"Alert," the soft, genderless voice broke the ancient silence in the Crystal Castle's Administration Chamber, "alert. Administrator, please respond. Alert."
Light-Hope materialized with a flicker. The soft blue ambiance of her body cast long shadows on cracked, dusty screens.
"Administrator absent," she said, "reroute message to Light-Hope."
"Alert," the soft voice repeated, "Error. Highest Level Clearance required." Light Hope's holographic face did not display any emotion as her mind, one the metaphorical size of a dwarf star, rapidly approached the issue from ten-thousand angles.
She rooted through the white-noise of her expansive data archive, barely acknowledging the way thousands of years of her memory had decayed beyond repair, and produced an early date file. One of her first. It had been flagged as important at some time. For what reason, the program had forgotten.
"Happy to meet you, Light Hope. My name is Mara," Light-Hope played the recording to the empty room, "Administrator Clearance 1985." The computer pinged a greeting.
"Administrator, Heart of Etheria is experiencing a Level 3 Magical Event," the voice said. Light-Hope rerouted some of the precious power she still had to the screen above her. It displayed the intricate map of the planet's anatomy, the Runestones ringed it like orbiting satellites. They hovered over their ley lines and pumped power up from the very heart of the planet.
It was a circulatory system that could, with a single stroke, rebalance the ruling authority of the entire universe.
"Power levels read optimal," Light-Hope said, "readings are defective, flagging this subroutine for maintenance."
"Acknowledge, Administrator," the voice said, " this is the twentieth iteration of this alert. Recommended course of action: alert Administrator of maintenance subroutine failure."
Light-Hope's logical sensors flared. That made no sense. These readings projected imminent doom, but nothing in her system showed any indication of a problem in the Heart of Etheria.
"Timestamp for last leyline maintenance report log," she commanded.
"Eighteen-Thousand Two-hundred and Sixty-Two daily cycles of the Etherian calendar." Five decades had passed since then. Her memory banks were barren and had been scoured of almost any unnecessary information not related to the She-Ra Program or the Heart of Etheria Project.
But it had been so very, very long since Mara. Everything was running together.
"Timestamp for maintenance request ten," Light-Hope said. There had to be something, somewhere.
"One-hundred eighty thousand six-hundred and twenty-five daily cycles of the Etherian calendar."
Five hundred years ago. A cycle. This wasn't a system failure. She should know this. She had to know this somewhere deep down.
"Administrator," the subroutine piped up, "may I make a recommendation?"
Light-Hope's face glitched with a scowl. Independent use of the designation 'I' was not part of the subroutine standard operation. This was her privilege and only her's.
The Crystal Castle was decaying, her along with it. Soon it would be too late. Her logic sensors began to blare red and a safety-lock program kicked on to prevent her from spiraling out of focus.
Accessing She-Ra Program. Historical Records. File title: 'Children of Eternia'. WARNING. VIDEO CORRUPTED. AUDIO AVAILABLE.
"It's been so very long," the old woman's voice was strong even as it struggled for breath, "I've forgotten so much of it. We were children of Eternia. But I remember the sword. The sword was meant for Adora. She disappeared. And the boy…he's gone. Long gone. I-I don't want to talk about this anymore! Nurse. Nurse! Get these people out of here! Forget me. Forget Eternia! It's lost. Lost forever, along with everyone we left behind."
END PLAYBACK.
"Adora," Light-Hope said to herself, "Adora is here. Adora is the answer." She examined the map once more. Power output still read as typical everywhere. "Situation is showing normal readings for Heart of Etheria. Troubleshoot for faulty sensors."
"Note from Administrator after initial maintenance request," the subroutine answered, "'The Alignment of the Spheres. Moons orbiting Etheria can cause the heart to fluctuate in unpredicted patterns, potentially entering a hypercharged state. If moons align, energy burn is needed to prevent a catastrophic failure of Project Etheria. Timestamp-"
"Stop," Light-Hope's form wavered. She didn't need the time stamp. Mara had never been so clinical when life or death was on the line. It was her own note. She had to trust it. An energy build-up. One that confounded her system's readings. Of course it did, she realized, since Project Etheria was intended to be completed a thousand years ago.
The power radiating off Etheria's heart wouldn't go away. It would build up in the leylines and shatter the planet, and more importantly, ruin the Heart of Etheria.
Her mind raced. She had to summon Adora. If they had a little time they could prepare the Heart for activation and ride it to success at the apex of power output. Her subroutine system interrupted once more.
