Welcome to Gaia! ::

The room had more shadows than light. A broken table in the corner bore the shards of a smashed lamp, its shade punctured and bent like a crushed butterfly wing. A hanging electric cord sparked idly from the ceiling where something had been forcibly ripped free. The curtains that framed blacked out windows were still burning dully, tiny flickers of flame licking up the walls. The room was otherwise nondescript, though it seemed dank, dark, like it was underground, or perhaps simply very old. Hanging above Gunn was the only other source of active light: a single bulb that cast an interrogative glow directly down on her.

At first, it seemed as if the senshi of wildfire was alone, but there was a shifting in the shadows that surrounded her. Then the very distinct tap of heels across the stone floor. The figure that stepped forth was hooded in a deep crimson robe. It flowed all around her, hiding her face and her fuku, exposing only the barest peek of a leg with each careful step. The swelling cloak licked across the floor and then swayed to a stop directly in front of Gunn.

Slowly, the hood lowered. Sailor Ares had stepped out from the shadows of the dimly lit room. Her lip was split open and still bleeding. It coated her teeth in a dark sheen. Her bare legs bore the sign of cuts and bruises, and there was a strange sluggishness to her walk that suggested an injury. From every inch of her that was visible beneath the cloak, Ares appeared to have just gone through a battle of epic proportions, one she seemed to have lost, and yet, her bleeding lips tugged into a smile, triumphant.

"Super Sailor Gunn," she began, voice husky and full of foreboding. "You have proven yourself an ally of this court, a warrior of the highest caliber, and a person of the deepest spirit. You are strong enough to join the strongest of us. You have proven that."

Gray eyes fell to the spot that had been exposed. Somewhere in the shadows, the sound of something metal dragging across the stone floor rang out. "Gunn," she said again, this time with an air of pomp and circumstance. "Would you give your life for a cause greater than yourself?" Ares waited, eyes cool and even. Then she said, "Would you fight for a victory by any means necessary, even if it meant putting yourself or those you love in the line of danger?" Her voice dropped lower. "Would you swear yourself away to a cause, an ideal, a principle without hesitation?"

Ares shifted weight, her heel clicked. "Answer for us all to hear." In the shadows, there was a murmur of excitement from the hooded figures hidden there.

Her expression didn't change, but Ares seemed pleased. It was hard to express just why. This moment was the first of many moments yet to come, and the warrior before her had been hand-selected. But she was just the first, one recruit in a long, staggering line that the senshi of smoke imagined stretching out before her, one great ribbon of power and privilege.

"I believe you," Ares said.

In the shadows, these words were echoed, just a few voices murmuring, "We believe you." How many were there? Not too many, though it was hard to say. In Ares' eyes, it was the elite few, the nebulous of this growing creature -- a creature that Gunn was about to become a part of, if she could pass one final test.

One bloodied hand reached forward and touched Gunn's shoulder. It left a smear. "There is one last test, soldier," she said. Ares bent down and helped the senshi of wildfire to her feet. "To be in this circle, we must have perfect trust, perfect unity. Apart, we may fail, but together, we are unstoppable." Her hand shifted and gripped Gunn's shoulder. She lifted the girl's hand and placed it on her own shoulder so that they were linked, standing face-to-face.

"In front of me and the rest of this circle, you need to reveal yourself." Her eyes grew serious. "Within this circle, no identity is secret. Show us trust, and we will show it back."

The room fell silent as Gunn revealed her identity. A pact had been sewn that night, and it was not one that either girl would be able to turn back from, not without consequences. That was the trust they entered in to, that was the agreement that was made.

Ares nodded, and then, just as swiftly, her own fuku melted away, revealing a bloodied and beaten girl with bright magenta eyes and a simple black and white dress. "It's nice to meet you, Kaatje. I am Fallon Novette-Naim." Outside of her fuku, Fallon looked younger, but her shoulders stayed squared, her eyes fierce.

The hand that was not on Gunn's shoulder raised and gestured to the shadows. In the darkness, something rustled, and another hooded figure emerged into the light. Ares stepped away from Kaatje and signaled for her to kneel again with another hand motion.

Fallon Novette-Naim, she repeated to herself, lips moving but no sound coming out. She sank to her knees when told, palms flat on the ground as she set her weight on the bleeding knees. Another gesture and then there was Laocoon, shedding the robe. Johnny King, Laocoon, two souls in one body. She hadn't yet asked Ares--Fallon--Ares if that was the norm for the Black Moon Court.

It didn't matter, she decided as she accepted the rag. They were her team now, weren't they? Deep breath. It would really suck if she had come this far only to totally ruin the moment by screaming and getting them all caught. Her stomach felt like her last meal had been lead ball bearings--too full, heavy. She ground her teeth into the fabric and vised her hands on her knees after brushing the orange-red locks of her hair away again, exposing creamy porcelain skin.

She'd been burned before. This would be no big, right?

From her place on the floor, she couldn't see; and she had to resist the urge to turn and look, or to try. Johnny's hands helped in that regard. Her chin was pressed tight to her breastbone, it was hard to breathe or was she just panicking? It could be both. The back of her neck was the best place to put it, really. Hidden as a civilian, exposed for the world to see as a senshi. Why not?

Still, all the burns in the world didn't prepare her for the searing pain of being branded. She was abruptly glad for the bit of fabric between her teeth; it kept her from screaming, from biting her tongue. Which wasn't to say she didn't make a sound. It was a very muffled scream, cut off quickly to shaking breaths when the branding iron was removed. Then the only sound she made was a hissing inhalation as hands touched the new wound, and again when something cold touched the raw skin.

It occurred to her then that she had no idea what the new scar looked like; she reached up, fingernails bloody as her knees, to shove Johnny away, reached back to touch her fingers to Fallon's. Hoarsely, quietly, she said: "Let me see?"

There was no time for Fallon to be proud, or to congratulate Kaatje. Her focus fell solely on the task at hand. This process was the product of many hours of research. Her brand had been the first, right over her heart, and she had suffered for their lack of experience. It was a little too fat from where Johnny had let the brand slide. Now they were better at it; practice had given them that.

So many things had to be discussed, chief among them how to properly care for the healing brand. As an integral part of their Inner Sanctum, Kaatje had many things to learn, many more than had already been drilled into her head so far. It was all hands on deck, and the water was rising. The senshi of wildfire would have a steep learning curve. Fallon believed she was up to the challenge, had believed it since they first met in the Crystal Academy bathroom less than a month ago. She saw the warrior in Kaatje, and that was exactly what they would need.

Steady hands pulled the ink-covered glove off. She handed it off to the second female who had brought the brand. Then Fallon took the mirror from Johnny. Gently, she tilted Kaatje's chin, working with the angle until she was certain it would be clear. "This is just the beginning," she said.

Perhaps then, reflected in the mirror, Kaatje might have noticed the second girl who had handed off the brand to Fallon. It was Sailor Gaia, the believed-to-be-dead parallel soldier. Formal introductions would come later. The remains of the parallel court were together, and they would live to fight again, just in another way, with other comrades, with another name.

The mirror angled again. Reflected back in the tiny compact was a raw, red shape. It was nowhere near healing and spanned about two inches on the nape of her neck. The edges were still rough, but if Kaatje squinted she could make it out: a tiny, red crescent moon.