Soldier
—
Once upon a time, night had been her refuge, her sanctuary, her time of escape and reflection and repose. Now, it had rejected her. The Kaioh residence was dark, and had been dark for a while. Most of the residents were fast asleep.
For some people, it's easy, Michiru thought ruefully, sweeping the sheets from her legs and sliding up. The plush carpet wasn't nearly as inviting to her bare feet as her bed had been, but staring blankly at the ceiling wasn't inviting at all. She sat on the edge of the bed, pondering, her hands supporting her as she leaned back. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand told her it was just past midnight.
At least it wasn't the nightmares, again. At least she hadn't been awakened by her own revulsion toward the contents of her dreamscape. What fourteen-year-old, ostensibly in her right mind, dreamed of the end of the world? The dreams usually stayed buried, between her conscious and subconscious, but lifted themselves from the graveyard of other dead dreams at the slightest provocation. It was as though they wanted to be remembered.
Her mind painted the images easily enough: a world washed away by a killer wave, stillness without serenity, deathly silence, searching without finding…
In reconsidering, Michiru was obliged to admit that sleeplessness was preferable, after all.
She pushed herself off the bed, mind already made up on a decision she hadn't even pushed to the forefront of her consciousness. The darkness outside called to her, and if the idea of sneaking out of her house after midnight wasn't the most brilliant, well, it was not the first time she had done such a thing.
Intuition and innately graceful legs led her to the tall French doors which separated her room and the small balcony beyond. As quietly as possible she unlocked them, placed her hands on the golden doorknobs, and twisted. Her parents slept at the other end of the house, and the butler's quarters were on the ground floor. She knew she would not be missed.
The night wind and the displacement of air blew the gauzy white curtains in into the room, as she pulled the doors open. Brushing through the cloudy material, she stepped onto the cool concrete of the balcony. Her eyes adjusted to the half-moon above, and she sighed with relief. The air was fresher, out here, than it had been in her claustrophobic room, moving over her bared flesh with a touch so gentle it left goosebumps in its wake. Sighing and closing her eyes, she moved on instinct toward the banister that protected her from the two-story drop to the ground below. She leaned over it, and took in the sights and sounds.
The Kaioh family's so-called country residence was a two-story mansion of sorts, set near the ocean, a couple hours outside Tokyo. Even from her balcony, she heard the sea, the sound of its sibilant spray conveying restlessness even through the trees which blocked it from her view. Michiru had always loved the sea, had always been lulled into calmness by mere proximity to it. It was the same tonight—or would have been, if calmness had been enough.
Nothing was enough, lately. She let her eyes fall to the darkness two stories below, considering. School wasn't the problem, though it added to her growing frustration. Having always been an excellent student, she found solace in the routine of academics, swim team meets, and violin recitals. Comfort in normality had worn thin lately, however.
Insane, she thought. Irritable, unsatisfied with everything in which I ought to find satisfaction. I'm sent out into the darkness looking for something I've never seen before, wanting things I cant remember.
Here goes nothing.
She lifted her bare foot from the concrete of the balcony floor and onto the bottom rail of the balustrade, grip tightening on the top rail as she did so. The vertical bars between the top and bottom rails dug into her bare legs, but she paid them no heed as she slid over them. It was no easy feat, considering all she wore was a sleeveless nightgown of soft, thin material, but it was relatively short and easy to move around in. Once that was done, she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and then glanced down. I must be crazy, she thought wildly, vertigo making her vision swim before her. Why couldn't I have used the front door?
The ground seemed very far away. Searching for an alternative, any alternative, than just dropping to the ground, she spotted a bare trellis close to where she hung. Her mother, a lady to the core, had always been an avid fan of gardening—the sort of gardening in which one disdained dirt and directed the gardening staff from the shade, whilst sipping tea, of course—and the newest trend in her gardening circles had been rose trellises. Her mother had just installed this one earlier in the day, planning to plant the rosebush at a later date. It hung there, bare and waiting. And hopefully secure, she thought, edging toward it. The toes of her foot curled as they lit upon the cool wood of the trellis. She tested her weight against it, and then, as satisfied as she was ever going to be, released her hold on the balcony and transferred it to the trellis. Never a fan of heights, she made quick work of her descent.
