Welcome to Gaia! ::

Time was running out and Chris knew it. Over the past year and a half he had spoken to countless senshi and knights, and even some Negaverse officers, trying to figure out a way to fix the cracked starseed in his chest, if not at least slowing the energy that was seeping out of it. Even Cosmos herself wasn’t entirely sure what to tell him, the Code had voiced its surprise that he was still alive, and for a while Chris tried getting on with his life as it were.

But nothing was the same, and he knew Paris knew, and others could see how easily he grew tired, how quickly it became difficult for him to breathe. Powering up seemed like an unnecessary waste of energy, and doing the things he loved, like playing baseball, was just as much of a chore.

After passing out in the middle of a game, he knew more than ever that his time was running out. He knew his family was worried about him, scared for him, and he tried to keep his distance from those he considered friends, feeling as though it would be easier to just fade away than it would be to draw them into his losing battle.

It was the day after Paris had convinced him to get holiday pictures taken with her and the twins. He tried not to focus on the expression in her eyes as she carefully applied concealer to the dark spots under his eyes, and makeup to give his face a little more color. For a while now, he’d known he was dying, and for a while he’d given up hope of ever finding a way to stop that from happening.

But despite everything and his exhaustion and lack of answers, he wasn’t quite ready to give up. Not yet.

“A year ago, you said before there might be something more that can be done if you had a chance to take a look at my starseed,” Valhalla said quietly as he waited for Hvergelmir to approach, his helmet removed and cloak wrapped tightly around him in the cold night air. “And I’d said it would be my last resort…? Well…” he trailed off, trying to keep his voice steady, knowing that if he had any hope of figuring a way to help heal his starseed, Hvergelmir would know. Perhaps Cosmos would have had more answers if she’d been able to look at his starseed, too.

“I’m sorry to put this burden on you, so please don’t feel obligated… I’ve just… run out of other options… I don't know what else to do...” he explained as he sat on the bench in a secluded area of the park, probably looking just as horrible as he felt but thankfully the darkness was able to mask some of it. The night was clear, despite being cold, and Valhalla lifted his hands to unhook the cloak from around his shoulders so offer to the knight of Cosmos, concerned that she would be much colder than himself.

Valhalla watched Hvergelmir as she removed her own cloak to offer to him, and although he hesitated, he took it when she said she would only take his if they traded. He felt guilty for very much wanting the chance to wear her cloak again, wondering if that made him greedy. He tried not to make it look too obvious that he was more than grateful to slowly take the offered cloak from her in exchange, placing it over his shoulders.

As before, he closed his eyes to focus on its pure energy. Even though it was well over a year ago that he’d reached out for help, he could clearly remember the meeting that night.

“Blindfold and earplugs,” he said, glancing up at Hvergelmir with a rueful smile. He reached into one of the pouches by his side to pull out a long, dark blue scarf and a pair of squishy yellow earplugs. “I might not have that great of a memory any more, but I remember that,” he said, knowing that this was going to probably be one of his last options to try and figure out what he could do.

There was only a small pause as he thought about what it was he was asking, what he was going to risk, and knowing that if whoever it was Hvergelmir was going to ask to help wasn’t able to come, then he knew he would simply have to figure something else out in the time that he had.

“Yes, I’m prepared,” he said, clutching a bit tighter to the cloak around his shoulders, and to the scarf in his hand. “If I - don’t make it… Celsus will know what to do,” he said, feeling guilty that he would be putting burden on someone he considered a friend, but he didn’t know who else to turn to. He didn’t even give Celsus a choice, but instead sent him a letter with instructions to give to Paris should he die.

And once, soon after he’d almost been corrupted and his memories had faded, Celsus had promised to help stop him should he ever be corrupted. He hoped that it still held for the other knight in a situation like this. It wasn’t the same thing, but it was that serious.

Valhalla listened to Hvergelmir’s instructions, nodding slowly and trying not to fidget too much. He knew this might be as much of a dead end as everything else, but if there was a chance that Hvergelmir had any suggestion, or would be able to talk to Cosmos or anyone else about it to come up with a solution, Valhalla thought it was worth the risk of dying, rather than just waiting to waste away.

“Thank you,” he said softly as he watched her, but made sure to avert his eyes when it seemed as though she was sending a message, not wanting to be rude, especially with all the effort she was going through to keep her friend’s identity secret. And Valhalla couldn’t blame her. He would do anything to protect those he cared for, too.

He did wait until she seemed to have sent the message before stepping forward to reach out to hug her, his heart already beating madly in his chest at the possibility that this would be the last thing he ever did. He didn’t let it linger longer than she seemed comfortable with, but he really, truly appreciated everything she was doing, and knew that this wasn’t something that was done so casually.

“Please thank your friend for me as well, since I know I won’t be able to talk to them,” he said as he took a step back to sit down on the bench, pulling her cloak more tightly around his shoulders and trying to settle himself with a deep breath. He knew the time for second thoughts had long passed. But this was something he needed to do if he had any chance at spending a longer life with Paris and the rest of his family.

