Oh, you say you have to fall apart to really be someone
Blue sky wheeling overhead. Cloudless, endless. Blinding sunlight sting the eyes and she is spinning, spinning, a slow dance with neither beginning nor end. Cool water lick her scalp and the horns that usually weigh her down now buoy her. Splayed out arms sink deep into the green depth and the shifting temperature is a physical thing, a slow descent from burning heat of sunlight on her face into a chill that nip her fingertips and tail like dream fish. Only breath hold her upright, only breath keeps her from drowning, descending... and hypnotized by the vastness of the sky, Maea's thoughts are set adrift on the ocean.
Back to the beginning. As a child she had often come here, to the Glade and the Oasis. To pray and tend the shrine, to rest and breathe and play with magic where no one could see her and get angry. She had spoken to Ludo here, and to Sunjata, and now she washed away the grime and weariness of a long journey in waters that smelled of home.
When she left, the Hollowed Grounds had not been a home for a long time. A cage only, in which she had suffered hunger, sickness, loneliness and grief. Her childhood was a scar at the depths of her subconscious that chafed, pulling and smarting and never quite healing. Faces and moments drifted past at any moment, joyful or devastating, forming the foundation of who she was. Daughter of a dead mother and devout father. Sister to a loving brother, aunt to innocent children - a reluctant member of a family who were so good and so hard working that the sickly child who couldn't do anything to help learned the taste of shame with every spoonful.
Illness. The hands of a woman who was not her mother tending her during long nights of fevered agony. The accusing look on Amalia's face for taking the woman away, Evie's secrets, the sight of friends playing games that Maea could only be spectator to. Sometimes laughter, sometimes joy, always the feeling of being a third wheel thrust upon the others. Burden. Unwanted. In the way.
It had been a relief to leave. Maea had ran off the moment that barrier fell. Running from an empty house hsunted by her dead family, running from people who did not believe in her, running from the part she had played, however small, in letting the Voice loose upon the world again. How many had died because of her? How many had lived? If she had done nothing, would the barrier still stand? Would she have learned to love, and known the agony of a shattered heart? Would she have died, and forsaken her gods, and returned to life on the side of the enemy, only to realize that she had come back to the ashes of burned bridges? Anger, resentment, closed doors - that had been her welcome.
Restless discomfort made her stir, breath staggering. Her pale body sank deeper into the water, and as she drove air from her lungs, Maea sank down into the water. Deeper. Deeper. The surface shimmered as it closed over her face and silvery hair spread like a veil around her head. Drifting in the green gloom, with fish and seaweed painting an alien landscape around her.
The mistake was simple, yet profound, she realized. She had tried to build her future on the backs of other people. As a child that was to be expected; a child was supposed to rely on others for everything. But when she was no longer a child, when her family died, Maea should have gone in search for a purpose that was all her own. Instead, she had tied her purpose to those of people she admired. Jigano, for his intelligence and quiet charisma. Ronin, for the gallantry and sacrifice, and the love lauded onto him. Weaver, for her faith and the visions of a future in a new world she had been willing to share. Sunjata, because he had looked at her like no one else ever had; had seen her, and wanted her, and even loved her. Later, she had followed Amun for much the same reason, so grateful to be named family even when everything she touched seemed to crumble into dust.
But what about her own dreams?
The attempt to build a council in the Grounds had failed, the doubt and disinterest still haunting her. The desire to study and learn had driven a rift between herself and a friend. The attempt at love crumbled away when she couldn't accept the needs of her lover, too different from her own. She had tried to stand up again after that, only to grow cocky and die as a result; no different from the headstrong idiots who used to go to the Barrier in search for a way out. And her quest to defeat a goddess, well... others accomplished that for her, while she wallowed in self pity and despair.
As her lungs burned Maea gazed into the darkness of the Oasis and wondered if she had changed at all. Was it alright for her to leave the past behind? Did she really deserve to have another chance, she who couldn't even manage to stay properly dead? Could she find a way to renew these tired old thoughts, and break free - truly free - from the cage of old? Learn to live with the body and mind of a predatory, throw away any notions of good and bad and simply... exist?
Her strange new body reminded her of what it meant to be alive, in moments like these. The burn, the ache, the pain - Maea thought it a bit twisted how good it felt. How much she relished it, this tightrope walk between living and dying. Kicking off against the slippery sediment on the bottom, she shot up towards the light and broke through the surface in a shower of glittering droplets. Sucking in hungry gulps of air, shuddering from the cold water and sweltering air, Maea remembered how much she had loved Ludo as a child. How fine she had been with the idea of death, and the peace of mind it had always brought her to say;
"Everything dies." A hoarse whisper, winded and breathless. "Everyone and everything dies. Nothing is forever."
A huff of laughter, at the simple profound truth in that. Why was she so afraid, when she had always known this? Did it matter if it was she who brought about the death, or if it was a hurricane, a wildfire, or a landshark?
