket?”

When Kamacite and Cymophane moved to Axinite’s side, he was aware of them but didn’t immediately look at either of them. His attention was on Queen Laurelite for a few seconds ,but as they settled in place he allowed himself a moment’s distraction.

His brows were knitted together, but the corner of his lip briefly twitched into something of a smile. It was an effort to be reassuring, but he didn’t seem to have much energy to spare.

His attention returned to Ganymede and he seemed visibly disturbed by her. Maybe it was her current state, or her hubris, or her disrespect.

Maybe he was just thinking about how he held her responsible for the state of the others.

Laurelite regained his attention quickly when she looked at Ganymede–and laughed. It was a light, tinkling sound. She was as happy as she was smug.

“Oh, bless your heart. No.”

When the last of the medals had been passed out, she closed the box and it shimmered out of existence.

There was something knowing on her face, and she looked at the Princess once more. She could have laughed again.

“I’m glad you’re here for this, Ganymede. You’ve had questionable timing in the past, but I think this makes up for it. The medals are but a prelude to my gratitude. I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you witness this firsthand.”

Laurelite did not ask Jet to come to her. She walked to him.

“You have suffered enough this night.”

And, so many nights before.

She reached to stroke his cheek, gently, to avoid agitating any of his injuries.

“You will hurt for me once more, tonight. And then, let us hope, never again.”

Laurelite did not ask him if he was ready; she knew he was.

She had been watching, and waiting, and planning.

There were no reasons to put this off for any longer.

She smiled sweetly, apologetically. Proudly.

She slipped her hand into his chest.

His first thought: He was going to kill the Queen. Maybe he’d run his rapier through her stomach. Maybe he’d shove his dagger into her neck. Either way, he would kill her — or make a very good attempt and end up dead himself. Aquamarine watched her hand slip into Jet’s chest and thought, Whatisshedoingshe’sgoingtokillhim. That was the answer his paranoid brain decided to jump to, because a dead Jet was the worst thing that could ever happen to Aquamarine, and he always expected the worst.

His second thought: He couldn’t kill the Queen because Jet grabbed his hand. (He couldn’t kill the Queen regardless, because the Queen was the Queen and she wasn’t about to be taken out by one measly General.) Jet grabbed his hand because Jet’s starseed was still in his chest, where the Queen’s hand was, which meant she wasn’t taking it from him. She was doing the opposite. This was Jet’s reward. Not some pin — a suitable honor for someone like Aquamarine, but not for Jet.

His third thought: Oh…

Slowly, Jet dropped to one knee. Aquamarine stood beside him, still clutching his hand.

Oh…

Months ago, after the Queen called them into the throne room as two of her most trusted, Aquamarine asked Jet, Who do you think’s next in line?

Biased as he was, he’d always thought Jet was the only logical answer.

Now, Aquamarine stared because he could do nothing else, struck speechless by the power that emanated from their newest General King.

He was hesitant to stand after his sister chided him for daring to get up. He looked over at her, at the mess of Ganymede, until the Queen spoke. His attention drew to her, to the medals displayed in the box, each pinned neatly against the backing. They were heartening, in their own way, but he began to see their emptiness when the Princess quipped that they were only trifles. Tidbits scattered along the long road to world domination.

It roused an old, cindered feeling in him that he would rather have smothered. Clenched his jaw for it, even as Albite tried to soothe.

He looked at Lysithea again. Wondered how he could ever do better —

He felt like he zoned out. He didn't remember accepting a medal from Waru, but it was there in his hand. The box Laurelite was holding had vanished. Laurelite had vanished. Catching up, he realized she was standing in front of Jet. Her hand was in his chest, and he felt a delayed shock for it — wondered what Jet might've said, or done, to warrant his starseed getting pulled. No one else looked worried; she must've said something before hand that he'd lost in those seconds of lapsed awareness.

