Backdated to late April. Takes places immediately after The Path at Night.
Word Count: 3619
“What are you?”
He had so many questions. Fortunately, Ganymede had many of the answers.
“A Senshi,” she said. “We’re guardians of celestial bodies. Some are planets, some are moons, some are asteroids or comets or stars. Our starseeds resonate with the cores of our homeworlds. It’s where we get our power.”
They walked slowly down the path, away from Daddy’s fairy garden. Yvoire did his best not to look back. The youma was gone. Ganymede said they were safe, and Yvoire believed her.
“There are more of you?” he asked.
“There’s more of everyone. Senshi, Knights, those youma, and worse. Maybe you’ve heard the rumors, all the strange things that’ve happened around the city. There’s been a war going on between us, against Chaos.”
“Chaos? Like dark magic?”
“More or less.” Ganymede glanced up through the trees, to the stars above. “It poisons and corrupts, pollutes the soul, makes it easier for people to give into their violent impulses. Then again, some people don’t need the help, so we can’t blame it for everything wrong with the world.”
The sadness still lingered, even when her voice was warm, even when her smile was welcoming, even when she was patient and kind.
“The main source of Chaos here on Earth is Metallia, an entity of unknown origins,” she continued. “I think, at least. I know I’ve never heard much about where she came from, just that she preyed on bitterness and jealousy and raised herself an army to topple the Moon Kingdom.”
Yvoire listened, trotting along at Ganymede’s side, the heels of his boots clicking against the pavement.
“What’s the Moon Kingdom?” he asked.
“Ruins now, on the Moon,” Ganymede said, pointing to the thin crescent above them, “but a thousand years ago, back during the Silver Millennium, the Moon Kingdom extended its reach beyond Earth’s orbit. They were generally well respected — by most people, anyway. Not necessarily by everyone. They had allies from Mercury to Pluto and beyond.”
“But… how? Space is—... No one can live out there. Not humans, and there’s no evidence of…”
Yvoire trailed off. None of it made sense — or shouldn’t, but did, in a way. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, but in his heart he knew. There was a war. There was magic and monsters. There had once been civilizations out in space, whole worlds that no longer existed. His Wonder was out there, somewhere on the moon of Ganymede.
“I don’t know how,” Ganymede admitted. She shrugged, like it was something she’d questioned herself, once, before deciding it was no longer worth the stress. “Maybe there isn’t any answer for that other than magic. That’s the only answer some people have ever needed.”
“But not you?”
“Before, no. Now?”
She sighed heavily, but offered no conclusion.
They arrived back at the playground. Ganymede opened the gate behind the swings and led Yvoire through. Énna’s dance bag sat where he left it. He went to it, checked it for damage or tampering, but found it intact. The playground was as empty as he’d left it; the only sounds to break the silence were the wind and their own breathing.
“We should power down,” Ganymede said. “We’ll attract less attention.”
It wasn’t just the clothes, Yvoire knew. He could sense Ganymede’s power, felt it like a physical thing. She was warm and bright and clean where the youma had been like something rotting. Yvoire didn’t want to know what worse felt like.
“How do I do that?” he asked.
“You feel the power in you?” Ganymede prompted him. Yvoire closed his eyes, focused within, and nodded. “Grab onto it, and then… let it go.”
She demonstrated, her warm brightness disappearing. Yvoire followed suit, releasing his grasp on the power which filled him, letting it recede. Even then, he thought he could still feel it there, deep down, ready to aid him again.
Énna opened his eyes and nearly gasped.
“Mrs. Gallo?”
She had the same golden hair as Ganymede, the same bright eyes, the same mild smile, but it was as if some sort of veil had lifted. He knew her now, recognized her face from the community center, from so many dance classes he’d joined over the years.
“Surprised?” she asked. “You can call me Paris.”
She looked as she had the last time he’d seen her only an hour or so ago — black leggings with a simple t-shirt, flats she could easily slip into after removing her dance shoes, strands of hair slipping loose from her bun.
“But—... But you never—... How are you—...”
“We can’t exactly go around announcing ourselves.”
“So all this time…?”
“Not my whole life,” she said, with a sardonic tone of voice that seemed to suggest she was thankful for small mercies. “Just the last twelve years or so.”
“That’s most of my life,” Énna countered.
“Don’t remind me.” Paris winced as if this truth pained her. “Where do you live? I’ll walk you home, make sure you get there safe.”
