Note: Isis is to be pronounced as "Aset."
A good deal of tyranny goes by the name of protection. – Crystal Eastman
... ... ... ...
The Golden Age was winding down in a harsh, downward spiral. The speed it was falling at was astonishing, and quite frankly, it frightened many Cybertronians, all across Cybertron.
The nobles in their elevated statuses hoarded energon and credits, and yet were able to somehow live their lavish lifestyles, avoiding the harsh reality that was right outside their tall towers.
The so-called middle class was barely that, and those mechs and femmes were able to live a little better than the ones below them. Their energon was of a better quality, they could purchase some more unnecessary items, and could relax in relative safety.
It was the lower castes and those with no caste at all that suffered the worse. There was nothing to call their own, and they scraped by, living on the edge of offlining permanently and getting to see their distant sun one more time. If they could afford homes, they were small and always dirty, despite how much cleaning one did. If they had a sparkling, it was often times abandoned, or if they decided to keep it, the creators collected and viciously protected the small pile of credits to pay for upgrades to their creation.
Among those with no caste was a young femme, small and stunted for her size, but she had a fighter's spark. After a long orn of trying to find a little energon and a credit or two, she would race to the spark of her city-state, climb atop one of the numerous abandoned buildings to get a free seat to watch the energon and carnage that played out a few streets over in the gladiatorial stadium. Afterwards, she would scurry down and return to the alley where she lived under an old, rusty piece of metal with her creators. There, they would curl up for the lunar cycle, huddling together for warmth and comfort on the cold ground, and her sire would hum and softly sing a lullaby to ease her processor. While she was still somewhat innocent, it was the only thing that would cause her to relax enough to power down for the lunar cycle.
It would be several thousand vorns until the unrest broke free of its confines and spilled onto the streets. There would be riots, destruction to property and bots, and death. The little femme would just watch, not participating but not trying to stop it, either. It would be in those times of chaos that she would dart into the violence, snatching credits that fell and were covered in pink energon, or loot the fallen frames of both enforcer and downtrodden citizen.
Then she went to a rally formed by a great gladiator, a gunmetal grey mech by the designation of Megatron. He would preach about the injustices to those of low or no caste, describing the very lives of those he stood above. His silver glossa roped many to his side, and they followed, wanting to believe in a better future ahead, of a Senate wiped out, their corruption ended. They were the desperate ones, the ones who had nothing to loose and everything to gain. To them, it was worth it, even if they didn't come out of it online.
The Senate had anointed a new Prime several thousand vorns earlier, a stern mech that went by Sentinel. He was almost as bad as the Senate, and followed in their corrupt ways. While he could preach pretty sermons, he promised everything and never delivered, whereas Megatron got results. Empty promises kept only those who still believed in them and those who were not affected by the carnage that occurred below.
… … …
Slowly, over the course of a few hundred vorns, the numbers grew on Megatron's side, and one of those swayed by his rallies and subsequent results was the little femme. She was rising in the ranks, a frontliner with a knack for getting information back to the main base, which was located deep in Kaon.
Many of the rebels who had begun calling themselves the Decepticons were painted a grey or black; colors that were easy to maintain. However, she was a vibrant white with ghastly, scarlet optics; a color that stood out amongst the darkly shaded mechs and femmes. Some had purples, dark blues, and deep reds, but she was one of the few brightly plated bots. And it was originally her paint job that caught the leader of the Decepticons optic.
While she was quite efficient at going behind enemy lines, and having already assassinated a few of the Senators, Megatron preferred the little, white femme beside him in battle when the war broke out in full force. She was a force to be reckoned with, with her various weapons and extensive servo-to-servo combat that had formed on the streets and honed in practice among experts.
"Isis," a deep rumbling voice spoke, a slight echo bouncing off of the walls of the expansive room. She stepped forward, bowing deep and respectfully to the leader, before straightening, gaze averted in a sign of respect. Megatron looked over her, calculating, mulling over her designation for a brief moment. With the glyphs of "strength" and "leader" making up her designation, it wasn't hard to see why it fit her.
Since joining the Decepticons, she had been upgraded properly, and so she had grown stronger than even the mighty leader had expected. She stood to his shoulder, unusually tall for a bot with a femme frame, slim, but carried enough bulk to signify she was a frontline warrior. Her claws were deadly, and he had seen them dig into an opponent's frame more than once, tearing away at internals. And when needed, she led her troops with valor, often returning with more than anticipated after being sent out to slaughter.
