The cycles had passed by Arcturus quicker then it had thought possible. The days had bled softly into the next, forming a routine of wandering, discovering, talking, learning, and overall surviving that had, at last, grown far too boring for the now grown feline to endure much longer. Its wandering course had led it back to, of course, Orion, which had become one of its favorite spots to settle, on account of the glowing crystals that dotted the ceiling, reminding itself almost uncannily like its own beautiful mane and, strangely, of home. What home it was missing it couldn't tell, but here it found it, among Orion's stars.
But the cave wasn't as quiet as it had been before. Loud yells and hollers echoed from the forum, roars of pain and brutish encouragement rang in Arc's ears, stirring its curiosity, despite the feeling of dread pooling in its stomach. And, of course, unable to resist temptation, it had investigated. And now it wished it never had.
Arcturus wasn't a stranger to violence. It wasn't naive or foolish enough to think that everyone lived in a quiet world, that morality was universal and peace was as steady as the walls of the caves - in fact, it had seen many acts of violence in its cycles of life and even committed some itself. It was, after all, a hunter. While its mane brought nutrients through the air, it wasn't enough to quell its predatory hunger. It understood that there was a balance of life - predators hunted prey out of necessity alone and it did not grieve over the lessers it killed, only thanked them for their life and the nourishment they brought.
But this...this was different. This was pure brutality. Greater against Greater. Hurting, killing, brutalizing each other while spectators roared their approval. Wasting life for entertainment, proving "worth" by killing their brethren. And not just the killing but the gruesome, horrific way they fought, as if each wound against the other healed one of their own, as if their life and health and happiness depended on inflicting more and more misery and anguish, on spilling blood, on ending life not to survive but just for the purpose of ending life. Oh, what greater beings existed, what Gods looked down on the caves, Arcturus hoped that they looked on them with the same confusion and horror that was churning the poor feline's stomach.
And the worst part of it all...was that these were no mere strangers. There were no authorities in the caves that Arcturus was aware of, yet figures of power - their names and descriptions passed along from gembound to gembound - were perhaps as close to respected as one could get in its eyes, and many of these figures, which Arcturus before had assumed would frown upon acts such as these, were not only there and spectating, but participating! Cheering! Egging on the violence, encouraging the fighters to rip each other to pieces! It was an unthinkable crime, to Arcturus, yet none of them seemed aware of this. It was a crime against nature itself to tear apart life so cruelly, more so to enjoy it, and these Deathmatches and thrown chaos into all Arcturus had ever known.
It didn't know what to do. It didn't know where to go. The memories of what it had seen, even just in passing, would, perhaps, haunt it for a long while yet. It was so fresh and horrifyingly vivid right now that it rendered the poor thing a trembling mess, crouched near a pool of water, slowly lapping up water in an attempt to quell its agitated nerves. Water always helped. Why wasn't it doing much now?
He needs to get out of this place.
It's all—it's all just too much. The violence and the blood and the screaming, snapping, snarling; the cheering from the audience, as if it's just some sport, and not Gembound tearing each other apart for entertainment.
Some part of him feels guilty for wanting to run. Some part of him thinks—well, everyone's doing this for fun. Everyone signed up for this. Everyone down in that pit wanted this.
But it's one thing to think that and another thing to see it really happening right before his eyes. And, sure, his sister's down there in the arena, and he's—he's proud of him, he thinks, for being so brave, for daring to go against those snapping, snarling monsters with only a spear in paw to defend himself, but he's also seen the other matches and he's seen bodies being dragged backstage, already decomposing into Oil. The images of Elroy's chrysalis, surrounded by sopping bits and pieces of what was once a bird, keeps flashing in his mind's eye.
He doesn't want to ruin it for everyone else in the stands—after all, they're having fun watching this, somehow. His own dad was shouting and cheering Hunter on like nothing was wrong. And he's not a spoilsport, and he's an adult, and he should be better than this, but he just—
—he can't. He can't take the violence. He can't take all the blood, the suffering. He remembers those bodies that were dragged out of the arena and he remembers the city beneath the waves, how he ventured down below and nearly chrysalized because of the kraken that was down there, his veins filled with sickness, and he can't help but think…
Could I have died down there?