The grass tickled the soft, sensitive skin of her feet. She smiled a faint little smile, a vague memory of a childhood spent roaming these self-same grounds on her mind. Of course, it had been some time since she'd walked barefoot outside, played outside, or even played at all. Her parents had been lenient with their free-spirited, precocious daughter who loved to frolic at the beach, or the park, catching frogs and kissing them—they had been lenient for a time, of course. Once that time had come, she'd been forced into the house and into stiff dresses of organza and silk. Bare feet? Unthinkable.
Her first few steps were oddly tentative. The moonlight, down here, seemed muted. The entire night had a hush to it, as it whispered expectantly and sent numb adrenaline coursing through her veins. Instinct took her by the hand and led her, again, away from the oppressive façade of her parents' home. The Kaioh property connected to a public beachfront park—the same one she danced across as a child—separated by a fence of trees that marked the boundary. Her room, at the back of the house, faced the trees and the beach beyond, and that direction, toward the siren call of the sea, was where her bare feet led her.
The wind caressed her shoulders, lifted her hair gently, and breathed a sigh across the back of her neck. She uttered her own soft exhalation, as her steps led her into the deeper darkness beneath the leafy canopy of the trees. The lack of light cast a blanket of unfamiliarity on everything, but some memories were unforgettable, and her sense of direction was true. She emerged on the other side of the woody divide, back into the moonlight's uncertain embrace.
As always, her eyes were drawn to the endless abyss of the ocean. Her scattered thoughts ground to a halt, as she took in its vast expanse. The breeze was stronger, on this side of the trees, and the grassy carpet that led gently downward faded to sand that felt cool and comforting between her toes. The wind whispered to her, and, lifting her hair again, tugged her forward.
Was there anything as peaceful as the ocean, when its only dressing was the gossamer folds of moonlight which fell all around? The salty sea breeze pulled at the hem of her nightgown, just short of a lover's touch only because it lacked form and pressure. Everything about this moment called to the artist in her, and her fingers itched to lay paint to canvas, to capture the purity, the tranquility, the sensuality of the moment.
A soft, feminine giggle interrupted the moment.
Michiru's head jerked up and to the left, toward that sound. She was thrown by the idea that someone else was here, at this time. Coincidence or conspiracy? How was she ever to regain those moments of peace?
A boy and a girl, perhaps a few years older than Michiru herself, rested on a beach blanket. Michiru stepped back, into the shadows cast by the trees, observing. They looked vaguely familiar, doubtless the son and daughter of a couple of Michiru's parents' acquaintances, but she couldn't match names to their faces. The boy was tall and lanky, dark hair given silver highlights where the moonlight touched it. The flash of light when he moved, reflections of moonbeams, led Michiru to think he wore glasses. He sat close beside the girl, their bodies two commas turned intimately toward one another. The girl's hair was a shade of blonde turned platinum by the moon's touch, thick strands cropped short and falling about her face just so. Something tugged at Michiru from beneath the waves of her consciousness, but she ignored it, glad that no one was there to see her blush. It was obvious that she'd intruded upon a private scene.
"I know we don't get a lot of time together, Sabu-kun," the girl's voice cut through the silence. The helpful wind carried it straight toward Michiru, and so she didn't have to strain to hear what was said. The girl continued, light-hearted, "But why did you bring me here tonight?"
In the dim light shadows moved, and Michiru realized after a moment that 'Sabu-kun' had taken the girl's hand into his own. The other reached for the pocket of his trousers, and when he spoke he sounded every bit as serious as she hadn't been. "Natsuko-chan, you know this is where we first met." He paused, straightening his posture, and Natsuko mirrored his actions, puzzled. "I thought this would be the perfect spot for—for this."
He opened what Michiru took to be a small box—a jewelry box?—and whatever rested inside made Natsuko gasp. The girl was silent for a moment, watching the box in disbelief, before she lifted her eyes to her lover's. "S-saburo-kun—this is—but you don't mean to—?"
"I know we're young," he rushed, his emotion-strangled voice at odds with the idyllic setting. "I know our parents don't approve of this. But you will make me the happiest man on earth if you will agree to marry me, Natsuko." He paused, and Michiru leaned forward in anticipation. "We'll make it through. They'll come around…"
"Sabu-kun," Natsuko breathed. "It's beautiful."
Michiru found herself wishing she was able to catch a glimpse of the engagement ring. She had dreamed of such things herself...a proposal beneath a beautiful moon… It was definitely more romantic a concept than climbing down a trellis in the middle of the night, and watching, voyeuristically, another's proposal. A heartbeat later, the young girl lifted her eyes from the box and gazed at her lover. "Yes, Sabu-kun! Yes!" The girl, Natsuko, brushed tears from her eyes. Michiru sighed, as she heard the answer she had anticipated. How romantic, she thought happily.