Unlike the valiant Sentinel Prime, Megatron and his self-appointed officers went into battle, fighting alongside the grunts and cannon fodder.
"I have a mission for you," the ex-gladiator said in a low tone, and there was a nod from the white femme. She waited patiently, as she always did, for him to continue and explain. "I want you to assassinate Sentinel."
There was a flare of steely optics, a barely banked fire bursting into a fireball before his very optics. A wicked grin grew on normally impassive faceplates, and Megatron found him copying the smile, both sets of sharp, serrated denta gleaming in the artificial light. Isis had more than enough reason to wanting the infuriating, egotistical mech offline. Seeing the supposed regal Prime viciously kill your creators right in front of your optics did tend to leave an impression.
"If there is a bot in my way, to or from Prime?"
"Eliminate them as you see fit."
"Is there any…message you wish to send to the Autobots?" she snarled, her engine growling dangerously, and the ferocity pleased Megatron. He knew his decision would be well placed if she returned.
"His offlining will be enough of a message, I believe. You have your duties, Isis. See to it that it is completed soon." Recognizing the dismissal, Isis bowed low once more before walking out of the office, helm high as normal. Megatron was planning an invasion of Iacon, the date set to a decaorn from the present orn, and so the assassination would require no dallying.
Isis retreated to her quarters that she shared with three others, retrieving a few items before leaving and going to the canteen to grab a couple cubes of energon for the trip. All was done in short order, and she left under the cover of an impending storm. She found it all a little dramatic, but didn't mind the flare this time. It worked well with her mission.
… … …
Iacon, despite being located far away, on the other side of the planet, to be exact, Isis made quick work of the distance. From ship hopping to stealing various transports, she eventually made her way to the outskirts of Iacon, the once prestigious capital of Cybertron and home of the Autobots, and more importantly, Sentinel Prime.
Security, as expected, was high, with the guards on alert and not very lax in their duties. It made things a little harder to sneak in, but she made do. The ventilation system was in desperate need of a through cleaning, she decided, once inside. And they said that the Decepticons were nothing more than processor-less machines, not capable of complex thought other than how to torture, maim, and offline bots. Isis barely restrained a snort of disbelief.
"I don't care what the tactician said!" a voice half-shouted, deep and angry, so Isis slowed her progress, peaking through a dirty vent. She was peering into an ornate office, thick, protective glass making up a good majority of the walls of the circular room. A tall, thick plated mech loomed over his desk, servos on the surface, and his furious navy blue optics pinned the dark green and aqua mech that cowered just a bit. And they called Megatron an unfair, unruly mech.
"But sir…"
"No! You may tell him exactly what I said. Now leave." The smaller mech fled the office, terror shining in his sapphire optics as he ran out. The tall, primarily red mech collapsed into his chair, huffing and began to grumble about useless mechs. Iris scooted past the vent, following the curving trail around until she was above the mech.
He had offlined and shuttered his optics, rubbing them with his thick digits, other servo resting listlessly on the arm of the chair. With a roll of ruby optics, Isis quietly unscrewed the vent, grasping it with small magnets in the tips of her clawed digits and delicately pulling it from new hole. Without wasting any time, she then opened up a plate of the vent, pulling it off softly and setting it beside the grate. She was greeted by a number of colored wires and cables, and it took a couple breems to find the one she was looking for.
The ruby mech below suspected nothing as he finally turned to the reports that towered on his desk surface, mumbling to himself now and again. Isis found the wire she had been searching for was found and snipped, capped off so it didn't start an electrical fire, which would surely cause security to come down faster. She held no illusions that as soon as she had cut the wire that there would be a delayed response, but knew that was an alert sent to the security console, so she had to act fast.
She peeled the vent open viciously, the abused metal squealing in protest. The mech glanced up, shock evident on his faceplate as the white femme fell onto his helm, knocking him off of his chair, which broke under their combined weight. A blade was suddenly in optical view of the red mech before it sliced open his neck cabling, energon spurting out in pink gushes, stopping the vital liquid from powering the processor. She could already hear the pounding of pedes coming towards the office.
"That was for my creators, you monster," she snarled, driving the dagger through his neck and severing the spinal column cutting smaller energon lines. The pink, glowing liquid stained and pooled on the floor, cerulean optics falling offline at the sudden loss. For good measure, even as fists pounded at the door, Isis completely removed the helm from the frame, kicking it away in disgust.
