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 Posted: Sun Feb 09, 2025 4:28 pm
Backdated to 23 December, 2022, through 10 February, 2023
WC: 4,272 thread
Supply storage in subspace was, without question, one of her favorite things about being a senshi. Keeping one bag with her person, keeping the other fully stuffed one in subspace, it gave her an extended supply of rations, first aid kits, fire starter material, and other bits that weren't reusable like the camping utensils and mini pot and whatnot she used for cooking, or her sleeping bag, or her clothes she could just wash...
They were bits of comforts that genuinely helped as she spent her time combing through her old records she'd stored in the house. The process was a slow one, requiring Kyrie to first break out the keys to the rest of the building--and a few others around her--that she'd locked up tight and snug to both protect the archives she'd formed…
And to… keep herself from facing how incredibly small the collection of a millennia of time had been.
Inevitably, whenever she was around them, she'd marvel at how large the collections were, yes. Proud of herself for finding things, organizing them (eventually--when she finally got bored enough to), and keeping them safe. But then she'd consider how vast Solarian history had been by the time she'd been born, and how abrupt the shifts in cultures and beliefs and breakdown of customs and changes in morning practices and burial practices and and and--
When she considered these were the few remaining remnants of her peoples' history, all she'd lived and all that had come long before her, this collection was far too small and the weight of that was often far too much for her to handle.
She knew only so much. Could locate only so much. People far wiser, far more learned and skilled, had been lost over the centuries along with their works and knowledge, and that knowledge itself was so finite...
Yes, this was why she locked so much of it away from herself. These spirals into guilt and dismay and an overbearing sense of loss. That she was barely a ghost of her people, all they'd been. And yet somehow, she was the one still here. The last Solarian alive.
The worst was the new addition to the spiraling thoughts, however. Even if she could manage to clear out the Chaos here, bring life back to her world… her people would never come back. Sure, she might be able to open her world to some Earthlings or something but… they weren't Solarians. Her people were gone. Their arts, sciences, musics, literatures, were mostly wiped out and she'd only managed to preserve a small fragment of everything they'd built up over so many millennia.
Even if she could save this planet, Kyrie in her worst moments was faced with the knowledge she could never save her people.
And when she died, the last Solarian voice would be wiped from the universe. Forever.
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Posted: Sun Feb 09, 2025 4:30 pm
Yeah.
Not the best sort of thoughts to be stuck with when--mostly--alone.
The tiny ball that followed her about helped a bit with that. She spoke to it about… well, everything. Every little thing that came to mind, she'd narrate to it, question it as if it could bounce ideas with her, or complain to if she got frustrated enough.
That it would hover and more or less hop around the archives once she did open them up, seemingly to appease it's own form of curiosity, did bring a smile to her face.
Was a useful distraction when she became overwhelmed with sorting through her own records, anyway.
She texted Devyn relatively frequently, and Lilith, Ignacio, and a few others--if only to have that momentary ease of panic when her phone would ding with a response, and she could confirm her connection to another, living world still held strong.
Tables were dragged from neighboring buildings into her home's main room--mostly cleared except a small space for her bed and belongings. Books and maps were brought out in waves. Piled and organized already as they were, it was easy enough to pin-point the locations and eras she wanted to focus on.
Sort of.
Kyrie poured over her own writings, so few technical files remaining in her possession over the years. Most databases were locked up far, far away--she'd lost access to so many ages ago, when divided peoples shut down what little they did have to be only accessible in person, or via exclusively coded devices. Smart, to preserve information from prying eyes.
Not so useful when the people who all knew the codes, or had the devices, were all dead.
A secondary map was forming in one of the empty notebooks she'd brought back from Earth. One held random scraps of thoughts and ideas, a jumbled mess of Solarian and English. Another held more refined research, noting locations she'd recorded as being caches she'd formed or found from others during the most recent wars. An actual map was being formed from torn out note pages from a third book, taped together as she worked to sketch and draw out the paths and locations as cleanly as she could.
After a week or so of this plotting and planning, Kyrie was able to actually start going places.
She unpacked most of her supplies into the house, carrying much smaller amounts of rations and such with her on these treks. Less to be concerned about the winds ripping away from her, if the weather got bad enough. She pulled out some of her old clothing, in that thought, namely pieces that were waxed and stitched with tougher material to help keep out water and be bound snuggly around the wearer. Leaving one bag in the house--wasn't like she needed to worry about scavengers finding it--she kept her secondary one in subspace, freeing her hands outside of a much smaller bag she wore cross-body, strapped and bound to her, along with a few similarly bound pouches. Lengths of ropes and attachments were stored in these, along with thicker, tougher gloves she'd need if she had to cross distances with the rope. Her shoes were equally sturdy, boots built light but reinforced with light-weight metal to help add traction and protection. Military gloves, military boots.