The two lovers leaned forward to kiss, as the young man's hand slid the engagement ring onto his fiancé's finger. Michiru blushed as it sank into her mind just how much an invasion her presence was. She had only been wishing for some peaceful solitude, a place to retreat into from the stuffiness of her parents' home—and, here she was, spying on this most tender romantic scene. I should go, she thought anxiously, but…
.
How could she not be fascinated with the way Natsuko's arms wound around her fiancé's neck, the way Saburo's arms held his lover around the waist? It wasn't that she was jealous. She'd had her fair share of stolen kisses, in quiet corners at soirées hosted by her parents. But nothing like this, she thought, head tilting in time with Natsuko and Saburo's heads, which tilted to deepen their kiss. Over time, she had developed the thought that boys were horrible kissers, who lacked the patience to make it an experience, rather than merely an event. Natsuko-san seems to be enjoying it, though, she thought. The older girl's eyes were closed, Michiru saw. Her ring glittered in the moonbeams. Michiru felt like the worst sort of snoop, for watching such a private moment, but she didn't tear herself away, regardless.
I wonder if she has blue eyes, Michiru pondered, her mind's voice a distant whisper. Immediately, she corrected herself. No, not blue. Blue-green.
The thought startled her out of her reverie, and her eyebrows furrowed. The short blonde hair, and the thought of teal eyes—perhaps Natsuko looked more familiar than Michiru first thought. Or, perhaps not. A mysterious figure from my dreams, from the more pleasant ones, with teal eyes and blonde hair that the wind ruffled so affectionately. Natsuko reminded her of someone.
Lost in her reflection, she didn't notice the engagement ring on Natsuko's finger, which pulsed with a glow that had nothing to do with the pure light of the moon striking its surface. When Natsuko broke her intimate embrace, with a cry of pain, Michiru looked up, just in time to see the older girl stumble to a standing position, wrench the ring off her finger, and throw it to the ground, clutching her finger as if it burned. Her fiancé stood also, confusion and alarm written upon his face. The two lovers' eyes, and Michiru's also, fixed upon the ring in horror; with a sound like nails on a chalkboard, the ring gave one final pulse and began to—grow?
Before three sets of wide eyes, the ring gave a final flash of light and disappeared. It was replaced with a creature made of silver, with slim, long limbs and a pale, pointed face. Atop its head rested a diamond the size of Michiru's two fists put together, and emblazoned on its forehead was a star, a dark blemish on the perfection of its body. A wave of nausea passed over Michiru as she stared at that star, a sort of horrified remembrance that she nevertheless was unable to place. As the creature finalized its appearance, she realized, It's the ring…Natsuko-san's engagement ring…
"Lovers meeting on a moonlit beach, how ideal!" the ring-creature spoke, and those present winced at the sound of its voice. It was sharp and high-pitched; looking at it seemed painful, for it glowed in the scant light like a beacon in a sea of black nothingness. "Only a girl with the purest heart would accept a proposal of marriage from a naïve boy, with the risk of losing her family and everything familiar to her! I'll steal your heart, now, lover-girl!" the thing shrieked, and a wave of darkness rolled off it, aiming straight for the girl. Saburo yelled and tried to push Natsuko aside. He won't be fast enough, Michiru thought, her heart rising in her throat. Her prediction came true, as the beam hit Natsuko square in the chest, and the girl shrieked, a more horrifying sound than even the ring-creature's grating voice.
I have to help, I have to do something, Michiru thought, panicking, but her feet did not budge, even as she watched the creature smack Saburo and his valiant attempts of rescue aside. In her sheltered life, Michiru had never had to deal with a situation in which there was no adult to give a hand of assistance in times of danger. How had a simple night, in which she'd sought a vent for her restlessness, in which two lovers wanted to reaffirm their love in a place sacred to them, gone so wrong?
Her helplessness and anger, on behalf of the ill-fated lovers, seemed a tangible thing, a tiny ball somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach, a glowing thing that possessed her senses and momentarily blinded her. It transcended her earlier fright, taking shape before her blurred eyes in the form of a glowing sphere, pulsing with an aquamarine light brighter than even the transformation of the ring-creature. It had been an attention-drawing spectacle, for both the aforementioned creature and Saburo's attentions were stolen from the still-screaming Natsuko. Her own abrupt appearance, accompanied by a blaze of aquamarine that rendered her only a silhouette in a wash of colored light, was one of surprise for both parties. But, for Michiru, even the pained screams of Natsuko, whose heart, quite literally, was being ripped out, faded into the distance.