Jumping onto the desk, she leaped up to the hole in the ceiling she had come from, scrambling back the way she had come, and just in time, too. The door slid open after someone hacked their way into the office, exclamations of surprise and shock audible from her position a corridor away. Her escape from Iacon was nothing grand or spectacular, as she transformed immediately and drove as fast as she could out of the military compound. Plasma followed her, but nothing hit her as she swerved and dodged, driving deep into the city-state that was still home to many Autobots and Neutrals. They wouldn't be able to do anything rash for a while now, not with their prestigious leader deactivated.
… … …
The Autobots descended into chaos for a time while they searched for a new Prime to lead them. The Senate was obliterated, so they had no choice other than to have the Matrix itself pick a new Prime. During that time, the Decepticons won more battles than lost, gaining more ground and recruits faster and more effectively than the Autobots.
However, it was during this time that Isis started to see changes in the faction, from mechs and femmes she called friends to the what the Decepticons were built on. It happened so slowly, she had missed it, but now it was like a spot of rust that couldn't be avoided, and she noticed others picking up on the new vibe around them, as well. This started with the defections, either to the Autobots or becoming Neutral, earning them the wrath of the more energon-thirsty bots.
"Isis," one of the white femme's friends started one lunar cycle, when it was just the two of them in their quarters. She looked down from where she was cleaning her blades on her top bunk, across the room to the other bottom bunk. One of her close femme friends, a deep purple Polyhexian frame with black and silver highlights and clear, ruby optics stared up at her.
"What is it, Asteria?" the taller femme asked, sliding her blades away and flicking the cleaning cloth into her subspace.
"Would you be angry with me if I defected?" Asteria clicked softly, looking away and not meeting her friend's optics. Rumors had been circulating for a while, and many fanatics waved them off as false sayings, while it got others thinking. Isis had, too, heard the rumors, and had thought long and hard about them.
"No," was the simple answer, and said so calmly that it caused the comms femme to look up, startled. "Truth is, I've been thinking about it, too. Where will you go?"
"I think I'd have a better chance with the Autobots than being a Neutral," she said, clicking her blunted digits together. "I've heard Megatron is targeting them now."
"I heard the same," Isis admitted, nodding her helm. She had once thought the ex-gladiator a hero of sorts, and had followed him willingly, but she couldn't help but notice the changes. His anger would peak quicker than ever before, and while he once was a just ruler and leader, he was now doling out physical punishments for the slightest error. He had wanted freedom for all, no matter social status or frame type, but now was targeting the innocent, the ones caught in the crossfire; the same bots he had sworn to protect and fight for. It seemed to Isis that his morals had twisted and corrupted themselves, much like the now extinct Senate.
It was true, the saying she had heard in passing so long ago. Knowledge is power, and power corrupts.
"Asteria," Isis jumped down from her berth, landing nimbly on the floor in front of her friend. "I will help you get to the Autobots, but I ask a favor in return."
"Anything, my friend."
"You are to be my line of communication to the Autobots." Ruby optics narrowed in confusion, her brow plating furrowing. "I will stay here and spy on the Decepticons," she stated softly, her voice a quiet whisper. "You will relay the information to the Autobots."
"But how?"
"You're the comms expert. You tell me," she smirked, teasing her friend, and she was rewarded with a grin and chuckle.
"I will see what I can do. When shall we leave?"
"I believe we both have some time that we can use, yes? We shall take a trip."
"Sounds reasonable," Asteria smiled, standing in front of the other femme. "We should leave soon." Isis agreed, and within a decaorn, they left Kaon and drove straight to Iacon.
… … …
"Last time I was here," Isis said as they ducked into an alleyway in Iacon, avoiding patrolling Autobots, "was to assassinate Sentinel."
"I'm sure many appreciated it. I heard over the comms back then that he was almost as bad as Megatron is now." Isis nodded as they scaled the building they had their backs to and began to run over the rooftops. It wasn't long before the military compound was in their sights as the sun set, taking whatever little light it provided with it. "There it is. I doubt we can just walk up and join them. We still have our Decepticon badges."
"That we do," Isis grumbled, glaring at one that rested on her shoulder plating. "I had forgotten about that." Asteria laughed, patting her friend's arm sympathetically.
"Ah, the mighty Isis, taken down by a purple insignia." She got her friend laughing as they sat on the roof of one of the buildings.