Accessing Adora Personality Profile. Now Playing 'Lateness'.
"This tardiness is unacceptable."
"The Horde was attacking a refugee convoy! I had to do something!"
"Adora, your destiny is greater than this. Balance must be restored to Etheria. You must train more rigorously."
"She-Ra is supposed to be a hero! I couldn't stand by and let it happen… and I won't let it happen, Light-Hope. I'm sorry I'm late. But it was for a good reason!"
A good reason. Late to a thousand years of sacrifice and struggle for 'a good reason'.
"Commence energy burn process," Light-Hope said. There would be no time to argue with Adora. Draining the leylines would have to suffice, once again.
"Process is projected to complete in three Etherian daily cycles,' the subroutine chimed.
Light-Hope watched impassively as all the power in the planet was slowly siphoned away from the Heart of the Etheria, to be vented out into open air. Wasted potential.
"A good reason," she repeated, "the sword was meant for Adora."
"Hey, Catra!" Catra scowled at the intrusion on her bad mood. She'd been letting the steady drip of water off her left ear slowly drive her mad. A shower, necessary as it was, had been the cap to a day of irritations. She had come to her usual spot, high on the top of Comm-Tower 3, to air dry and sulk.
"Go away," she mumbled in her fist. She glared down into the green inferno of the Fright Zone, idly considering what she'd change when she came into power. The first would be to section off this perch as her private brooditorium. Violation of its sanctity would be severely punished.
"I knew I'd find you up here," Scorpia said, "I feel like we're really starting to get to know each other's quirks and tastes. A month ago I would've never found you!"
"Yea, those were the good times," Catra groused. "What do you want, Scorpia?"
"I mean," the Force Captain began, Catra's ears twitched as she heard two giant claws tapping nervously together, "I just wanted to make sure you were ok. You've been quiet since we…yknow… got routed by the Plumerians. They pelted us with all that onion-gas. I mean…I'm over it and I'm sure you're over it but its okay to feel upset. Y'know?" Catra's fingers curled around the railing under her feet.
"Yeah," she said, "over it." She glared at Hordak's imposing tower, mind racing with dark imaginings of Shadow Weaver's report. She'd already run through an escape plan in case the worst should happen. A skiff into the Whispering Woods, take her chances on foot from there.
It ate at her to think that she'd have to follow Adora's plan once again.
"So," Scorpia began, "do you think they're ok?" Catra rolled her eyes.
"Who?"
"Our troops?" Scorpia said, looking nervously to the northwest, out past the wastelands. "The ones that got taken captive?" Catra's stomach twisted up. Lonnie, Rogelio, Kyle, and the rest of her barracks were in Rebel hands at this very moment. That wouldn't go over well with Lord Hordak.
The mission to Plumeria had disguised itself as the first real lucky break she'd had…ever. When Shadow Weaver summoned her she'd expected another 'find Adora' mission but, after a stern reminder that Salineas had been her fault and not the old sorcerers', she'd been told differently.
'The Rebellion is focused on recruitment," Shadow Weaver said, poring over some dusty old tomes, not even half paying attention to the Force Captain. "An incursion on the borders of Plumeria might bear fruit if the Princesses are tied up elsewhere."
"No She-Ra? No flower princess?" Catra had asked.
"Are you relieved about that, child?" Her corpse-white eyes had glanced up and pinned her to the wall with their scrutiny. Behind her the Black Garnet seemed to spark eagerly with bolts of red lightning like it was about to explode. Catra sneered to keep her teeth from chattering.
"No. Just bored," she said, "I'm worth more-"
"Do you understand your orders?" Shadow Weaver glanced back to her book, eyes crinkling with a smile as she found what she was looking for.
"Yes, but-"
"Go," Shadow Weaver said, "do not bother me anymore." She turned to a map of the night sky displaying the movements of the twelve moons of Etheria.
No flower princess. No sparkle princess. No boy with arrows. No Adora.
No challenge, so she'd thought. She shivered at the memory of an empty swath of forest. Muggy, close and filled with noise. Chitters and bird calls. All of it a screen disguising the Plumerians. Plumerians! Gardeners who hadn't fought back once since the Old Princess Alliance went and ground itself to pieces on the Fright Zone's front gate.
