Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] RIGHT NOW opened memo on board FRUITY RUMPUS ASSHOLE FACTORY, BORING ROAD TRIP THROUGH THE FUCKING AFTERLIFE EDITION.

CCG: I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M ACTUALLY DOING THIS MEMO BULLSHIT AGAIN. 
CCG: I GUESS I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO. 
CCG: I JUST NEED TO AIR OUT SOME SHIT WITH SOMEBODY, AND EVERYONE HERE HAS THEIR HEADS SO FAR UP THEIR NOOKS I WANT TO SCREAM LOUDER THAN I USUALLY DO. 
CCG: THEIR TROLL NOOKS *AND* HUMAN NOOKS, WHATEVER THE HELL A HUMAN NOOK EVEN *IS*. 
CCG: YOU KNOW?
CCG: HEY, ARE YOU THERE?
CURRENT turntechGodhead [CTG] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CTG: hey
CCG: STRIDER, WHAT THE HELL!?
CTG: just yanking my head out of my human nook to examine my surroundings
CTG: fyi a human nook is our natural bullshit shield
CTG: we stick our heads in it when we cant deal with how much stupid nonsense is going on around us
CTG: but im bored so out of the human nook i come i guess
CTG: whats up
CCG: I WAS KIND OF HOPING TO TALK TO SOMEONE WHO ISN’T A COMPLETE, IRREDEEMABLE MORON. SO WOULD YOU KINDLY STEP THE FUCK OFF?
CTG: who would you be talking to in a goddamn memo?
CTG: unless youre trying to get a hold of multiple assholes you can just message someone directly
CTG: that vague intro
CTG: throwing the lightest of shade onto “everyone”
CCG: WHAT.
CTG: were you trying to goad your future self into responding to you?
CCG: NO!
CTG: dude thats not what future selves are for
CTG: future selves arent for awkward self-fulfilling shit-venting reach-arounds
CTG: rule number one of having future selves: dont talk to them
CTG: rule number one of being a future self: dont talk to your past self
CTG: those are the only two rules of time travel
CTG: theyre both number one because theyre both really fucking important
CCG: SHUT YOUR IGNORANCE CHUTE BEFORE I ALCHEMIZE A STAPLE GUN AND PUT US ALL OUT OF OUR COLLECTIVE MISERY BY SILENCING YOU FOR GOOD.
CCG: DON’T ACT LIKE YOU’RE SOME UNMATCHED AUTHORITY ON TIME.
CCG: YOU SPENT ABOUT A DAY TIME TRAVELING AND NOW YOU WANT TO TELL US YOU’RE THE FUCKING EXPERT?
CCG: ALLOW ME TO EXPRESS MY DOUBT THAT YOU HAVE ANYTHING CONSTRUCTIVE TO ADD TO THIS CONVERSATION, WHICH WAS NOT MEANT TO ATTRACT YOUR INSUFFERABLY CURIOUS CARTILAGE NUB!
CTG: whatever
CTG: ive got more experience than you and thats all that matters
CTG: that shits on my resume
CTG: “now can you tell me more about your credentials as a time traveler?”
CTG: not much to say except the entire economy of LOHAC was my checking account and I could multiply myself into nine dudes to gangbang whoever wanted to mess with me
CTG: “shit son when can you start?”
CCG: I’M NOT HERE TO LISTEN TO YOU TO GIVE YOUR EGO CONGRATULATORY GENITAL CARESSES.
CTG: well whatever youre here for your future self wont help
CTG: im so bored i promise i wont even laugh at whatever you wanted to tell him
CCG: YOU SURE DO KNOW HOW TO MAKE A GUY FEEL AT EASE TALKING ABOUT DELICATE TOPICS WHICH HE WAS HOPING TO KEEP TO HIMSELF.
CTG: but who the hell else are you going to tell?
CTG: rose and kanaya are doing the nervous flirty cant spit it out quickstep around each other, vriska and terezi are off being sisters
CTG: which by the way how can troll planet have sisters if you dont have parents
CTG: dont answer that im just raising a point
CTG: we havent seen the troll juggalo since we left the green sun
CTG: and while we both know the mayor is a source of wisdom beyond our years we havent figured out how to talk with him yet about things other than can town
CTG: and if your future self was gonna come in all “HEY FUCK YOU KARKAT” then he would have done it by now
CCG: YOU SCARED HIM OFF.
CTG: youre welcome
CTG: now are you gonna talk to me?
CCG: UUUUUUUUUGHGGHGHGHGHHHHHHHH.
CTG: how do you pronounce that?
CCG: IT’S PRONOUNCED SHUT THE HELL UP.
CCG: YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY I WANTED TO TALK TO ANOTHER KARKAT ABOUT THIS?
CCG: IT’S BECAUSE I’M HAVING TROUBLE PUTTING SOME THOUGHTS INTO WORDS, AND WHO WOULD KNOW BETTER THAN SOMEONE WHO THINKS A LARGE MAJORITY OF MY OWN THOUGHTS?
CTG: not gonna say anything
CTG: go on
CCG: IT’S ABOUT THIS BIZARRE TREK THROUGH THE RING.
CCG: AT FIRST IT WAS JUST BLAND AND UNEVENTFUL. BUT THAT WAS KIND OF A RELIEF, PROBABLY FOR YOU TOO.
CCG: NOT HAVING TO WORRY ABOUT GETTING KILLED ALL THE TIME, OR TRYING TO RALLY A BUNCH OF UNCOOPERATIVE TROOPS TOWARD AN IMPOSSIBLE OBJECTIVE.
CTG: uh huh
CCG: BUT THEN
CCG: AS IF IT WASN’T ENOUGH THAT SOMETIMES WE VISIT THESE CRAZY DREAM BUBBLES WHEN WE GO TO SLEEP…
CCG: WE STARTED PHYSICALLY PASSING THROUGH THEM TOO.
CCG: LIKE I THINK I COULD HANDLE IT BETTER IF IT WAS JUST ONE THING OR THE OTHER.
CCG: LIKE *ONLY* THE MONOTONOUS DAY-TO-DAY DRUDGERY ON THE SAME GLOOMY FUCKING METEOR WITH THE SAME BUNCH OF RIDICULOUS PEOPLE, AND BASICALLY NOTHING TO DO BUT GET ALL UP IN EACH OTHER’S BUSINESS.
CCG: OR *ONLY* A SWEEPS LONG SAFARI THROUGH AN EPHEMERAL REALM OF GHOST MEMORIES AND DEAD FRIENDS SHITTING AROUND IN A HAPHAZARD EXISTENTIAL CLUSTERFUCK.
CCG: BUT HAVING TO DEAL WITH BOTH, IN TOTALLY RANDOM INTERVALS?
CCG: IT’S KIND OF TAKING ITS TOLL.
CTG: woah
CCG: YOU UNDERSTAND WHY I WOULD RATHER TALK ABOUT THIS STUFF WITH ME.
CCG: GLAD WE GOT THAT SQUARED AWAY, NOW TAKE YOUR ASSHOLE PAJAMA BULLSHIT AND GO.
CTG: no man
CTG: i think i get where youre coming from
CCG: BULLSHIT.
CTG: no its like
CTG: im meeting a lot of these troll kids for the first time
CTG: so i dont have this emotional history with them like you do
CCG: OH MY GOD, DAVE STRIDER HAS EMOTIONS!? STOP THE FUCKING NEWSFEEDS.
CTG: stfu
CTG: but i mean death is supposed to be this barrier
CTG: youre alive until youre not
CTG: and at least on earth there were like a billion different things that people believed about what happens after death
CTG: so now were here, and we know what happened to all our dead friends
CTG: dreambubbles happened
CTG: so in a way theyre all still here
CTG: so it makes it hard to really say goodbye to them
CTG: am I close?
CCG: NO?
CCG: I MEAN, THAT SOUNDS LIKE A VERY TRUE AND UNSETTLING THING, BUT IT’S NOT REALLY WHAT’S BOTHERING ME.
CCG: I THINK IT’S SOMETHING DIFFERENT.
CCG: I NEVER WORRIED ABOUT WHAT WAS AFTER DEATH, JUST THAT IT WASN’T LIFE. THAT WAS ALL THE MOTIVATION I NEEDED TO NOT WANT TO BE A CORPSE, AND TO WANT TO KEEP OTHER MORONS FROM DYING OR KILLING EACH OTHER.
CCG: FAILED PRETTY SPECTACULARLY AT THAT ONE.
CTG: yeah five dead out of twelve, thats a fail bro
CCG: OH MY GOD, WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU THROW THAT IN MY FACE?!
CTG: just trying to say
CTG: death sucks
CTG: it sucks the hugest dong with the stankest stink
CTG: i just didnt realize that doomed selves stayed in the dreambubbles as a ghost
CTG: like not just the dead trolls but other versions of dead trolls from offshoots timelines
CCG: WHY THE FUCK DID NO ONE THINK TO TELL US THAT?
CCG: APPARENTLY FEFERI WAS THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR COMMUNING WITH THE HORRORTERRORS TO SET THIS WHOLE NONSENSE UP
CCG: BUT SHE COULDN’T HAVE ENCOURAGED THEM TO MAYBE LET THE DOOMED COPIES REST IN FUCKING PEACE!?
CTG: do you think thats the thing bothering you?
CCG: WHAT.
CTG: what this all means about mortality
CCG: YEAH
CCG: I THINK THAT’S PART OF IT.
CCG: AFTER VISITING WHO KNOWS HOW MANY DREAM BUBBLES
CCG: AND HANGING OUT WITH WHO KNOWS HOW MANY DEAD FRIENDS, AND *COPIES* OF DEAD FRIENDS FROM ALTERNATE TIMELINES…
CCG: I START TO WONDER, DOES DEATH EVEN REALLY MEAN ANYTHING?
CCG: DID LIFE MEAN ANYTHING, FOR THAT MATTER??
CCG: WAS THE POINT OF LIFE TO GO AROUND COLLECTING A BUNCH OF PAINFUL AND AWKWARD EXPERIENCES TO SUPPLY MATERIAL FOR THE REVOLVING MEMORY-COLLAGE THAT SERVES AS THE BACKDROP TO A MUCH LONGER, EMPTIER STRETCH OF EXISTENCE?
CCG: AND HOW UNNERVING IS IT RUNNING INTO OUR DEAD DOPPELGANGERS FROM DOOMED TIMELINES?