"What's so funny?" an unfamiliar, curious voice asked that had the femmes twirling to their pedes so fast that it threw the bot for a momentary loop. Their battle protocols raged within the frames, weapons at the ready. The bot, now identified as a mech, stepped back, servos raised in a placating manner. "Whoa, sorry to scare you."
"Who are you?"
"Designation's Hound," he calmly stated, apprehension in his crystal blue optics as he watched the femmes power down, wary and cautious but without online battle protocols. "Who might you two be?" He observed the glance between the two, finally catching sight of the Decepticon sigils branded on their shoulders. The white femme only had one, and that shoulder was hidden behind her friend, who's brand blended in quite well with her paint.
"Why do you want to know?" snapped the white femme, her dark red optics boring holes into Hound's helm.
"Well, it's only polite. I did tell you who I was, after all." While talking, he sent a tight comm to the Second-in-Command, who was in the compound. However, when he tried, he caught sight of the ruby optics on the purple femme narrow in anger, her companion's optics glancing to her.
"He was calling for backup. I intercepted it," she confirmed Isis's thoughts and the statement caused a spark of fear to flare in Hound's spark. Femme frame types were notorious for producing fierce fighters and temperamental sparks. And now, he had no backup. So much for an evening of relaxing, watching the lights of Iacon dance in the dark.
"So much for politeness," ground out the taller femme, and it was then that it really struck the green, grey, and black scout of how tall she was. Sentinel had been a giant back when he was still around, on par with Megatron, and the white femme didn't seem all that far behind. He vaguely recalled seeing a streak of white by the grey behemoth in a battle or two, when he caught sight of the monster.
The purple femme shoved her elbow into the white femme's stomach plating, a slight 'oof' breaking the tense silence that had enveloped the three. The much taller femme glared at her friend, but seemed to understand what the jab was for.
"Look, we didn't come here to fight," the shorter femme said, powering down all the way, servos up in front of her. "We want to talk to whoever is in command."
"Why?" Hound cautiously asked, glaring thoughtfully at the two in front of him. He watched as they exchanged another glance, unspoken communication flowing between them. The white femme looked away, disgusted, as her friend grinned triumphantly for a breem before sobering.
"I am willing to defect, and my friend here, to a degree. We have information that is need-to-know. I'm sure you can understand."
"Or you could be here to assassinate our leader." Why did the femme flinch? he asked himself as the white femme tried to hide a minuscule grimace.
"Look, do you want us to help you end the war, or not?"
"Can I send a comm to see if I can bring you? I'm sure my superiors would love to meet you." The white femme snarled at the sarcasm, but the purple femme didn't react. She nodded when she opened the lines again, but Hound got the feeling that she was monitoring it the whole time.
:: Hound to Prowl. ::
:: Prowl here. What can I do for you, Hound? :: came the tactician's smooth, cool answer to his call.
:: I found two Decepticon femmes willing to defect. ::
:: Where? :: was the SIC's wary question, but Hound couldn't fault him for being cautious. The scout gave his coordinates, and the tactician responded by telling him a team was on the way to meet with them on the roof. Hound gave his affirmative and Prowl cut the line.
"Happy?"
"Very," answered the shorter femme. They waited in patient, but tense, silence, and finally the recovery team showed up. They quickly cuffed the Decepticons, their arms going numb, and were transported to the brig in Iacon.
… … …
Isis was magnetically bound to a too-short stool, servos roughly cuffed behind her at a slightly awkward angle. The interrogation room was as bland as ever, the walls, ceiling, and floor a generic steel grey, more monotone and boring than the protective armor that Megatron had. And because her pedes were also cuffed to the small, sturdy legs of the chair, she couldn't tap her pede, nor could she even click her talons together. Oh, if she was on a mission, she could lay in wait for orns, not needing to move at all and still be as nimble as ever. However, when it came down to the moments when there was nothing pressing or something so out of her grasp, the femme did not appreciate being left alone and waiting, having nothing entertaining because everything had been disconnected. Really, she'd probably take a beating from the Decepticon Lord than be left like this.
Finally, as if her silent whining was heard, the door slid open without a sound, admitting two Autobot mechs. The glyphs on their shoulder panels indicated their ranks, and that alone put her slightly on edge, but she was more grateful than anything else.
"Thank you," she vented, offlining her optics for a moment before refocusing on the Praxian and Polyhexian that stood in intimidating stances in front of her. "How may I help you?" They glared for a few breems more, but stopped the tactic once it was obvious they were loosing the attention of the prisoner. They had interrogated her companion, reviewed the data given and taken, before proceeding to the next one.
