Axinite might have acknowledged
Saqqara but instead it seemed like he was looking
through her. The bones of his knuckles were so white that he looked like he might split skin at any second; he clutched his axe like a lifeline.
She was a traitor. He should have dragged her back. He should have done anything.
He should have gone to
Kamacite, he was nearly close enough to reach.
He stayed frozen, but he wasn’t the only one.
Lyndin didn’t think he liked the music.
Pendour’s was oddly calming, given how dire this situation was.
Aogashima was a Squire of Cosmos, and she was
singing. She didn’t try to help the starseed. He couldn’t understand why the protectors of Cosmos--
extensions of the Cauldron?--had such different priorities.
Hyperborea, though, must have been the worst of them.
He wanted to blame youth and ignorance--the same things he used to justify the actions of the others--but those things were forgivable. He did not resent the others for that.
Hyperborea tried to
lecture him. He wondered if she understood how preposterous it was that she should tell him what happened a thousand years ago with any ounce of certainty. She was gone. She didn’t matter.
Encke apologized, but Lyndin looked at him with a mixture of fatigue and frustration. His body was rebelling, and it was a struggle to keep
pushing like he was.
He didn’t
hate Encke but he didn’t forgive him. Encke had reinforced the starseed, it wasn’t just being thrown around by anyone who didn’t understand how important it was. And yet, it
burned to see it taken away.
He didn’t hate
Oberon. They just didn’t
understand.
Every delay now meant Velencya was pushed into more danger. To sacrifice
one life, to save a world?
What sort of impression had Caedus given them? How
important was he to them? What had he
done here--besides lead what some had called a
failed attack on the Negaverse?
He didn’t hate
Scylla, but he resented her participation in this. They were
so close, and yet he watched the starseed he’d sacrificed so much for, ferried away.
She smiled at him. She shared energy. She left.
Kerberos replaced her. Lyndin could hear him, even though his voice felt like needles in his ears. He accepted his energy, too, and despite how grateful he was for it, energy still shot off of him, painful and dangerous for everyone within range.
Castor tried to move him, but Lyndin wouldn’t move away from the collection of Cadets. Lyndin was still waiting for them. He still wanted to
save them.
Castor said he’d
help, and
maybe Lyndin believed him. He did not correct Castor’s assumptions. He did not remind him that despite it all, he
hadn’t wanted to see any death.
His jaw had clenched so tightly that he didn’t think he could force it open again to say anything, and his focus was distinctly
elsewhere.
His eyes were on the Central Console, the sky, and back again.
He had enough on his mind already, and Castor was right. There was no time for corrections, no time to argue semantics.
Valhalla’s words and offers were not unwelcome, and he suspected that he was genuine. There
was no right answer. But, Lyndin was committed to his choice.
The
offers were nice, but he had never learned to hope and
dream. Without answers, without evidence, their future was uncertain.
Lyndin
knew how to save them, but the chance to do so was stolen from him. He did not reject the offer to look after the Cadets, though, and the look he gave Valhalla said that he would
hold him to that promise.
Lyndin’s heart had torn when
Aeleas and
Lixian and
Vaylin chose to stay; they had done no
wrong in this. It was unexpected, even if they were not with him. It had torn when
Neryn decided to stay, but he had the chance to
look at them when they refused. Something in Lyndin’s eyes spoke of understanding, but concern overwhelmed it.
Of them,
Valnyr was least unexpected, but even that had hurt.
The others were close, he could keep them safe. They accepted his protection, and he willed every spare ounce of strength he had to keeping them safe.
Naeria and
Andreiya could support each other.
Fangnyl had
Aliez to look after him.
Fae-Fae came, and
Gavaen was safe in her hands.
Itztenoch and
Eso and
Nessaela stuck together, with him.
Silvera wanted to make it home, wanted to leave. It
wasn’t safe here. Lyndin didn’t want anyone else to die, either.
Yddagen and
Lysvi remained.
Cypher seemed prepared for the worst, and
Vyn was still ready to fight for all of them, and Lyndin was grateful he still had that fire in him.
Fysarius held onto
Ny; they could find strength from each other.
Daesva was there--unhappy, but Lyndin could
protect her. That was all that mattered right now.
Caelyna had spoken, but the words seemed distant and far away; the Source Stone strained against him. It
cracked.
He looked at it, and then her. The gesture was faint, but he nodded.
His eyes closed, for just a second; he breathed in.
The Center Console let out one final great blast before the beam coming from it flickered, and the last light of it disappeared into the sky.
The machine was still rattling; it groaned, and smoke was suddenly billowing out of it.
Seconds ticked by, slowly, quickly. Nothing felt real.
It felt like an electrical storm was brewing. Small, painless jolts of static danced across their skin, or sparked across the grass. Hair could stand up easily. The air felt
dangerous.
In the great distance, far from Earth,
Archideus exploded.
A supernova in the sky, a haze of pale purple and blue and red. The city lights did not dull the colors, and it looked like a billion little shards of glass rippled through the sky.
Lyndin shuddered.
Caedus screamed.
It was a choked sound, muffled through pursed lips. As soon as the starseed slipped back into him, the glow that had surrounded it--protected it--seemed to flicker over his chest and fade.
His pupils were slits and his back arched as starseed sent a wave of rebellious energy throughout him, protesting its return. He seemed stunned and overwhelmed, oblivious to anyone around him. If he had thought to get up, he couldn’t have; spasms claimed him, setting every muscle and nerve on fire.
He did not see
Réalta, or
Scylla, or
Sessrumnir, or
Encke or
Oberon.
He
did see fragments of Archideus, unfairly beautiful in its demise.
The machine groaned loudly and small sparks and explosions began to echo inside; bursts of light split through the cracks.
They were out of time.
Laurelite waited, because she could. A purple haze glowed around her hands--around
Lepidolite’s, and
Hessonite’s, and
Axinite’s. Their barrier still held, and the purple haze coiled around all members of the Negaverse protectively.
They were going to get out of here.
They were fine. Laurelite, so very graciously, extended this gift to
Lyndin and
all of those who chose to stay with him.
The rest were not so fortunate.
With the first explosion, Laurelite
pulled them off the field with her.
The first blast pushed others back and heated up the area--a prelude of what was to come. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to escape.
The forces of Order were left alone to deal with the fallout--only, just as the second blast ripped through the machine, just as light and fire and smoke and energy came together, a five-pointed star brooch appeared on each and every one of them.
The light from the explosion reflected on the brooch, charging it. A white glow appeared around the star and spread across them.
By the time the explosion tore up the field, they were gone.
Quote:
You do not need to make an exit post from this ORP; your character will have been automatically transported to escape the explosion. You
may post a reaction if you like but it isn’t necessary! If you are playing an Order character or a Cadet who refused Lyndin, you can continue
here; if you are playing a Chaos character or a Cadet who sided with Lyndin, you can continue
here. If you are playing an Order or Chaos character you do not
have to post in these threads; you can handwave that your character was in attendance and receives all information.
If you are playing a Cadet, you
must participate in the ORP your character is teleported to; you must write at least 500 words over the course of the ORP.
