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Mission No. 62

Cerinia
Altaira Valley

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That night when Fox and Krystal snuck away, the valley of Altaira was peaceful and serene. The vixen explained to the Kaumatua she wanted to meditate in the privacy of nature; the todd quietly slipped out while his elderly host snored.

They met by the waterfall on the edge of the forest and plains, their only lights the alien stars above and the ghostly, amethyst fungi that glowed by the water's edge. Krystal spread her sleeping mat out on the grassy hill while Fox shared his pillows and blankets with her. They slipped between the covers and lay side-by-side, staring up between the wavering branches at the winking stars.

After some time had passed, Krystal rolled over to face Fox. "Thank you," she said, "for… staying here with me. It's already put me at ease. I feel like I can face whatever the night might bring."

Fox grinned and crossed his arms under his head, looking back up at the stars. Her words filled him with pride—to the point where he felt like he could conquer the whole universe laid out above him.

Krystal shifted and sighed, a frown marring her face. "Sometimes Fox, I feel… guilty. It's not fair that I should be here with you, far away from that nightmarish place when all my sisters are still trapped there. I still worry about them, too. I never knew them well, or could talk to them much, but… I think we felt a kinship through all that we endured together. I wish there was something we could do for them; maybe even free them, if possible."

Fox's brow furrowed. Admittedly he hadn't given the other Cerinians back in Lylat much thought. It certainly made his skin crawl: the fact that others like Krystal could still be trapped down there, suspended in tanks for endless sleep, never knowing the beauty and freedom of the outside world…

Krystal was right. It did make him feel guilty—but at the same time, he felt averse to the idea. He'd already saved the system once, putting his life on the line and single-handedly turning the course of the war. He couldn't be expected to risk everything again—not when he'd finally found someone worth sharing his life with. He had a home now—a family, even—and unlike before the Lylat Wars when he'd lost everyone, something he could stand to lose.

He glared up past the treetops, identifying Lylat's bright star far above him. It stood out like a shining gem, given it was the most luminous and closest of all the stars, and the only one he didn't recognize. He knew killing Andross and winning the war hadn't solved everything, but from here all the system's problems looked so small and insignificant; so removed from himself. Let someone else save the other Cerinians. Let them sort everything out. He'd done his part. He'd found his home—or maybe he was still running…

"Could we, Fox?" Krystal asked when he didn't answer. "Could we save them?"

Fox sighed, thoughts coming back down to their planet again. "Krystal… I could barely even save you. Imagine how hard it would be to save everyone trapped on Venom. Besides, without a gate, we're locked here on Cerinia. And even if we could make it back to Lylat, there'd be several fleets waiting to pick us up. We can't do anything against odds like that—not without an army, or a host of Cerinians with awesome powers."

Her face fell. "Oh… I understand. Still, I can't help but think of them…"

As the night wore on, their conversation dwindled, and the silence lengthened between their words. With sleep threatening to take them, they turned inwards and drew close, drifting away in a shared embrace. The past few nights Krystal had dreaded succumbing to sleep, knowing full-well the nightmares and memories awaiting her there. But now, lying in Fox's strong arms, she found it surprisingly easy to rest.

While the two vulpines slumbered, the noises of the forest grew to fill the silence left by their voices. Their relaxed breaths competed with a lullaby of insects calling, the wind rustling the overhead blossoms, and the nearby waterfall singing away.

In her sleep, a contented smile had fallen over Krystal's face… but for a second, it twitched.

A few miles away from the forest, just outside the valley, the young Kaitaki named Korā stood on guard duty. Before her flowed the shallow river which separated the dunes from the mountains surrounding Altaira. Up a short dirt path behind her lay the canyon entrance to the village; the place she now guarded was one of the main passes between the mountains.

Restlessly she paced behind the trees lining the river bank: a thin woods which acted like a skirt hem to the side of the mountains. She peered warily between the black tree trunks at the river, watching and listening for any sign of activity. A thick mist lay over the water, obscuring the far shore as usual. But if anyone approached she would most likely sense them coming, or at least hear their sloshing through the water. Still, she hated not being able to see anything. Even knowing she could hear the thoughts of any who approached wasn't enough to abate the young Kaitaki's fear of the darkness.