“Oh. Okay.” Shaking himself out of his shock, Énna grabbed his dance bag and slung it on his shoulder. “This way.”
He led the way to the other gate, struggling not to continue goggling at Paris, who glanced down as they walked, pausing to press a foot more firmly to the rubber surface.
“The ground here used to be mulch,” she observed.
“You know this place?”
“I used to live around here.”
“Is that why you hang out on the swings?”
“Only occasionally. I like to look after the area,” she said. “This is where I awakened.”
Énna wondered if it might be fate, if fate was even real, or if it was all some grand coincidence that she, the Senshi of Ganymede, awakened in the same place as him, a Page of the very same moon. She’d said there were more knights. Maybe this was a common occurrence for her.
After twelve years, the magic must have lost all its wonder.
They crossed through the opposite gate and left the playground behind them. Énna turned down the street and began the trek home.
“So… we have to fight Metallia?” he said, returning to the previous topic.
If anything, the fact that Ganymede was someone he knew made the prospect of war seem very real and very close.
“Probably,” she said. “Eventually. I can’t think of any other way to save the Earth other than to destroy her. Her reach extends all over the world. The only place left for us here is Destiny City, but the Negaverse—”
“What’s that?”
“Metallia’s army. They’re people, like you and me, who’ve been corrupted. Some of them used to be Knights and Senshi. Some were forced to become what they are now. Others accepted Metallia’s power willingly. They’re dangerous,” Paris added, at once stern and desperate. “You have to understand that this isn’t a game. People have died.”
Énna wanted to say that he knew death, that he wasn’t a stranger to it, that he knew the pain of it, the loneliness often left in its wake, but he didn’t want her to think him dramatic.
Instead, he simply said, “I understand.”
A latent fear twisted his insides. It’d been easy to ignore with the youma gone and Ganymede’s power casting an air of protection over him; now that he could no longer sense it, now that they both seemed so normal, Énna couldn’t quell his nerves.
He was fourteen. How could he be a knight?
“Did you know who I was?” he asked when the seriousness of the situation began to sink in a bit more.
“Did I know you were Yvoire in this life?” Paris said. “No, not until you awakened.”
“In this life?”
“Our starseeds are continuously reborn.” She paused, seemed to think on this for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, that’s true for Senshi, anyway. I know a few knights who apparently descend from the knights who existed a thousand years ago, at the fall of the Silver Millennium. But from what I know of the Yvoire before you, you’ve probably been reborn like me.”
“You knew me? Or him, or—”
“Him. His name was Ellis. And I didn’t know him, the Ganymede before me did. I just remember.”
“How do you remember?”
Paris glanced up into the night sky again. In this area of the city, where there was less artificial light to contend with, it was easier to make out more of the sky’s features.
“I don’t know,” she said. “When I would visit Ganymede, it used to be like… seeing ghosts, or watching pieces of a movie. Over time it's all come together, and now it's more like an awareness. There’re still pieces missing, but… I remember that life nearly as well as I remember my own sometimes.”
The way she spoke, Énna had to wonder if there was much of a distinction for her anymore, between her past and current life.
“Why couldn’t I descend from him?” he asked when he could no longer suppress his curiosity.
“He would’ve died young,” Paris said.
“Too young to have kids?”
“He couldn’t bear children, and neither could the man he was in love with.”
“Oh…”
Énna almost asked, Does that sort of thing carry over from one life to the next? He held the question back at the last second, certain there were more important things to consider than one’s feelings or attractions.
“When you visit your Wonder, you might find memories there,” Paris told him. She tore her gaze away from the stars and looked around like she was trying to get her bearings.
For a moment she seemed troubled, as if surprised by her surroundings, but she quickly shook it away.
“How did the Ganymede before you know the Yvoire before me?” Énna asked.
“They were half-brothers. Or at least that’s what they were told. More accurately, I think they were half-cousins.”
“How can someone be half a cousin?”
“Their fathers were half-brothers. Same father, different mothers.”
“Oh…”
Énna turned a corner onto another street. Paris paused before following, looking first at the nearby houses, then the street sign. She frowned and slowed her pace, walking a step or two behind. Énna glanced over his shoulder at her.
He knew her as a dancer, as an adult and teacher, as someone whose guidance he looked for and whose opinion he respected, but to say that they were close in comparison to any other instructor and student would be an exaggeration. It was strange to be walking with her, strange to be speaking of things that didn’t relate to dance, strange to know her now as something other. Before this evening, she had been such a small part of his life, easy to speak with when they interacted, and just as easy to put out of his mind once they parted ways.
