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Wednesday, August 16th - and school was back in session. Clutching the vial that Kallichore had given her, Jada inhaled, then exhaled. Her life was starting to... Parts of it were coming together? Yet for every one that seemed to be working its way into line, there were three or four pieces of it that were still a ******** mess. Welcome to being alive, enjoy taking it in the- Positivity! Think positivity, Jada. No, Jada, being positive that life was trying to screw you over was not the kind of positivity that you should be looking for. The dark-haired model was slowly getting a handle on what little in her life she could- or she was trying to, and that was half the battle- and she hadn't even touched a bottle to try to cope since her birthday. Not even slipped a splash into her tea, really. Jada was proud of that part, at least, with everything that sometimes still felt like it was crumbling- while she stood in the middle pretending that it was all fine.

Increasingly, it seemed like she was needing more and more help from Kalli and Caedus in order to sleep- his energy draining crystal, Kallichore's vial of magical Xanax. It had been this way for months now. Oh, the aids kept her off the alcohol. They had soothed the tremors and the mild shakes that had come and quickly faded- letting her know how close she'd been to falling down that rabbit hole again. They kept away the frantic flashes of that dystopian future that slowly drew closer; the people she'd seen die, the people she had killed; it kept away the screams of the mirror wraith, the burn of pain on her flesh, behind her eyes, spilling down her throat, fiery oil slick.

The rain poured outside the window, and the senshi shivered as a gust blew the droplets in through the opening, spilling over her legs, dripping onto the floor of the temple, painting the floor in a pattern it may have been doing for millennia. Yet the temple was still whole and sturdy. The walls were strong, unbroken and ungrooved, even after all this time and all the things that it had surely seen. Wine spilled on floors, blood of enemies and allies splattering the walls, battering rams at the doors to the inner temple, swords falling from untutored hands, slashing, murderous limbs of would-be invaders and predators, children born and lost, over and over and over and over and on and on and on... Yet the temple, heart of her world, remained inviolate. Pure.

The magical assistance kept away the temptation to slip back into the girl she had been in Europe, wild and laughing, unhinged from loss and burdens that she hadn't been prepared to handle when they were thrust upon her; a girl who had still believed in a happy ending for her story. They kept away the shrieks in her ears from years of nightmares and memories, things she had seen that she never wanted to see, memories from another life she never wanted to live again. They kept away the burn in her gut that her daughter was living with someone who hated her father, that Jada was helpless to bring her home, to hold Hope for more than a few moments at a time when the little girl was presented as bait. Kept away the way her hands twitched, wondering if maybe surrender would be...

Easy? Perhaps, though it still felt wrong. Jada quite hated the idea of taking the easy route to solve her problems, but she was just so damn tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of her growing reliance on magic just to get through her night, her day. Tired of being so cold inside and out, of looking at almost everything with an exhausted apathy that stunned her in those moments she could actually think about it. There had to be another option- a better option. She went to therapy once a week, of course, but when she couldn't tell them the truth, it didn't help. Maybe she should try that- find a discreet therapist to take Order clients. Find one willing to sit and work with someone in a fuku. That could be useful for more than just her... there had to be several people traumatized by things they had seen, things and people they had lost.

She couldn't be the only one who felt like she was drifting. Who felt like there was a certain inevitability coming that couldn't be escaped. Couldn't be the only one who felt as buffeted by Chaos as the curtains she had hung up on the Temple windows; couldn't be alone in the temptation to sink below the waves and surrender, to forget... Or in how angry the sheer simplicity of defeat made her feel. Give up. Start anew. Throw away the pain and all the despair that hunched demon-clawed over shoulders and drained what was left, feasting on the very last dregs of dreams.

Jada refused to spend the rest of her life sinking in and out of her addictions. She wanted to terminate her reliance on magical aids that might not be around forever. She was just so afraid of doing the wrong thing, of taking a misstep that would cost her everything. The twins were only seven, and there was a palpable threat to their future no longer living overseas, but in their hometown. There was her daughter, (gods, the pain that even thinking about her still brought!) and the custody discussions that would almost inevitably ensue once she finally managed to get her pieces in place and succeeded in bringing her home. There was Zora, and Lucas, both of whom still loved her, still looked to her for guidance even though she had thought her lies had torn them all apart.

There were a hundred goals yet unfulfilled, and none of them would come about through the weakness that came with surrender, and even less would come about through fear. Cowardice hadn't been what pushed her career forward, put her in the pages of magazines as a model. Her family's money only got her on the covers of rag mags; she had done the rest.

She could do the same now. Get past her self-doubt and shove her way through this self-imposed wall that held her a prisoner. All she had to do was figure out how.