It was a quiet night like most others, but for some reason she still felt… antsy. Out of a sense of paranoia, she reached out into the darkness with the fingers of her mind, scanning the far shore once again for any hidden presence—

Footsteps approached; footsteps that disturbed the carpet of dried leaves and petals. Korā spun in time to see another Cerinian appear from behind a tree like a phantom, her cloak swishing around her legs so it looked like she'd glided there. Her elder's hooded cowl left only her eyes visible, which sparkled attentively in the starlight.

"Sister Āni," she greeted in little more than a whisper as she dipped her head.

"Sister Korā," her elder curtly returned. "You did not sense my presence. If I was a rogue I could have killed you."

Korā blushed in the darkness and bowed again. "I-I'm sorry, Sister! But I was busy listening to the far shore."

Āni folded her arms in their long, drooping sleeves. "Hm, well, remember not to tunnel your inner vision too much. How goes your watch?"

"Nothing to report. I haven't heard anything from the far shore. But…"

She trailed off, and Āni's eyes narrowed. "You are anxious about something. Why?"

Korā sighed, trying to relax. "I can't really describe it, but something just feels… off. I can't sense anything in particular, yet I have this strange feeling. A feeling like something's out there."

The lines around Āni's eyes creased upward, and Korā knew she wore a knowing smile under her mask. "Everything is alright, my child. There's nothing to be afraid of. You just feel the same restlessness and paranoia every Kaitaki does on her first night of guard duty. The more nights you spend on watch, the less you'll fear the darkness and the mist." Āni turned to look out over the river. "Enjoy the excitement while you still can. Soon you will feel the true tedium of watch duty."

Korā dipped her head again. "Thank you, Sister. Your words are reassuring, though I still can't shake this feeling."

Āni noticeably shivered. "Strange: your paranoia is contagious. Unless…" She frowned and peered into the mist.

"What is it?" Korā asked. It was strange seeing her teacher, who was normally so calm and collected, act this off-put.

'Hush!' Āni spoke to her mind directly. 'I do feel something: perhaps a presence across the water, out in the desert. Listen!'

While everything else in the sheltered glade was peaceful, Krystal felt at anything but rest. She frowned in her sleep. Her ear flicked, followed by sudden, almost imperceptible spasms in her limbs and muscles. She shifted and rolled over in bed.

After a few seconds her breaths quickened, and her chest began to rise and fall faster.

Something made a splash in the river, and Korā nearly jumped out of her pelt. As her heart began to pound, she scanned the surface of the water with her eyes, looking for its source. "Did you hear that?!" she hissed.

Soon, over the sound of the rushing water, the pair of warriors heard a series of sloshes, each coming one after the other.

Āni nodded. 'Yes… yes, I hear it. There's something in the river.'

Korā ducked behind a tree, but still poked her head out to peer at the water. Āni, however, didn't hide—but she at least stood on the alert. 'What is it?!' Korā demanded.

'It's probably nothing,' Āni said. 'Just a large fish of some kind, or a snake. I'd wager it got stuck in the shoals and is struggling to swim back to deeper water. The river is quite shallow here at the ford.'

Her elder's words did nothing to reassure her this time, for her tone sounded uncertain, and she could feel the doubt emanating from her mind like a peculiar stench. Even worse, the sloshing continued to grow louder and louder. Korā wished her teacher would hide with her until they could figure out what it was, yet at the same time she felt silly for possibly overreacting.

Then, just when it grew loudest, the rhythmic sloshing stopped. It was difficult to make out in the starlight, but the mists seemed to part a ways out, billowing and curling off one particular area in spiraling eddies till it left a gap.

A splash sounded, and Korā thought she caught a glimpse of white where the surface was disturbed. A second splash, and the flash of white froth appeared closer. Any resulting ripples were quickly eaten by the flowing surface.

