ORIGIN

Pride lay quiet, one foreleg folded beneath him, the other idly forward. His pale gaze was settled on a small stone set before him, and his ears were cupped forward, his expression absent and solemn.

The sardonyx was still, lifeless Pride might have said, were it not for the lingering energy that he'd sensed in it. But... the energy was weak. Barely a hint, a touch, a whisper of a breath remaining. Around this stone there was a sense of tragedy, a sad song that seemed to touch the dark around him in silence.

He knew the dog's story only in the most distant terms. A hound, one of those who had gone to the Trials and fallen there. The stone had been retrieved during his trip through Hydra with one of the other survivors--one who'd wanted to gather the gemstones of her fallen friends--but he'd done nothing with it. It hadn't, he'd imagined, been his to do anything with. So he'd kept it safe, this sardonyx--neatly tucked away--and waited. Waited, for the dog's friends to come searching. Waited, for someone--anyone--who'd known Styx to come for it.

Nobody had.

The dog had been forgotten, his stone abandoned. This knowledge had settled cold and uneasy in the stag's gut, and he'd thought about it more and more as he went about his daily life. He'd be drifting off to sleep, and wonder, abruptly, if the dead dog's soul still lingered somewhere. Or he'd be drinking from a creek in Eridanus, and wonder if the dog had ever crossed this path. Perhaps, even, stood in the same place he did now.

He'd never know. And the dog would never know him.

Pride took a breath, and exhaled gently, studying the stone somewhat sadly. He could try to give it life--Ember's recent foray into parenthood had spurred Pride to that decision--but if he failed... If he failed, there was no going back. The stone would die, well and truly and completely, and no whisper of that dog would remain.

He leaned down, and pressed his nose to the stone--and his characteristic (albeit fairly well-earned) arrogance floated a thought through his mind: of anyone in the caves, however, perhaps I alone have the best chances of success. It was a steadying thought, in a sense--if anybody had a good chance to revive the stone successfully, Pride did. Yet it was a dismal one, too; the responsibility for this life was on his shoulders, and his alone.

He pulled upright a little. It seemed wise, perhaps, to... not to make a ritual of this, but to give it the respect that it deserved. To get to know, even--in his own way--who the stone's owner had truly been.

"Tell me of yourself," he murmured to it gently, kindly. "-Show me."

Visions swept his mind from the present. Rather than the still and dusty dimness of Orion, he found himself transported: lurched suddenly into a place of horrors. The air was claustrophobically dark, cutting off his vision only a few meters in each direction. The sand underfoot fell away into pits and divots of poison water. Hydra, he recognized at once, sick horror roiling in his stomach.

There were Gembound everywhere--and many were strangers to him. A spined reptile with long legs, a long-necked creature with dark spots that towered above the rest, a goat-like creature, and others with mixed features that would be difficult to describe, let alone identify. Yet there were those he'd met--and with rising dismay, he realized that most of them were no longer alive. The eagle he'd met in passing--she yet lived. The strange horse. And Sora--the little piglike creature--she was the one who'd come to him, who'd asked his help in retrieving the stones. Yet the shock of other Gembound sent him reeling, and Pride very nearly lost his grip on the spell.

Fireheart. The white wolf--Ember's stonegiver--was speaking. They were all speaking, talking over one another in tones that were frantic or commanding. 'As soon as I was in the dark, the light went out. And something attacked. ...This might be the torch-? I will try to light it.'

Someone else's voice rose, panicked, screaming, and drowned out anything more he might have said. He fought to maintain the magic, searching for any sign of the small brown stone, and then-

'Hey--hey... calm down some and... stick together. Keep talking about things--okay? Or hum. Keep yourself... um, occu-... occupied so you can... focus...' Pride jolted. Horror. He knew that voice.

Nassir.

His old friend.

His old friend, who had gone to protect others.

His old friend, who'd never come back.

He stared, grief rising like a wild tide, as the black leopard paced past--an echo, a falsehood seen only in Pride's mind. I am so sorry, Nassir. He'd brought the cat's stone back to life, yet--Nassir himself would never live again. He'd never know that Pride had seen his last moments. For that's what this was--he was sure of that. And-

His attention was pulled away as a dog broke free of the group. The hound was tall, lanky but muscled, bright rust-colored markings splashed across his legs and muzzle, and above his eyes. Yet more striking still were the black wings carefully mantled over his back. He was coming up alongside Fireheart, Fireheart who was blasting the torch with flame; and he was sniffing around its edges. Retching.

But Pride caught a glimpse of the stone between this dog's eyes: that striated brown, the same stone that lay now before him, many cycles later. So it was you, he mused, trying to focus on this, though the temptation to simply lay here and look at these old images of his friends for hours--even days--was overwhelming. But he knew what came next.

And dwelling on that-... would do no one any good. In any case, he did not control what he would see--and even now, the spell was fading.

Pride took a breath, and with a miserable effort, let it go.

He lay quiet for a few long moments, thinking over what he'd seen--trying to memorize all those faces, the voices he'd heard crying out, agonized or comforting-... Nassir, you helped others even in your final moments. He had not expected to see this. I should have realized, he thought, and gently shook his head.

He gave himself a few moments of rest, and tried to clear his mind.

Pride still wanted to get to know this dog a little better--so even if he failed, some memory of him would yet live on. He simply hoped he would not see worse. Wouldn't see Nassir's death, or Fireheart's. And he almost feared that he wouldn't.

He took a breath, and cast out his magic again, trying to focus on a sense of reverence and not the lurking dread.