Could his chrysalis have failed, too? He doesn't understand why those Gembound died instead of returning to their stone. He doesn't understand why they didn't just chryalize to see another day.
He's never thought about death much before. He thought Elroy was dead, once, but then he wasn't and things were okay, but now the thoughts refuse to stop haunting him.
He's gonna die some day, right? It's—it's natural. The same way the Lessers he hunts for food die eventually too, and he hasn't thought about it much before but now the memory of little bones snapping between his teeth makes him sick to his stomach.
He doesn't want to think about death. He doesn't want to think about the bodies in the arena, the bloodshed, the screaming Gembound, and yet the thoughts cling to him like tar.
He has to get out of this place.
He slinks out of the Forum without telling anyone, not even Dad—as much as he thinks he would be concerned for him, and it would be very nice to receive a hug from his big strong arms and be told everything's okay right now, he just… he can't. Dad seems so excited, and Hunter's trying his best, and he can't ruin it for them.
He'll just have to be big and strong and deal with this on his own, right? He's an adult. He can deal with things on his own now.
So why are his legs trembling underneath him, and why does he feel like he's about to throw up?
He stumbles away from the Forum with shaking paws and makes a beeline for—he doesn't know. Something. Anything. Anything that's in the direction of not the arena, anything that's just away from that place that's drowning in blood and death.
Eyes blurred with held back tears, he almost stumbles into someone else.
Tail lashing, he flinches away from the touch; he feels warm gas ghost along his side, and the sensation is alien enough that it brings him back to the present, restarting his brain and pulling him away from an impending panic attack.
Now that he's actually looking, the other Gembound—well, it looks kinda like him. If you squinted and tilted your head, anyway—the glowing eyes and the wings and the red fur are alien as anything, but he can see the shape of a cat in those sparkling nebulas. It's not like he isn't a little alien now, too—what with the new eyes he hasn't quite gotten used to and the glands down his back that he hasn't quite figured out how to use—and he can't help but feel a sense of kinship with it.
And it's—it's… trembling, too, just like he is, and the familiar urge to help overrides his own shock and horror at the deathmatch he just fled from.
Its head is somewhere else, body almost mindlessly lapping up the water now in a steady, mechanical rhythm, but it doesn't last for long. Somewhere in the back of its mind it hears pawsteps growing closer and closer before something heavy runs right into it - not aggressively, but a soft bump, just enough to throw Arcturus off balance. It lets out a soft high-pitched yelp, paws stumbling to the side and wings pulling out in an effort to avoid falling into the pool of water, managing to regain its balance just a moment later.
It turned to look at whoever had run into them as its wings folded back in against its body, wondering what had happened to cause it to run right into them. After all, the cave was wide and empty, plenty of room around them to walk. It was either a purposeful act or their mind had been too far elsewhere to worry about where they were walking.
Eyes immediately began pointing out the many different aspects of the creature in front of it. It looked fairly normal, sort of like Arcturus itself without the wings and mane, fur more a natural color, yet there were more eyes then usual. Strange. But one thing that it noticed, right at the same time as Asteri, was that this stranger was trembling and there was a look of fear in its eye.
Their instincts were mirrored, apparently, as Arcturus opened its mouth to ask exactly the question he asked it first. It was so caught off guard that it was silent for a moment before its voice caught back up.
...Oh. That was it. They had been coming from the direction of the Deathmatches, hadn't they?
Arcturus felt a grim sort of kindred spark between it and the newcomer upon this realization. Perhaps they were as horrified from the violence as it was. They hoped they were, at least. Anyone with sense should be.
He winces, ears pinning back awkwardly at the mention of his near-crash—but there's a bit of a smile on his face as he looks back at it, and he even manages to put a bit of humor in his tone.
Next time he, uh... flees from a deathmatch in utter terror and revulsion because he thought he could handle the blood (he's a grown adult after all) but he couldn't, he couldn't...
...it's unsurprising that its next remark is right on the nose, and Astéri shudders.
He was in the stands, watching the fights, kept checking in and glancing back at a couple of the matches even though he knew he shouldn't, he shouldn't, it would only lead to more revulsion and Astéri knew that and, yet... yet it was like he couldn't stay away. A moth driven to the flame.