They turned down another street. Paris’s steps slowed further. Énna matched her pace. Maybe using magic the way she had was tiring.
“What’s a starseed?” he asked her when the silence stretched on for too long.
“It’s a sort of crystal, here.” She put a hand to her chest, nearly over her heart. “It’s like your soul. When we die, our starseeds return to the Cauldron where they’re healed, protected, and await rebirth. Everyone has one, even people with no connection to the war.”
“But some are special?”
Paris’s smile twitched with amusement, like she didn’t know that special was the right word for it. “Some have a more distinct connection to their homeworld or Wonders, yes.”
“So much for organized religion,” Énna said. “I guess if people’ve been willing to believe that stuff it’s not so hard to believe there might’ve been whole kingdoms out in space.”
“Wait a few years and you might not be surprised by much anymore.”
Énna had no trouble believing that. Already, he wondered if his reaction to finding out about all this might be a bit subdued. There was shock, yes, and fear; no amount of conversational distraction could ease the unsettled quivering of his stomach or the occasional anxious flutter of his heart, but he couldn’t deny that there was a sense of rightness about it all. He was Énna, and he was Yvoire, Page of Ganymede, committed to the protection of some place he knew but had never seen.
It made absolutely no sense. At the same time, it made all the sense in the world.
“Protect it,” Paris cautioned him. “Your starseed. Youma crave them. Agents and Senshi of the Negaverse try to steal them, sometimes for their power, sometimes to destroy them. Metallia’s magic allows her servants to reach into your chest and corrupt them or rip them out of you.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes. And if they’re damaged, it can affect your magic and your memory.”
“What happens if they take your starseed? Do you die?”
“Not immediately,” Paris said. “You’ve heard about the coma patients, haven’t you? How Destiny City seems to have an oddly high number of people who fall into them? When your starseed’s taken, you fall into a coma. If it’s returned in time, you wake. If it isn’t…”
Énna jerked to a stop, the soles of his sneakers skidding against the sidewalk. His stomach lurched. His heart skipped a beat and jumped into his throat, clogging his airways. He turned slowly, eyes wide as he looked toward Paris, who’d stopped just behind him, concern etched upon her face.
“... what?” Énna said in a small voice.
“What is it?” Paris asked.
Daddy.
Daddy liked plants and stars and music. He liked baking sweets and making crafts. Daddy liked fresh air and sunshine. He would take Énna to the playground, let him run and jump around for a while, or walk the path with him, pointing out all the different trees. Daddy liked picnics by the lake. He liked to jog along the path alone some nights, when he was restless and needed to be outside, when he needed time to himself to think, while Énna sat at home with Dad, doing homework or watching TV.
Five years ago, Daddy went out to jog and never came home. He was found the next morning, somewhere along the path behind the playground, seemingly unharmed, but lost to them by a mysterious coma.
He died two weeks later.
“Dad—... My dad, he—...”
Énna swallowed. He tried to speak again, but no words escaped him. His vision went blurry, eyes wet. He blinked rapidly, struggling to hold the tears at bay.
Softly, gently, Paris asked, “Was he a coma patient?”
Énna nodded. He swallowed, then inhaled wetly. Soon enough, he lost the battle against his tears and a few escaped. A short groan of frustration issued from the back of his throat. Énna tipped his head down, wishing his hair was loose enough to hide his face.
One hand clutched the strap of his dance bag so tight his fingers turned white in the light of the street lamp. The other hand shook as he lifted it, stubbornly scrubbing the tears from his face.
Paris moved forward like she meant to offer him comfort, maybe wrap her arms around him and let him cry on her shoulder, but Énna shook his head and took a step back. She stopped immediately.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Her compassion was nearly as painful as the knowledge that Daddy hadn’t died from any natural cause. He’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Given that he’d had no physical injuries, Énna assumed a youma wouldn’t have been responsible. Someone put their hand in Daddy’s chest and ripped out his soul.
“Could he—...” Énna paused to forcefully inhale. “Was he like me?”
“You mean, was he a knight?”
Énna nodded. Maybe it was foolish to ask, foolish to think — some part of him hoping for some sort of connection with someone he loved, someone he missed desperately.
Kindly, Paris said, “I don’t know. It’s possible. In my experience, it tends to run in families.”
