References THIS solo from her Transcension arc.
Less than 12 hours ago, Jada Chamberlyn had once again almost died.
Okay, perhaps that was dramatic. The Negaverse had not seemed interested in murdering them- they had wanted to conscript them. Yet people had died. People who hadn’t been intended to die. And Jada very much considered corruption a form of death. A violation. A desecration. The person who had been was just as gone as the light that had been in the eyes of the Velencyan commander who had flung their body between her tentacles and Lyndin’s body-
And Jada heaved in a gasp of air, forcing her lungs to suck in a breath of the chill morning. She had checked the house, looking in on her family, the sleeping alien in her guest room, making sure Cookie knew that she had the day off and telling most of the staff not to come to work- an unplanned paid holiday.
She hadn’t slept.
She had walked the house, feeling like a ghost, staring out the occasional window anxiously. Waiting, as though any minute an army of aliens would descend, grab Caedus from her guest room, and vanish. She had drunk about ten cups of coffee, until her hands shook from energy that her brain couldn’t handle or process; until she was jumping at shadows. Until she was vomiting in one of the downstairs toilets, sobbing. They had come to help. They had died.
She had killed one.
Closing the window, which she had thrown open to cool her head, Jada grabbed her henshin pen. Her house was claustrophobic. Charybdis would be waking up soon. Aidan. Hope. Caedus. Breakfast would need to be made. Perhaps other senshi would come to her house- the invitation had been vaguely extended. Plans would need to be made.
She had promised Lyndin and the other Velencyans their vengeance for the murder she had committed.
Sightless eyes, and the crack of a body.
A supernova above, a homeworld that could have been but never would.
Appointments made with a person who would never keep them.
Jada slammed the window down, jerking the drapes shut. Closed her eyes, as Scylla, and reopened them on her homeworld. The sound of waves. The scent of the sea. The wind rustling through plants and whistling softly through the windows of abandoned homes, cloth flapping in a gentle breeze.
Solace. It was what her homeworld was supposed to bring her. It was what she had struggled for, a relationship with her homeworld that could grant peace, that could give her… anything. It wasn’t supposed to be her therapist, but it was supposed to be her support. And Scylla had not failed her, the night before, rising to the surface to share its power with her when she was afraid, standing at her side- figuratively.
This morning, looking out over the glittering waves, Scylla couldn’t bring herself to feel the peace it offered. Her mind was in shambles, sharp, scattered shards. She couldn’t bring herself to dig for that spark. She was seeking something, screaming for it, and not listening to the answer, that warm, pulsing, vibrant reply of her homeworld, the JOY in the way the energy wrapped around her. She didn’t want to hear the answer. She didn’t DESERVE solace.
If she hadn’t helped Lyndin and the Velencyans.
If she had asked more questions.
If she had been stronger, if she had tried to take down the remaining generators instead of going back to fight for Caedus.
If she hadn’t used her magic.
If she had done better in the time leading up to it all.
If she had done more.
If she had only-
If she could have-
If she-.
If.
If.
If.
After ten years she knew better than to tie herself to ifs, but that didn’t make it any easier. Nothing could, except time. And Scylla crumpled down, burying her face against her knees, staring up at the town that rose above her, feeling the sweet-salt water soak through her, burning her scratches, cooling, then burning again as the next wave swept over her thighs. In the past, these streets would have been filled with life. She had thought- maybe- it could have been again. That in the time before Velenia was habitable, she could have helped, but what had Lyndin pointed out?
“Your worlds are barren but for plants. They rarely grow food and they have very little protection. They are not safe, no matter how many times you tell yourself that. You do not have the power to fulfill what you are promising. Until your worlds can sustain life, I cannot accept that offer.”
Jada couldn’t say how long it was that she cried. A few seconds? Minutes? Hours? Until her throat was raw from screams and wails, and her eyes were sandpaper, and her sinuses were draining, just like the tension in her muscles. Until her chest heaved for air, and her breath was nothing more than a wet gasp and some part of her said it had drowned, and another just… was. Until her mind was calm, and the wordless screaming storm that had been brewing in her burned itself out, melted away to something numb, until the sound of waves narrowed down to only a gentle buzzing.
Her joints cracked as she unfolded herself, one leg at a time. The marks of her jewelry imprinted in her legs, her own nails in her arms- she had reopened the wounds Wolframite had left on her. That was okay. They would heal again. Her head spun, exhausted, and her swollen eyes slid shut as she let her head lean back, against the wall, and she breathed deep.
Something brushed against her arm, and Scylla rubbed it thoughtlessly, brushing it away. Again, and again. An insistent press of something soft. A lock of hair, freed from its braid- heavy. Annoying.
She opened her eyes, moving her hand to begin to twist it back into place.
On her arm was a bee.
Glowing.
Hairy.
We are Scylla. We are the servants of the Great One. In serving him, we bring destruction and death - but we also bring life. The death of an old world, to bring forth a new, the death of a tree in the forest to fertilize the saplings; it is all connected, and it is nothing for us to fear. 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.
The death of a homeworld that could have been, the loss of a person at her hands, and yet here, and now… was life.