Failure. Disgrace. Despair. Jada had tried- she had actually spent hours talking to a useless hump-lump of coral and- and Kraken poo. She had tried to force herself to open up, to present what she had needed, to ask for help- and God- all the gods, big G, little g, mythological- they all knew that Jada Chamberlyn didn’t exactly ask for help with any great semblance of grace. She was supposed to be the one in the position of giving help, not asking for it. Perhaps her planet was trying to teach her a lesson for her small bit of ego? To think that just because she was all the planet had, it would give half a-

Whatever she had hoped, or assumed, she had been proven unequivocally wrong. Jada was in no way, shape, or form any closer to the kind of peace that Kallichore’s prayer had led the cosmos to share with her. August 30th, one full, solid week after her plea, and she was still so far from any grand insight that could even resemble-- ugh! The Senshi pulled off one high heel, throwing it across the open room of the White Temple, watching the shoe vanish into the softly-glowing darkness. It clanked onto the pristine floor, glittering gold near the throne. Her anger was not aimed at the homeworld, exactly; it was just the easiest target, the simplest outlet for the waves of helpless fury that welled up in her, rising and falling like the tides. “You,” Scylla informed absolutely nothing “are an IDIOT. You are a stupid hunk of rock and no one likes you.”

Oh, and like she was so smart, yelling at a ‘stupid hunk of rock’? Her exasperation was the only sound on her entire planet made by something that wasn’t wind rustling a leaf, or the waves crashing on a rock. There was no one here to actually listen to her, and she was raging like something that wasn't even properly sentient could give half a flying ********. Hell, half a limping ********. Hadn’t she already told herself that this failure was going to be inevitable because the cosmos was ambivalent to her? Hadn’t she decreed her quest a failure before she had even truly begun it? So why was she blaming her homeworld?

“You’re still stupid.” sulky, now, the bitterness of a spoiled young woman who had never had anything fail to work out in some small way that she could rationalize to her benefit, even if she had to take the long way around to make it so. Her life had not been without its losses- friends, family, funds, love, a little bit of pride here and there. All that some little corner of her brain could pipe up unhelpfully with right now was that little piece of conventional wisdom: If you live your life as if everything is all about you, that’s all you’ll be left with. Just you. The voice sounded like her therapist, honestly.

That wasn’t a great secret, that the world didn’t revolve around Jada and her wide selection of anxieties, insecurities, and discontents. Not even this one was so obligated to her. But damn, wouldn’t it be nice if she didn’t have to work to find the positive? Her lips continued to thin, her sulk growing more powerful. The shoe continued to glint at her from the darkness. She sucked in a breath, tamping down on the urge to stomp off in a rage, teleporting back to her home and- do…. Something. Anything. Her planet didn’t deserve her today. Didn't need her coming up there with her drama, either. Yet Jada didn’t wander off; the fact that an inanimate lump of rock had no manners, or feelings to be hurt, didn’t mean that the girl who was senshi to the hunk of stupid did not have both.

Jada’s other strappy, magical shoe was jerked off and hurled in the opposite direction of the first, away from the throne. Violet eyes did not watch it fly, nor did she hear a thump. Chances were she’d chucked it out a window, honestly. The planet, of course, remained non-responsive to her pain. Her shriek filled the empty hall, ringing through the pillars, and she reached out with one small hand, lifting an antiquated vase and flinging it. There was no sound of shattering; only the sound of impact, and then a thump, and the sound of something rolling across the smooth, sturdy floor. She couldn’t even break a ******** vase? She should be throwing her fury around on Earth. At least there something about her made an impact. Her credit card.

The last time that the Senshi of the Kraken had been on her homeworld, reaching out to seek aid in dealing with her wounded soul, she had been downtrodden. She had come an already-defeated penitent. Her heart and her mind had been partially stuck on the insecurities that sprang forth from her private meeting with Ptolemy. Having to tell the Dark Mirror senshi about the origins of the Blood Moon, and how the Dark Mirror had come to pass, always made her feel the part of the villain. It was easy to try to shove the truth aside to make it from day to day; the truth that in her silence she had been complicit in atrocities.

Why did she always have to look for external sources to her pain? The answer was right in front of her. She threw herself into everything without looking, she gave and gave, and she loved and loved and supported. She kept nothing back from the people that she chose. She held herself to a standard with other people that tore her insides to shreds. Jada had always been told what to think and how to feel, and when she had become Scylla she had thought it was freedom. She’d made choices that Jada Chamberlyn might not, disassociated herself into an almost dual-life, made herself pretend that behind the fuku there was someone else.

But behind the fuku, she was still the same spoiled, naive, helpless, hopeful, romantic heiress. She mismanaged her pain, tamping everything down, because if she let something crack.... And the circle wound tighter every time. And every time the spring broke it was self-destructive. And every time it cost her so much; and whether she had help or not, she was done with this cycle. It had been broken- until she came back to Destiny City, and its poison. She longed for things like she was Giulia, six years old and full of life,

Perhaps she had done something wrong the last time she had come. That was not a truth she wanted to consider, for it tasted like ashes to admit that yet again, the fault was hers. It was worse, in its way, to consider that perhaps she had received exactly what she deserved.