The third splash disturbed the river a few yards directly in front of them, almost having reached the bank. The bubbles subsided, leaving behind a large hole in the water that refused to disappear. It defied all laws of physics: a bucket that refused to fill.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the hole vanished again, filling back in with a rush of water.

And a second hole materialized much, much closer.

With her eyelids scrunched closed, Krystal began to squirm. Before long she broke out into full-on tossing and turning beneath the covers, her motions growing more desperate and erratic by the second.

Her violent jerking eventually disturbed the young todd at her side. He shifted and turned over but otherwise showed no hint of waking, nor reflected any of her same signs of distress.

Āni scowled and struck a fighting stance. She drew her wooden staff and brandished it towards the river and the empty pair of holes in the surface. 'Get back!' she urged Korā; it was too late to run herself.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Show yourself!"

The series of splashes lurched to a stop right next to the shore. The water flowed around two large indentations as if they were the ghosts of stepping stones. Otherwise, no audible answer greeted her challenge.

Āni paused to reach out with her mind, trying to discern what was causing the strange effect in the water. Then, when she found her answer, she gasped and faltered.

'Sister Āni? What's wrong? What is it?'

"Get back, K—!"

But there was a violent disturbance at the water's edge. The mist in front of Āni parted in either direction, only for her to raise off her feet and hurtle through the air. The flailing Cerinian missed Korā's tree by a mere foot, allowing the younger student to feel the breeze from her cloak as the woman passed.

"Sister Āni!"

Unable to figure out what had caused it, Korā turned from the river and rushed into the forest after her. She found her teacher lying flat on her back in a bed of dried leaves and petals, her cloak spread out like a pair of wings beneath her. She lay face up, staring at the overhead canopy with wide eyes.

"Are you alright?!" Korā gasped, falling to her knees beside her.

Āni blinked after a moment, then coughed shallowly. When Korā's eyes adjusted to the dark of the woods she noticed something had torn through the front of her teacher's robe, shredding it. The garment lay in tatters over her chest, discolored by a quickly-growing dark stain. Sharp objects had rent it to pieces, yet the tears didn't seem like any claws she recognized.

Korā jolted when a branch snapped behind her, and the sound of rustling leaves reached her ears. She drew her own staff and spun around to face the intruder, afraid of finding a hulking shadow there. But once again, she found nothing—and that was somehow worse than if she had found something.

"Halt!" she shouted. "D-Don't come any closer!"

But the thrashing sound of the leaves continued to approach, unabated by her words.

Though fear seized her heart, Korā remembered her training. She held one of her hands out and summoned a fistful of leaves into her palm. On her command a fire burst to life from the dried plant matter. She waved her paw back and forth, the flame hovering in sync with it, but the bright light didn't scare off the presence.

Growing more desperate, the Cerinian knelt down and planted her palm on the forest floor. Under her guidance the flames sprang from leaf to leaf, igniting the ground between her and the approaching presence. The entire grove lit up in bright orange light, yet she still couldn't make out what was assailing them. Her fires shot forward till they met an invisible wall, which they futilely attempted to climb up and consume.

Frustrated, Korā caused a gust of wind to lift some of the burning leaves off the ground. They swirled into the air around the wall, revealing it to be more of a column: a defined shape with a significant amount of mass, but completely invisible.

Swallowing, Korā opened her mind and listened for its thoughts, afraid of what she might find.

She was right to be.

The being's soul was as a blackhole of despair, mercilessly sucking in all the warmth from her own spirit. Every hopeful thought, pleasant emotion, and scrap of courage seeped out of her heart to go spiraling down its gorging throat, leaving her chest cold and empty. In return, a maelstrom of raging emotions rushed to fill in their place, assaulting Korā with a thousand screaming voices: voices of fear, sorrow, angst—and hate.

Korā gasped, trying to dislodge her mind before it was consumed in the creature's depths—before it sucked the life from her body—but she was paralyzed where she stood, shuddering in place.