Then came the ululations and cries of 'Plumeria! Brightmoon!' Then, noxious clouds of stinging gas from every direction. Eyes burning and sensitive nose searing, Catra had barely clawed her way out of the sudden press of bodies as her detachment fell on itself in terror. A defiant voice called after her as she fled.
"Go tell Hordak we are not his victims any longer! We've found our inner-strength!"
She'd escaped with Scorpia trailing behind her and they'd taken a long, quiet skiff ride back home.
"Hey," Scorpia said, "so…wanna go hang out or something? Y'know, ma says de-stressing is paramount to effective leadership. Otherwise you could bottle it up and take it out on your subordinates."
"You are so annoying," Catra finally snapped, "and…" her nose twitched at an overpoweringly zesty smell. Layered under it was the heady stink of the onion-gas."You smell!"
She leaped away, keeping perfectly balanced on the railing, and raised her hackles. She faced the muscular Scorpioni for the first time and noted a light red stain across her alabaster hair.
"Aw," Scorpia said, "ma said the tomato juice would leech the smell right out. Nerts." Catra covered her nose, overwhelmed by the pungent combination.
"Ma who?" she asked, voice a little nasally. Scorpia chuckled. Catra snarled. "Don't laugh at me!"
"I wasn't! I would never…you're not joking?" Scorpia said. Catra flushed angrily at the concern in her comrade's eyes.
"Who is Ma? Another Force Captain? He doesn't know what he's talking about. You smell worse!" She knew she was being unnecessarily harsh and could not find the will to stop it. The smell wasn't even bad, per se, but far more powerful than anything Catra had picked up in the Fright Zone.
"My mom," Scorpia said, "my mother? A mother is-"
"I know what a mother is!"
"Well, that's ma. My ma. Her name is Serket." Scorpia trailed off at the sheer fury in Catra's eyes. Her claws flexed anxiously and her tail curled around her waist. "What's up, buddy? You're kinda staring into my soul, there."
"Why," she cursed her shaking voice, "do you get a mother?"
"Huh?"
"I said 'How do you know who your mother is'?
Scorpia gave her another blank look. Catra spun on her heels and began to vault to the very top of the Comm-Tower. Scorpia raced after her.
"Hang on! Wait, Catra, please don't be upset. It's just…you went to Force Captain Orientation, right?"
"No!" She snarled over her shoulder.
"Oh," Scorpia said, chuckling like it was all a big joke, "well, then like yeah. I'm a Princess…ex-Princess? Maybe more of a could've-been Princess? Of course I know my mom." Her smile died at the way Catra's blue and yellow eyes had doubled in size.
"Oh," Scropia said with a nervous laugh, "so that's news too, huh?"
"Another princess," Catra's claws sank into the metal of the tower with a screech, "another princess!" She lunged down and prowled right up into Scorpia's face and Catra felt a sick satisfaction at how she backed away. "Of course you are! Of course! And what's your special powers, huh? Talking people to death? Giving people ulcers with your-" She snarled when Scropia gasped. "What?!"
She felt the tears on her cheeks. It was the stupid onion-gas irritating her eyes again, she hadn't gotten all of it.
"Catra," Scorpia began, all concern and no terror, "hey, it's ok. We'll get through this. I know we will."
"We," Catra scoffed, turning away and rubbing at her eyes, "yeah, sure. Get away from me, Scorpia, before they decide you're going to Beast Island too." Catra's elbowed tapped a piece of hard plastic on her chest and she ripped off the badge she'd been wearing a few short weeks. The bat-winged symbol of the Horde mocked her.
"I don't have any," Scorpia said after a moment. Catra looked up from her badge with a tired sneer. "Powers, I mean. Nothing. Never have, never will." She grinned and flexed. "Not that I need them, right? With these babies. I got where I am because…well, my mom helped... She's a retired Commander…but I had to pass everything on my own. No special powers." Her grin tensed. "No friends helping me train. All me. Just by myself."
"Hooray," Catra mumbled, "way to go, Force Captain Scorpia."
"Way to go, Force Captain Catra," Scorpia countered playfully, "you don't brag, but I heard you got your badge from Lord Hordak himself. So that's y'know…wow!"
Her ears perked up. The truth was somewhat less glamorous than that. 'Filling a vacancy' was perhaps more appropriate, but if people thought otherwise, that could work for her. Catra found herself smiling.
"Aw," Scropia nudged her with an elbow, "that's what I like to see!" The smile vanished. "Right. Personal bubble. Still learning." Catra looked over the badge again. From the distance of the roof, it seemed as large in her hand as the tower of Lord Hordak, where Shadow Weaver was delivering her report.