Nothing.

When she had first come, her homeworld had seemed dead. There had been nothing resembling water. The fossil of the Kraken had been nothing to her but an old garden or gazebo, at first, not the remnants of a world gone by. The air had been dry and cold, and everything had seemed to be barren, empty and dead. There had been more life in the world that had hung in the sky like odd christmas ornaments, so much more impressive than what she surveyed on the ground. Her power had been given by antiquated relics and ruins, so small and insignificant compared to everything else out there. The first time she had seen this world, she had not seen the beauty that might lie just beneath the surface. She had been afraid, and ashamed of how it looked.

The next few times she had come to Scylla, she had seen more. The bottom of the World Pillar had been encased in ice, the buildings on the Isle had looked decrepit, though structurally sound. Plants survived, clinging to cracks and crevices, though there were no animals that she could see. Her mind had filled with memories of the dreken, the devilfish, the terrifying predators that feasted on humanoids and sea life alike. She had pushed her way through the dusty remains of oiled cloths, peered into the braziers that had once been filled with Everflame, and seen only gutted-out embers. She had trudged through dust, through the thick scent of death that had filled the catacombs. She had looked on her old body and wondered why.

It was Jada who had brought color back to this sad, cold world. She had repaired the curtains with her own hands, replacing what she could not. She had swept away dust, opened windows, let the breeze touch the stifled temple. She had gone to the time-ravaged auditorium, full of the remains of the past Scyllae, and she had cleaned up the mess that the Kraken had made, pushing rocks outward, and cleaning dust off to see that perhaps… time had not ravaged so much? Every time she came, the planet was brighter, more beautiful. Every time she had chosen to return to her homeworld, Jada could watch Scylla slowly awakening from a thousand years sealed away in despair.

The statues in the catacombs had never looked away from her progress as she had cleaned her way through restoring the Temple. All of them still glittered with stones and jewelry, hemp, and ragged pieces of clothing. She had found more than just the barely-humanoid guardians that had attracted her attention at first. There were those who looked like they could have been human, and those marked with symbols from other worlds. These statues had been more than just the guards of the Scyllae, she knew now. This area was the tomb to their wives. Their arms. Male and female alike, these statues represented the people who her past life, and the Scyllae before her, had chosen. Had loved. No wonder their jeweled eyes had glittered, frightening her so. She was their ‘husband’ now, and she brought them no honor.

There were a few statues among them that she favored, that she recognized. The cool, sweet lips of Kyma, who had died before her time, slain on the beach helping protect the village and the Temple. The stern expression of Briseis, who had been the wife of Andromache’s older brother before their clan was slaughtered. Nine years her senior, and when Andromache had returned as the senshi of their homeworld, Briseis had laid down her sword and her hard-won status to become the first of the child-Scylla’s wives. Fifteen of these statues had belonged to Andromache, at the very least. Fifteen of them had been the ones who fought for her, died for her, and still stood guard over both the woman in the next room and the child that she had been carrying. They had been proud warriors who had given up glory of their own to serve something greater than just one small clan.

What had Matera told Andromache, in that faded memory? There are many angles from which cruelty can come, and 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. That was why males and females both learned to fight, that was why biological sex had no bearing on social roles and terminology that came from their own culture. Danger could come from anywhere, and it was not just the job of one person to protect the family. Everyone fought on Scylla, not just for rank, titles, or power. They struggled every day for their very lives against a planet that saw them as nothing but food.

Jada stroked her hand over the familiar, muscled arm of a statue, closing her eyes with a sigh, and grounding herself with the date- September 13, 2017. Another statue under hand, so familiar and yet so different. This one had stones for eyes, two small Messian gems- they still swirled and glowed at her when she looked upwards, different from the onyx chips in most of the others. An honor, bestowed on the favored, perhaps? There were maybe a dozen of them in here with those glowing eyes, out of what was probably thousands, should she bother to count. The statues here had not all been lovers, even if they had all been spouses. Some had lovers of their own, and the 40-plus children born to her wives that Andromache had proudly raised and cared for, that she had mourned when they died, were clearly not all young born of her body. But their parents had been her family, and most had earned their places guarding her grave with years of dedication and love.

What could she take from that? Perhaps it was that while Scylla was not meant for the softer things, there was room for it in their life. There had to be. Andromache had raised a son of her own body among the children born to her wives. She had found a balance, and lived her life to the fullest as best she could, every day. She had loved, and she had fought, and she had dealt with grief. It wasn’t something impossible to do. Emotion was not disallowed, Jada just had to… learn. Time and place for everything. If she wanted a balance, if she wanted help then first, she needed to help herself. What she’d done so far hadn’t worked. Time to try something else.

Don’t give up, ἀγαπητή. You are mine, and I am proud of you. Hands stroked through her hair like a ghost, and were gone.

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.

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.