ORIGIN

Pride was, as it turned out, gone for nearly four hours. It was a long time, really--not because of the actual length of seconds and minutes ticking quietly by at the abandoned Throne, but because of the two gemstones hidden away in the new cluster of foliage flourishing in the shadows a little way off. These were chrysalises, rapidly growing: one still small, the other almost his size after only a few days. Pride didn't want to leave them alone for very long, but the journey to Eridanus to properly feed was a necessity--even with the garden now growing here, he couldn't risk eating too much or he'd destroy it.

Even so, four hours was a rush. In the past he'd been gone for half a day, a day, or more. Now he was trotting back and forth as swiftly as he could, concern for the chrysalises thudding between his ribs, as if that space were now hollow otherwise.

The clatter of his hooves announced his approach first, and the sound of his sharp, strong breaths heaving in and out came a moment later. He was near-snorting each exhale, having run much of the way here, and his form was briefly visible: a shrouded white, darting through Orion's gloom back past the throne. It was the small white hare behind him that stopped, coming up on her hind legs, peering at the visitors from a distance--and she who alerted her master of their presence. A moment after he'd vanished he popped his head back out, and then stepped out slowly, peering with concern at Aethereal's alien form.

He looked to James, then, silent--if the horse was here, and seemed this calm (relatively-speaking) then it wasn't immediate danger. At least, he hoped it wasn't. The chrysalises were safe, so he tried to pull himself together, drawing himself up and stepping over to meet them.

"James--and hello, I am Pride. Is everything all right?" he asked, looking back to the horse, trying not to stare at the dripping-black, seemingly severed head.

Trying not to think, what the hell is this, with horror dawning in his heart.

Pride nodded at Aethereal's greeting, and then at once felt foolish: could she even see? A twitch of a grimace crossed his features, and he listened, offering quiet interjections now and again. "I will be there for that," he noted, regarding the 'war.' He certainly hoped it didn't come to true war, but there was really no telling, in the end. He was about to ask why she didn't want this when she explained, herself. 'Mother raised me. Gave me a home.' A meaningful glance--with another, deeper grimace--was flashed James's way; now he understood why James had come here. "A dragon's home..?" he began, but before he could go on, James was offering his own information. Cepheus--Pride didn't really know of this place, but it didn't matter much. And a mention of Vargas. 'I don't know who else to bring her to,' and Pride felt a sort of weary, faintly-annoyed humor at this.

James always came to him when he needed him, but never to offer anything of his own; but Pride supposed that was his own damn fault for styling himself a 'guardian.' 'Pick up the uniform, take on the job,' was what he might have thought, had he any idea what either of those things were. Still, he-... Missed Nassir.

Pride exhaled. The Vargas threat pissed him off immensely and immediately, and his silver eyes flashed with anger. "I would not recommend talking to monsters," he said softly, "but avoid him completely. You're free to stay here, and if he does try to harm you he'll have to deal with me, first." A trickle of fear struck him--was he really offering to fight Vargas?--but this was quickly eclipsed by careless annoyance. Yes, and fuck it. He can fight gravity, he thought to himself, heatedly.

A slow exhale escaped him as he tried to recompose himself, and he looked to Aethereal again. "I can show you what I know of Mother, mind-to-mind, if you wish the truth. One of our own was taken by her, once, as I suppose you were--infected by her fungus. It is just a fungus, and from what I know, it tampers with your emotions, your feelings. I'm told that without that ability, its attempts at manipulation are laughable; but with it, it can leave you quite torn. Temperantia is the name of the one who was taken. They have not recovered, since. They are filled with anger over what happened to them, and I can show you their anger, and their form, if you desire."

He paused, and thought, for a moment. "There were a number of them, in Cetus. In the swamp. She controlled them, forced them to work for her; to protect her, to feed her. I believe all of those freed were furious, or afraid of her, afterward. Temperantia was like you: unsure, at first. Wanting to believe that this fungus harbored good intentions. We had a battle, then--some dozen or two dozen of us eliminating the nest there. It seems we didn't do a good enough job," he mused, that, or this fungus was already established in Ursa. -I wonder how it survives in that cold? came the additional thought--he knew what Ursa was, even if he hadn't been through there more than once, himself.

"But yes; I can show you Temperantia, if you wish. And either way, you're both welcome to stay here. I will ask that you do not return to the fungus, and put James's life at risk. How long is that threat--ahh, good for?" he added, glancing at James.

"Nonsense, James; I could hardly call myself a guardian if I sent away those who required guardianship," he pointed out, and there was gentle humor in his tone, reassuring and amused both. And it was true, though he did have other things on his mind, at the moment, too.

He looked to Aethereal then, and he concentrated. "A moment, to establish the link, please. It is not always easy." Pride went still, silent, staring with unfocused eyes at the strangely-headless white creature. A thing of beauty and terrible ugliness; of grace and horror, all in one.