Her eyes traced the scars in the tough materials, old stitching holding tight despite their age. Old stains and marks she could still pin-point and visualize their origins.
Kyrie tried not to dwell on that, at least not for the moment.
Walking across the grey, red, and brown grounds, rocky outcroppings the main features that dominated the Solarian horizon without its fauna, was surreal at times. Sand and gravel grit under her steps, winds whirling and trying to snatch at her clothing. A hood and face mask kept her skin covered, the waxed outerwear also functioning as a cape of sorts that helped to cover her back and wings. Goggles that were able to withstand the full force of the winds on the wing kept her gaze clear from the debris tossed about.
On occasion, blue and blue-black stone caught her gaze, and she'd pause, crouching or reaching to run a gloved hand against it. Metal ore that, once upon a time, her people adored but didn't overly value due to its abundance in the ground. Later on, it became invaluable to make armors, repair ships and weapons, defenses… and so few people could still properly mine and process it.
The shimmering blue with feather-like patterns always had marveled her, cleaned up or raw.
One of the first sites she'd reached had been a small cache--pushing through fallen rocks and purposefully placed ones, she pushed a charge crystal into the open slot between metal handle and projection glass. A Solarian flashlight.
The beam of blue-white light cascaded over the old cave, time having only weathered bits of the concealed rocks here. Old trunks sat in various states. Metal still held up fine, while the dark red wooden ones… not as much. She'd already been here ages ago, after all. They creaked and groaned under her touch, locks no longer useful and scattered across the ground, since even before she could just leverage the lids to splinter and crack apart to reach the contents. Their older metal counterparts had required more care, and even now some remained stubbornly shut, causing her to take out a small pack of tools to work the joints and fasteners eventually apart, since she didn't have keys to any of these.
Medical supplies, mostly, some clothing… Kyrie leafed through it all carefully, searching for anything still viable, though aware she'd taken what rations and most of the clothing in previous visits. This was the closest cache to her home. It'd been among the frequent spots she'd scavenged after she… lost her other resources.
But ignored previously, or hidden carefully within previously uncracked metal cases, were small bound satchels. Books and parchments that weren't hers. The wisp had hovered over her shoulder as she'd sat down to sift through the pages carefully, helping to illuminate the old Solarian text and sketches.
Records from the settlement that had once occupied the old city she still lived in. Mostly things about people, birth and death records--most recent ones, really, since these particular records didn't stretch far back enough to contain it all. Lower and lower numbers reported of crop yields and hunting results, a difficult time trying to do structural repairs on some buildings. Especially glass pieces.
It was the scouting reports, though, that she was most interested in.
By the time this settlement was most recently occupied, her people had…. drastically dwindled. Weather patterns were nearly constantly hostile, preventing wide-scale travel, and had done so for centuries to the best of her knowledge. But scouting parties still went out, mostly by foot, perhaps the bravest by small glider, trying to locate the smallest leads for any better hunting and farming grounds.
< The storms have gotten worse again. We've been unable to locate any aerial beasts for a long while. Most were too small to withstand these sorts of winds, and the fall of some of the islands reduced those populations further, as well. But what of the great beasts? Their larger size should have enabled them to fight against the winds. Not enough food? >
< Traders from Vantage-Rise met us at Hollow-Tree. We agreed to leave weapons behind for both sides, and met in the house there. It was nice to speak with others again from beyond our city. They had news from Vantage-Rise and it sounded like their numbers were doing alright. Weather was a bit calmer there lately, so they had an easier time keeping their crops growing steady these past seasons. Winds guide them, I hope this continues. Before that, they said storms were horrendous, but nothing like what they'd heard about from over at Crest-Grove. A lot colder than the elders remember it being in that region, lot more ice. The ice felt weird, though, they said. Some looked wrong. Darker? They couldn't explain why, just that it was. Hit other villages in the area especially bad, some got almost encased they said. Didn't like to thaw, either. Glad this hadn't hit Vantage-Rise as badly, but it made a lot of people migrate to their city till Crest-Grove could be dug out. >
< I saw the small pack that must have attacked the village we passed. The false-eye-phantoms were surprisingly well-fed looking, but a lot smaller than old reports used to say they were. We saw them trailing us and could hear their songs beyond the fire light. Put up the defense grid to keep them out--I think I heard one hissing, might have touched the barrier. >
< Met with the traders from Vantage-Rise again. Was surprised to see them back out here. This is a pretty far trip for them. Resources are strained in the city. Too many people have moved into the area, and they don't even have enough housing for them. A lot perished in the recent rains and storms. Just not enough supplies to help them. So many showed up sick, anyway. Black stuff in their veins and extremities. Amputations helped slow things, but healers are worried about patients who have even a tinge of the stuff anywhere else. Spreads worse than molds, apparently. Not a fungus, though. It's cold. Makes it hard to move. Asked why so many people moved to Vantage-Rise. Crest-Grove still hasn't thawed. It's been a year since we last saw them. They heard from some migrants that they saw ice spots not thaw in the last five years. Same black ice. Doesn't make sense. How can ice last that long? It's not been that cold, has it? We're not that far north or south. >
Entries like these caught her attention the most, pulling out her notebooks of maps and blank pages to make notes for herself. Ended up spending the night there, leaning over the reports and stories collected from encountered other peoples.