It was a pen. At least, it looked like one. Slender, and delicately-colored, it was topped with a sphere, the same as the now-fading glow that had heralded its appearance, and a golden star. Automatically Michiru's hand reached for it, for it called to her; not just the guarantee of power, though it certainly seemed an object of immense power, but more than that—the feeling of familiarity. I know what this is, Michiru thought dazedly. I have held this before.
She didn't even flinch, when a voice sounded close to her ear. It was a feminine voice, a soft mezzo tone that comforted her immediately. You're the first of your kindred to awaken in this time and place, Michiru. It could have belonged to a young woman or an old lady, so ageless was it.
It continued on, unabated. Take this transformation pen, and your life will never be the same. Your personal dreams will be in peril, for the sake of a larger cause: the prevention of the Silence of which you have dreamed. You are a soldier, the soldier of embrace, the guardian of the seas, and the distant planet Neptune. Only you can help these lovers and defeat the daimon, but remember that if you see that the girl's heart crystal is pure, you must take it. That is your mission, and your burden. That is your gift, and your curse. It trailed off into regretful silence.
"A soldier? Who are you?" she yelled into the silence, her voice joining the pained cries of Natsuko. She received no answer, and raised wide eyes to the tableau before her. She couldn't wait for answers that would not come. Natsuko was crucified by the very air, trapped in a web of dark energy that even at this moment pulled a glowing light from her chest. A heart crystal. Saburo's bespectacled eyes fixed on Michiru, hands splayed before him in a plea of supplication and defeat. The ring-creature—the daimon?—growled low in its throat as it fixed upon the glow that surrounded Michiru, marking her as a threat to its deadly mission. It stalked forward. In that moment, things crystallized.
The dreams—memories?—and the restlessness. The sense of something missing. I was brought here for a reason, Michiru realized, and the tide of overwhelming relief and fear swallowed her for a moment. But her mind was made up. The end of the world played before her eyes, to the tune of an innocent girl's fading screams. This was real. I won't fail. I will find all the answers, and I will do anything to keep my nightmares from becoming reality.
The dim glow of aquamarine flared, encompassing all of her, as soon as her fist closed around the shaft of the pen. For a moment only, she was at a loss. But the feel of the pen evoked something in her, long buried under ages of forgetfulness and pain—the words were there, she had spoken them time again, before, in a place as old as her soul—
"Neptune Planet Power, Make-Up!"
It was a release; the scent of the ocean on a sunny day filled her nose. She felt light as air, her nightdress fading into nothing, replaced by ribbons of light that coalesced to form something else. Once the sensation faded, and she was brought back to earth, standing before the scene that had played out in front of her eyes moments ago, she took a moment to glance down at her outfit. It was a parody of her school fuku, a white bodysuit decorated with a turquoise sailor collar and a navy bow leading down to a pleated turquoise skirt that left so much of her legs bare that Michiru blushed. The shoes that laced up her legs were the same shade of turquoise that comprised most of the rest of her outfit, and white gloves trimmed by what was apparently her signature color covered her hands. She could feel the weight of a tiara on her head, and her hands itched to touch it. But there were bigger things to pay attention to—like the daimon stalking toward her.
For a second, her throat stopped working, but that sensation faded as soon as adrenaline kicked in. It was a familiar feeling, like freezing up onstage at a violin recital, before bringing the audience to their feet, to the tune of thunderous applause. She seized that feeling, like a drowning woman, and clung to it. The words were out before she had even consciously made up her mind to speak. "Heralding a new revolution, I am Sailor Neptune, and that pure heart isn't yours to take!"
In future altercations with daimon, Michiru—or Sailor Neptune, as she supposed she should be called—looked back on this first clash as the least annoying. The gleaming ring daimon did not stop to spout speeches of its superiority, did not pause to verbally belittle her, did not make random noises or meaningless motions. It simply leapt forward, claws extended, claws Neptune had not noticed before but could not help but notice now, given that they were at least fifteen centimeters long and obviously made of diamond.
