The first thing Soren saw upon awakening was darkness.
True, black darkness—and much worse, there was silence.
Daedalus was never silent. The whole world, it seemed, sang with the hum of machinery, the crash and rattle of factories, the rumble of vehicles and the hum of people going from place to place, no matter the hour. It was wrong, to be on his world and to have it be silent.
And he had to be on his world. No one had been able to leave for nearly three years, not since the strange meteor crashed and the skies became too dangerous to navigate, choked with smoke and strange magic.
Not since his world had been poisoned, and for once, it wasn’t by the people that lived there.
Slowly, he reached up, and felt something strange. Above him, within arm’s reach, was something cold and solid. Stone, he thought, carefully carved smooth, but why—
Memory came rushing back. A meal, brought to him by another member of the resistance, a young man who had joined not long before. He’d felt strange when he ate it, but he’d put it down to being overworked and exhausted, which was the natural state of things.
When he’d started coughing, found that he struggled to breathe, he’d thought it was just his illness acting up, all over again. It had been bad enough that he vaguely remembered fainting, but—
Oh. Oh no.
He moved his hand along the stone above him, and then reached out next to him—more stone. Below him, more stone. His heart began to race, his breath coming short.
They must have thought him dead. Whatever was in that food—it had clearly nearly killed him, and left him near enough to a corpse that it was impossible to tell.
This was his tomb.
Every Daedalus had a sarcophagus made for them, a place in the crypt that held each Senshi. He’d visited this place once a year since he Awakened, for a memorial to his previous selves. The whole ceremony made him choke, every time, especially when he was forced to say a good word about his immediate predecessor. Wealthy, indulgent, a sellout who had advanced only the interests of the rich and powerful.
Soren hated him, hated eulogizing him. Certainly hadn’t expected to wake up in the sarcophagus beside his.
He’d thought about death plenty, of course. The slow failure of his lungs, ruined by factory smog, meant the topic was regularly on his mind. When death loomed over his shoulder at all times, it became impossible to avoid pondering its meaning, and what would happen after. He had not expected to be confronted with it.
He pounded his fists on the inside of the coffin lid, desperately. Perhaps it was just too thick; perhaps there were people outside who might hear it rattling, and the silence was an illusion created by being trapped.
He pounded, and pounded, and screamed until his throat felt sore.
There was no answer.
His breath came shorter, more desperate. Was he running out of air, sealed away in here? Would he die anyway—survive the poison, only to choke to death?
He could not think of a more terrifying prospect.
Perhaps—
He reached for the power of Sailor Daedalus. It had been a long time since he’d taken this form; the world needed Soren, and more than that, his powers had begun to wane. For people who were used to seeing their symbol with wings on his hips to see him stripped back down—it would have caused panic. But even in his weakened state, he was fairly certain he had enough strength to move the lid of the sarcophagus.
Or, he hoped so.
As soon as the power of Sailor Daedalus filled him, he smacked his hands upward, hoping to knock it loose.
The sarcophagus lid rattled, briefly, but did not move.
He kept pushing, desperately trying to lift it off. But even with his magical strength, he was already exhausted. Dizzy. Who knew how long he had been in here, without food or water—and his arms felt weak and wobbly, and the longer he tried to push, the more his head began to spin.
He collapsed, pressing a gloved hand over his eyes. <********,” he breathed, softly. It wasn’t fair to die like this. Trapped, alone, desperate, after surviving an attempt on his life.
How long would it take? Hours? Would his weakened lungs make it shorter? Perhaps that was a benefit to his failing health; he would run out of air quicker than someone else might, and he would have peace sooner rather than later.
For a moment, it was all Daedalus could do to stave off wallowing in despair.
And, as he felt something in him breaking—something he had never thought it was possible to break—he felt something strange in his chest.
A song, of sorts. A melody with no words, a call that seemed to come from his very core.
Daedalus closed his eyes. Knew, somehow, exactly what to do, to let this call take him where he needed to go.
When he opened his eyes, he was laying in a field, staring up at a strange sky. The grass was soft underneath him, and he sat up, looking around. Wherever this was, it felt strange and unfamiliar, and he couldn’t place it to any of the places he’d visited in his duties as Sailor Daedalus, or in his pleasure time as Soren.
But in the distance, there was the hum of people. Strange, unfamiliar sounds, but still the rattle of life. Wherever he was, it was inhabited.
And all around him were the bright lights of other Senshi and Knights. So many of them, more than he would have ever expected to feel in a single place unless there was some sort of event. Or some sort of danger.
And something else, too—strange auras, black and twisted, like gunky, used oil from between the gears of some factory machine. They weren’t exactly like the infection that had shut down his planet—but they were close.
Chaos.
Whatever world this was, it had a terrible infestation of it. Not to its roots, not like what he’d felt on his own world, but there was certainly far, far too much of it.
But, importantly—wherever he was, Daedalus was alive. Freed from his own sarcophagus, and able to take deep, gasping breaths of air. And as long as he was alive, he could find a way. Understand where he was, and how to get back home. Surely, his people needed him—and he would have to calm some very agitated tempers, if anyone had discovered exactly what happened to him.
For now, though, he had to get his bearings. The rest would come in time.
[wc: 1137 words]