"< Crest-Grove >..? Where the hell's that?" She didn't know every town and city's name that had ever existed over the last milenia. So many had come and gone… and so many more probably in regions she couldn't access any more due to travel problems caused by the weather and wars. Kyrie compared the name to her maps, but nothing in her personal records seemed to reflect whatever city the people from had dealt with and harbored refugees from.
"Black ice… mold-like sickness…"
Her brows furrowed as she re-read the accounts, searching the reports for any further details or other scouts' or officials' contact with such things. Nothing except more rumors, and largely from the same area insofar as she could tell.
She'd left that cave the following day, mapping out her next portion of the trek to another cache she had recorded. It was a similar pattern for a few weeks, going to and fro across the area, walking and climbing, sometimes a few day's worth of travel to bunkers and, in some cases, treasure-map-styled records to locate buried caches. Each time, she'd collect what she hadn't already scavenged, focusing on any reports or records that had been deemed important enough at some point in the past to hide them away.
More reports of peoples hailing from strained settlements encountering this ice and sickness cropped up, though no one had first-hand accounts of the ice itself. Just telling other people what they'd heard. A common theme connected them, though: the ice didn't melt very easily, and whatever was caught within it… didn't come back out.
At least the record keepers had also written down the places their storytellers and their sources hailed from. Gave her enough to work with to keep scouring her own resources, trying to match things up. The names of some of the villages and settlements, encampments really, looked more familiar to her, able to pin-point them on her maps.
It all went east, she realized, after a handful of such findings. Kyrie eyed this trend warily, knowing that too far east and she'd hit the edge of this continent. Not that they were really as big as those on Earth, from what she'd seen on their maps, but…
She returned to Earth when her allotted time was done, using the chance to restock and organize her notes, redraw her maps on larger papers to better see the expanse she was dealing with. Then right on back to Solaris soon as able.
There was too much to do, too many places to check.
Never mind trying to locate < Crest-Grove >, wherever it was. On the coast..? She'd eyed the range of dates from some of the reports, but wasn't sure how possible travel would have been at the time over some of the smaller straits, or even if they had the fuel and ships able to manage it.
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Posted: Sun Feb 09, 2025 4:31 pm
She'd assumed not.
Reports from a small settlement closer to the coast proved her wrong.
Kyrie had been surprised to find the place, intact as it was. Military setup by the looks of things, and what remained of structures set up with stone, metal, and what she assumed to be remnants of long eroded cloth. The place hadn't been on her map--she was still a day's walk out from the village she'd found mentioned a few times in some other reports she'd found. But the encampment was sturdy, tucked away down in a wide ditch she thought might have once been a small river. Boulders along the sides were carved smooth, adding to her suspicions about what the place had been long, long before the people set this camp up. Likely a deep pool in the river, the rocks causing the water to curve and coil, digging deeper into the ground below to hollow out the space, before continuing onward down its path. Here and there, she could see bits of old, old tree roots that broke between rocks and soil, and she wondered if any larger settlement had used it as a place of quiet worship, once upon a time. Seemed like a good spot. She could picture the softly babbling waters, hear the winds singing through the trees and teasing the underbrush. Till she slid down the embankment, climbing over rocks into the camp.
Things here had clearly been less impacted by the winds and storms, structures still standing that weren't sturdy enough to survive for so long in other areas. She could pin-point which one had been the kitchen and mess hall, which ones had been barracks, and another…
Probably belonged to whoever was heading the place, judging by the amount of books, loose papers, and other documentation she found tucked away neatly in metal trunks. Most of them were still in pretty good condition, sets of journals from what seemed to be different people who'd lived here.
Military codes made them harder to read through, Kyrie needing to rattle her brain extra hard to recall what bits she'd learned in the past. She counted each of her blessings when she at least recognized parts of these codes, figuring these people had been offshoots of some of the groups she'd worked with in the past. Made sense with the location--she'd come to this region with the remains of < Watchful Grace >, at least before they'd splintered further… she hadn't seen any evidence of these Solarians being part of that group, but it was possible that the deviations had formed bands of their own, using the code systems still and passing them on. These writings weren't all the codes she knew, and portions were just… guesswork, at best. But it was enough to get through the writings, anyway, and not everything was in code.