"It's not real," she said, "any of it. It's just plastic and paint." She turned it idly in her fingers, playing with it like a dead mouse, heedless of how far it would fall if she slipped. "Power shouldn't look like this. It should be…harder to take away." A face entered her mind. Blue-eyed and grinning, framed by lustrous golden hair and a tiara. "It should be a part of you."
"Walk the walk and talk the talk," Scorpia said, "absolutely. You've got a great strut. And an amazing sneer! I swear, sometimes I really feel you like don't like me. It's just…" Scropia kissed her right claw like a proud chef, "mwah. Perfect."
"That's not what I meant," Catra sighed, "I mean it shouldn't be something somebody can just…throw away or-or take from you. Something 'real'. They hear your name and run screaming. They don't step to you about anything because they know they can't stop you."
"Say no more! I'll take the job!" Scorpia beamed. Catra's ear flattened in annoyance.
"What are you talking about?" Scorpia flexed, snapped her pincers, and lashed her tail. She somersaulted and dove from one end of the roof to the other. Every few steps she jabbed the air with her claws. If Catra hadn't known the doofy personality behind each solid strike, she might've been intimidated. Scorpia finished her little show by ripping a steel bar from the railing and throwing Catra a wink.
"And this one is for the all pretty ladies out there," she held the bar overhead and, with a casual grunt of effort, twisted it into the vaguest shape of a heart, smiling at Catra through the middle of it. "I am a lean, mean, fighting machine. And nobody, but nobody, is ever gonna disrespect you again while I'm around." She tossed the bent steel away and struck a pose.
Catra stared at her for a long moment.
"Mean?" She said at last.
"Pfft, I can be the meanest," Scorpia laughed, "it's not sugar water in this stinger, let me tell you, its venom. " She lashed the air with her tail once for emphasis. "I'm not scared of anybody or afraid to say what I think."
"Ok, go head," Catra took to tossing her badge up and down as she looked Scorpia over, "go on. Show me. Mean." Scorpia chewed her lip and said all at once.
"Lord Hordak! He's…he's uh," her face suddenly paled, "do you think there are like cameras or microphones up here? No way right? There's no way he'd put those up here."
Catra nodded slowly.
"Shadow Weaver," Scorpia said, seizing onto the name like a lifeline, "now she's…uh. You wouldn't repeat anything I said to her, right? You guys don't seem all that close, but I know people sometimes let things slip and-"
"Me," Catra said, "say something mean about me. Without flinching."
"Well, now-"
"And I'll hang out with you for the rest of the evening. No complaints." Scorpia's mouth slammed shut around her protests and her eyes flicked in every direction. She gave Catra a valiant attempt at a glare.
"You…could…take constructive criticism a little less personally," she managed to say. Catra snarled and nearly dropped her badge as she stepped forward. She caught herself at the last second and affected smug indifference.
"That's all? Scorpia. Come on," she said, "Mean. Make me feel like garbage."
"Your hair is messy," Scorpia got it out faster than before but she looked disgusted with herself when she said it. Catra, hiding a smirk burst into heaving fake sobs.
"How could you?" She said. Her play-acting ended in a wheeze as iron-hard arms squeezed her into a hug. Her badge clattered to the Comm-Tower roof, sliding dangerously close to the edge.
"Oh gosh, I'm sorry!" Scorpia wailed, "I don't really mean that! Who cares what I think! It's your hair and it looks great! Please forgive me."
"Get off of me," Catra growled, "now!" Scorpia was too caught up in her own contrition to hear her and Catra was assaulted with the overwhelming smell of whatever 'tomato juice' was. She wriggled herself free and scurried to the railing, snatching her badge along the way.
"Mean," she crowed, "sure."
"Well," Scorpia said, "I'm still real, real strong!"
"It's not about that," Catra snapped, "listen for once instead of just standing there. I'm talking about something bigger than a soldier. A weapon! I'm talking about magic!"
"Magic?" Scorpia gasped. Like all Hordesmen, they'd been raised to be suspicious of all forms of magic. Catra had been raised to be especially wary of it. Though for her own reasons.
That was the catch, though. Red lightning had danced along her skin before and frozen her in place. The threat of it never left her mind, even years after the fact. That fear. That awe. That was power.