CTG: did that ever happen to you?
CCG: WHAT?
CTG: seeing your own dead body from a doomed timeline
CCG: NO, NOT PERSONALLY.
CCG: ARADIA DEALT WITH ALL OF OUR DOOMED SELVES. FOR A TIME PLAYER, SHE DIDN’T DO ANYWHERE NEAR AS MUCH SCHIZOPHRENIC TIMELINE-HOPPING AS YOU DID.
CCG: THE ARADIA WHO REACHED GOD TIER TRAVELED AROUND, BUT MOST EVERY INSTANCE OF TIME TRAVEL WAS ARADIA FROM A DOOMED TIMELINE RETURNING TO A POINT ON THE ALPHA TIMELINE BEFORE THE DOOMED OFFSHOOT STARTED
CCG: AND THEN TIME-TRAVELING FORWARD TO JOIN OUR ASSAULT ON THE BLACK KING.
CCG: SO NO, I NEVER DEALT WITH THE DOOMED CORPSES.
CTG: ok
CCG: DID YOU HAVE TO DEAL WITH THAT?
CTG: once or twice
CTG: its whatever
CCG: WHAT A STARTLING AND EMOTIONALLY RAW CONFESSION FROM A CERTAIN DAVE STRIDER. SO COOL AND FLIPPANT THAT SEEING HIS OWN DEAD BODY IS A NON-EVENT.
CTG: youre thinking about it wrong
CTG: it was always a big deal when i found a dead dave
CTG: dead daves were the enemy
CTG: like proof i had fucked up somewhere in the loops and now there was a dead dave lying in the middle of my bedroom or something
CTG: this is before we knew about dreambubbles too
CTG: but once i got to know more about doomed timelines and all this preserving the alpha shit
CTG: it started to get a little easier
CCG: ENLIGHTEN ME, BECAUSE I SURE AS FUCK DON’T SEE ANY WAY FOR THIS TO ALL SUDDENLY BECOME EASIER FOR THIS TO BEAR.
CTG: you dont have to think of your alpha self as the real dude or your doomed selves as fake dudes
CTG: theres just the you that happens to be in the alpha and the yous that arent
CCG: I DON’T SEE HOW THAT MAKES ANY OF THIS BETTER.
CCG: SOME OF THESE DEAD VERSIONS OF OURSELVES REACHED GOD TIER, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.
CCG: HOW CAN VERSIONS OF OURSELVES WHO WERE *MORE* SUCCESSFUL BY CERTAIN MEASURES GET PUNISHED, BECAUSE IT WASN’T “THE THING THAT NEEDED TO HAPPEN.”
CTG: the source of why its the thing that needed to happen is usually like completely beyond mortal knowledge
CTG: goddammit i sound like rose there
CTG: what i mean is
CTG: it would have been really fucking sweet if our session could have just been a normal straightforward romp through the incipisphere with everything not fucking rigged to fail by design
CTG: but this was all like three universes in the making
CTG: first your dancestors fucked up
CTG: then you won, but fucked up
CTG: then we fucked up
CTG: and now were headed to a new session where everythings probably fucked up there too
CTG: maybe we can pull it all together this time around
CTG: or worst case scenario, well pull some other bullshit out of our ass and try again
CTG: i think thats what happened with johns deal
CTG: you sure you saw him on the meteor right before we exploded the sun into existence?
CCG: YES, I’M SURE.
CCG: HE GAVE ME A SCARF COVERED IN BLOOD WITHOUT EVEN A FUCKING EXPLANATION OF WHAT IT WAS OR WHY IT MATTERED, THEN BABBLED MORONICALLY ABOUT COMPLETELY OUT-OF-CONTEXT BULLSHIT, AND THEN VANISHED FROM EXISTENCE.
CTG: right
CTG: so whatever the hell that was happened
CTG: it was random and sudden to us, but to john it was probably this slow-cooked execution after some all hells of complicated planning
CCG: YOUR POINT IS?
CTG: the alpha timeline isnt just a scorecard of your personal victories and fuckups
CTG: try as hard as you can no matter what, but thats not just going to magically correct everything
CTG: and even someone who can magically correct everything doesnt just have that power fall in their laps
CTG: it has to come from choices and actions that happened before
CTG: the alpha timeline is this huge net of everyone’s decisions happening all at the same time
CCG: THIS IS REALLY STARTING TO SOUND LIKE A TEREZI THING. SHE WAS THE ONE WHO ALWAYS BELIEVED SO HARD IN OUR DECISIONS HAVING CONSEQUENCES THAT WERE SOMEHOW HER “DOMAIN.”
CTG: really?
CTG: i dont know
CTG: this still feels like time stuff to me
CTG: and anyway i think were still the alpha meteor right now
CTG: something got snarled in our timeline but it doesnt look like too much of a problem
CCG: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SNARLED?
CCG: HOW DO YOU PROVE THAT?
CTG: like how your dancestors all recognized us
CTG: this is a completely bullshit analogy since all time happens at the same time in the furthest ring, but it seems like they met a bunch of doomed uses first and then met proper uses after
CTG: from their perspective it means they met us, watched us age a little bit, doom happened, and then they met young versions of us again like some kind of space groundhog day
CTG: its pretty much the same as if they had just been hanging out with random doomed uses for a while, except those doomed selves were alive for a very long time in their doomed timeline
CCG: I THINK THAT’S PART OF WHAT’S BOTHERING ME THOUGH.
CCG: YOU REMEMBER THAT WE PASSED THROUGH A DREAM BUBBLE OF THAT PLANET ON FIRE, AND WE FIRST FOUND VRISKA’S DANCESTOR?
CCG: AND THEN SHE COMPLETELY FLIPPED HER FUCKING SHIT, LIKE WE WERE THE GHOSTS, NOT HER!
CCG: ALL “HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE, THIS CAN’T BE, I JUST SAW YOU ALL,” AND PARTICULARLY FREAKED OUT BY VRISKA.
CCG: VRISKA’S TRYING TO BE POLITE
CCG: OR AT LEAST AS POLITE AS A PSYCHOPATH CAN BE
CCG: BECAUSE APPARENTLY THE GHOST IS CLAD IN THE GARB OF THE ANCIENT DOUCHELORD PIRATE THAT SHE USED TO ROLEPLAY AS.
CTG: braintooth
CCG: MINDFANG.
CCG: EVEN YOU ARE NOT THAT DUMB TO NOT REMEMBER VRISKA FIRST CALLED HER MINDFANG.
CCG: OTHER SERKET NOPES THE FUCK OUT OF THERE AND JUST LEAVES US WANDERING THIS CLUSTER OF DREAMBUBBLES FULL OF HER OLD FRIENDS FROM BEFORE THE SCRATCH THAT MADE ALTERNIA’S UNIVERSE.
CCG: THEY BRING US UP TO SPEED, SOMEWHAT SCHIZOPHRENICALLY, AND NOW THAT’S SORTED…
CCG: BUT THEY KEEP SLIPPING EVERY SO OFTEN, AND IT REMINDS ME THEY DIDN’T MEET *US* FIRST.
CTG: i think that’s the snarl
CTG: like someone tied a knot in our timeline
CTG: and they chose a point that was really weak so the weak part got to double-back on itself
CTG: like a reinforcement
CTG: means the smooth progression of time has been interrupted, but not in any way thats going to compromise the continuation of the alpha
CCG: WHOOP DE FUCKING DO.
CCG: I COULD JUST ABOUT WET MYSELF WHILE PERFORMING VIGOROUS CELEBRATORY SPASM-INSECT GYRATIONS UPON HEARING THAT THE ALPHA TIMELINE IS OKAY AS A RESULT OF TYING A HUGE FUCKING KNOT OF PAN-SPLITTING NONSENSE RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF IT.
CTG: im taking pictures
CCG: DON’T.
CTG: so did this
CTG: help
CTG: with anything at all?
CCG: I DON’T KNOW
CCG: I CAN’T TELL YET.
CCG: BUT
CTG: what
CCG: EVEN IF YOU DIDN’T UNDERSTAND
CCG: OR COMPLETELY FAILED AT EXPLAINING WHATEVER THE HELL JUST WENT ON
CCG: I THINK I’M REALLY GLAD I DIDN’T TALK TO MY FUTURE SELF.
CTG: haha owned
CTG: and hey
CTG: i dont think i want to just volunteer myself for raw emotional confessions all the time
CTG: but if you catch yourself stewing on this stuff just hit me up
CTG: well do something else distracting and not think about this shit
CCG: DOES ESCAPISM REALLY WORK?
CTG: hasnt failed me in fourteen years
CTG: or like sixty sweeps
CTG: idk
CCG: YOU ARE NOT SIXTY SWEEPS OLD, STRIDER.
CCG: SWEEPS ARE LONGER THAN YOUR ABSURD HUMAN YEARS!
CTG: school me on math in person
CCG: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!?
CTG: dunno
CTG: hide and seek time bro
CTG ceased responding to memo.
CCG: AAJALKJGLSDKJGS:LKGJ:LSKJL:KAJ:LKJSD:LKGJS:LGJK
FUTURE carcinoGeneticist [FCG] 3 hours from now responded to the memo
FCG: THIRD STAIRWELL IN LAB COMPOUND 6
FCG: HE WON’T EXPECT YOU FOR AT LEAST ANOTHER HOUR.
CCG: WAIT, WHAT?
FCG ceased responding to the memo
CCG: YOU FINALLY SHOW YOUR FACE AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN STICKING AROUND!?
CCG: YOU SMUG SHIT!
CCG: YOU…
CCG: FUCK IT.
CCG ceased responding to the memo.