This time, when she cried, it was tears of joy.
Okay, perhaps that was dramatic. The Negaverse had not seemed interested in murdering them- they had wanted to conscript them. Yet people had died. People who hadn’t been intended to die. And Jada very much considered corruption a form of death. A violation. A desecration. The person who had been was just as gone as the light that had been in the eyes of the Velencyan commander who had flung their body between her tentacles and Lyndin’s body-
And Jada heaved in a gasp of air, forcing her lungs to suck in a breath of the chill morning. She had checked the house, looking in on her family, the sleeping alien in her guest room, making sure Cookie knew that she had the day off and telling most of the staff not to come to work- an unplanned paid holiday.
She hadn’t slept.
She had walked the house, feeling like a ghost, staring out the occasional window anxiously. Waiting, as though any minute an army of aliens would descend, grab Caedus from her guest room, and vanish. She had drunk about ten cups of coffee, until her hands shook from energy that her brain couldn’t handle or process; until she was jumping at shadows. Until she was vomiting in one of the downstairs toilets, sobbing. They had come to help. They had died.
She had killed one.
Closing the window, which she had thrown open to cool her head, Jada grabbed her henshin pen. Her house was claustrophobic. Charybdis would be waking up soon. Aidan. Hope. Caedus. Breakfast would need to be made. Perhaps other senshi would come to her house- the invitation had been vaguely extended. Plans would need to be made.
She had promised Lyndin and the other Velencyans their vengeance for the murder she had committed.
Sightless eyes, and the crack of a body.
A supernova above, a homeworld that could have been but never would.
Appointments made with a person who would never keep them.
Jada slammed the window down, jerking the drapes shut. Closed her eyes, as Scylla, and reopened them on her homeworld. The sound of waves. The scent of the sea. The wind rustling through plants and whistling softly through the windows of abandoned homes, cloth flapping in a gentle breeze.
Solace. It was what her homeworld was supposed to bring her. It was what she had struggled for, a relationship with her homeworld that could grant peace, that could give her… anything. It wasn’t supposed to be her therapist, but it was supposed to be her support. And Scylla had not failed her, the night before, rising to the surface to share its power with her when she was afraid, standing at her side- figuratively.
This morning, looking out over the glittering waves, Scylla couldn’t bring herself to feel the peace it offered. Her mind was in shambles, sharp, scattered shards. She couldn’t bring herself to dig for that spark. She was seeking something, screaming for it, and not listening to the answer, that warm, pulsing, vibrant reply of her homeworld, the JOY in the way the energy wrapped around her. She didn’t want to hear the answer. She didn’t DESERVE solace.
If she hadn’t helped Lyndin and the Velencyans.
If she had asked more questions.
If she had been stronger, if she had tried to take down the remaining generators instead of going back to fight for Caedus.
If she hadn’t used her magic.
If she had done better in the time leading up to it all.
If she had done more.
If she had only-
If she could have-
If she-.
If.
If.
If.
After ten years she knew better than to tie herself to ifs, but that didn’t make it any easier. Nothing could, except time. And Scylla crumpled down, burying her face against her knees, staring up at the town that rose above her, feeling the sweet-salt water soak through her, burning her scratches, cooling, then burning again as the next wave swept over her thighs. In the past, these streets would have been filled with life. She had thought- maybe- it could have been again. That in the time before Velenia was habitable, she could have helped, but what had Lyndin pointed out?
“Your worlds are barren but for plants. They rarely grow food and they have very little protection. They are not safe, no matter how many times you tell yourself that. You do not have the power to fulfill what you are promising. Until your worlds can sustain life, I cannot accept that offer.”
Jada couldn’t say how long it was that she cried. A few seconds? Minutes? Hours? Until her throat was raw from screams and wails, and her eyes were sandpaper, and her sinuses were draining, just like the tension in her muscles. Until her chest heaved for air, and her breath was nothing more than a wet gasp and some part of her said it had drowned, and another just… was. Until her mind was calm, and the wordless screaming storm that had been brewing in her burned itself out, melted away to something numb, until the sound of waves narrowed down to only a gentle buzzing.
Her joints cracked as she unfolded herself, one leg at a time. The marks of her jewelry imprinted in her legs, her own nails in her arms- she had reopened the wounds Wolframite had left on her. That was okay. They would heal again. Her head spun, exhausted, and her swollen eyes slid shut as she let her head lean back, against the wall, and she breathed deep.
Something brushed against her arm, and Scylla rubbed it thoughtlessly, brushing it away. Again, and again. An insistent press of something soft. A lock of hair, freed from its braid- heavy. Annoying.
She opened her eyes, moving her hand to begin to twist it back into place.
On her arm was a bee.
Glowing.
Hairy.
We are Scylla. We are the servants of the Great One. In serving him, we bring destruction and death - but we also bring life. The death of an old world, to bring forth a new, the death of a tree in the forest to fertilize the saplings; it is all connected, and it is nothing for us to fear. 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.
The death of a homeworld that could have been, the loss of a person at her hands, and yet here, and now… was life.
This time, when she cried, it was tears of joy.
