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Takes place immediately after Movement 3

Jet had never been so relieved to be back in Negaspace as he was at that moment. Nauseous and unsteady, he kept a tight grip on Ganymede’s arm until they arrived directly in the throne room. Then he threw her to the ground.

There was no point in holding her any longer. She couldn’t escape even if she wanted to.

By this point, Jet looked worse for wear. Pale from a lingering fever, he could barely stand on an injured, festering leg. His face was scruffy after going a week or so without shaving; blood dripped down the side from a fresh wound courtesy of Ganymede’s glass shoe. A couple of ribs were probably broken. Sessrumnir might have given him a concussion, too; Jet couldn’t be sure.

Despite all of that, he was in great spirits. He’d fulfilled his promise to the Queen. They caught the Princess, and stopped her allies in their tracks, destroyed that pesky device they’d hoped would cripple the Negaverse.

Unless anyone needed their injuries treated at the infirmary, Jet and his team agreed to meet in the throne room. He wanted the Queen to know who had helped him, to see their efforts paid off, and ensure they all got the credit and respect they deserved.

If he wasn’t busy trying to wipe blood from his eye, he would have turned to inspect each one of them, to thank them for what they did for him, for the Negaverse.

Bloodstone would have liked to stay longer and put his pick through the Saturn Knight’s face. Not because he insulted him, but because his voice was annoying, and Bloodstone could be generous when he felt like it, and decided that no one else should have to suffer that drivel.

He would also have liked to treat his own injuries first, but supposed his gnawed up arm wasn’t as bad as losing an eye.

From subspace he pulled his first aid kit and a generous amount of sterile gauze so he could approach Jet and wait until Aquamarine moved out of the way, before holding it against his face. It would have been better if they could wash it off, but this would keep any debris or Dark Kingdom dust out of the wound for the time being.

“You should use a starseed if you have one,” he said to Carnallite. He would have liked to check on her as well, since she’d suffered damage from that damn bird summon that he could see shooting lightning on the mezzanine.

He chose not to comment that Aquamarine looked like he barely broke a sweat.

Faustite appeared next, a little slumped in his posture but otherwise able to conceal his pain. He breathed through his mouth carefully, aware of the crackles in his breath, and knew better than to overexert now. He cast his glance to the right where the Princess fell; he wondered how Laurelite would have her killed.

Or if she would wring information from the wench first. Logically, Faustite knew that was prudent, but the youma in him burned to see her die badly. Give her over to the Hall of Shadows and exterminate all hope of her leaving this space to cause more trouble.

It would lure her allies, of course. But —

He looked up toward the throne, saw Axinite (********, twitched for that), saw Lysithea. His breath seized. "Lys —" Cut off with a cough, he covered his mouth.

Thought a fair few curses in Sessrumnir's direction. Looked for Lopezite, for Kamacite, Albite, Prehnite. Expected to see them all there; they had too many good soldiers in that fight to have lost any.

Axinite couldn’t breathe. Really, he hadn’t for the past fourteen minutes. He’d read the first line of Kamacite’s message and his stomach twisted. His heart pounded so ferociously that he was lightheaded before he’d finished the paragraph. He’d nearly cracked the tablet from gripping it too hard.

A detailed report, and a request to be withdrawn within fifteen minutes if they hadn’t returned.

Axinite didn’t trust himself, so he’d set a timer.

He hadn’t been able to sit at his desk; he’d tried to read through everything, but he needed to stand, and pace, and when he finished a quick skim the first time, it still didn’t feel like he understood enough of it. He’d looked over it again.

The information sunk in, but panic had too. Twice, he summoned his axe to him.

More times than that, he thought about going himself.

He didn’t.

He’d left his room and closed the door so hard behind him that he broke the hinges, but he didn’t stop to examine it; instead, he’d hurried down the hall towards the Throne Room. He could have teleported, if he were thinking clearly. He needed to work out some energy and–as fate would have it–a familiar face had been what he needed. He found Lysithea walking towards him and immediately took her wrist. He turned her around and had her walk with him and he explained briefly, in a very quiet tone, that he needed her help.

She could heal. If something was wrong, she could fix it. He had starseeds. He had energy. But she could heal. Faster than their medics. And, she was here. Now.