"And intelligence," Catra started pacing on the railing, deftly stepping one the centimeters of round steel that separated her from a fatal plummet. "A whole bunch of stuff rolled into one thing! Mean. Smart. Strong. Loyal-" she paused, one bare sole slamming hard into the railing to steady herself. "-I mean obedient. It won't turn on you."
"Not sure about obedience. But that sounds a lot like She-Ra."
"Uh, I said 'smart' didn't I?" Catra grumbled petulantly.
"Still," Scorpia chewed her lip and glanced away from Catra. Catra glared at her.
"Still?"
"Is it She-Ra you want, or is it…" she trailed off. Catra felt her heart twist up with humiliation and she pounced off the railing, slamming the bigger woman onto the roof.
"Say it! Say her name, I dare you!" Her claws tapped heavily onto Scorpia's armored shoulders. The harsh tomato smell made her eyes water again and she saw Scorpia's shock through a bleary reflection.
"A friend," she squeaked, "I was going to say you want a friend! That's all."
"You," Catra blinked rapidly as her rage subsided, "you…you would say that, wouldn't you? Go away, Scorpia. I wanna be alone." She hopped off her and crouched back in her spot on the railing.
"Sure boss," Scorpia said, rising, "but you know, that's alright too. Wanting a friend? Like feeling stressed or afraid. It's alright."
"You're 'ma' teach you that?"
"Yeah," Scorpia smiled, "she did actually-" she clammed up at Catra's dark glance.
"Lucky you."
"Yeah," Scorpia gulped, "lucky me. Um. If you wanna talk or anything just hit me up on the badge?" Catra's badge chirped in her hand as Scorpia pressed on her own. "I'm always ready to lend an ear."
Catra glared at the distant tower and held her silence until the dejected Force Captain had left her alone.
"A friend," she spat, "sure. That's 'real power'." She glared up at the cloudy sky, fuming over the fundamental unfairness of life. Alone.
Utterly alone.
The boy woke up alone, as he always did. His cub was off hunting down their breakfast and the spot next to him had grown cold. The stones got chilly inside the gray castle, especially when he slept in the old west watchtower, which was cooled by a near-constant breeze from the surrounding badlands He sat up and adjusted the raggedy clothing he wore.
The purple tunic was his blanket, bed, and armor all in one. Animal hide. Covered in rich purple fur from hood to the long hem below his knees. Idly, he rattled them the curved fangs that held it closed at his neck. Soothing himself with the smooth feeling of the bones.
He yawned and shook his head, stretching out his grimy bare toes touched frigid steel.
"Ah!" Scooting backwards he shot a little glare at the sword, as if he could shame it for startling him. Greater than the length of his whole body, it was made of a metal tempered to a faded sky-blue. The sword had always been there before the cub or the boy's tunic. As long as he could remember the sword had always been there.
He drummed uneven, dirt blackened nails on the beautiful blade before he clasped both of his hands around the simple hilt. He levered the sword up with considerable effort, his bare biceps flexing with the weight. He leaned forward and stared into the fuller, entranced by the strange hieroglyphs written along the length of the weapon like a constellation in the night sky.
He saw his reflection in the steel. A boy looked back at him, ten years old or younger, with big, cornflower blue-eyes in a curious little face. His skin was tan with a faint blush of sunburn on his cheeks and nose. He shook long, dirty, stringy hair away from his face and felt it tickle his back, the longest strands dusting the ground.
"Nyah-nyah-nyah!" He stuck out his tongue, a pink semicircle between dry lips, and blew a raspberry at himself, then burst into a fit of giggles. He made more faces for a while.
He grinned and made his eyes pop wide open. He squinted until he could barely see his face scrunching up. He bobbed his head up and down to see himself warp and warble in the blade-like it was a funhouse mirror.
A shadow fell across him and his laughter choked off in a gasp of terror. He scrambled in a circle, the sword scraping as it spun like a compass needle finding north, to face his foe. He growled like his cub would and hissed angrily. On the east railing of the squat circular tower, facing down into the courtyard, perched an avian profile with a russet plumage. The boy cried out in delight, fear forgotten.
The falcon was back! He let his sword clatter to the ground and raced up to the railing, hands cupped out eagerly. Sometimes she brought worms. Sometimes she brought shiny things to play with. Most times, like then, he realized with a glum pout, she brought nothing. She bobbed her white-crested head and glanced at him with eyes gleaming like liquid gold.
