ORIGIN

Daughter
the voice in my head was no longer my own.

She busies herself with enjoying the cool water; with gently dipping her muzzle into the stream and shifting to splash water on her shoulder, careful not to accidentally splash her siblings. She watches them out of the corner of her eye, still fascinated with their shifting form, their neon lights—slightly enraptured, even, as they disperse.

The thought of so many eyes watching over her, their brief check for danger that hums in their thoughts, makes her feel so very safe. She is safe with them; although she doubts that she was in danger even before, there’s something about their presence that makes her feel better and less on edge about her burn.

She takes turns watching them and wetting her fur, shifting from using the river to soothe her burn to washing herself, making sure the minute debris stuck between her paws and in her silver-grey fur is swept away. This is important, a duty on par with feeding and aiding Mother—cleanliness is order, and order is good.

It’s while she’s doing this, making sure every speck of dirt that could have potentially found itself into her fur is groomed away, that Legion speaks—she pauses to give them her full attention, nodding softly. I was, she confirms.

Briefly, she considers attempting to summon another light as demonstration, but decides to put it off for the moment; after the disastrous result of last time, she thinks it’s better to save it for another time. Instead, she explains with imagery and concept, the thought of her little floating light passing through their link as she elaborates—I was going to hunt for Mother, she thinks. I thought my magic could be used as— She pauses, searching for the word, —a lure.

There’s a thread of anticipation around the words ‘my magic’—a thought of excitement over what more could be done with her magic, what more could be used to aid the hive.

And then a question comes to her—do her siblings have magic, too? She could, of course, simply check through memories, but something about this conversation is… soothing. There’s something about the beat of actual words rather than concepts and one mind delving into others that Daughter finds herself enjoying. It’s new to her; Solis and Pallas mostly preferred thought, and she… didn’t know anything besides thought.

This is nice.

Daughter
the voice in my head was no longer my own.
A kaleidoscope of thoughts and concepts reaches her mind as Legion answers her question, the familiar buzz of their speech providing a backdrop for their teachings as Daughter listens attentively, trying to grasp everything she can. Fire, light, shadow… her magic sounds a lot like fire, doesn’t it? It doesn’t… look like fire, she doesn’t think, not the fire that Legion had shown her, but it certainly acts like fire.

As proven by the burn lingering on her shoulder and the charred fur bordering it.

The shadows stun her the most, she thinks; light is everywhere, immutable except for the times where the light above dims and everything sleeps, (ni-ght, the word is) and the thought of someone being able to drain the light away at will really puts the power of magic into her mind.

Magic changes the world. She only has to practice, and she’ll have that kind of power on her side.

She’ll have that kind of power for Mother.

She watches attentively as the swarm gathered on the banks rises up, coalescing into one, near-solid form, the tiny insects becoming one whole thing—I want to be like that, she thinks idly to herself, not for the first time, but most of her attention is focused on how the swarm changes, flaring first to a near-alabaster tone accented by brief, internal flickers of blue that she thinks is quite pretty, and then darkening into a mass of shadow that she also thinks is pretty, if less colorful.

And impressive, too—she can see how easy that would make it to hide away from anything that wanted to hurt them.

At their comment, she glances down at the brook she’s sitting in and laughs silently in a huff of air. It would have been safer, wouldn’t it?

Then again, she had no idea her magic burned. She only had the idea that it served as a simple light, a lure in some cases… and, well, something that can light and burn is more useful than something that just acts as a light, isn’t it?

She just has to figure out how to do that again without burning herself in the process.

Daughter bobs her head in a nod at Legion’s words about finding a mentor. I should ask him; perhaps he knows someone who does use fire if he does not use it himself?

It’s better than trying to learn alone, anyways; she doesn’t know what she would have done if Legion wasn’t there to help her when her magic backfired.

Daughter
the voice in my head was no longer my own.
She hums back to her siblings under her breath, all pretty, all wonderful, all connected and wielding equally pretty magic—she looks their form over and thinks of who they are and feels nothing but soft, sweet familial love for them.

And then it’s back to the topic of magic, and she gives a quiet, questioning noise before the brother Legion speaks of comes to mind; many-horned and black and towering, absolutely massive, and she has no doubt that if she comes to him she will barely reach above his foot. Yes—she gets the feeling this is the type of gembound who knows fire. She has no doubt; she can’t wait to seek him out in the future. Surely he must be a master of fire, impressive as that!

She shifts, remembering her original goal well enough—she was going to use her magic to help hunt for Mother, before she got, well, burned by it. Daughter glances back at her burn; it feels much better now that she’s been soaking in the water for a few minutes, but she doesn’t know if she’s even up for chasing down a lesser to infect… should I?

And then, a sense of quiet happiness from her dances across their bond at their words. I’m glad you found me, she says, humming softly in gratefulness. I don’t know what I would have done without you, had you not been here to help.

A beat. And you make good company.

After all, she’s barely thought about her injury unless her train of thought brought it up; it still aches faintly with the too-hot feeling of a burn, but talking with Legion and sitting in the brook takes her mind off of it.

Daughter
the voice in my head was no longer my own.
That would be good, Daughter thinks, gratitude behind her voice. She can’t help but feel a little selfish, at asking Legion to do this for her—surely she can walk by now, with how much time she’s spent in the water?

But, then again, maybe not. The burn still aches despite her efforts; the steady flow of cool water helps, but maybe she isn’t able to run or chase or hunt like she should. Maybe she won’t be until it heals a little more.

And Legion is right—they will always be connected. Even if her siblings went to the opposite side of the caves, she would still be able to sense their thoughts, still be able to talk to them from afar.

The thought is comforting; she feels safe, entangled in this web of family and their minds.

And as Legion assures her that it is okay—no, important for her to rest, she smiles mentally.

Okay, she says, at length. Thank you.

Daughter
the voice in my head was no longer my own.
Daughter settles herself into the river and continues to groom back her white fur, the feeling of being watched settling over her like a warm blanket, contentment rising up in her chest.

Indeed, they are watching; thousands of her siblings taking up sentry duty, keeping her safe as she rests and recovers.

How wonderful her family is—how wonderful Mother is, to link her to Legion and all her other siblings like this, to be connected in a way others cannot.

How wonderful, indeed.