He couldn’t fall apart with company, so the hurried walk to the Throne Room with her at his side had been grounding, even if his mind was elsewhere. He wore a wristwatch–unnecessary, but sometimes the steady ticking of the watch kept him company in the quiet of his room.

He was glad he wore it tonight; he set a timer.

The clock hand moved so slowly. He looked at his watch, looked up, waited.

Looked down again.

Seconds had passed, but never much more. Not at once.

He was impatient and losing hope, and they were almost at the fifteen minute mark, and–

There they were.

A barrage of energy signatures. He counted them once, twice. There was blood. A lot of injuries. He felt queasy.

But, they were all there.

He couldn’t breathe, though. He was pale, and rigid, and stood like a grim, marble statue.

But they were all there, so it was okay.

Jet’s idea. Of course. Whatever.

She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them once again, giving her brother an annoyed look. “Don’t try to get up. Don’t try to be brave or whatever. You’re a fool. Reckless. He’s here because he was worried. He’s been like about to pass out for the whole time we’ve just been standing here. He didn’t tell me what was going on, just said that my healing would be needed and had me come along. Damnit, Faustite. You’re such…”

Lysithea bit back whatever she was going to say and drew in a long, slow breath. “Not sure why you. I mean is it even still alive? Do they want the Princess alive? I might be needed over there too.”

Finally, she held her hand out. “Lysithea Healing Horn.” <******** the Princess. This was her brother, the strongest healing that she had would go to him, even if he didn’t want it.

Kamacite didn’t care that Cymophane was still a big, scary youma. He turned to throw his arms around him as soon as they were all back in Negaspace, and pressed his face against the gross, mangy fur.

He wanted to make sure that Cymophane was okay. He wanted to make sure Prehnite and Faustite and Albite were okay. And Carnallite. Lopezite seemed to be okay, and Aquamarine, too. Jet was being tended to by Bloodstone, so Kamacite could spend a moment hugging his temporarily grotesquely formed friend.

“I’m okay,” he quietly promised, ignoring the way his arms burned from lightning or how his ankle was painful from Cybele making him trip and twist it.

He held on tighter for a few moments longer, before turning to look at the others, his heart twisting painfully as he saw Axinite there, looking like he was going to faint.

“Axinite is here because I told him,” Kamacite announced, glancing over to Faustite and the Eternal Senshi he knew must have been Lysithea, despite having never met her before. His voice was soft, but the throne room had it amplified enough so that he knew Faustite would hear him.

Aquamarine put a supportive arm around Jet, holding him steady while Bloodstone treated the wound on Jet’s face — as best he could with what minimal supplies they had here. Later, he would make Jet go to the infirmary.

While Jet stiffened nervously, Aquamarine was unfazed by Axinite’s presence. That Kamacite told him was not entirely unexpected. Several times over the last week, Aquamarine almost did it himself.

“We’ve brought the Princess,” Aquamarine announced, since Jet couldn’t seem to get his thoughts in order enough to explain. “And Arles managed to destroy the device she and her allies were working on. The mission was a success.”

That didn’t make the idea of it any more pleasing to Aquamarine, who couldn’t agree it was worth what Jet went through, but he wouldn’t let the effort go unrecognized. Jet did what he thought needed to be done. No amount of arguing on Aquamarine’s part would have changed that.

He hadn't expected at all to get dressed down, especially by someone as gentle as Lysithea. Caught unawares, his eyes grew wide as he listened to her surly disparaging, ad he blinked at her. 'Damnit, Faustite. You're such…'

A failure? He wanted to add. I know.

But nothing came. He opened his mouth, drew in a breath, found it hadn't crackled after Lysithea used her magic, and shut it again. Better to just accept what she said and feel his own incompetence.

Faustite wished Axinite would've started yelling at them for keeping secrets. It was only sensible; his disposition aside, Axinite was the head of Information. Jet was part of Information. What plans he laid should have gone through Axinite for dozens of reasons, and from what Kamacite said, he was the one to contact Axinite. Good that someone did; perhaps Faustite would've done so, too, if he could swallow his anger. But he hadn't, and now he was just as culpable as Jet for concealing this rogue stunt.

He still didn't look at the Sovereign.

"Don't know," he answered as he cast his gaze to the floor. "Was only told to distract a Knight. Wait for the Queen." She'd deliver the final verdict on the princess, he expected.