To Past Karkat’s dismay, Future Karkat took Dave up on his offer to seek out meaningless bullshit to fill the fertile space in his head where existential thoughts sprung up to torment him. They hung out with the Mayor and helped him build Can Town. Dave showed Karkat “hop scotch.” They doodled in Rose’s journal right under her nose. Well, Dave doodled, and Karkat struggled to keep him from drawing human dicks, but not too hard. He was kind of giggling too.

Which made him wonder, when in his life had he ever giggled?

Things were still gross and dark on the meteor. No amount of chalk hopping squares or towers of nutrition cylinders could really end that unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. But whenever the meteor entered a dreambubble and Dave wasn’t already in the same room, Karkat started counting seconds. He never reached past forty-five before Dave’s head popped around a corner and he asked Karkat to come explore. If Karkat said no, he’d sit with him and watch a movie regardless of their environment.

The insufferable douchelord of Dave fucking Strider was Karkat’s best friend. He never would have guessed it, but compared to the alternative—NOT having a best friend to help pass this sweep and a half of insanity—he’d take Dave Strider and tell any moron who talked smack about him to shove it up their waste chute or human nook or wherever he felt like telling people to shove things lately.

Wandering with Dave made the bubbles easier to deal with. Like, not even meeting anyone else, just walking in silence around whatever bullshit the bubble threw their way. By this point, they had both figured out that their incessant chatter was often deployed to fill space, so they tried letting the space stand. With Dave, Karkat didn’t mind it.

The bubble spat them out first outside of Kanaya’s old hive. Then they wandered the Alternian desert a little, until it faded into LOLAR, then LOCAS. Navy cliffs and caveholes stretched around them, and they decided to just take a shot and try the first cave they found. It led down, quite far down, with spiral staircases and declining paths, and miles and miles of rock. Then the rock started to have torches peppering it. The solid cave wall faded away into enormous stone bricks.

“This is new,” Dave said.

“Yeah…” Karkat nodded, and they kept walking. The walls started to open up at regular intervals, showing gloomy enclaves with bars in their mouths. They tried to peer into a few, seeing lateral reclining platforms and load gapers attached to the walls, and narrow stone vents instead of windows.

“Woah… is this jail? Are we in jail now?” Dave asked.

“We’re not IN jail, are we? We’re just visiting, I guess.”

“Monopoly semantics aside, this is definitely jail, right?”

“I think so.”

They passed a few more cells and looked closer. Some had roughly humanoid shadows crouched in them, but they were still, and even when they called out wouldn’t move, like they were part of the background. As Karkat experimented with tossing a pebble into a cell, Dave looked on the walls.

“Hey… is this troll jail?”

“What makes you think that?” Karkat asked.

“This,” Dave pointed to a worn brass plaque with a few lines of troll text engraved on it.

Karkat turned and read it aloud. “Span Sentencing Block B. Please check cells frequently and report deceased prisoners to the on-duty mediculler immediately. What the hell?” Karkat crinkled his nose. “This isn’t a troll jail.”

“But the sign is written in troll, right?”

“But it can’t be. The Empire would never waste resources maintaining span-long sentences. If you were a criminal, you got culled or enslaved, not thrown into barred, coonless blocks to be grubsat for the rest of your life.”

“Oh, that is way nicer, killing and enslaving your criminals instead,” Dave drawled. Karkat glared at him. “But this has to be troll jail.”

“The sign is way too polite, and it should have the Condesce’s seal on it!”

“Maybe it’s a prison run by some other troll?”

Karkat threw his hands in the air. “Fine! Maybe I’m misreading it. Like, span sentencing… probably means these are holding cells, for trolls awaiting execution. And sometimes trolls take their own life before that happens, so they can’t leave the rotting corpseflesh lying around.”

“There, that’s a good explanation,” Dave said. “Now, are we gonna go further into troll jail or not?”

“I… guess we can check it out,” Karkat grumbled.

The cells stretched on for what felt like miles, endlessly same repetitions of that small block with the cot and the toilet and nothing but bars in front.

“Jesus, is this how many cells there actually were, or is this like, a mobius-strip bubble?” Dave asked.

“At least it’s empty,” Karkat said.

“I can’t tell if the emptiness is making it better or worse.”

“Even if it were full of inmates, they would all be ghosts,” Karkat said. “Like, you’ve seen the cells with shadows in them! They’re just part of the scenery at this point. Memories of people who used to be there.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I tried to throw a rock at one!”

“What if it was just that one? What if this is like, a prison of dream wraiths?”

Karkat’s face went pale. “Do not start with me. Do not fucking start with me, do not make me start thinking these bubbles are full of dream wraiths!”

“I don’t know what the fuck is out here! Like maybe it’s just going to split into horrorterrors and they’ll swallow us whole—”

Karkat stopped walking, his body framed by the arch of a cell behind him. “Strider, you infected crow’s testicle, you’re saying this on purpose to freak me out!”

“This is a legit question! Like some of us are gods but others are squishy, shouty mortals—”

“I swear to the depths of the furthest ring, if you keep talking about how I’m going to die down here, I will stick my sickles up your waste chute and use your intestinal fluid for broth as I cook your head! There aren’t even any ghosts in here, why would there be bubble-wraiths?!”

Dave had a rebuttal, but it died out to a whimper as a massive shadow rose in the cell behind Karkat, huge and dark and reaching—

“KARKAT!” Dave grabbed the troll’s sweater and yanked him directly onto his chest, the two of them backing up until they hit the bars of the opposite cell. An instant later, the huge shadow slammed against the bars to its cell with a resounding metal clang, echoed by screams ripped from the two young boys.

“OH MY GOD OH MY GOD SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT—”

“BUBBLE WRAITHS, I TOLD YOU, AW FUCK WE’RE GONNA FUCKING DIE—”

The shadow was humanoid, enormous and bulky and just barely held back by those ancient bars. Its arm reached forward, clawed hands curled like it was trying to grab a fistful of Karkat’s sweater. As Dave and Karkat clung to each other, a deep, gruff voice spoke.

“Little bro, don’t get your fear on about me! I just heard your voice and my motherfucking self moved…” The shape opened its—his?—hand with a more placating gesture. Kneeling, his head was even with Karkat and Dave. “Sorry to spook you, please little bro, get your settle on…”

Dave found his voice first. “L—Little bro? Wh—What little bro?”

The man in the cell had a broad face with blank, ghostly eyes. His filthy hair crusted around his cheeks, and tattered prison rags barely covered his body. On the left side of his head, an impressive orange horn curled toward the ceiling. The right one ended in a broken stump.

“My little bro,” the ghost nodded to Karkat, still keeping his eyes on him. “You’re looking mighty little right now… Been a long time since you were this little, wasn’t it?”

“What the hell?” Dave placed a hand over Karkat’s, still clinging to his God Tier sleeve. “Dude, have you met this guy before?”

Karkat shook his head. “He’s an adult! I’ve never met an adult before, they’re all off-world!” he hissed to Dave, but not quiet enough for the adult ghost to miss. He groaned like someone drove a stake through his chest and reached again, like if he just grabbed hold of Karkat the pain would stop.

“Please, little bro! I can’t take it, I can’t take if you forgot me, all we been through—!”

“Hang on, all you’ve been through?” Dave mimed a time-out with his hands and stepped away from Karkat, not back into grabbing zone but putting himself between the two trolls. “Hi, Dave Strider here, member of an alien species you’ve never met and knows jack dick about anything. I’m gonna need you to start at the beginning, or at least a bigger beginning than this.”

The ghost blinked at Dave. “Huh?”

“We’re not gonna get anywhere if you keep calling Karkat someone he’s not. Let’s start somewhere else. Did you die in jail, or do you like just hanging around here?”

“I… I don’t remember,” the troll said. He looked over Dave’s shoulder and nodded at the cell behind him. “Twinhorn was over there… Always talking, but then he stopped… I think I fell asleep… cuz I woke up to my little bro’s voice, just now.”

“And why are you in jail?”

“Because… I couldn’t stop them. And then he…”

“Who’s he?”

“The Chimeric,” he looked back to Karkat. “Little bro, please! You have to remember! If I finally see you again and you don’t even know who the motherfuck I am…”

Dave looked back at Karkat and shrugged. They weren’t making much headway like this, with the ghost derailing all interrogation to insist on Karkat remembering him when he clearly didn’t. Hidden from view, Dave jabbed his thumb back the way they came. Should we leave?

But Karkat didn’t move. He stared a little longer at the other troll, like he didn’t understand what he was seeing but had to at least believe it.

“Karkat?” Dave prompted. 

“Hold on,” he said. “Can you… tell me the name of the planet? Our homeworld?”

The ghost answered instantly. “Beforus.”

His jaw dropped a little, but he picked it back up, then nodded. “That explains it. Look… um, just hear me out, okay?” Karkat stepped out from behind Dave, into the grabbing range, and crouched down. The kneeling adult now towered over him again, but he kept his hands to himself. “I might be the absolute worst person to explain this, given how little I actually understand about what happened. The one you’re looking for… the Chimeric? If you’re here, he’s got to be out there, too. But I’m not him.”

The troll blinked, and hunched so his face slid even further down the bars. His white eyes peered at Karkat. “Come to think of it, is that a sign you got on your cuddle shirt?”

“Yeah, that’s my sign.”

“You never wanted a motherfucking sign.”

“Maybe he never wanted a sign, but I’ve had one since I was hatched and I like it, thank you very fucking much,” Karkat said. “Look, the whole thing is way more complicated than this, but… there was a planet for trolls, where you lived. But the end of the world happened, and things went wrong after that, so we had to… try again. So there was a new planet for trolls, where everyone on the old world lived all over again, but they couldn’t remember the world they had before. With me so far?”

“So the wigglers resurrected our race? Like you—uh, he said?”

“No, we’re still pretty fucked in the resurrection department. A friend of mine is working on that. But you and me, we’re not from the same universe, let alone planet. I’m Karkat, but I’m not the Chimeric. Genetically identical, but drastically different. Does that make sense?”

The adult frowned. “I suppose it does… I don’t know how you get another universe, but… I saw some pretty motherfucking weird shit in my span, so I don’t mind putting my believe in that.”

“So since you get it… can you tell me your name?”

He paused to remember. “They called me Mournful, when they locked me up. That’s still pretty on point.”

“Can you get out of there?”

“Nope.”