Dygra... if she was a primordeal goddess as powerful as Caido, would her creation not be just as much a force of nature as the blizzards of Halo or this scorching Longheat sun? And that meant, Maea, thought, that it didn't matter where she put her head down at night; all of this world was home. Even this godsforsaken corner of it, that she loved and hated and couldn't walk away from. And maybe... if she couldn't build a future on people, because of their transient nature - could she build it around a god, instead?
Or was that still missing the point?
Languid strokes brought her to shore. Not bothering to dress, Maea let the sun and wind dry her skin while she busied herself with building a firepit. Making a point of using her tail for lifting and carrying rocks and branches so that she learned to better move, balance, make full use of the appendage, she also sought to feel more at home in her own body.
That part was difficult, she reflected, while striking sparks with flint and steel. Fear of loss had become a fear of connection and a fear of touch, until the mere gaze of others had her shrinking away. Such a mess of half-baked confidence, anxiety, deep care and listlessness, that she tied herself into knots over the smallest things. Yet, objectively, there was nothing wrong with her. She was stronger than ever before. The only scars she wore were the fire-damaged skin on her hands, a reminder of where obsession might lead her. And maybe, in moments like these, she could even appreciate the pallor of her skin, and the color of her own hair, and the little shivers wind drew from her as it touched her skin.
"You are a silly girl," Maea scolded herself, with amusement and even a touch of affection. "Who cares if anyone else wants us or not. At least want yourself." Embarrassing, to say that out loud. Empowering, just because it was embarrassing. It was only tender because it mattered.
A spark landed on the tinder and gentle breaths grew it into a flame. For a time, thoughts circled solely on feeding the fire, and it was in that moment she felt it. The connection. A spark of heat rising like a fervent wish in her throat. Growing absolutely still, even holding her breath, Maea reached out a hand, bidding the fire to avoid her fingers. The flutter was minor, like a strong sigh of breath. She gasped. Let go, tried again. And again the fire danced, willing to do her bidding.
A hiss of displeasure muttered in her ears, but Maea didn't bother wiping the tears from her face. Again and again she reached for the magic, just to make sure - just to prove that it wasn't her own imagination, that it wasn't a fluke. And while it was weak, while she couldn't do much - it was there.
Laughter bubbled up in her throat. Joy and grief and all manner of emotion battled and overflowed, until she was a sobbing heap on the ground, her face pressed into the burning logs as if she might make herself part of it.
"Thank you," she sobbed - to the wind and the water, to the Voice who had brought her back and to Dygra who had accepted her - over and over again. "Thank you, thank you - "
Gods, how she loved the world, and the magic, and all that came of being alive.
There was no if or maybe about it. This was where she began again; now that she had come full circle.
Back to the beginning. As a child she had often come here, to the Glade and the Oasis. To pray and tend the shrine, to rest and breathe and play with magic where no one could see her and get angry. She had spoken to Ludo here, and to Sunjata, and now she washed away the grime and weariness of a long journey in waters that smelled of home.
When she left, the Hollowed Grounds had not been a home for a long time. A cage only, in which she had suffered hunger, sickness, loneliness and grief. Her childhood was a scar at the depths of her subconscious that chafed, pulling and smarting and never quite healing. Faces and moments drifted past at any moment, joyful or devastating, forming the foundation of who she was. Daughter of a dead mother and devout father. Sister to a loving brother, aunt to innocent children - a reluctant member of a family who were so good and so hard working that the sickly child who couldn't do anything to help learned the taste of shame with every spoonful.
Illness. The hands of a woman who was not her mother tending her during long nights of fevered agony. The accusing look on Amalia's face for taking the woman away, Evie's secrets, the sight of friends playing games that Maea could only be spectator to. Sometimes laughter, sometimes joy, always the feeling of being a third wheel thrust upon the others. Burden. Unwanted. In the way.
It had been a relief to leave. Maea had ran off the moment that barrier fell. Running from an empty house hsunted by her dead family, running from people who did not believe in her, running from the part she had played, however small, in letting the Voice loose upon the world again. How many had died because of her? How many had lived? If she had done nothing, would the barrier still stand? Would she have learned to love, and known the agony of a shattered heart? Would she have died, and forsaken her gods, and returned to life on the side of the enemy, only to realize that she had come back to the ashes of burned bridges? Anger, resentment, closed doors - that had been her welcome.
Restless discomfort made her stir, breath staggering. Her pale body sank deeper into the water, and as she drove air from her lungs, Maea sank down into the water. Deeper. Deeper. The surface shimmered as it closed over her face and silvery hair spread like a veil around her head. Drifting in the green gloom, with fish and seaweed painting an alien landscape around her.
