[RAID] [Winter in Polaris] FROM YOUR COLD GRASP

Carja settled down with a grin on her face, panting slightly from blowing away those spores. She whirled around to look at Dread, Svartis, Bone, and Wyvern, her face falling.

"... Guys?", she asked, "Did it work? Are we okay?"

She felt like she couldn't move either direction, feeling an urge to head towards the tunnel, but also an urge to move towards her family to help in any way she could.

We're your family now...

Huh? What in the caves did that mean? Of course they were her family!

Feelings of warmth and safety flickered up, and she looked at the dragons before her, torn between staying and going, a strange pain welling up in her skull as she rocked back and forth weirdly.

"Th-there's a weird voice in my head!!", she said, distressed, not knowing at all what was going on.

Her sheer stubbornness lead her away from her family and towards the shouting of the rainbow horse (Hey! That was James!) and the mushroom deer. She fought past the sudden agony, springing over like a hair and sitting down in front of James with her head low.

"Help me," she begged, "And my auntie- please."

Sergei did not wait. He charged for the riverside, panic, terror driving him--driving all thought from his barbearian mind. Thick paws thudded clumsily on the rock as he ran: his form was suited for standing and fighting, not for racing along swiftly or easily on two legs.

Sebastian, limp, was cradled in his bear arms.

The bear swerved, hearing only his own panicked breathing rushing through his chest, his own heart pounding in his ears, seeing only a horrified, nightmarish blur he'd see again only in nightmares: the crash and spin of bodies in the snow, the cloud of spores, the movement of those fleeing or fighting.

No-... He couldn't take this, not again. He wanted to be brave, but he wasn't. Not like this. And anyway... he had to protect Sebastian.

He carried the panther toward the tunnels that led to Eridanus; surely greenery, moisture, warmth would help him-? Sergei hoped... he wasn't a medic.

He didn't know what else to do. But perhaps... when the cat was safe, then he could return--in case he could help, somehow.

Bone felt no real reason to resist. Distantly, she felt the flames fade, felt Svartis nudging at her side, and there was a strangely-reassuring sense of safety in it. And something else. It niggled at her mind, even as the cries of RESIST came and went, even as Wyvern--who she didn't know, who she'd never met--was calling her by a name she must have been told by another. She didn't know Wyvern. The words didn't ring with any urgency--it wasn't family or friend calling her by name, but a stranger.

No: what mattered here, past the fog of pain and the confusion of her impact, was the brief memory of a conversation she'd had with Carja. She'd known that Svartis would fall in love with the cave of snow and ice. Asimona, too, if Bone were any judge. And then the family would be broken apart: half heat-loving and basking in the orb-light, half sweeping through the blizzards and delighting in the cold. But now-...

Now this flickering warmth within her was promising togetherness. They could go... together. She could be happy in the snow; she wouldn't feel the cold. Even now she could feel the vague confusion of others, some rebelling, pained; some in wonder, accepting. She felt pity for those who could not accept. She felt motherly: an urge to reassure them. This couldn't be wrong-... This was family. She felt a connection to her brother that she'd never had.

But-...

For a moment, Bone hesitated, faintly confused. Should we... go with it, Svartis? she thought, but it was only a thought, and not words--perhaps her brother would sense, hear, or perhaps not. She was struggling back to her feet, heavily, her weight and pain pressing her down into the snow.

Slowly, the white dragon turned, and began to trudge toward Ursa. Her wings hung at her side, battered; her pale eyes were bleary with pain, but the promise of family beyond was enticing. Her gaze flicked to Svartis, and she eyed him with gentle confusion. "We are to... go there, yes?" she asked him, voice faltering.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He still stood, trembling, gritting his entire being against the onslaught. For an instant he felt that brief warmth, that togetherness--he felt Alpha somewhere on the outer edges of his being, even. Perhaps Mother was striking more hard at the Leviathan: a powerful asset, if she could gain control over him. Or perhaps Orthoclase-Alpha had a stronger control than Vargas did. His own mind was slipping away, confused, and for a moment he could hardly remember why he was fighting: and then his head turned, even as his feet took two half-unwilling steps toward Ursa, and saw--felt--Alpha, forcing its way toward Astraea with slow and agonized steps.

For a brief moment Vargas felt condemnation toward his spawn--how dare it!--but then that faltered. No-... no, that wasn't right. Orthoclase was right-... Anger flicked back through confusion, then to pride; it was strong. It was resisting. It was-

And then Astraea was bounding up against him, a touch, and Vargas struggled to remain still--teeth still gritted. I should have known better, he lamented, in his mind--lashing out with wordless anger at the sudden sensation of a disapproving Mother scolding him for his disobedience. I was warned that it would have something to do with this. But I had thought it would be farther on... orchestrating. Not inside the damn golem. An unforgivable mistake, even so. The fungus might require organic matter to feed on, but nothing had precluded the golem from being its vessel in the short-term.

Damn it-!

A brief, dizzying sensation, and Vargas was torn back to reality--and any disdain he'd begun to hold for Astraea was swept away into deep gratitude and relief. He sagged, staggered, as white cotton-fluff was torn from him--as it drifted away, now lifeless, down into the snow. A ragged gasp pulled bitter air into his massive lungs and he turned, staggering, his new immediate goal apparent: to protect Astraea in his task.

Any infected who came for the other Master would find Vargas prepared to defend him: this was too important.

Too important to fail at.

The hivemind that had briefly assaulted him with thought and sensation left him, even after only a few instants, feeling strangely alone--but he pushed that away, and he concentrated. He forced sharp eyes to cut around the cave. Forced long limbs after Astraea in a rush--not in pursuit but in guardianship.

His gaze sought out his spawn, where he could. To Orthoclase, to Ruby, he offered stern nods of approval. They were doing well.

Who else was there? Ahh--Khavur. Vargas had felt the fluttering touch of its mind against his own, briefly, and he turned, trying to seek it out. He tried to reach his magic for it, but given the chaos, his failure was unsurprising--he barked out his command, then, in its stead. "RESIST it, Khavur. COME TO ME," he commanded, every bit of authority he could muster shoving in behind it.