“Have you tried?”

“No…”

That vein in Karkat’s forehead pulsed. “Then how the hell do you know it can’t open!?”

“It’s not matter of can or can’t at the end of it, it’s just a why.”

“Why what?”

“Why would I leave when I don’t know where my little bro is?”

“Because how else are you going to find him, you mopey puddle of rectal discharge?”

The Mournful curled back on himself and tucked his knees to his face. “You sound like him,” he said, more muffled this time. “Too much like him. I was in a cell block for more sweeps than I got to spend by his side. And now I’m dead, I must be—and I’m just reaping what I motherfucking sowed.”

“You don’t have to! You really don’t! It’s weird as shit out there but it’s at least free! I swear to God, if you meant half as much to him as he meant to you, he’s looking for you right now! Look for him back!”

The adult shook his head, the heavy left side holding longer than the right. “No motherfucking point… I done so much I regret, so much I can never take back. What’s the point of going out and being a motherfucker somewhere else when this is what I deserve?”

Karkat curled his hands into fists, but he stood up. “Fine! It’s better you stay put anyway. You’ll be easier to find. We’ll get the Chimeric and show him where you are.”

“We will?” Dave interjected.

“Shut up,” Karkat told him. “Mournful, time doesn’t really work here, but we’ll be back for you. If we don’t bring the Chimeric, we’ll at least have news. Okay?”

The Mournful peeked his eyes over his knees—how could someone so huge look so small?—and blinked at Karkat. “You think you can?”

“Make it a fucking promise.”

“…Okay, then. Knock yourself out, other bro,” the Mournful said, then settled deeper into the gloom.

Karkat turned away and jogged quickly in the direction they came, Dave and his cape trailing after him. After a time and a distance that felt much shorter than their original trek into the prison, the cells gave way to open space. Dave vaguely recognized the landscape of LODAG, seen once in another dream.

“Karkat, what the hell.”

“What?!”

“You promised to go back there?”

“So what?”

“Why the hell would you do that? You nearly got mugged by a terrifying prison ghost troll and said ‘woah yeah sounds like a good idea to come back here and see you again!’ What the hell are you thinking?”

Karkat had this way of looking Dave dead in the eye, even through his shades. “That was Gamzee back there.”

“Wait, Gamzee? Juggalo troll?”

“Of course it was him!”

“But where was the clown makeup, his little zodiac sign?”

“Stripped, what did you think?! Do prisoners on Earth get to enjoy their favorite face products and high fashion? Even on pansy planet Beforus that’s not how it works.” Karkat snapped. “Besides, did you count the number of times he said ‘motherfucker?’”

Dave nodded a little, convinced by evidence but not convinced the evidence made them obligated to help. “So why do you care so much? Didn’t Gamzee kill like four of your friends?”

“Two. And you probably wouldn’t understand it, you’re not a troll.”

“Try me.”

Karkat pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is just… something I never thought too hard about. We met our dancestors, but the whole reason we call them dancestors is because we’re both the ancestor and descendant of each other. Kankri is my dancestor. My ancestor is the Sufferer. But Kankri has an ancestor, too. It’s the Chimeric, who was me.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“The same goes for Gamzee! Dancestor is Kurloz, ancestor is probably a fucking subjugglator, haven’t pinned that one down, but then the Mournful is him. Looks like he went to prison for something, whatever the fuck that was.”

“Yeah, we never got a straight answer about what he was really in jail for,” Dave said. “Too late for that, I guess.”

“But you felt it, right? The way the Mournful talked about the Chimeric. There was something there.”

“What?”

“Like they had a bond. A relationship.”

“So you’re just projecting some clown-lust onto an adult alt-universe ghost of Gamzee?”

“It’s not because I want to date Gamzee, you sick fuck!” Karkat snapped. “It’s because there’s a sad moron sitting in a detainment block and I don’t think he deserves to be there! If he’s stuck in the dreambubbles for eternity, the least I can do is let him spend it with someone important to him.”

“You’re just scripting a rom-com!” Dave sarcastically flopped his arms around, acting out an ancient Earth romance story. “‘I waited for you for seven years!’ ‘I wrote to you every day!’ Troll Nicholas Sparks had done it again, cue waterworks.”

“Sure, why the hell not?”

“Are you going to drag me into this? I don’t give a shit about troll ancestors from any universe and who they were boning."

Karkat jabbed a finger at Dave’s chest. “Because you’re bored, Strider. You’re bored and we’ve been spelunking buddies for Outer Gods know how long now. Isn’t this a better way to pass your sleeping hours than just randomly wandering around and getting assaulted by snobby, long-winded ghosts? ”

Dave dropped his shoulders and sighed. “Okay, the first part, I can’t argue with. Old versions of everyone is way better than void and horrorterrors, but not by much.”

“Told you so.”

“But you’re forgetting one thing.”

“Oh really? What could I be forgetting?”

“If we’re going to look into this Beforus ancestor thing, that’s not going to keep us from talking to snobby long-winded ghosts.”

“But the Mournful’s descendant is Kurloz. He doesn’t say anything, that’s like his gimmick.”

“Yeah, but the Chimeresque—”

“Chimeric.”

“Karmeric’s descendant is Kankri.”

Karkat’s eyes went wide. “…I didn’t think this through at all.”

“No shit.”

Chapter Text

“Could the witness please state his full name for the testimony?”

“Delegate Twinhorn, fourth-position elector of the Aurelian Psionic Institute.” Sollux said. Too many goddamn syllables just to say who he is. Too much fluff. Not enough substance.

“Age?”

“Sixteen.”

“Color, ocher… And your culler is?”

“The API. I am also culler to the API, mark that down.”

“Right, right,” the interrogator flipped her pen around and scratched something out. “Esteemed Delegate, could you please describe your relationship to the Chimeric?”

“We were friends,” Sollux said, and bit his tongue before he could add ‘you douche’ on the end. The interrogator glared at Sollux. She’s probably heard twenty people call themselves the Chimeric’s friend in this last hour alone.

“Could you elaborate?” she prompted.

“What, like spill my entire history with a close confidant all at once, to a stranger? You must be fun on first dates.”

“Please provide detail for the record. When did you and the Chimeric meet?”

‘Meet,’ please, when did Sollux intervene to save a random asshat on his coding forum from writing a code that would explode his computer? “We met online, about three and a half sweeps ago. He had questions about programming, and I tutored him in some basics. We started talking to each other more. I shared my aspirations to found the API, and he connected us with the Compasse. Then he recommended a few specialists to help us through the sweeps.”

“How did he meet those specialists?”

“Court, galas, I don’t know. It was his special ability or something. Meeting everyone and being friends with them.”

“Have you ever volunteered members of your social circles to be introduced to him?”

“Sort of? I don’t know,” Sollux pinched his nose. He felt so down on this. He wanted to curl up in a corner and not talk to anyone. Which sounded a lot like a downswing, but he knew what those felt like. This was different.

“Sort of?”

“It didn’t feel like ‘volunteering my social circle.’ A sweep ago, I brought our emergency culler, Guardian Trueshot, to his wriggling day because it sounded like fun, and I thought they should talk to each other. And when his titling day was coming around I talked with my former culler about going, but she was planning to go anyway.”

“Why?”

“They had a correspondence.”

“Who was your former culler?”

“Vigilant Lawscale.”

The interrogator made another note. “Did the Chimeric know Lawscale was your culler?”

“Former culler.”

“Implied in the past tense.”

“Oh. Sorry. Um, he didn’t know.”

“Why?”

Sollux paused. Because I didn’t want him to shove me aside for her? He couldn’t say that. Even when he told Chimeric that she had culled him, he left that part out. ‘How could you keep that secret from me!?’ he had raved. ‘This is payback for when you didn’t tell me your culler was the Compasse,’ Sollux had said. But that was a lie.

“It just felt like an unnecessary detail. The Chimeric and Lawscale had a respectful relationship without my interference.”

The interrogator made another note and flipped a page. “Now, can you describe your relationship to the Mirthful?”

Sollux shivered a little. “There’s not much to say.”

“Go on.”

He bristled. I just told you there’s not much! “I met him like every time I met the Chimeric. Three… no, four times, tops. We barely spoke. He was just always right over the Chimeric’s shoulder. I’d barely notice him. Like he was a wall sconce or a potted plant.”

“When did you first meet him? What was your first impression?”

“Huge. Purple. I didn’t like him, but not because of any shi—stuff, any stuff with him and the Chimeric.”

“Why didn’t you like him?”

“I… Okay, so the first time I met the Chimeric in person was a concert. The Mirthful came along, and I was this aggressively prejudiced anti-culler moron back then, and I saw he was coolblooded so… I decided to antagonize him the whole night.”

“Did you see anything that made you think that the Mirthful was abusing his cullee?”

“Well, that’s a pointless question, isn’t it?” Sollux said. “What’s done is done. No one’s gonna admit they saw signs back then because then you’re gonna ask ‘why didn’t you do anything?’ They’d be on the hook for ignoring a wiggler predator. So of course everyone’s gonna say they didn’t see a thing.”

The interrogator leaned forward. “Please answer the question as stated.”

“Fine! I met CM at a concert, MF was there, he followed us around but was really hands-off. Like the only thing he did was check that CM’s stomach was okay after he ate some shit. We got tired and went up to a hill, and CM passed out and I noticed MF petting CM’s hair. Like a meowbeast.”

Another raised eyebrow, more notepad scribbles. “And how old was the Chimeric at this time?”

“A little past seven.”

Nodding, and more scribbles.

“That means it was after he started piling CM? Sorry, Chimeric?”

“According to his confession to the Grand Highblood, yes.”