The mistake was simple, yet profound, she realized. She had tried to build her future on the backs of other people. As a child that was to be expected; a child was supposed to rely on others for everything. But when she was no longer a child, when her family died, Maea should have gone in search for a purpose that was all her own. Instead, she had tied her purpose to those of people she admired. Jigano, for his intelligence and quiet charisma. Ronin, for the gallantry and sacrifice, and the love lauded onto him. Weaver, for her faith and the visions of a future in a new world she had been willing to share. Sunjata, because he had looked at her like no one else ever had; had seen her, and wanted her, and even loved her. Later, she had followed Amun for much the same reason, so grateful to be named family even when everything she touched seemed to crumble into dust.
But what about her own dreams?
The attempt to build a council in the Grounds had failed, the doubt and disinterest still haunting her. The desire to study and learn had driven a rift between herself and a friend. The attempt at love crumbled away when she couldn't accept the needs of her lover, too different from her own. She had tried to stand up again after that, only to grow cocky and die as a result; no different from the headstrong idiots who used to go to the Barrier in search for a way out. And her quest to defeat a goddess, well... others accomplished that for her, while she wallowed in self pity and despair.
As her lungs burned Maea gazed into the darkness of the Oasis and wondered if she had changed at all. Was it alright for her to leave the past behind? Did she really deserve to have another chance, she who couldn't even manage to stay properly dead? Could she find a way to renew these tired old thoughts, and break free - truly free - from the cage of old? Learn to live with the body and mind of a predatory, throw away any notions of good and bad and simply... exist?
Her strange new body reminded her of what it meant to be alive, in moments like these. The burn, the ache, the pain - Maea thought it a bit twisted how good it felt. How much she relished it, this tightrope walk between living and dying. Kicking off against the slippery sediment on the bottom, she shot up towards the light and broke through the surface in a shower of glittering droplets. Sucking in hungry gulps of air, shuddering from the cold water and sweltering air, Maea remembered how much she had loved Ludo as a child. How fine she had been with the idea of death, and the peace of mind it had always brought her to say;
"Everything dies." A hoarse whisper, winded and breathless. "Everyone and everything dies. Nothing is forever."
A huff of laughter, at the simple profound truth in that. Why was she so afraid, when she had always known this? Did it matter if it was she who brought about the death, or if it was a hurricane, a wildfire, or a landshark?
Dygra... if she was a primordeal goddess as powerful as Caido, would her creation not be just as much a force of nature as the blizzards of Halo or this scorching Longheat sun? And that meant, Maea, thought, that it didn't matter where she put her head down at night; all of this world was home. Even this godsforsaken corner of it, that she loved and hated and couldn't walk away from. And maybe... if she couldn't build a future on people, because of their transient nature - could she build it around a god, instead?
Or was that still missing the point?
Languid strokes brought her to shore. Not bothering to dress, Maea let the sun and wind dry her skin while she busied herself with building a firepit. Making a point of using her tail for lifting and carrying rocks and branches so that she learned to better move, balance, make full use of the appendage, she also sought to feel more at home in her own body.
That part was difficult, she reflected, while striking sparks with flint and steel. Fear of loss had become a fear of connection and a fear of touch, until the mere gaze of others had her shrinking away. Such a mess of half-baked confidence, anxiety, deep care and listlessness, that she tied herself into knots over the smallest things. Yet, objectively, there was nothing wrong with her. She was stronger than ever before. The only scars she wore were the fire-damaged skin on her hands, a reminder of where obsession might lead her. And maybe, in moments like these, she could even appreciate the pallor of her skin, and the color of her own hair, and the little shivers wind drew from her as it touched her skin.
"You are a silly girl," Maea scolded herself, with amusement and even a touch of affection. "Who cares if anyone else wants us or not. At least want yourself." Embarrassing, to say that out loud. Empowering, just because it was embarrassing. It was only tender because it mattered.
A spark landed on the tinder and gentle breaths grew it into a flame. For a time, thoughts circled solely on feeding the fire, and it was in that moment she felt it. The connection. A spark of heat rising like a fervent wish in her throat. Growing absolutely still, even holding her breath, Maea reached out a hand, bidding the fire to avoid her fingers. The flutter was minor, like a strong sigh of breath. She gasped. Let go, tried again. And again the fire danced, willing to do her bidding.
A hiss of displeasure muttered in her ears, but Maea didn't bother wiping the tears from her face. Again and again she reached for the magic, just to make sure - just to prove that it wasn't her own imagination, that it wasn't a fluke. And while it was weak, while she couldn't do much - it was there.
Laughter bubbled up in her throat. Joy and grief and all manner of emotion battled and overflowed, until she was a sobbing heap on the ground, her face pressed into the burning logs as if she might make herself part of it.
"Thank you," she sobbed - to the wind and the water, to the Voice who had brought her back and to Dygra who had accepted her - over and over again. "Thank you, thank you - "
Gods, how she loved the world, and the magic, and all that came of being alive.
There was no if or maybe about it. This was where she began again; now that she had come full circle.