This time there was a low growl like rolling thunder; as if the ground were trembling beneath her sandals. The burning curtain of leaves parted to either side, and the debris at the creature's feet kicked up behind it. A gust of wind rushed to meet Korā, and something hard struck her squarely in the chest. Like her sister before her, the vixen flew backwards and landed against a tree, knocking the wind out of her. She slid down to her seat and lost hold of her staff. She couldn't swing it if she wanted to; she had to focus all of her will on just kickstarting her lungs again.

The carpet of fire continued to burn, illuminating two dents in the piles of leaves only a foot away from the black silhouette of Āni's prone body. Then, right before Korā's eyes, her teacher began to jerk and jolt to either side, strips tearing off of her clothes and flying in either direction. At least, she hoped those were merely pieces of cloth…

Finally Āni came to—but it would've been better if she hadn't. She wailed with each jolt, pain wracking her voice. She raised her hands to ward off the unseen attacker and kicked with her feet, but it was all in vain. She couldn't stop the being from shredding her apart.

By the time Korā regained her breath, all she could do was open her mouth wide and scream.

Krystal bolted upright, eyes snapping open as the last echoes of her cry dissipated between the trees. Finally Fox awoke as well, startled by the loud noise. He rolled to his side in time to see Krystal madly slashing at some invisible foe. She swung her paws wildly, claws extended at the open air—but of course there was nothing there to fight. Her motions caused unnaturally-powerful gusts of wind to rip through the glade, snapping branches clear off of their trees and tearing leaf from stem.

Fox ducked a wild swing, her claws almost cutting his cheek, and he was forced to scramble away from her. The terrified look on her face said she'd probably kill anyone who came close, but what did those wide eyes see that his couldn't?

After a few seconds of her aimless flailing, Krystal realized she was getting nowhere. She had only succeeded in tearing the forest apart, leaving claw marks rent through bark and scraped over stones. Her desperate cries faltered, and the swipes from her arms grew weaker and weaker. She turned to look at Fox, and the todd couldn't help but flinch, fearing the focus of her ire was upon him as her pointed fangs sparkled. In that moment she recognized he was the only other person there, and that her imagined assailants didn't exist—or at least, had since vanished. With her dreamed-up threat gone, Krystal slumped forward and held her head in her hands, shaking.

Fox just stared at her, shocked by the violent way she'd lashed out from her sleep. It dawned on him that everything she'd done to the trees and rocks in the forest glade could have easily happened to him. But when her quiet sobs began to reach his ears, he gulped his fear down and approached her anyway.

"Krystal… what's wrong?"

He sat beside her and carefully touched her shoulder. He half-expected the vixen to pounce as soon as he touched her, but she made no move to.

"Was it another nightmare?" he asked, putting an arm over her shoulder and drawing her close.

"It's gone," she cried, rocking herself in place. "It's-gone-it's-gone-it's-gone-it's-gone…"

"What was it?" he asked gently, gingerly stroking her hair.

She sniffed and tried to keep from crying. "Ugh. I was—I was back in the labs again. It's always the labs. I'm miles and miles away from them, farther than I can even comprehend, yet they keep dragging me back for more of their torture…"

Fox's muscles tensed, an anxiousness seizing his gut, but he asked anyway. "Would it help to show me?"

Krystal didn't answer at first. She continued sniffing back tears, her shoulders shaking.

Preparing himself for what he might see, Fox closed his eyes and timidly focused on their connection.

As soon as their thoughts began to overlap, Fox was assaulted by a repeated set of images. Krystal did her best to shove them down and focus on the present: the subtle glow of the purple mushrooms, the touch of the grass, the warmth of Fox's arms, the sound of the waterfall—but they kept bobbing back up to the surface despite her best efforts, haunting her all the same. Fox knew the predicament well; when confronted with horrific imagery, shutting the mind's eye was tougher than shutting the eyes of the body.

All he managed to catch of the memory was glimpses, but somehow they were worse than the full thing; his mind kept filling in the gaps with a thousand horrid possibilities—each exponentially worse than the last.