The vision was weaker, this time, but perhaps... that was for the best.

Not that there was much to see.

It was nearly pitch black--an unnatural darkness, that claustrophobic shadow closed completely in. There were voices in the distance--receding voices--and Pride realized at once that the gurgling, the gasping and thrashing, that he was hearing was Styx.

Styx had been left behind. He caught only the briefest glimpse, the faintest flash of light, over the dog's body: he was staggering, choking and retching more than before, and now he was falling. His body hit the sand--still alive--with a dull thud; and somewhere far away, a voice jolted Pride into a similarly nauseous recognition.

'Help!' Nassir-... '...My light went out... I can't see.' Nassir, no. 'Please, help me!' They left you both behind?! The leopard's voice was unnerving--not only his words, which were heartrending, but his tone. It was empty. Hopeless-? It sent prickles up Pride's spine; it raised the fur along his neck to hear it.

Other voices faded, and he tried to focus again on Styx: but he could no longer see the dog, all the light having left him far behind--left him to die--and the rasping breaths had faded.

Pride lay silent for a long moment after the magic had faded, the horror of what he'd seen leaving him deeply troubled. He hadn't wanted to see this--but perhaps some remnant of the dog had wanted it to be seen.

I am very sorry, he lamented. It was courageous of you to go. To protect others. I am sorry for your death. Rage sparked unexpectedly, a deep, red-hot fury at the Masters and their games. Then and there, Pride decided to sabotage their plans wherever possible--from within, if he could. Bastards. There is no justification for something like this. None.
He closed his eyes, and took a breath.

Let me see something else, this time, he thought, miserably. Something... about who you were. Something with you living... not dying.

What he saw next was a quiet moment, one that almost felt... private. Yet it wasn't, not really; it was just that the dog was alone, the easily-recognizable glow of Polaris all around him.

The rush of the river churned past, and he pounced abruptly for its sparkling surface. Pride had little time to wonder why; a moment later the dog had flipped a shining, silver-scaled fish from the water, lobbing it onto land. He was young, Pride saw, and had no wings: just growing into his body, still round, his ears oversized and floppy, his paws too big and his belly round. Yet he was hunting successfully--or so it seemed; the vision quickly faded.

It told him little, yet somehow it was even more personal than seeing Styx's death. It was a glimpse into the dog's life. It was proof that he had been: proof that he'd lived, that he'd travelled this caves, that he'd once existed here at all.

Pride contemplated this in respectful silence for a time, and then, with a gentle shake of his head, he pressed his magic for the stone again. One last vision, before I try it--I can't risk wearing myself out first, he reasoned. But somehow, the thought felt distant; he felt drained.

All of it felt so far away, somehow.

His magic faltered, the vision brief and fleeting.

There was a crack, and Pride's mind filled with snapping stone, its striated brown falling away in broken shards. A puppy pushed from the ruined chrysalis.

A child. A newly-hatched baby.

He was more paws than body, enormous ears hanging along his head, and Pride 'stared' in awe as he watched Styx open his eyes for the very first time.

Watched as he took his first breath.

Watched as he looked down at the broken stone around him, down at his own paws--and then looked around, and yawned.

Just like that, it was gone, but he was left with a settling feeling of awe.

I have seen his death... and now his birth. The realization was a powerful one. The dog was gone--he would always be--yet now he, Pride, had seen glimpses of his life (if brief) from start to finish. It told him almost nothing of the person Styx had been.

He could only tell that the little puppy had lost his tail, at some point, and gained a pair of wings; and that he'd died in Hydra, left behind. Yet somehow it seemed almost... enough. Enough to know he'd lived, and died, and hatched like anyone else.

It was a terrible weight of knowledge, to see those innocent child's eyes, after having just seen the death that would await them. Yet somehow it held promise. If not of new life for this stone, then of others. We all die, yes... but we all live, too.
Pride took a breath, and let it out.

That drained sensation, that feeling of grief and exhaustion, was pouring through him.

But there was one thing yet left to do.

He steeled himself, pulling his foreleg out from beneath him and bracing his hooves to the stone, leaning down to eye the lost sardonyx with sympathy. "I will try to make a new child from this," he told the stone softly, "but whether I succeed or fail... know that you will not be forgotten."

With that said, he took a breath, and focused, and tried not to fear the possibility of failure.

It took.

The realization--as the magic took root, flowing through the stone--took Pride almost by surprise. He pulled back, blinking, then hastily finished guiding his energy into it.

Warmth flickered through him. Awe. Gratitude, even, to some unknown source. You'll live. Gently, he reached down again, and again touched his nose to the sardonyx--the gemstone even now spreading to latch itself to the stone below. You'll live.
Those images of Styx--and the haunting memories of Nassir, Fireheart and all the rest on the tail of him--flashed through Pride's mind. He blinked heavily, then closed his eyes, a sharp sigh almost like a sob rushing from his chest. He laid his head down alongside the stone, quiet, his mind churning with so many thoughts and emotions that the chaos seemed to turn somehow to silence.

Styx would not come back to life, no. But it was as though his final vision--the hatching pup--had been a promise. Pride did not know--might not ever know--Styx's name. But he'd seen the child, and now... the cycle would continue. A new life would be born from what remained, and like so he had done with so many, Pride would do his best to care for them.

Rest now, he thought, rest, and grow, and dream; and waken when you are ready. I will rest too--but I will be here, waiting for you. The thought, past his cutting grief, was a gentle one, and warm.

His mind--exhausted by magic and emotion--soon drifted away, to be lost in dreams of the faces of strangers and those of friends long gone.