All it took was one newsfeed to rot Sollux’s good memories from the inside out. That announcement from the freaky clown church, the amphibiortress struggling to give a statement, the outrage on all sides. Sollux hadn’t realized how precious that night three sweeps ago was until it was ruined. On a hill, stargazing while CG slept, Sollux and the Mirthful just let conversation flow where it did. He hated the purpleblood a lot less by the time they parted. He’d never had anyone talk with him like that. Lawscale came close, taking everything he said quite seriously and slotting it into her amazing machine of a mind, but with the Mirthful it just… didn’t matter what he said. In a good way. Like he was a bottomless vessel into which Sollux could pour whatever words he wanted, inane and profound alike, and the Mirthful accepted it. Accepted him. He remembered feeling something, like chemistry, a spark…

But then he said goodbye. The Chimeric was in bad shape, but with his culler, so Sollux left them alone, and the Chimeric could barely talk, but Sollux LEFT HIM, because he trusted his culler but he fucking LEFT HIM—

The interrogator said something. Shit. “Sorry, what?”

“Do you have anything else to submit to the record?”

Sollux looked down. “What about his prophecy?”

“His what?”

“I heard rumors. The Chimeric said we had to end culling to save the species, because a magic monster said so,” he leaned in a little closer. “Was he serious? Did he mean that literally?”

“I can’t share evidence at this time.”

“Of course you can’t,” Sollux muttered. What the hell happened to the Chimeric’s pan? Guardian training couldn’t have fried him that badly. He seemed fine at his titling day. And Sollux knew just how radical he was in secret, but he was too smart to spew his true feelings like that. He wanted people to take his side, so he gave them a side they were able to join. But ‘let the cullees go?’ That was too extreme for anyone to join. No one would just jump ship like that.

And… he couldn’t have included the API, where all the cullees were cullers. Could he?

“Thank you for your time, Delegate. We will be in contact with you if we have any more questions.” The interrogator offered her hand, and Sollux jerked it before he stepped into the hall.

The entire row of doors on either side had been converted into interrogation booths. The Vigilants had at least a thousand interviews to conduct in the palace alone. That’s how many lives the Chimeric touched in ten sweeps. Trolls milled every which way: arriving, waiting, chatting, entering, leaving. A lot of people huddled close to each other, offering comfort like someone had died.

Sollux wandered the hall a little slower than traffic dictated, scanning for someone standing still. He found her quickly enough, with her red square glasses, balanced horns, and crisp jacket. The only thing missing was her smile.

“Hey, LS,” he announced. She turned to him.

“How was it?” she asked.

“Pretty good,” Sollux said, with a tone that suggested god-awful.

Lawscale heard what he meant. She opened her arms. “C’mere.”

With barely any more coaxing than a gesture and a word, Sollux let her hug him while he rested his head on her shoulder. “God… fuck…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Apart from everything?!”

“There’s something on your mind about this,” she whispered. “You think you’re guilty.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

“Why?”

He sniffed, and tears started to flow. “Because I just let it happen, I gave him the soppers and then MF was touching his hair and I just sat there like a moron, I didn’t think—”

“This was at Trollchella?”

“I left him. I fucking left him with MF, he was barely conscious! MF could’ve done whatever he wanted to him, I just left him there with a fucking predator… What if CM was trying to get me to stay but I didn’t notice—”

“We all missed it, it’s not your fault,” Lawscale held him secure.

“What if we had caught MF before this? Would CM still be on the run?”

“…Probably, yes.”

“What? Seriously?”

“You didn’t manage to get any more details about the Chimeric’s declaration, did you?”

“No, she called it evidence.” Sollux sniffed. “Please tell me you know more.”

“There are a few interpretations I could draw, but none are well-supported yet. But I can say that no one individual failed to protect the Chimeric, and even arresting the Mirthful earlier might not have stopped this.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

She was quiet. He counted her breaths. Six of them. “I think it’s going to be a very long time before any of us feel better.”

“Excuse me, Vigilant Lawscale.”

A polite voice interrupted Sollux's despair. He raised his head and wiped his nose before looking at the intruder. The last asshole he wanted to see stood behind him: Trueshot, tall and sweaty and with that constipated face, somehow solid and indecisive at the same time. The strong servant, the humble Guardian.

The fucking tool.

"I don't mean to interrupt. If Twinhorn is in need of more time to recuperate, I will return later,” the Guardian said.

"I'm fine,” Sollux shot. "What do you want?"

"I was hoping for the Vigilant's consultation. In the midst of this national crisis, I am having trouble finding help regarding a problem of my own."

"What problem would that be, Guardian?" Lawscale asked.

Trueshot reached into a small leather bag by his hip and pulled out a pair of shoes. He held them toward Lawscale, but Sollux plucked them out of his hands first.

"What even are these? Why do you carry women's heels in a bag? These aren't even your color, they're like, chartreuse. And they look half the size of your enormous walk stumps. Is there something you're not telling us, TS?" 

They were actually quite nice shoes. Grassy green velvet on a boot with a good chunk of heel. A few water stains near the toes, probably from before they were abandoned completely.

Lawscale placed a hand on his shoulder. "That's alright. There's no need to suspect Trueshot for owning these shoes. They belong to his cullee, don't they?"

How easy it was to fall back into their routine, their deception! How long ago had Lawscale asked him to help her play a very important game? The one that nearly defined his adolescence?

"I found these discarded in palace gardens shortly after the Chimeric's titling day celebration ended. As of now, the Mondaine has been missing for three days. My request for aid has been subsumed by the imperial emergency concerning the Chimeric. At this rate, investigation about her disappearance will be postponed, possibly until it's too late."

"Do you intend to hunt her?" Lawscale asked.

"I did, but the Guardians must hold a summit to cross-examine current culling methods. If the Mirthful was able to execute conciliatory abuse against the Chimeric under our noses, there must be untold thousands of cases we've overlooked. We need to institute new standards to protect the young.”

Sollux's stomach turned. He had seen something, he said nothing, it was wrong, it was sick—

"What do you think about this news that the Mirthful abused the Chimeric?" Lawscale asked.

“Although I disagreed with his every action and belief, the Mirthful is the last person I would have suspected of this," Trueshot fidgeted with his fingers. "Unfortunately, that is a textbook reaction to a skilled abuser. They excel at winning the trust of those around them, so that no one will raise accusations."

"And what do you think of the one raised against the Empress?"

"I think it's a distraction, much like this entire conversation. I will serve the Empress and follow her every order, but my primary concern will always be the one I was tasked to protect. I need you to help me find her.”

Lawscale hummed, disappointed that the game was over, but she backed down. "Well, the main issue here is this scandal has disrupted normal procedures. I am not even sure if I will be available. The entire order of Vigilants will be responsible for bringing the Chimeric to justice."

“I believe it is policy for trolls sympathetic to the accused to be disqualified from the investigation. The root of your philosophy is exceedingly similar to his, is it not?”

"Excuse you, LS wrote the philosophy CM built on. For anything, she's the root," Sollux cut in. Lawscale smiled a little.

"Regardless of who started what, Trueshot is right. My judgment may be clouded for this particular hunt. Sound, objective reasoning will be crucial to finding the Chimeric.” She smiled with teeth, a small tell that Sollux was pretty sure only he knew. "I think it would be a much better use of my time to keep the Mondaine's trail warm for you, until you can take up the hunt."

"I cannot sufficiently express my thanks," Trueshot said. "I can show you where I found her shoes, and other relevant clues."

"In a few minutes. I'd like to finish my conversation with Twinhorn."

Trueshot nodded. Sollux wanted to punch him. He’d probably break his fist on the Guardian’s jaw. “Very well. Please meet me outside when you're ready." And he left the two alone.

“Hey... Are you trying to let CM get away?” Sollux said.

“I haven't decided yet,” Lawscale said.

“He threw everything he learned from your work in the garbage.”

"Not yet. There's no way he can even attempt what he claims to want without using what he's learned: from me, and you, and the Compasse, the Guardians, the chimera, and even from the Mirthful. All of this radical action is the product of a very special education. I want to see his next move.”

“What will his next move be, since you probably already know?”

She smiled. "What do you think it is? His last known location was the cathedraltop where the Priestly leads. The Grand Highblood cast him out, and later dumped the Mirthful's body. Bloodstains confirm their presence on the steps. So what did he do next?"

"LS, fuck, I'm not in the mood for this..."

"C'mon, cull-bee. Just a little game."

"Ugh... Well, I hope the MF is dead, the bastard,” he says. The statement was more forced than he expected. He felt more betrayed than revolted. MF was supposed to take care of him. I thought he was nice... I thought he was good... "He's purple, but so is the rest of his caste. The minstrelisters killed him… But the body was gone, so… CM got rid of it. Threw a funeral in the woods and ran. Town nearby, probably looked for an inn. With a hood and cloak he can pass for burgundy. I think he’s holed up in some basement, trying to contact his next ally. His old usernames are probably frozen already, but he can make new accounts.”

"Very good deduction."

"It's completely wrong, isn't it?"

"We'll see." Lawscale kept her head low, but she took and squeezed Sollux's hand. "We'll get to the bottom of this. No matter what happens, you need to protect the API."

"It's not in danger of anything."

"Still. Just keep your priorities straight, radi-cullee. We've lost one hope for culling justice, but not our only."

Sollux pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Delegation needs to make a statement.”

"Let Soulstar do the talking. You've done enough."

Sollux fell silent. The Chimeric helped him build the API in the first place, and then scrapped it along with everything else he'd ever known. He kind of wanted to scrap his life too. Things could go this wrong even when he did everything right, so what was the point?

"Where's your swing at?"

"I don't fucking know, shit. I feel so low but this isn't a downswing."

“Try and rest like it's a downswing. That could help." Lawscale released his hand. 

"Fine. See you later," Sollux said.

"Later, De-luxe," She mangled the word, forcing it to rhyme with Sollux's name.

He bit his tongue as she walked away. I love you died on his lips.

Chapter Text

The plan was to speak to Kurloz first. For nearly seven 'nights' of sleeping periods, Karkat and Dave hunted for him through the dreambubbles, but the bubbles would not comply. They couldn't even get a hold of Meulin or Mituna to try and connect to his present bubble. They put out the word with other dancestors that they were looking for him, but the most they could do was nod sympathetically and—in their own way—confirm that he was always pretty tricky to find. The Prince of Rage could hide for relative centuries, and then emerge and resume like he’d never been gone.