He saw the ceiling of a cave and bright, blinding lights facing down at Krystal's eyes. A sprawling, spider-like machine with lanky, hinged arms swung into view, its dark silhouette flailing against the light. While ghostly figures watched from the periphery of Krystal's vision, the skeletal limbs curled inward, like an arachnid's legs upon death, or more appropriately, when it fed on its prey. Against the white light he made out what looked like hundreds of impossibly-thin needles, their sharp points angling down at him. They began to lower a torturous inch at a time while Fox's vision flailed side-to-side, as if Krystal's head were violently shaking—until they finally sank in.

They pierced like a thousand pinpricks of light, each burning with the fiery intensity of a star. And still the arms lowered, sinking their tips deeper. Her flailing immediately stopped, and instead she held completely still so as not to exacerbate the pain of the needles.

The echoes of Krystal's unraveled thoughts at the time reached his ears. He knew she didn't understand the purpose. She didn't know why they were doing it. She turned her head to the side to plead with the Watchers, but their faces remained hidden. She begged them to end it—or at least to end her—but they didn't seem to hear a word she said. Instead they merely repeated,

"Stop it yourself."

When the pain didn't lessen, Krystal's anguish turned to anger, till all Fox saw through her lids was red. She wanted nothing more than to end them—

"NO!" Krystal yelled again, wrenching herself free from Fox's arms. She fell away and caught herself on the ground, shoulders heaving as she struggled to breathe. Fox swayed in place, blinking as he tried to process the horrors he'd seen. The more he tried to put the frenzied pieces together, the more he understood of her suffering, and the more he wished he hadn't. He tried to shake the images, but now knew how hard it was for Krystal to avoid them as well. What once was her memory had also become his. There was no unseeing it.

"I'm sorry Fox," Krystal sobbed, avoiding his gaze. "I finally understand why you hide things from me. You're just trying to protect me. There are some things you shouldn't let anyone else see. I… I want to keep you safe from them, even if I have to bear them alone."

That cut Fox to the quick. He'd always thought of himself as the strong one—the one who made the sacrifices to protect her, trying to shoulder as much of the burden as he could alone. All of her pestering to let her into his head and bare his all, and now she was afraid of doing the same for him. It hurt to think how much their positions had changed since they first met.

Fox's head hung low. "I'm sorry. I failed you. I thought that maybe, if I was there for you, the nightmares would never come in the first place. But they did anyway—even with me by your side." He balled his fist. "I wanted so much to stop them from happening. I wish I had the chance to break into your dreams, or go back in time and put myself between those needles and you. I wish I could just…" he clenched his fists till they shook, "shoot something! But… I can't. I've failed."

Finally Krystal turned around and drew closer to him, a sad smile on her tear-stained cheeks. When she spoke again her voice was soft and tender, immediately soothing his frustration with its mere tone. "Fox… all I wanted was for you to be there when I woke, so you could chase the dreams away. And you did."

Smiling at her earnestness, Fox pulled her in for a hug. She continued to sniff quietly into his chest, dampening his fur.

"I wish they'd all stop," Krystal murmured. "I wish I could forget everything that happened in my past—at least, up till I met you." Her fingers tightened around his chest fur, startling Fox. "I used to fear the Watchers and their beasts, but now I don't anymore. I just hate them. I know they couldn't hurt me if they tried to imprison me now. I've grown too strong for them. I've learned too much." She clenched her teeth, looking past Fox. "I hate how much power they have over me, even after you killed them all. I hate the Cornerians too, for keeping me in those caves and chasing us away when you freed me. Even my own damn people want to lock me up and control me, telling me what to do and who I can see and love. They want to keep the two of us apart. I don't know who they're more afraid of: you, or me."

"Krystal," Fox tried to soothe, "they're only doing what they think is best—"

"I don't care! All I know is they're hurting me—they're hurting us, and that's enough. I wish I didn't feel so lost and confused. I wish I could do… something. Maybe if I worked more at growing and mastering these powers I have, I could use them for good." He felt her fists clenching atop his chest, as if she were testing her own strength. She growled, becoming impassioned again. "I could return with you to that dark planet and brush away the guards and the ships and the walls in our way as if they were the petals on this hill! Then we'd rescue the rest of my sisters and bring them somewhere safe, and no one would dare stop us!"