"Why are you here?"
"To watch the Iacon lights, of course," Isis responded sarcastically, prompting growls from the engines in the mechs. Turning to the black and white Praxian, marked as a Special Enforcer, Chief Tactical Officer, and Second-in-Command, she said, a little more civilly, "To sort of defect."
"Sorta?" asked the silver Polyhexian, glyphs stating that he was Third-in-Command and Head of Special Operations.
"Autobots have rules and regulations that even constrict your Special Ops in doing what needs to be done. Without fully defecting to your side, I can still do the deeds not even your," she nodded to the TIC, "mechs and femmes would dare to do. Decepticons, while adhering to their own code, are given far more leeway than even your Special Ops Commander can pull off." She watched as the visor and optics dimmed a shade or two, indicating their communication over comms. While frustrating to her, Isis knew her place, even if she didn't always listen to it, unlike her friend in another interrogation cell.
"How will we know if you decide to turn on us?" questioned the SIC, his tone bordering on a promise of a threat and personal harm to the femme. "Surely you can understand our predicament."
"True, I do understand it." She leaned forward slightly, shaking her helm from side to side with each word of her next sentence. "I just don't care." The silver mech clenched his own sharp digits, and the black and white's plating tightened around his shoulders as both glared harshly at her. "Look, all I can do is give my glyphs, to you two and to my friend, wherever you have her hold up."
"A 'Con's glyphs ain't worth the ground I walk on," sneered the TIC, leaning in dangerously close, almost faceplate to faceplate, but the femme was unfazed. She had joined when the Decepticons were still young, had seen the best, or worst, they had to offer, and a simple frown was nothing. Shrugging as best as she could, Isis remained aloof and unconcerned on top, but desperately wanted to speak to Asteria about what to do now. She knew her limits and weaknesses, and speaking eloquently and diplomatically was not among her top qualities. That was the purple femme's domain more so than her own, and every time she tried, it ended in failure, that being broken plating and split energon lines.
"You want a pretty answer, complete with glyphs that glitter, you go to the purple Polyhexian somewhere here on base. You want an honest, straightforward answer, you come to me. All I got is my glyphs, nothing more, nothing less. I do not go back on something like that."
"No matter if your glyphs are true or not, you cannot expect us to trust you implicitly," rumbled the SIC, sharp golden optics staring at her, his tone smooth and monotone.
"I get that, I do. Look, I got a compromise: my comms come directly to Autobot Command here in Iacon, but Asteria should know, because she knows the territory better than you." The discussion of terms went on for some time, heated glyphs thrown about and smoothed down ruffled plating, until they finally reached something in the twisted memory of a deal that far outweighed Isis's benefits than the Autobots, but she couldn't care less. For all that she had done to help wage war and prolong it, she was finally taking steps to head back down the path, closer to when she was a little more innocent, a little more absolved of her numerous and heinous crimes.
… … …
For vorns, Isis served to the Autobot cause as well as she could, but she still did things even the Autobot Special Operations wouldn't think of. If she had taken the oath, like her friend Asteria, she would've most likely been executed for her heinous crimes, no matter that they were committed in a time of war.
Still, she got the messages and information to Asteria, sometimes sneaking out when she wasn't on leave to get it to the Autobots. It only got harder when a mech by the designation of Soundwave decided to take root in Kaon; the telepathic mech would often be scanning the processors of mechs and femmes. However, it only made Isis more determined. And from her determination, she was able to help turn the tide of war into the Autobots' favor.
Megatron was no longer someone the white femme could recognize, however. Gone was his drive to help those less fortunate, replaced by a lust for deactivation like none other she had ever seen, even from the most energon-thirsty bots on both sides of the war. He no longer cared.
Then came the time the warlord grew tired of his white shadow's presence and sent her away, ordering her to do recon in Praxus with some other mechs and femmes he felt weren't doing their duties as well as they could. Isis sent the information along to the Autobots, but due to unknown circumstances, Autobot Command in Iacon didn't get the message in time.
The Seekers screaming above shocked the white femme to a standstill, watching with horrific terror as the first bombs dropped and the plasma shot out of the guns of the flying bots. The explosions sent shockwaves that were so powerful, it ruptured the lines in the bots that were far enough from the initial blast to survive incineration, but not far enough. Isis herself, even though she was quite some distance away, felt a line or two burst, and with her combat protocols up and running, she quickly shut down the energon flow to the affected areas.