Each time they they encountered Kankri, they ran the other direction. They ran away four times. But with each run-away, their determination to flee started to wear thin. After all, Kankri was involved in this, right? And even though Karkat had grown up with no idea that he had an ancestor, let alone that there had been another hemo-mutant in ancient history, there was probably a chance that a peaceful planet like Beforus wouldn't have any need for that kind of censorship. Kankri probably did know something about the Chimeric and his life. It was a matter of last resort, but they’d survive it, right? 

Then they stayed put the fifth time they saw his red sweater. 

The lecture resumed.

“It's very good to see you both, but I admit to feeling particularly glad that you've come back, Karkat. I've been thinking about where we left off in our last conversation where you woke up after we had just scratched the surface of an exploration of hemolinguistics and problematically hemoist speech. Not to imply that I was offended by your awakening, since it is a very clear microaggression to judge someone by their life-or-death status with regards to dreambubbles mechanics, but I think for future reference, it should be a new social convention for the living to precede their awakenings with a trigger warning, as a courtesy to those who are members of the unwakeable dead who may have found the circumstances of their death to be traumatic, triggering, or they are simply new members of the ghostly population from their perspective and are in need of a number of accomodations.”

“Not offended, what a load of shit,” Dave said. “I bet you threw a hissy fit over the fact you didn't have someone to rant at anymore.”

“Please refrain from triggering slander in my presence. That’s not even remotely close to my purpose for offering this friendly reminder, which applies to you as much as it does to Karkat,” Kankri folded his arms and turned his nose up at Dave. “Check your privilege and consider the perspectives of others.”

“Actually, can we talk about something other than social justice?” Karkat suggested.

The other Vantas blinked. “What else… is there?”

“Let's try history?”

"I suppose I could try and talk about that. But really, the historian of our party was Aranea."

"She's been hard to find lately," Dave said. "As in, we haven't seen her since we first met her. We just keep hearing about her from the rest of you."

“Either way, my recommendation stands. I’ll do whatever I can to help educate you about history, but depending on the topic, you may need to consult someone else for a broader perspective.”

“It's actually a history that concerns us personally. Like, bloodline history,” Karkat clarified. “Have you heard of the Chimeric?”

Kankri's haughty attitude cracked and turned to a serious frown. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Why is it so shocking? He's your ancestor, right?”

"Yes, but I was hoping to have so many more conversations with you about the Beforan way of life before I addressed… him."

Karkat met Kankri's empty eyes and asked more forcefully, "What do you know about the Chimeric?"

Kankri swallowed. “I… I feel the need to preface this explanation—”

"Can you skip the preface for once?!" Karkat insisted.

"I'll abridge it as much as I can, but this preface is key to understanding my relationship with his legacy!" Kankri promised, his cheeks a little pink with a phantom flush of blood.

"Fine! What's the most abridged version possible?"

Kankri took a deep breath. “It's no secret that I am a critic of the Beforan way of life and the many problematic social conventions and institutions it created, specifically with regards to culling and hemoism. Now that I've had the equivalent of a few million sweeps to analyze literally every aspect of our society, it's become harder and harder to agree with the position that there was any part of our culture worth salvaging, assuming the point of salvage is the end of our planet. Everything not overtly awful was just latently problematic, and even the elements we could most easily prescribe as ‘good’ were either insufficiently inclusive, founded upon atrocious acts of exclusion, or created by people with problematic attitudes. Sometimes, I think back to the reckoning that destroyed Beforus with a degree of… um…”

"Degree of what?" Karkat prompted.

"Trigger warning for… oh, what to even call this… Callous disregard for life? Apocalyptic fetishization?” He wrung his hands.

"You're glad your planet got destroyed," Dave filled in.

"That's an atrociously oversimplified explanation! That interpretation of my beliefs is completely inaccurate, and it's tremendously trivializing of all the thorough examination I had to conduct before I arrived at this position—”

"Look man, I get it," Karkat stepped in. "Obviously you didn't want billions of people to die, but you see a silver lining to it. Is that better?"

“A… A bit.”

"Then can we continue? What's the point of this preface?"

"I just want to make it clear that even though I can empathize with the perspective that the destruction of Beforus was necessary, as a means for wiping the slate clean, I cannot impress on you enough that I would never support the decision to revolutionize my planet through violent uprising. If someone presented me with a method that would change everything and create something better in its place, even if that betterment bordered on perfection, I would not take it if the costs included loss of life.”

“So are you saying you were opposed to the Scratch?” Dave asked.

“I think that’s off-topic,” Kankri said. “The Scratch was a situation where the twelve of us had to make a collaborative decision to end our reality—and ourselves—in order to create a new universe with players capable of winning the game. We had a great number of discussions about our choice, though looking back it was hardly an open and judgment-free dialogue like what I hope to cultivate when examining the failings of our civilization. We were also on a bit of a time-limit, since underlings weren’t getting any easier to kill and some of us were running low on dreamselves and grist.”

“So what are we talking about that’s so different than a Scratch?” Karkat prompted. “Are you talking about a hard reset button for Beforus itself?”

“Yes. And I wouldn’t accept it. There are certain members of our party who would jump at the chance to change everything, regardless of costs of life incurred, but before I go any further in our discussion about the Chimeric, I need you to understand completely how I am not an individual who would make such a choice, and why it’s highly problematic to make decisions, even for the greater good, that will cause harm to come to others, and I’m not just speaking about loss of life here—trigger warning on that, and also trigger warnings for the other ways people could be hurt by such a reset: physically, emotionally, mentally, socially, spiritually, interpersonally, as distinct from socially due to the difference between social status and interpersonal relationships, not limited to quadrants—”

“Wait, hold on, HOLD ON!” Karkat waved a hand. “I don’t understand why I need this lesson before you’ll tell me about the Chimeric!”

“Well, you’re his genetically identical incarnation. You haven’t had the chance to reach maturity like he did, nor do you have a planet to call your own yet, but I think it’s important that we clear up any potentially problematic beliefs before I delve too much deeper into that subject.”

“Hang on, maybe we don’t need this,” Dave said. “You’re saying Karmeric was problematic, right?”

“Oh, absolutely! I barely even know where to begin with regards to how problematic his actions were.”

“But how do you know for certain Karkat is really that much like Karmeric?” Dave said. “Why are you assuming Karkat is just like the guy when they live a billion relative years apart in completely different universes? Maybe we can just do a brief checkup and see if things are really as bad as you fear.”

Kankri paused a second, and placed a hand on his chin. “You know, that actually is tremendously problematic for me to conflate Karkat and his ancestral self. Please accept my apologies for that microaggression. I was just so worried that between a genetic predisposition and an Alternian upbringing, the obstacles toward raising awareness would have been insurmountable. Let me see if I can sum this up with a brief question…”

Karkat glared at Dave, frustrated with the situation but a little relieved that they had at least gotten Kankri off of his previous topic. Dave just smirked and raised an eyebrow above his glasses.

“Alright, I think I would frame it like this: if there was a part of the world you wanted changed, is it acceptable to kill in order to make the change happen?”

Karkat took a second. “Is the thing hurting anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone I care about?”

“Sure?”

Voice even and eyes fierce, Karkat answered: “It’s absolutely acceptable to kill.”

Dave uttered a small “woah” while Kankri choked on his tongue, white eyes bugged.

“You can’t be serious! That kind of casual violent speech is—”

“Is common fucking sense where I come from,” Karkat cut him off. “Here’s a single example: our Ampora murdered two members of our team and knocked out a third, and the fact Kanaya revived in time to chainsaw him in half is probably why his death toll didn’t climb higher. If the reason I’m more than a mutant red smear on the fucking floor, steamrolled by some rampaging highblood, is because friends of mine found it appropriate to use deadly force to protect us all, then I’m a sack of shit if I’m unwilling to go through with it myself! That’s what you’re talking about, right?”

“No, well—Mostly, but I think some of the nuance got lost—”

“Look, that’s where I draw the line. I know I don’t have practical experience with killing other members of a sentient species, but this happened dozens of times in our game too. Questing with friends and mowing down ogres and basilisks by the score? That was fine.”

“Those monsters were game constructs, I’m talking exclusively about other trolls!”

“Frankly, the difference shouldn’t matter. Basically anyone who thinks they can fuck with my friends is on my shit list. I’d slaughter them without a second thought.”

“But this is exactly the problem! This is why I can’t properly educate you about the Chimeric yet!” Kankri insisted. “Setting aside the dozens of triggers that should be applied to your statement, ranging from directionless threats to graphic depictions of violence, this is exactly the kind of warmongering extremism that doomed him in the first place! I had hoped I’d be able to spend at least a few hundred more hours going over the basics of privilege and oppression in troll society before we even touched on your Beforan self! I want to make sure you’re ready to understand it!”

Dave raised a finger. “Hang on, warmongering? I thought you guys were the love-peace-and-lamb-fleece trolls.”

“Yes, and there was a certain troll who disagreed with that perspective, and blighted our history with caste warfare! Thousands died on both sides before the conflict resolved!”

“A grand threshecutioner would be expected to kill thousands with his own hands! In a week!” Karkat shot back.

“Okay, you’re just pissing him off on purpose now,” Dave held out a hand. “This isn’t about who has or hasn’t killed or died, this is about what happened in the past.”

“And I’m not comfortable sharing that history until Karkat can prove he’s matured sufficiently to not take the legacy of my ancestor and treat it like an action story for immature wigglers. There’s a great amount of caution to be taken from his story, and since you are the living heroes who are likely to go forth and put this indestructible demon legend to rest once and for all, you need to be properly equipped with an education about when violence is and isn’t an appropriate response to situational conflict. It’s a lesson I failed to teach my team while we were alive, but now that I’ve had a very long time in the afterlife to refine my teaching methods, I think I will be far more successful this time around.”

“How about we put pause on the eons of sermons and change gears for a minute?” Dave said. “We don’t need to know about your ancestor all that badly. What about the Mournful?”

Kankri looked confused. “The who?”

“From what we heard he was tight with Karmeric. What do you know about him?”

“First of all, I have no idea who that is, because as I mentioned, I was not our group’s historian, and didn’t make it a point to seek information about everyone else’s ancestors. And second but more importantly, I think you’re being very disingenuous and trying to change the subject. Karkat asked me about the Chimeric, and I said an introduction to his life and legacy would not be appropriate until we straightened out this frankly very disturbing, murderer-apologist behavior that he’s internalized.” Kankri turned to his dancestor and took a very deep breath and began to lecture.