“And…” he paused, knowing that there was a possibility of this not working out, “If you need to contact Celsus, if... - please thank him as well? And… tell him I’m sorry…” The letter he’d sent to Celsus would explain everything to Paris, so there was no need to mention her as well. He didn’t want to involve her more than she already was.

Valhalla lowered his eyes as he placed the earplugs in, waiting for the foam to expand, and then lifted the scarf to wrap over his eyes, making sure it was secure and he wouldn’t be able to see anything, lest he find out who her friend was and compromise them. He would never want that, not when they had no obligation to help him in the first place.

He took in another breath and laid down on the bench, holding up his hand for whenever Hvergelmir wanted to take it, trying to remain calm and relaxed, preparing himself for the sensation of his starseed being pulled from his chest, although he knew her friend hadn’t arrived yet.

Hvergelmir could not remember a time when her heart felt like it had wrenched itself so painfully out of place. Kairatos holding hands with that other page had been awful and stinging, like lemon juice in her veins: painful and scouring. The months with Ida missing had been a slow, grinding agony -- every day some new stretch against a tendon that didn't want to give, every day her mind trying to tell her it was just a little bit more likely than the day before that Ida was dead.

This was something else, something very sudden: the convergence of fear and grief as the aura that came and joined her and Valhalla at the bench assaulted her senses in a way she did not expect.

A General.

Her eyes were frantic, looking around in the dark for the source, trying to see what high-ranking agent had discovered her illicit communication with Titan and come to ambush her --

-- and then she saw the giant shadow of him, and it clicked that there was no ambush, and she felt, instead, violently sick in her heart and down to her stomach, because Titan had been worse than caught . . .

. . . he'd been promoted.

Metallia had finally dug her claws in tighter, stripping away more of his goodness, his purity, his light.

Titan had a true heart. Metallia had no right to defile it like this.

Hvergelmir approached with the sudden impulse to comfort Titan for what had been done, what had been taken -- and with the desire to reassure herself that Titan's goodness still lingered and he wasn't quite lost to her yet -- and she was relieved when he put up his hands, silently, in a show of safety. It was all the reassurance she needed. She closed the remaining distance and reached up (up, up) with both hands to cradle his face between her hands, fingertips tracing his cheekbones to reaffirm for herself the familiar planes of his face.

"I'm sorry to summon you like this," she said low, her voice pitched just above a whisper. "I didn't want to risk your identity more than I had to, but if you keep your voice low, he shouldn't be able to hear you." Hvergelmir waited for some brief show of comprehension before continuing.

"Knight Valhalla of Jupiter is on the bench, and very ill. Something's wrong with his magic. I'd like to look at his starseed -- and there's no one else I can ask. Do you think you can do that?"

"Valhöll?" The old name escaped at regular volume, surprise and incredulity overmastering care for a moment while perfect hands reached and touched his skin. His own gloved ones dropped to cup the small waist and support her reach. He bent down to it instinctively. The name attached to the one of the bench was a heavy one, tied to lore and webs spun in childhood dreams. It was strange to hear it drawn into all the dreams and nightmares of the magical war.

How much did the knight, and their legends, change from the stories of his people? From the understanding laid out in Ásatrú?

Lady Hvergelmir was likewise. Not a well, herself, though protecting one. And with a stag. Perhaps there was some hall of spirits, or statues of dead heroes, somewhere on Jupiter. Attached to a youth seeming come in into his prime and not so different from Björn Guildson in age. She asks a task. A dangerous one for this Valhalla. It is important.

He gave a nod and reluctantly trailed his hands from her waist to cross and crouch by the bench. This time answer remembered her counsel, and stayed toned to whisper, "I can do this thing. It is easier now. I will be careful, but it will still hurt him. "


A large paw of a hand was rested onto the breastplate o'er crossed leather pauldron straps. It felt more correct to unfasten them, to bare skin to sky, were this more ritual, but Titanlåvenite refrained. Such things were also distinctly more personal, nor were they strictly necessary. Chaos ignored armor, cloth and flesh the same when reaching for a starseed. I wonder if he fears. Betrayal that I will not put his life back in his chest? A mistake and crushed, or broken on the sideway? Or something darker. Why to look at his starseed? What has happened to him, inside? Maybe the weight of just my hand will give him a chance to prepare and breath. To fear less.


He pushed his hand in, found the glimmering star and drew it forth with steady, slow focus. It could not lessen the pain much, but it was something.

He’d never felt more vulnerable in his life. More than he did as a child who got picked on for being short and scrawny. More than he did when the people he cared for lied to him. He felt more vulnerable than he had at the mercy of General Schorl with her calculating eyes and smooth words, regarding him as little more than a chained dog. And this was nothing like waking up with years of his memory missing.

Valhalla couldn’t even confidently say he’d managed to accomplish things in his life that he’d wanted to accomplish. He didn’t know if he had a good experience in college because he couldn’t remember it. People he thought he was meeting for the first time looking at him like he was crazy because they’d been classmates, or friends, or perhaps didn’t even get along.