Just the bits she, as she had grudgingly suspected, actually wanted.
One person in particular kept detailed records of the weather patterns, and Kyrie sent whatever prayers of thanks she could recall in Solarian and English once she began to break the ciphers to actually get to the information.
Over and over, there were mentions of disease and cold to the east. Some of the cities and regions mentioned she did know, and their presence was as concerning as it was crestfalling. They were far beyond the shores she could access, far as she knew. Beyond the straits and seas--even these accounts were second, third hand, or more. Colder weather was often mentioned, harsher storms, blizzards even hitting in places that had barely a concept of snow. Crops and foraging attempts failing, hunting parties coming up empty as animals fled or succumbed to malnourishment and the elements themselves.
It wasn't that this was the first time she'd heard accounts like this. There'd always been word here and there about horrid weather causing mass disruptions. That was why the wars had become so severe over time. Cataclysms destroyed large swaths of food production and resources became scarcer and scarcer. Islands fell from the very skies they'd dominated for longer than her people even had recorded history for.
But she couldn't find a clear direction they were moving from, if her suspicion that Chaos was the source of the weather's corruption and disruptions, and this sickness and ice, was right. Just that things were coming from the east, and well… she had a whole planet's worth of the east to try and narrow it down to.
The reports were clear, though. People had been travelling, migrating or escaping, from the east to this region, and far later in the timeline than Kyrie had believed.
It'd both amazed and disturbed her. With what methods? How bad were things in other regions for them to have travelled here?
And how by the winds' graces was she supposed to get there?
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Posted: Sun Feb 09, 2025 4:31 pm
That was the question that plagued her for the weeks after, even as she moved her camp closer and closer to the shores. The seas had always been rough on Solaris--the magnitude of the winds, the pull of the islands, the planet's gravity… she'd seen some oceans on Earth, sat on a beach, and had been amazed at how… extremely small the waves were. They were fast, though, even without the immense storms she was used to.
Kyrie eyed the frothing waters from where she'd set up her most recent camp, the peaks of waves cresting high, high into the air before they crashed down into the rocks and sands. Elaborate tunnels and sheer cliffs were carved into the lands by the force of the water, small droplet pools of the liquid hanging in the air in spots with the low gravity and high winds, a near constant mist settling over the coast casting rainbows and mirages. Stone was ground smooth here, with fine sand creating slender, wide beaches beyond where the waves carved and ground the land. Shallow seas closer to the coast allowed the waves to rise higher and higher, though she knew further out they plummeted down deep, deep.
She sat under the cover of her tent, sipping a warm drink in the shelter from the chilly mist that morphed on and off into a heavy, pelting downpour, and still able to feel the vibrations of the waves rhythmic striking against the high plateau she sat upon. From there, she could see the rocky path down towards the beach, outcroppings of rock that she thought might have once been a dock… or at least could serve as one now. But what would she make a boat of? She didn't have proper resources for that--and somehow, she wasn't sure she'd be able to stuff one into subspace to carry here from Earth…
Never mind she didn't exactly have any fuel for one, and couldn't count on the winds to help her here…
Beyond the waves, beyond the mists and crystalline-looking features of hanging water caught mid-air by cross wind and gravity's graces, she could see a hint of land. All the stories pointed that way to finding the source of this… black ice and such.
Somewhere above, lightning cracked and thunder rolled, and she could hear the rain cascading once more against the sides of her tent. She'd done well to hunker her shelter down amongst other boulders and hollowed out nooks that had been long carved out by the weather, a large stone tower of warped shape and perhaps only possible due to their weather and gravity, standing sentinel above her hiding spot. The entry to her tent was facing the tower, allowing her to have her small fire going and keep a pot of water boiling to rehydrate some of her food. Papers and her maps were spread out, trying to find… anything. Her next step. She knew her time on Solaris was drawing to a close again, she'd be returning to Earth in a few days by her count.
But she couldn't figure out what to do next, and the frustrations were mixing with fury and… exhaustion at this point. There was one more cache, another small settlement she'd found records of in a previous spot. A more secure military post, though from the accounts that she could tell, it was older than she thought it'd be in this region. It stretched back to one of the previous wars, when they still were waged by countries and not shattered tribes and groups trying to scrabble together some level of civilization in secluded towns and cities they took over. Kyrie wasn't even sure what she wanted to find there, but she couldn't… stop. If she stopped searching for answers, she wasn't sure she'd be able to pick it back up.
It was the exhaustion talking, she knew that. But it was far, far older than these last few months, and as she stared at the red-grey stone glistening with rain and lightning outside her tent, the fact that her little fire and kettle of hot water was the only light left on this planet…
It echoed that exhaustion as she wished, more than anything, for the days when she used to actually fear someone else finding her light.
[ fin ]
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