The intelligence in them made him shuffle backward and fiddle with the teeth of his tunic shyly. He smiled bashfully and held out his arm.
"Ah?" he gestured at it with his head, hoping it would alight on him. The white-crested falcon cawed once and took off into the sky with a gusty flap of her wings. "Hmph!" The boy stuck out his tongue, frustrated by the bird.
He sighed dramatically and picked up his sword with one hand, dragging it behind him as he began his descent from the western watchtower. He tossed the sword down the winding stairwell, slapping his hands over his ears to keep the cacophony of metal 'dins' from hurting them. Then he took each step with a hop and little cry of 'hup!'
The sword was unharmed when he found it, as he knew it would be. It gleamed on the sandy stones of the courtyard, the noon sun like a white jewel on the shoulder. He snatched the hilt in his left hand and listened to its rattle and clank trailing behind him as he took a circuit around the courtyard.
He stopped first at the cistern, hidden under an awning stretched out from the main keep. He stood on his tiptoes, eeping over the edge of the wall and grimacing at the sight within. The water was getting very low, only a few inches. If rain didn't come soon he wouldn't have any water before long. Still, his throat was crackly and his lips were dry. He let his sword go and scrabbled in at the foot of the basin wall until he found a long length of cloth.
It had been a flag, once upon a time, snapping proudly in the winds over the gatehouse, but one day it had ripped free and floated like a ghost to the courtyard. It was too thin for a blanket and the boy couldn't, try as he might, figure out how to get it back onto its pole. He'd finally found a use for it one summer.
He twisted it up and tossed one end over the basin wall to soak, shaking out more of his lanky long hair with a little grumble of annoyance. He tapped his foot impatiently and then whipped the old flag back.
Whap! The wet end of the cloth smacked him in the face and he cried out indignantly, even though it did feel kind of nice against his skin. He pressed the wet end to his mouth and sucked moisture from it, smacking his lips at the texture of faded pink silk. As he wet his lips he stared wonderingly at the sun-bleached insignia of a soaring eagle weaved in bronze thread.
He wished he could put it back above the gatehouse. He wanted to watch the eagle fly again. As he imagined it, his sharp ears picked up a soft, rhythmic beat of claws scratching on stone. He grinned, the flag caught between his teeth.
"Nnh!" He called out. The cub limped towards him, front fore-paw favored as it humped it's small body across the baking stones of the courtyard. A little larger than a dog, the cub was covered in emerald green fur shot through with butterscotch stripes from face to the end of a swaying tail. Amber eyes stared hopefully sparkled as the cub opened its jaws.
A fat black rat plopped on the ground between them. The boy spat out the flag and rung a palmful of water from it. He held out his hand and the cub pressed it's broad, rough tongue onto the boy's wet skin. He manfully tried to keep from pulling his hand back at the rough, tickling sensation. When the cub had its fill -he didn't drink much thankfully- the boy pounced.
For a moment, there was nothing else in the whole world. He buried his face in the cub soft belly, mimicking the happy little churrs his best friend made. Love given and received, the boy detached and retrieved their breakfast from the ground, snatching up his sword and beckoning the cub to limp after him.
From the cistern, they traveled the familiar path through the second barbican, into the heart of the old keep. The gray castle's insides seemed bigger than the squat circular fastness implied. It was dark and cool and lonely.
Especially dark. The boy's foot caught on the edge of a shredded red rug and he fell forward.
"Ah!" he cried out. He landed on his belly and the air was punched out him. His own voice bounced back at him from the arched ceilings and high, dour walls.
"Wow," he whispered, then looked over at his cub with a mad smile.
"Ah!" he called. The empty halls replied a dozen times.
"Aaaah!" he yelled, rising up and putting his best into it. His cub jumped and mrowled at all the noise. He snickered and took a deep breath before cupping his hands over his mouth.
"Aa-"
Shhhh! The boy's yell was strangled by his shock and he looked around rapidly. His cub cocked its head curiously at him. The boy blinked rapidly until he realized what had happened. It had been in his own head.
He scowled and stomped his foot. The Other One had shushed him.
"Ah!" he yelled defiantly.
Shhhhh! It was loud and powerful in his ears and the boy pouted silently. It had been weeks since the Other One had spoken or done anything. And sometimes the boy forgot he was even there.
His petulance turned to hope and he didn't just stop yelling, but quieted his breathing and crouched low to the ground. If he was good and did as he was told maybe the Other One wouldn't go away. Maybe he'd stay and keep the boy company.