Sight had been taken from him, as well as sound, but he could feel the weight of a large hand against his chest.

He had a chance to change his mind. He could tell them to stop, that he didn’t want to do this after all. That he didn’t need to know just how badly his starseed was damaged, or if Hvergelmir or her mysterious companion had any suggestions on how to fix it or keep it from getting worse.

If things went wrong… if his starseed was taken and destroyed, he knew there would be no chance to even reincarnate - a suggestion that had been previously made in the hopes of healing it, but that meant possibly hundreds of years, and he wasn’t willing to give up on this life just yet.

But he also knew that of all the people he could have asked for help, Hvergelmir was the most capable. And while they did not know each other as well as Valhalla would like, he had no choice but to trust her. She had suggested it originally; to look at his starseed as a last option, so she had to have some idea of what to expect.

Valhalla drew in a breath to steady himself once more.

This wasn’t the first time a hand had been pressed into his chest, but it was never something he would get used to, and not exactly something he looked forward to. It was as though his whole body seized up, pain ricocheting through him as chaos made it possible to reach in. He gritted his teeth against the sensation, fingers clutching so tightly to his palms that they turned white. Sweat beaded against his brow and he wanted to cry out, but didn’t.

And then the starseed was out. Valhalla’s very essence was exposed and unprotected. And so very vulnerable.

"Perhaps," Hvergelmir sighed, dejected. "I'm not sure how well one knight's Wonder can compensate for the bleed of energy from another's -- but even then . . . it might buy him a few days. Time enough to keep looking, at least. I don't know."

It was such a staggering feeling, helplessness. The eternal frustration of trial-and-error that bounded so much of their lives, the painful uncertainty of it all.

Valhalla might die, and there might well be nothing they could do. Hvergelmir held her breath as the starseed sank back into the knight's chest, watching for any sign that the return trip might do it some further mischief -- but all seemed to be well enough with that, at least. The experiment hadn't killed him.

"You should go," she intoned quietly to the General, her gaze returning to his face to linger there. "He'll wake soon. If you think of anything -- find me. And, Titan . . . " The faintest of smiles lit her features. "I love you."

She'd tell Valhalla what they'd seen -- and that the Negaverse would be no help in solving his problem, either. Hvergelmir held little hope that the Roaring Cauldron at her Wonder could sustain him indefinitely -- its power was designed to flow through her starseed, after all, not his -- but perhaps at the heart of his own Wonder, or with Sailor Cosmos to add her strength, or if there was some way to at least preserve his damaged starseed from further erosion . . . even outside his body . . .

"Wait -- " she said before Titan could go, reaching out to place a hand along his arm. " -- what kind of a special container?"

Even if he couldn't bring her one, maybe just a description would be enough for a talented Mauvian to go on, something that could be cobbled together based on the general idea. A life support system for the soul.

Laney had come back from a year in a coma, once, sustained only by a hospital's life support system. There were worse fates than waiting. Even a last resort didn't have to be hopeless.

‘I love you’ It was hard to breath or move.
Lady Hvergelmir
it is so much danger to speak it.
But she was brave beyond bravery, a courage knowing and cold understanding of the fears that flew and beat their wings around the walls. She knew fate was cruel, and wove threads and held her glimmering spindle-staff all the same. Because it had to Be.
Not because she wasn’t afraid, shoes-bloodied-hands-wringing, feet-pierced and starved. She was gossamer in spider's threads, as delicate and jeweled with rain. As easy to destroy, to walk through, and somehow just as steel and more than hemp, hair and leather than any science could understand.

Words came unbidden on exhale, soft and low, in no English that could have betrayed his heart so many times before, “Du betyr så mye for meg.”

Hadn't it been said before? Fore-told or postfore, or whatever that long dream of days on days spoke in other names. And with more solid Norsk.

Traitor’s heart with a traitor’s tongue. But Valhalla should not be kept waiting. Then pale, ivory warm touched his arm and felt like fire even if it couldn’t believably make it through his shirt. He Stopped. No more need of pulling to the arm, and by touch alone he ground-tied as a warhorse bidden.

“It was not a portable one. It was in...our space. Within that fallen kingdom. Many more than one. “ There had been a vessel for many starseeds, once, though if it still existed he didn’t know. It had been long enough ago, in his basics of training with Obsidian, and never again since, that he couldn’t place if it had been in the safer, upper rooms of the cathedral or Below in the Rift. It was not made mention of in the training manuals that were made use of now. Was it of Old Ways, like Obsidian himself, strange and terrible to the latter comers in his violence and madness?

“ I don’t know where or who made it. Or of what. Or if it is still...where it was, or if it was broken. It was years ago I was taken to see it. “

Valhalla shifted, and heaved, and it was more her hand than else that kept him from immediately starting and gentling the poor thing back onto the bench by waist and shoulder. He couldn’t possibly weigh much.

“Valhöll—”