Karkat shot Dave a pathetic look, along the lines of Please God, kill me.

Dave smirked back, Oh, so I’m God now?

Karkat scowled, We have to find some way to shut him up! He’s going to talk us to death!

Dave tilted his head, I think I got this.

“…So really, the most appropriate place for us to start this discussion is with a thorough examination of all the ways that action could provoke unintended emotional reactions in others, and the ways we can seek to mitigate that pain by taking a more honest and proactive stance toward warning people about the things we wish to discuss. I think I should start us off by saying that the following sermo—I mean, conversation will include the topics of—”

Quicker than a flash, Dave pulled two objects from his sylladex: a spoon, and a jar of peanut butter. Right in the ‘o’ of the word ‘of,’ Dave stuck a big, sticky glob half the size of a fist right in the middle of Kankri’s mouth. The ghost choked in shock, muffled protests stopped by the nut butter in his mouth.

“Run, run, run, run!” Dave ordered, high-tailing it in the opposite direction.

“Are you fucking kidding me, that was your plan?!” Karkat bitched, but he followed Dave instantly. They heard Kankri say something more—probably “wait,” but muffled by half a cup of peanut butter—but neither dared stop. They ran until the bubble’s terrain changed to a balmy shoreline, then leaned over their knees as they caught their breath.

“So…” Dave panted. “A warmonger, huh?”

“Hah, yeah…” Karkat paused to laugh breathily. “I know we learned barely anything from that conversation, but for some reason I’m really happy.”

“What, to know you were a murderous lunatic on Beforus?”

“Knowing me, it’s just a confirmation of everything I know and believe about myself to learn I went shithive maggots after growing up on their grubbie-gloves, nice-all-the-time planet. What I’m really happy about is, the Chimeric was the kind of person that pissed off Mr. Celibate Problematics.”

“And that’s all you need in this life,” Dave held out a fist, and Karkat bumped it.

Chapter Text

After their encounter with Kankri, the bubbles started to play along. For a little while, they found bubbles with just dead friend-trolls from Alternia, who were definitely pretty entertaining to hang out with, and rather enjoyed the concept of Scotch Hopping Dave had introduced to Karkat earlier. But after a few more sleeps, the bubbles allowed them to cross paths with the Beforan Leijon.

They greeted her with a smile and wave. Meulin greeted them the way she greeted everything: with squealing.

"EEEEEEEEEE! Karkat it is so good to SEE you again!" She bounced on her toes. "And my gay human baby Dave, HI!!!"

"Not what gay means, or baby, but alright," Dave said. "Sup."

"I just can't EVEN that I still get to hang out with you guys, un-doomed this time!" She squished her face with her hands. "Like, I CAN'T. It is so much more fun when my babies are un-doomed."

"God, what was so special about our doomed selves that you assholes keep feeling the need to bring them up?" Karkat complained.

"Mrrrrm, nothing much really. They weren't that different from you either! The only hard part is keeping straight what we've talked about already. Other than that I'm just really, REALLY glad these are the un-doomed yous."

"Hey, here's something we probably never talked about: ancestors," Dave said.

"No, we talked about ancestors a lot! Like who we grew up to be on Alternia."

"What about the other way around? Who were the Beforus ancestors?"

"MOG! You're right, we never talked about that!" Meulin bounced on her heels. "MOG MOG MOG, I would love to talk about that!"

"What do you know?"

“Um... Not much, actually! But I would LOVE to know so much more! All I know is my ancestor was called the Mondaine, which meant she was super popular and people loved her a lot! I think it's Troll French for 'socialite?' Anyway, she was really great and whenever I meet a ghost of Nepeta I make sure to tell her!”

"We'll figure out how the Mondaine fits into this later," Dave said. "What do you know about Kurloz's ancestor?"

Her smile froze for a second. “…Literally nothing!” Meulin exclaimed.

"What about Kankri's?" Karkat added.

She shrugged this time. "Nothing, no. Have you asked Aranea?"

"We already got that advice, also, we can't find her," Dave said. "But maybe you can help us find Kurloz? He might know something about his own ancestor."

"Oh, certainly! That's the funny thing about coolbloods, they are VERY good at knowing who their ancestors are,” she giggled.

Meulin led the way through the bubbles, across a crumbling Battlefield, the moon of Derse, and a long expanse of sand. She spoke to them over her shoulder, still grinning. “I gotta say, I am so curious about our ancestors now too! It just never hit me that my little clown baby was all grown up on Beforus once!"

"Clown baby?" Karkat mumbled, pulling a face.

Dave caught Meulin’s attention so she could lip-read him. "Wait, you've talked to Gamzee?"

Meulin nodded vigorously. "YES! He is my TINY CLOWN BABY! I cannot EVEN, he's so cute! And I'm so happy he and Kurloz have found each other!"

"See, this is news to us, because we haven't seen Gamzee in like a year," Dave said.

"Well, he has to go to sleep sometime! And when he's dreaming, he still ends up in the bubbles!” Meulin said. "He's doing GREAT, so don't worry about him."

Karkat frowned a little harder. Dave let the matter drop.

After a few more dream-backdrops, Meulin led them to a forest with pink-leafed trees. Kurloz leaned against one of the thick trunks, eyes closed and hands behind his head. When Meulin approached, she squealed, and his ghostly eyes opened. A series of hand gestures quickly followed as they struck up a conversation.

Dave and Karkat stood by and glanced at each other. Dave didn't find Kurloz as creepy as Karkat seemed to. Dead shit was cool, and skeletons were dead, and Kurloz looked more like a Jack Skellington to him than a Murder Clown. But that didn't stop the awkward from growing tense as they waited for Meulin and Kurloz to stop flashing hand shapes at each other and acknowledge them.

"What should we ask first?" Karkat hissed as quietly as possible. Kurloz's attention snapped to him, and Karkat jumped. Apparently it wasn't quiet enough. Meulin jumped too, having not heard Karkat at all.

"Oh! Kurloz, hi, you look… Um, you look well?" Karkat floundered.

Kurloz lowered his eyelids and nodded a little, the universal signal for a mellow 'hell yes.'

"We were getting curious about a lot of things," Dave said. "Mostly with doomed selves and then some ancient history. And don't tell us to go to Aranea, we've heard that a ton already."

Kurloz smiled.

"Can you tell us about some things?" Dave said.

He pointed to the stitches in his lips.

"Can Meulin help you tell us some things?"

Meulin bounced up and down again. "She most definitely CAN!" She exchanged a few more gestures and reported, "As far as the old doomed yous go, he wasn't very close with you, but he thought you were cool!"

"What about hanging out with Gamzee?"

A few signs. "Doomed or un-doomed?" Meulin asked.

"Doomed first."

Lots of signs. They had a slow, pressured feel, like he was relishing their shapes. "The gist of it is, meeting Gamzee was really great. It was another of his color after so many sweeps!"

"So it was like, a juggalo bond?"

Kurloz tilted his head and shrugged.

"He means your religion, with the Mirthful Messiahs," Karkat clarified.

Kurloz nodded and picked up the train of thought. "Yep! Him and, uh, him brought the holy ruckus to these bubbles. It was ALL kinds of miraculous!”

"Last time Gamzee 'brought the holy ruckus,' people died," Karkat said.

He bowed his head. “The most damned shame. The Church never did that on his hiveside. Sad to see the miracles turn murderous.”

"And you've met un-doomed Gamzee now, right?" Dave said.

They waited for Meulin to interpret. "Yeah, they’ve met, and got some discussions on."

"What about?"

"The only difference he got to feeling was that this funny bro has a lot more spider in his fang bracket. Makes it harder to get the jubilations on."

"Yeah, Vriska is sort of insufferable most of the time," Karkat agreed.

Kurloz signed something that made Meulin pause and giggle.

"What is it?"

"He called her... called her a wet bitchtitty blanket!" Kurloz raised his eyebrows suggestively, making Meulin laugh harder.

"Good one," Dave said. “Talking smack about Vriska is the best thing ever.”

"Back on topic, sort of, or I guess more like getting to the point," Karkat began. "How much have you learned about ancestors?"

Kurloz considered this for a second. "Just that our After Planet selves finally got to be reaching all kinds of badass heights. Up and down the hemospectrum, we commanded wicked respects in our own ways."

"We found like, this bubble-rumor about Kankri's ancestor, the Chimeric. Do you know anything about him?"

Kurloz shook his head. "Never heard the name."

"We think he was close with your ancestor. The Mournful."

A very low growl bubbled in Kurloz's throat, the first audible noise they had ever heard from him. He snarled behind his stitches and flung angry gestures in Karkat's direction. And when he was done, he clapped his hands over his ears, closed his eyes, and leaned back against the tree, patella tucked under his chin.

"Kurloz!" Meulin cried. She tugged on his sleeve, but he refused to budge.

Karkat had to wait for Meulin to look at him again, but once she did, the first words out of his mouth were, "What did he say? What was it?"

Struggling to smile, Meulin fidgeted with her cat tail. "Um... he knows a little! He has DEFINITELY at least heard of his ancestor!"

"Whatever he knows made him throw a tantrum, so what did he say?!"

“Uh…” She squeezed the tail harder. "Promise me you won't think less of Kurloz or Gamzee, please?"

"We promise, now what is it?" Dave jumped in.

"He said that… The Mournful was a heretic pedophile, and he… deserved what he got. Whatever that is.”

"Wait, what? A pedophile?" Dave said. "I thought the adults never see the kids on troll world."

"Oh, no! That's an Alternian thing. On Beforus, if the adults were gone, who would cull the wigglers?"

"Didn't he ever talk about this with you before? You were his girlfriend, right?"

Meulin giggled and held up a finger. "Matesprit, actually. So not really! If he ever talked about his ancestor with anyone, it would have been with Mituna."

"And we can't talk to Mituna about this, can we?"