How could they enjoy that? How could anyone enjoy that? He knows they were all having their fun and Hunter seemed to be okay enough, before all the blood finally caught up to him and he fled the scene, and Dad was even cheering but... the appeal is lost on him.
His tail is lashing, now, thrashing behind him in agitation, as he stares down at the water and stares down at a reflection that isn't quite his and tries to block out the raucous cheering behind him.
...at first I thought it was fine, y'know? 'Cause—'cause we've all gotten hurt, we've all chrysalized at some point. 's how I got these eyes. But, um—I... I was watching, and I couldn't stop watching, it was all just happening and I couldn't look away and—"
He stumbles over his words, nearly choking on them; horror makes his throat stick and makes it feel like he's not getting enough air.
...they just dragged them away. Just like that. As if someone hadn't just died in front of them. And it got me thinking... why didn't he go into chrysalis? Is it just—is it just luck? Is everyone in there just... just taking a chance?
And... and... I know—everyone in there, they volunteered. They signed up to go get beaten bloody into the dirt. But it's still just... it's not..."
His face twists up and he sniffles; voice trembling, he struggles to not let his watery eyes boil over into tears.
Arcturus watched the leopard's behavior, taking a step away from the pool as he stepped forward, staring blankly at his own reflection. It shivered at its mumbling voice and nodded in agreement, swallowing heavily.
Well it didn't need much time to wonder, as words upon words began spilling out of the leopard's mouth. Perhaps a lesser creature would have found this - a stranger walking up, nearly bumping into it, and then venting its emotions - to be strange or annoying, but Arcturus listened with a quiet, curious patience and understanding for Asteri's plight, moving a little closer to his side, to let its presence be known - it was here and it was listening.
It was quiet from then on, nodding solemnly in agreement, although it noted to itself that it hadn't chrysalized yet, and it hoped it never would. Perhaps that was what gave so many this laid back attitude towards death. They weren't afraid of it because, if it happened, they could just crawl back to their chrysalis. It grimaced. That didn't make any of this even remotely okay.
Arcturus swallowed heavily and, after a moment or two, broke the silence.
At the sound of sniffling, Arcturus paused, pulling its head out of its own disgust in favor of help. It couldn't do much, though, at least right now, but offer comfort. It sidled closer and carefully unfolded a wing, draping it softly over Asteri's back.
It shook its head, bewildered and disgusted.
He shrugs, tail giving a little flick as he returns to staring back down at his own reflection.
A sigh.
As horrified as he is by all the violence, all the bloodshed, he'll give them that. Because they're his family, and he loves them, and dad chose him and took him in from the flames all those cycles ago and he can give them this. This strange thing that they seem so thrilled by, even though Astéri can hardly retain his revulsion.
He wonders if any of them have noticed he's wandered off. Maybe, although Astéri's always had a penchant for wandering. Dad will probably ask about it in any case.
He wonders if he should tell them. They would care, sure, and it would be nice to have another to talk to, another to lean on and cry to, but again—he doesn't want his own hangups to ruin their fun. Let them enjoy their blood and gore. He'll... he'll busy himself with something else, instead. Maybe practice his flame, if he can find a place to do it without burning anything else down in the process.
We're given one life. The idea feels disingenous with what Astéri has experienced before. Sure, rationally, he gets it—and witnessing death, real, actual death first-paw has etched the idea deep into his mind. But it's one thing to know that, one thing to even witness it, the death of a stranger... but quite another, when he's seen his friends and family chrysalize. When he's chrysalized before, under the will of a Master.
He's put himself in dangerous situations before, charged into the fray no matter the tremble of his paws, but those occasions, they... they had a point. He was protecting others. Protecting his fellow Gembound. But this...?
He takes comfort in the warmth of a wing over him, leaning into the touch as he gathers his jumbled thoughts together.
Not this."
He lapses into silence after his speech, contemplating his reflection. Not particularly looking at it, or the water; just pointing his eyes in the general direction, latching onto the vision of anything but the heavy sight of Gembound dueling like animals that still wars in his brain. Quietly, he wrestles with the buzz of emotions flowing through his chest like lightning—giving a muted thump of his tail or a twitch of a paw every now and then, but otherwise, still.