He felt the low song of tension in his bones, for how he should be ready to fight something at the Queen's beck, whether Aqua or the rest of them, should they interfere — but he saw Jet's uniform shimmer and shift. Lengthen. Embolden. Encrust with pearl and grandeur. Soon, he wasn't simply Jet, but General King Jet.

He brought home a princess, and achieved sovereignty. It was well deserved for a stunt like that.

"Look at you," he murmured. "Get to do Axinite's promotions for him." Not that Faustite intended to look in Axinite's general direction anytime soon.

Ganymede’s laughter died out like it had never been.

She wouldn’t cower, not in fear or sadness. She wasn’t afraid, because she knew what would happen to her. She’d been through this before. Either she would die here, in the throne room, or they’d keep her for some other purpose and torture her the same as last time. Maybe they’d give her another brand, feed her another starseed, keep her in another cage. The important thing was that they couldn’t corrupt her and they couldn’t destroy her starseed. When they killed her, Ganymede would live again some day.

She hoped the next one was just as much of a pain in the Negaverse’s collective a**.

Sadness was the more difficult of the two to suppress, but she forced herself to do it. She didn’t let herself think of Valhalla and their children. She squashed all memory of the starseed Jet took when he escaped. All her friends and allies, she put them out of her mind. They would live on without her. Perhaps, when they found a way to destroy Metallia, some of them would do so in her name.

Ganymede glared at Laurelite and her new General King. She ignored the sinking of her stomach, and the catch in her throat. She fought through the pain that tried to pull her under.

“Congrats on the death sentence,” she sneered.

Jet was a target before.

He was an even bigger one now.




-

Carnallite shared both Bloodstone’s surprise and his unreadable expression. She met his gaze but had no reaction.

From what little she knew of Jet, he was dedicated and decisive — young, but he didn’t seem to suffer for it. That he made for a dependable General seemed to indicate that he would do equally well as a General King.

More than anything, Carnallite envied his power.

-

Cymophane would have been on the edge of his seat if he had one to sit on. The Queen stuck her hand in Jet’s chest. Aquamarine looked like he’d murder someone for it. Then Jet was a General King kneeling like a knight in front of his Queen. (Not like White Moon Knights, but… fairytales and s**t. Medieval chivalry kinds of things.) Aquamarine looked faint. Some of the others looked shocked and amazed.

It was an unexpected turn of events, but not an unwelcome one.

“Woah…” Cymophane breathed.

Clearly he’d picked the right General. (Nevermind that he hadn’t exactly picked Jet. He’d just run into him and decided to roll with it.)

Someone was clapping. Prehnite? Cymophane thought that was his name. He had the right idea, whatever his name was. Cymophane joined him. He seemed a bit clumsy about it while still under the illusion, but he was no less enthusiastic than he would have been otherwise.

Laurelite gave Jet a moment to take it in, just as she gave the others a moment to absorb everything as well. Jet had been through enough tonight, she wasn’t going to keep him here for much longer. He was tired, she knew how draining this would have been already–if he hadn’t just come from battle, and hadn’t just been at the hands of their enemy for so long, too.

When he knelt, she did the same.

It was tender. It was human.

She never shed the mantle of Queen, never seemed small or inferior, not like this.

“I want you to make sure you take adequate time to heal. We’ll talk about what’s changing when you’re in better shape. I have only one more thing for you tonight. I don’t think there’s a more appropriate time, so you’ll have to forgive me for holding you for a moment longer. I’ve had this for a long time,” she said, and held out her hands.

Something shimmered briefly, but it took only a second for it to fully manifest. She offered it without introducing it; she didn’t think Jet would have a difficult time identifying his brother’s dagger.

The blade was silver, still sharp. It tapered into three sharp points, and was every bit beautiful as it was lethal. The handle was wrapped in purple leather. It was clearly used; there were distinct impressions on the handle where someone had held it before.

“I’m very proud of you, Jet. I think he would have been, too.”