“So… could both my dads—”
Dad worked so hard. He was out late most nights, sometimes didn’t even come home before Énna went to bed, though he was always there to bring him to school in the mornings, to have breakfast with him on weekends. What if he was out there in the city somewhere, not working, but fighting a war Énna might’ve never known about if he hadn’t become Yvoire?
Daddy was already gone. What if he lost Dad, too?
“You can’t tell anyone,” Paris cautioned him. “If you don’t know what side of the war they fall on, you have to keep this secret or you could be in even more danger, or endanger the life of someone else.”
Énna took another step back. He dragged the sleeve of his jacket over his face to wipe up the rest of the tears, glaring at nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Paris said again. “One day, if you notice anything, or your father tells you… maybe then, but… Until that time, you can’t tell him. You can’t tell your friends either.”
“I don’t have any friends.”
Emotion made Énna petulant. He hated it immediately, cheeks flushed from both tears and embarrassment. Paris was only looking out for him; Énna knew that, but he hated how something that seemed so wondrous only minutes ago came crashing down around him so swiftly.
Énna was alone in this. Daddy died from it, one way or another. Maybe he’d been alone, too. Maybe that was why he’d lost his soul.
“I can introduce you to some other knights your age,” Paris offered. “You’ll need friends like you if you want this to be bearable.”
“What if I just… don’t use the magic?” Énna said.
Paris’s mouth curved into one of its sad little smiles. “The war’ll find you whether you involve yourself in it or not.”
It didn’t sound like a reprimand, but Énna couldn’t help but take it that way. He supposed he should be thankful that he had magic, when so many other people were made to do without. It was almost funny how quickly the prospect had already lost its shine.
Énna turned away and began walking again. He knew that Paris followed by the sound of her steps, but he said nothing to her, and she left him to his thoughts. The tears had dried up, at least, though Énna didn’t think his heart would recover any time soon. It ached dully, even when he forced all thought of Daddy out of his mind.
He spent so long not thinking about it. He could do it longer if he had to.
Seven houses down, Énna finally reached home.
The house was small — a single story with light gray siding, a dark roof, and a door Daddy painted pale blue when Énna was small. The chain-linked fence that once surrounded the front yard had been replaced with white pickets a few years before Daddy died. Dad kept the flower beds in good shape in Daddy’s absence, though nothing new had been added since then.
“This is your house?” Paris asked, voice gone strangely weak.
Énna looked toward her, saw how her gaze flicked around the front yard, noting all of Daddy’s hard work. Her eyes glistened. She reached out with one hand and touched the fence, as if she needed to feel it to know it was there.
“Yeah…” Énna said.
Paris laughed lightly. She closed her eyes and took a breath. When she opened them again, the sheen of tears was gone, but she looked at the house with an aching sort of wistfulness.
“The bedroom in the back,” she said. “Are the walls still turquoise?”
Oh…
“Yeah.” Énna’s stomach gave another lurch. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder, struggling to disguise his awkwardness. “Would you like to come in?”
Paris’s seemed to jerk herself out of a stupor when she turned toward him. She smiled gratefully but shook her head.
“Thank you, but… maybe some other time. I think it might be too painful.”
Énna understood. It was painful for him, too, sometimes, being surrounded by things that reminded him of Daddy. Everywhere he looked, there was something Daddy had loved, something he’d made, something he’d bought, something they’d once cherished together.
Would it ever get easier?
Judging by Paris’s reluctance, Énna assumed the answer was “no.”
“Go ahead,” Paris told him, ushering him forward. “You should rest. I was so tired after I awakened.”
Énna opened the gate and went through, letting it shut behind him. He turned before he got more than a few steps down the stone path, watching Paris watch him.
“Will I see you again?” he asked, then flushed, thinking it sounded like a stupid question. “Not at the community center. I meant… you know, as—”
“Of course,” she said. “We can go to Ganymede together.”
He almost looked up, almost sought out the stars, wondering if Jupiter and its many moons were among them tonight. Énna gripped the strap of his bag tightly instead. His heart gave another nervous flutter.
“And you’ll tell me who I am?” he said.
“Énna…” Paris wore a helpless smile. The breath she released was tinged by incredulity. “You don’t need me to tell you. You’ve always known who you are, you just need time to realize it.”
Énna swallowed to loosen his throat, then bobbed his head in a shallow nod.
He wanted to believe her in this, too.
Maybe one day he would.