Neptune made a haphazard, terribly ungraceful jump to the side, still in range of those horrible slashing claws, and the light graze she received left her with goosebumps. That wild leap left her in a position closer to the nearly-forgotten couple than she had been all night, and with a sense of wonder mingled with panic she realized that Natsuko had stopped screaming, stopped breathing completely, and simply lay limp in the air. Glittering centimeters from her chest was a shining crystal that pulsed with ebbing energy. Squinting against the glare of the crystal, Neptune just barely made out traces of a form so heart-wrenchingly familiar, blonde hair floating in a lifeless halo around a face paralyzed by an unnatural sleep—and to see the likeness of that familiar form in such peril—
"Please, do something," cried the young man, Saburo, and his spectacle-shielded eyes drove daggers of urgency into Neptune's heart. She had a mission to complete, objects to pursue—a pure heart, its owner, and a panic-stricken lover depended on her to see this through.
She did not have to turn around, to know that the daimon was rushing her; she was not the only one in the line of fire, either. Sailor Neptune whirled around, a word on her lips before she had time to think. "Deep—"
The power that had begun to sing within her, at the onset of her transformation, had now been given a valve. Calling out to the power of the seas, she cast the full force of that power outward, throwing all she had into it, desperately. "—Submerge!"
The planetary-shaped orb that had taken form at her behest flew outward, and Sailor Neptune's aim was true. The same nails-on-a-chalkboard screech that had heralded the daimon's birth also signaled its death, for before the wide eyes of the two able humans it simply shrank in upon itself and dissolved. Natsuko's engagement ring fell to the sand, a peculiar egg-shaped object slipping from the ring's very essence and disappearing into thin air.
Neptune swiftly bent down, and scooped the ring from the sand, as she pivoted on her heel and hurried to the side of Natsuko and her frantic fiancé. Not sure what she was doing, Neptune reached forward and cupped the air around the fading heart crystal, drawing it to her. She examined it quickly, an awakening instinct informing her that, although the heart crystal was pure, full of love and strength, it was not the one she had been instructed to recover. All that was required was a little flick of her wrist, and the crystal slipped quietly into its rightful place. Natsuko gasped, and would have fallen to the sand, were it not for Saburo, who clasped her to him as if his life depended upon her closeness.
Neptune turned from the sweet tableau, drawing a shaky breath, attempting to rein in her galloping heartbeat. Finally, she turned back to them and tossed the ring to Saburo, who caught it. "Y-you saved us," he whispered, his voice full of awe and self-recrimination that he had been unable to play hero. "You saved my Natsuko—"
Perhaps it was the result of seeing a tall blonde figure so pale and lifeless, but tears welled up in Neptune's eyes. Even when fighting the daimon, the situation hadn't seemed real, and now, she felt as though ice water had been poured into her veins. As though she had opened her eyes, after they'd been closed for her entire life, only to see a world more dangerous and lonely than she had truly known. At that moment, she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, and through all the confusion of this night, that her new life ill-afforded her the opportunity or the right to become close with anyone.
To befriend someone, and then to find out that they possessed the purest of pure hearts…a heart whose blood would someday stain those pristine gloves…
She was gone before they had a chance to express gratitude; rushing back, across the distance from the beach to the house, with an inhuman speed borne of her newfound strength in this form, and a sense of loss so deep it threatened to drown her. She crashed blindly through the forest, not caring that branches reached out to snag on her fuku, scratch the unprotected length of her upper arm…
A lifetime passed in an instant, when she finally cleared the forest and dashed across the well-manicured back lawn. All it took was a mighty push from the ground, and she cleared the distance to her waiting balcony, where moonlight bathed the gossamer curtains in a wash of silver that shone faintly in the relative dark. A silent wish later, the newly awakened warrior was Michiru, again, a scared and pale girl whose strength faded with her transformation, whose knees barely carried her modest weight to the bed, where she collapsed onto rumpled, cool sheets. Her sobs were dry and hollow.
Outside, the wind rustled the leaves of the trees, a longing whisper that entered into the room via the forgotten, still-open French doors. The night breeze swirled gently inside, unsettling the ruffles on various girlish accoutrements whose owner's mother refused to scrap. Tousled, sweat-entangled turquoise locks caught in that gentle but relentless grip. How unusual that these pillows still felt so soft, that this room still looked the same as ever, after the entire world had shifted. A low gasp and fevered whisper sounded from the direction of the bed, muffled by blankets and pillows: "Never again—soldiers don't cry…"
Eventually, the soothing caress of the wind calmed overheated flesh and soothed desperate sobs, and Michiru faded into quiet, restless unconsciousness.