He suppressed a shudder, and pushed that aside, careful to lock it away where he would not accidentally show it to her. He found her form horrific, in a way--headless and dripping black--it was hard not to; but he had no desire to hurt her feelings by telling her as much, aloud or mind-to-mind. And so he tucked the thought far back in his subconscious, deliberately not thinking of it, and tried to reach out his mind and magic to open up a link.

It would seem, at first, as though the sound of Orion grew muffled--fading, to be replaced by the buzz of insects. Pride sent the scene as strongly as he could: the scent of rotten swamp, of muck and leaves. The quiet lapping of water at their feet, the squelching as they walked--and there were many of them.

From his viewpoint, she would see it: a glance around in the dark and the mist, a glimpse of many allies marching alongside. A spotted hyena, and two strange, bird-like hybrids that must have been related to it. (And was sudden vision a strange thing, for Aethereal?) A fat-bodied, scarred alligator, and overhead, circling in silence aside from the thump of vast wings, a black, flame-etched dragon. A ram, a coyote, a cheetah, and a black leopard (and here came a twinge of pain, as if this memory brought it with it). Other strange and monstrous beasts, hybrids and mixtures, spotted and furred, feathered and scaled. Alien beasts with glowing green eyes--one not unlike Vargas, but brown and long, six-limbed, rather than a violent violet-pink.

This scene--detailed as it was--was but a glimpse; a heartbeat look of a few seconds. It cut, then, into battle: the roar of flame as the dragon laid down a line of fire from overhead. Shields raised, fungus torn from the enemy--a vast brown bear, a monkey-like beast, a linsang, a demon, a cat...

It was war, this sudden conflict in the swamp, its buzzing mists interrupted now by violence and fire, by blood and rage.

But the point was now focused, honed: a ring-like creature, pale and silver-gold, streaked on its inner side with red. Many eyes lined it; many white wings kept it lightly afloat. Suddenly this creature was flaring in a blinding, golden-white light: a beacon in the dark, fighting for the defense of the Hive, fighting for what it believed in. The shadows swarming the battle had been unnatural: this creature... dispersed them.

It looked holy. It looked pure. It looked... so certain of itself. So righteous.

The image shifted. Gone was Cetus, this battle that had lasted long, violent, brutal minutes, but the memory of which had been only seconds in Aethereal's mind. Only a glimpse, to show the nature of Temperantia. Of the angel's form, and beauty. Of its surety.

Now, it was in Orion: star-studded and dim, drifting with glittering dust. Now it spoke, hovering, uncertain. 'We...do not know. We feel confusion. She worked for the good of all gembound. That... that is what she told us. Perhaps... one does not need to control others to do good. You... help gembound without control?'

A flicker of memory. A few moments passing. Temperantia's eyes, opening from being closed. 'I will raise your numbers. I will join you.'

The image shifted.

Temperantia approached, here, again, here in Orion, here beside the Throne. Its form was blackened, and twisted. There was rage in its voice. 'Astraea, he... betrayer. Betrayed us. Turned our mind, our body, against us. Look at us! Astraea did this! Left us with that... that thing. All we think of is Dontacael. Mother. ... There is no redemption for Astraea. We must destroy Dontacael. Then Astraea.'

The memory briefly distorted, shifting, as Pride struggled to maintain it. It likely seemed like minutes were passing, but in reality these were flickers of thoughts, of memory, lasting only seconds: Temperantia was there again, black and corrupted. 'No, not Mother. Dontacael. He is Mother, but he isn't. He...controls Mother. We are the cutting knife. We must destroy them both.' The ring laughed, then.

It was not angelic; it was not pure. It was deranged. Unhinged.

'We have known nothing but pain since waking.'

Pride--in his own mind--was wondering now if he were right. His point had been that Temperantia had been controlled--and after awakening had slowly gone mad. But there was more to it then that, wasn't it-? It had been a guardian, and pure, in Mother's embrace, and now-?

Perhaps some of this would be picked up by Aethereal, but he didn't think it out; it was a brief and passing concept, and one that he hurriedly pushed away. Instead, he let the link fall away, and he spoke. "Temperantia was controlled. They later joined us--the Seven--as a guardian, only to be betrayed by the Master they call Astraea. They said that Astraea led them to something known as the Creator--they described this as... dangerous, as violet and green." ...Vargas? he thought suddenly, but did not say. "My point is that none of the powers that be, in these caves, are our friends, our guardians, our protectors. Not Vargas, not Mother, not this 'Dontacael,' Astraea, or Creator. Astraea has claimed we are but trash, byproducts of slaves. That our children were to be handed to some unseen master, and taken from us. Mother would control us, and use us to serve her until we die. What we have," and here he glanced, meaningfully, at James--"is one another. You are both welcome to stay as long as you like."