He might've stood there for an hour, spirit dwindling, if the falcon hadn't swooped in with a flap of her wings. She flew in through the barbican and banked down one of the side corridors. The boy sighed and walked after her, the cub trailing nervously behind him.
The great hall was the same ruin it had been since the boy had first found it years ago. Tables and chairs lay shattered or, if whole, overturned from one end of the room to the other. Something had happened here once ago and nothing remained to tell it.
Except for one figure. A statue of a man, dressed head to toe in plate armor. His right hand rose, holding a short-sword high, his left was flung out, fingers fanned as if to command all the world to halt before him. The falcon was perched on its left arm.
The boy pouted. It didn't make sense, he was better than some old statue. He could move! It was a nice statue and the details were breathtakingly life-life but it was just shiny gray rock. He whistled and held out his arm, even mimicking the statue's pose.
The falcon never stayed put, staring into the chiseled eyes of the statue.
"Pfah!" The boy sulked as he searched out a good chair. When he did, he wrestled the sword's huge hilt onto one shoulder then put all his strength into hefting it up.. It flipped over his body and sliced the furniture in half, clean as a surgeon's knife. Twice more he did this and gathered the wooden scraps.
As he left, the cub peeled away from the shadows, where it liked to hide form the falcon, and bunted against his bare ankle lovingly. The boy smiled, feeling a little better.
Outside, in the heard of the gray castle's empty courtyard. The boy built a fire in the same spot he always did, marked by a ring of rocks and year's worth of soot-stains. He built the fire with some of the dry, wavy grass that pushed up between the flagstones.
The Other One taught him how to do this. To make a fire. But the Other One never said or showed him more than that. The eagle brought him trinkets or little meals but never stayed.
His cub kept him company and ate the rat with him when he'd blackened it enough, as the Other One showed him, that he could force it down.
Fed, the boy ventured back inside, down the main corridor and into a huge room centered by a hill of steps, leading to a stone chair bathed in sunlight. He ignored the throne and all the trappings of power, they meant nothing to him anyway, and went to the far wall. His cub curled up at his feet, snoozing off its full belly.
The boy picked up a shard of rock and added to his story wall. The falcon. The rat. His cub. Stick figures took their place next to an endless train of the exact same scene. He paused and considered the blank space next to it.
A sudden sadness welled up inside him and he felt like bursting into tears as he thought, not for the first time, that tomorrow and the day after and the day after he'd draw the same thing. Endlessly. He was filled with the fierce determination to grab his cub and the sword and scale the walls or knock down the old drawbridge. He'd leave! He'd find people! He'd go away from the gray castle and never, ever come back.
No. The Other One said. The boy grit his teeth and screamed.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" His cub yowled and scurried off a few feet. The empty halls wailed his own voice back at him for a brief second. Then the silence returned as if it hadn't been broken.
He sat down, hugged his knees, and buried his face in his arms.
Catra's badge chirped and she pressed it hard with one black claw. She looked up from her folded arms, glaring into the serrated skyline of the Fright Zone.
"This better be good," she snarled, "if you want me to hang out again-"
"Come to the Black Garnet Chamber at once."
The voice was arch, irrefutable, and condescending. It sent a wintery chill racing down her spine and made getting up to obey seem impossible.
She glanced back over her shoulder at the darkening eastern wastelands. A short skiff ride to the Whispering Woods, she could lose herself in the trees if she really tried.
Then what, she hissed at herself, Bright-Moon? Adora? The Rebellion? Slink off and beg for help, Catra. It's that or face Shadow Weaver.
"All she could do is kill me, right?" She sighed to herself and somersaulted off the railing, deftly dropping herself from handle to handle. She felt the stale, stinking air rush by her ears and lift her hair with each fall. She never missed and never slipped, she could control her plummet with years of expertise.
She reached the base of Comm-Tower 3 in what must've been record time but, of course, there was no one around to witness that. It was amazing how empty the Horde's stronghold could feel if you went to the right spots.
Slowly, as she made her way to the South-Eastern Quadrant, the others began to appear. Faceless men and women behind green glass and thick black armor as they patrolled. That wasn't so bad.
A squad of troopers crossed her path, five shades of hair and skin still wet with the showers they'd finished. They chatted freely as they made their way to dinner. They hadn't even noticed the Force Captain sulking by and she was almost happy about that.