Krystal sighed and buried her head in Fox's shoulder again. "Maybe it's best if I didn't think about it, like you said, but… I can't help it. Sometimes I just feel so frustrated and trapped…"

While the vixen seemed to be calming down again, her outburst of angst alarmed Fox. Flashes of memories from the past few months raced before his vision: the awesome power contained in the Bolse satellite; his mother's face dancing with sparks and licks of rainbow flames as Andross pulled her free from its core; her stone statue weeping in the Garden of Tears; the blinding flash and peal of thunder high up on the mountains, where Krystal had been meditating; and now the eviscerated trees and torn branches surrounding them from when she'd woken in a fright.

While his paranoid eyes darted over the scars torn in the trees and stones, Namah's warning came back to him: "If her condition worsens, and you continue to stay by her side, there's a very real chance she may unintentionally…"

"…Fox?"

He flinched, remembering even his thoughts weren't safe from Krystal. He prayed she hadn't caught a glimpse of any of those worries.

"What's wrong?" she prodded.

"It's nothing," he assured—but he held her at arm's length to get a good look at her. "Do you feel better now? Are you sure you're okay?"

Krystal met his eyes and nodded. "Yes, it's passed." She smiled sheepishly. "I didn't mean to scare you like that. Sometimes it's hard for me to tell the dreams from reality. I'm sorry I startled you."

He chuckled—a little more nervously than he would have liked. "I don't mind, but we should get some rest for tomorrow. We can't stay up all night like this."

"I know, but I wish we could…"

Krystal crawled under the covers again, but Fox was slower to follow, gingerly sliding in next to her and leaving some space between them. Of course she wasn't content with that and slid up against him, forcing him to hug her. Once they were silent, the sound of the waterfall and the wind in the leaves returned to soothing their ears, and Fox's pounding heart against Krystal's relaxed beating.

Finally, when he felt sure Krystal had fallen asleep, Fox allowed himself to exhale freely. He hated to admit it, but the thought of spending every night with her began to worry him. He wanted his presence to bring her peace, but he didn't think he'd have to trade his in return. He no longer felt like he could be free and open with every thought in his mind; not when they might worry or frighten Krystal if she saw them. If she knew that he really did fear her, just like Mother Namah and everyone else did, then she'd never trust him again…

If his own mother, a Lylatian, had but a mere taste of that intense power and turned herself to stone to thwart it, what was the girl in his arms capable of? How could he live with her, stay by her side night after night, much less make love to her, having to hide those thoughts while knowing she was capable of…

He didn't allow himself to finish that thought. Instead he looked at the form of Krystal lying peacefully unaware in his arms.

…Maybe it was a trick of the darkness, or the faint purple glow of the mushrooms, but for a split second, Fox saw the vixen's sea of blue fur bathed in red.

The instant Korā's scream faded, the Cerinian felt a strong gust of wind. It snuffed out the fire in the forest, blowing away whatever was attacking Sister Āni as well. The wind—and the mysterious force with it—dispersed through the trees. It blew right past her, rifling through her cloak and fur coat to chill her very bones.

Korā sat slumped against the tree for a minute, catching her breath. Besides her desperate gasps and the flowing of the river, the shore had fallen silent again. Now her mind burned with a single question:

What in Lilith's name was that?!

Then she remembered Āni.

With her aching limbs protesting, she lifted herself up and stumbled to her teacher's side. The other vixen still lay flat on her back with her cloak spread out beneath her, but Korā gasped when she saw the shear amount of blood covering her torso. She knelt by her side and listened for any thought waves signifying she'd survived, then gasped back tears of relief when she found them.

Closing her eyes, she broadcast her thoughts as loudly as she could, praying the other nearby watchwomen would hear her call for help and come to her aid. Āni's life was at stake, and the Kaumatua had to be warned. She had to tell someone of the night's events, and fast—

Before it ran loose in the valley.