Without a lick of self-preservation, unlike the civilians around her, she started towards the blast sites as the Seekers pulled up and around for another strafing run. On her way into ground zero, she would stop to help mechs, femmes, younglings, and sparklings out of the rubble, giving them a good shove in the safer direction, shouting at them to run.
The next round of bombs flung her into the side of a building that soon collapsed on her, a block of metal and rock severing her left arm into two and rebar tore her entire right leg off at the hip. With a feral scream of unbelievable agony, she tried her best to shut down the energon lines that leaked out onto the rubble below. For an astrosecond, her processor went blank before booting back up. When she came to, she realized that, thankfully, her grave was shallow enough for her to get out of with a little digging, but then she was posed with another problem when she finally dragged herself out.
How could she walk with just one leg? The answer: hop until she bled out.
The Seekers had disappeared, but the air was anything but silent. The cries and screams of the ones in the process of offlining sang a sorrowful tune, fires crackling as buildings swayed and broke sporadically, crushing those unlucky enough to be in the way of the falling debris.
With trembling limbs, Isis forced herself up onto her remaining pede, taking a glance at her chromometer, surprised that it was still working. She had been knocked unconscious for a good while, and that explained for the lack of Seekers. With uncoordinated, unbalanced hops, she got herself over to another pack of rubble, digging when she saw a little energon leaking from underneath.
However, her effort was in vain when she finally found the source. A youngling was curled around a sparkling, as if it was trying to protect the other, but a solid beam had ended both young lives. Isis was barely aware when she began clicking in unimaginable grief, her one servo reaching out, shaking badly, to touch the young helms. When her servo rested against the sparkling's cold helm, she keened loudly, the sound echoing before being swallowed by the chaos around her.
She continued her horrific journey through the destruction and ruins of Praxus, not aware of her rapidly decreasing energy levels, nor the trail she left in the dust. All the frames she happened upon were either spark-less or almost there, and she tried to ease their passing on to the Well. As she reached where the first bomb had exploded, the area completely flattened and wiped out, she collapsed, vents running ragged. It was only then she noticed the pink energon around her, and she could feel her frame growing cold. The area was silent, and with the last of her strength, she threw open her comm, singing the lullaby her creators would sing to her during the lunar cycle back when she was a sparkling.
She never heard anything but her own singing as she passed into the Well.
… … …
"Asteria," Mirage spoke softly to the femme outside the temporary med bay, and the purple femme looked up.
"You found her, didn't you." It wasn't a question. Nonetheless, the former noble nodded sadly, and she curled into herself, dropping to the ground and shoving her faceplate into her knees. She had heard the song her friend sang in her last moments, and she had known that she was gone when the song ended. But to hear someone confirm it just made the pain worse, twisting the knife that was already stuck in her spark. "I don't want to see her," she mumbled brokenly. "We agreed…"
Mutely, the spy nodded, leaving the Polyhexian on the ground as she clicked, quietly keening and came to terms that her best friend wouldn't return.
… … …
"I'll see to the end for you," Asteria whispered to the star-dotted sky a while later as the last of the transports were filled up. It was a promise that wouldn't be kept, because several hundred vorns later, one spark met the other in the Well. They danced happily, spinning around in the comforts of their new home, along with the others who had joined them. Two friends, reunited and having done their part in the war.
... ... ... ...
Only the dead have seen the end of war. – George Santayana
Isis was an Egyptian goddess, wife and sister to the Egyptian god, Osiris, and had a son named Horus. She was the ideal mother and wife, protector of the dead, and goddess of children. Also, she was the friend of slaves, sinners, artisans, the downtrodden, but also listened to the wishes of the wealthy, maidens, aristocrats, and rulers. Her name means "throne," but I went with "strength" and "leader," which I think fits pretty well.
Asteria was a Greek goddess, and a Titan, meaning "of the stars." I was thinking of making her a Seeker, but decided against it. She was the daughter of Titans Coeus and Phoebe, with son Hecate from Perses. She had flung herself into the Aegean Sea as a quail to escape the unwanted advances of Zeus, and became the "quail island" of Ortygia. She was also the only piece of earth to give refuge to Leto, her sister, when she was pregnant with Zeus's children and being chased by Hera, who was out for her blood.
I hope you all enjoyed the story. I own nothing, sadly. Have a great day, all!