She rounded a corner to cut through the tight corridor the smaller bots used to go around. Thin and red with lights that made snakes out of every exposed wire. She halted when she heard quiet snickering.
"Stop," a man's voice breathed, excited, "come on, someone could come through here!"
"Yeah," another man purred, "let 'em. I spend all day sweating it out down in the garage the Horde can give me two minutes alone with you. Let 'em. You're so worth the disciplinary hearing."
Catra whirled away, beating a retreat as warmth rose in her cheeks. She toyed momentarily with busting them both, see if that mechanic talked smoothly then.
She might've if it wasn't Shadow Weaver who was waiting on her.
She took the main hall, against her better wishes and was impeded one last time when a human child barreled into her legs. Some of the Cadets on training deployment nearby. She remembered being that small. She remembered the giddiness and excitement of two kids free of their squad for one day.
"S-sorry!" the little girl squeaked, backing away, hazel eyes widening as she saw Catra's badge. A satyr child tackled her from behind, laughing.
"Caught the Rebel!" He looked up and sputtered.
They leapt up in unison and saluted fearfully.
"Whatever," Catra grumbled. She left them standing there and moved on to the familiar twists and hallways that still appeared as a backdrop in her some of her nightmares. The black doors of the chamber were unguarded. Few were those foolish enough to break into the Black Garnet Chamber.
The door swished open before she could knock and she resisted the urge to curl into herself. Shadow Weaver's midnight-black hair writhed on an arcane wind. She was dragging the fingers of her right hand across the surface of the Black Garnet, her left held a book open.
"You will return to Plumeria," she said without turning, "and you will retrieve your detachment from Rebel captivity." Catra growled and hurried inside, eager to let the door shut in case anyone walked by. She didn't need everyone hearing this.
"How many troops am I getting?" She'd show them. She'd flatten the Plumerian militia, cut down the Heart-Tree, and write 'come get me, Adora,' in big fiery letters across the forest canopy.
"None," Shadow Weaver said, "bring your soldiers back or do not bother reporting in." The witch turned one eye to her. "And if I were you, Catra, I would take that advice seriously. Lord Hordak was quite displeased with your performance."
"So he's sending me back by myself!?" Catra wanted to shriek.
"That was my suggestion," Shadow Weaver turned back to the runestone, muttering something softly.
"Thanks bunches," she hissed.
"You should," the sorceress sighed, "the alternative was less pleasant. I have enough headaches without replacing a Force Captain again."
"Adora really let you down, huh?" She wanted to drag the words back in the second they left her lips. Shadow Weaver's nails screeched momentarily on the Black Garnet and Catra pressed her ears to her scalp. The sorceress was silent. Then she tittered.
Shadow Weaver actually laughed. Softly, almost pleasantly. She turned and her hand left the runestone to cover the front of her mask demurely. There was twisted fondness in her eyes as she took Catra in. Her emotions short-circuited when the woman floated towards her and tapped her nose gently.
"I know you want my attention, dear," she said, "you want to play games, and make me upset, and have me all to yourself. It's…endearing in a very pathetic sort of way. But, my sweet stupid girl, I simply do not have time. You need rest. And you need to think very hard about your mission tomorrow."
"What-" a spindly gray finger pressed to her lips. Shadow Weaver tsked quietly.
"Should I tell you about the movement of celestial bodies," she said, mirth in her voice, "should I try to explain to you the oldest mysteries of magic? No. Those words would be wasted on you, wouldn't they? Let those of us with real power worry. But I shall give you this good news. I had a discussion with Lord Hordak today and…well." She drifted away and turned triumphantly to a map of the lunar movements. "Perhaps, I shouldn't say. If it makes you too anxious to get any rest-"
"Tell me!" Catra said, wincing at how childish she sounded.
"We will have Adora back," Shadow Weaver sighed, "very, very soon. Goodbye, Catra, do be careful, and be sure to bring all our troops home this time."
Catra's heart leaped and she moved closer. A thousand questions bubbled to her lips but only a frightened shriek emerged as a red haze froze her in place and her muscles screamed in protest like a thousand wasps were stinging her at once. She was let go almost as quickly and fought the urge to crumple to the floor. The happiness hadn't left Shadow Weaver's eyes as she glanced at her.
"Goodbye," she repeated, voice firm.
Catra's fear won out over her dignity and she fled. Not stopping until the door to her room slammed shut behind and left her, once again, alone.