“Afraid so! He probably can't tell you what he knows. If he could tell, he wouldn't! That's what moirails are for!" She kicked one shoe a little. “Come to think of it, this does explain a little bit about Kurloz, I think?”

“What part is that?” Dave asked.

“Well, Kurloz stopped wearing his sign sometime before we entered the game. I know he has one, everyone does—well, except Kankri, but that’s… special! But anyway, it makes sense that he wouldn’t wear his sign if his ancestor had done something awful.” Meulin finally managed a small frown, almost more like an introspective pout.

“You guys take that shit really seriously, don’t you?” Dave shook his head slightly. Karkat just stood there.

Meulin cleared her throat and did her best to smile again, this time sympathetically. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help, but please, don’t let this change what you think about our Makara babies! They’re both just little boys compared to what their ancestors did. Besides, for everyone who’s alive, you don’t have to grow up to be like your ancestor or alternate-self at all! We’re really different from our ancestors.”

“Oh yeah? Do you think you’re really different from the Disciple?”

“Of course! Maybe some of the core stayed the same, but I don’t have to be like her at all if I don’t want to!” She puffed out her chest. “Kurloz would never grow up to be someone who would hurt a wiggler that way, and I can’t think of Clown Baby Gamzee doing that either. If we don't like the legacy, we can leave it!”

"Good to know," Dave said.

She paused a second. “If everything is clear with you babies, I should probably find Mituna. Kurloz likes to be our happy guy, but he can sulk forever if you let him. He'll be fine after some patented Captor scratches!" She mimed the scratching with her fingers.

Meulin absconded, and to give the moody Kurloz some space, Dave and Karkat walked out of the bubble until they found a new place. It looked like a memory of someone’s backyard, with puffy clouds and the sun shining overhead.

"So, what now?" Dave asked.

Karkat said nothing. He stared at the ground and just... breathed, very quickly.

"Karkat? Are you okay?"

Karkat hugged his elbows close to his stomach.

"You look like you're gonna be sick."

"I... I don't know," Karkat said. "Oh, god, it's so clear now. I can’t fucking believe it.”

"What is?"

"The Mournful, he was... I don't even know if I can put it into words, I'm still trying to fathom it."

"You're leaving me in the dark again, what's going on?"

"He thought I was the Chimeric, but that should have been impossible! If I lived long enough to get a title that would mean I was an adult, but me right now, I’m still a kid! No one would mistake a six sweeper for an adult. It took so much to make him realize I wasn’t who he was looking for, so he must have known the Chimeric when he was a kid!”

"Okay, so…”

Karkat shivered. “So!? You heard what Meulin told us. The Mournful is a pedophile. That has to be why he's in jail. And the one he molested must have been the Chimeric! Fuck, he didn't give a shit that I was a child! He saw me, he tried to touch me, oh god—”

Dave placed a hand on Karkat's shoulder. "Hey, just breathe, Karkat. I need you to breathe."

"How the fuck do you expect me to breathe at a time like this?!"

"Because you're safe! He's in a jail cell and he's not leaving. He can't get to you unless you go back to him. He's never going to get you. Maybe he was trying to touch you, but we didn't let him, remember?"

Karkat nodded along to that. “Yeah, I guess you're right, when you put it like that.”

"And I don't think this story adds up yet. We still don't know anything about how the Mournful and Karmeric met. And this doesn't explain what Kankri said about his legacy. We gotta figure out what's up with that, right?"

Karkat almost said something, but he held it back. "I don't know."

"Don't know?"

"I don't know if I want to keep doing this."

"Seriously? You're quitting already?"

"Why not? Turns out the Mournful is a sick fuck who quadranted himself with a wiggler, and he deliberately didn't tell us! Why should I bother helping him?"

“You don’t have to do this for his sake, you could do it for yours! You can find out everything there is to know about your ancestral self and find his ghost and then never tell a word of it to the Mournful, because fuck that guy,” Dave said. “C’mon, aren't you still curious to know what Karmeric did?”

"Kankri won't tell unless I suffer for one million hours of social re-education, and no one else seems to know who he even was! It's a dead end in a pointless story about a useless mutant who got fucked over by a highblood!" Karkat was shaking by now. "That's the Vantas bloodline creed at this point! Fucked over by highbloods: sometimes literally!"

“Look, I don't want to tell you that it's not awful, but there's got to be more to this. Kankri called the Chimeric a warmonger. That doesn't sound like something related to a grown up perving on him. He had a life after what the Mournful did.”

Karkat sighed and hugged his elbows tighter. "I don't know. Like, you're right, but it… its impact zone is too close to my hive this time. My ancestor and Kankri are one thing, because they're not actually me. I feel like the more I learn about who the Chimeric was, the more I might feel like it all happened to me. And I don't want to feel… what he felt, when the Mournful was doing all that shit to him.”

Dave stood by for a second. "So what do you want to do now?"

"Hm?"

“If we’re giving up on Karmeric Quest, what are we supposed to do instead?”

Karkat loosened a little. "Wait a second, were you into this?"

"What? No."

"You were!"

"No, I'm not!"

"How about this, you go and solve the mystery if you want. Become the goddamn authority on the Chimeric and all the shitty things that happened to him. But count me out of it."

"So... you wanna go solo in the dreambubbles?"

"Sure. Let's call it that."

The environment around them shifted a little. It looked like the base of the chain on Derse that once connected the moon to the planet. Nearly a year ago, Dave had sliced the chain with a sword so Rose—and presumably him too—could deliver the Tumor to the Green Sun. But then she left him behind.

"Are you going to try and wake up now?"

"Yeah. I'll try that." Karkat said. "See you back in the lab."

"Okay... See ya."

Karkat hopped down from the base’s platform and wandered out into the dreambubble, leaving Dave alone to stare at the abyss.

Chapter Text

Everything smelled of dirt and moisture. She felt earth give way beneath her toes. She heard the noises of thousands of animals living and working and surviving. Nepeta felt proud to join them again.

Her gloves had been discarded. So had her shoes. She ripped layer after layer of petticoat out from her dress, but kept the material. This much fabric would  be great for starting a nest somewhere safe. Some of it got used to wrap her fists and ankles, to lessen the strain of running on her hands and feet. Civilization had taught her a thing or two after all.

Her body had protested for about fifteen minutes. She only ran on all fours in the privacy of her hive with Trueshot, but ‘privacy’ had been hard to come by. It must have been perigees since she did it last, but now that she was in the groove she flew across the forest floor, dress tied between her legs while the burden of more skirts weighed on her back.

She paused for a minute to stretch her spine, and she took stock of her surroundings. This forest was nice, but it was too close. She'd be found here. Thanks to her education, she knew the world was bigger than just the plains where her lusus and the lions had raised her. There were faraway places, where she could disappear and never be found again. But how to get there?

Her stomach growled too. She should eat first. Scheme later. Settling low to the ground, she listened for movement. Something unawares, something meaty. In this new habitat, the fauna didn't have the benefit of knowing her scent belonged to a predator. She had wondered once as a cub—well, wiggler—why the hunt came so much easier to her than her litter mates. Turned out the things she hunted didn't know to be afraid until it was too late.

Something rustled. It sounded like a hopbeast. Perfect. Nepeta caught sight of it, nibbling a tuft of grass at the foot of a tree. She crouched low… changed her angle for another look… raised her haunches…

In a flash of movement Nepeta pounced, but something startled the hopbeast in time for it to run. Snarling, Nepeta tore after her meal, matching it move for move through the underbrush. She could do it—she could catch it, she could and she would, and she could almost feel her teeth sinking into its neck—!

But something caught her by the ankle instead. Her forward momentum jerked to a halt, and suddenly switched backward, hoisting her upside down and into the air. Nepeta yowled from deep in her throat—a place that hadn't made noise in over a sweep—as she kicked and struggled against the trap. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How did she miss this?! Why wasn't she thinking of traps?

"No poaching," a voice told her. "Everything that hunts, or gets hunted, has to live here."

The rope gradually spun Nepeta to face the speaker. He was a broad-shouldered troll with similarly proportioned horns. He stood quite tall, eyes almost level with Nepeta's overturned state. He looked equal to Trueshot from this perspective. His eyes were deep brown, earthy. They made him look safe. But, she couldn't forget he was still the trapper who captured her. A few coils of rope around his torso proved it, along with a dagger tied to his leg and heavy clothing meant for outdoor living.

"Let me go," Nepeta growled at him. Great job being the apex predator while hanging upside down.

"This is my forest, and you don't belong here, so..." The troll shrugged. "What are you doing?"

"I was looking for food!"

"Like I said, that means you were poaching," he said.

"No one told me!"

"Do you know where you are?"

"I'm not where I was, which is a vast improvement."

The troll hummed, considering this. "If you need a meal, I think I can spare something, probably," he said. "And then, you can tell me why you're here."

Nepeta could feel blood rushing to her head. He was offering to let her go, and feed her, but she had to make sure he was safe to trust. "What do you have?"

"I'll ask something to share a kill," he said. "Won't be much, but..."

Fresh meat. "And you won't turn me in?"

"For poaching? No, but if there's something else, like if you've hurt someone..."

"I haven't. I'm a runaway."

"Okay, then you're good." The troll crouched down and cut a rope. Nepeta fell, but flexed in the air to land on her feet. Well, feet and hands.

"I've never seen anyone who could do that," the troll said. "What's your name?"

“I’m…” Nepeta had it on the tip of her tongue, that name she wanted, the one she decided on, but for some reason it wouldn't leave her mouth. She didn't have a ‘name’ along the lions. The one Trueshot gave her, the better-late-than-never wiggler name, felt too close to her heart to share. The Mondaine was the name of a doll that everyone loved but no one knew. “I’m a new person now. I don’t know my new name yet.”

"Oh... Okay then." The other troll gathered up the rope from the trap Nepeta sprung. "I'm the Huntsman. I live here, and the animals are my friends, so I try and take care of them."

"What about the predators?”

"I mean... I can't protect everyone, since that sounds really tiring, and kind of unnatural, so I guess I just, take care of the life cycle. Make sure there's no over-hunting, or outsiders, or poison."

"That sounds nice of you," Nepeta said. "But your blood is brown, isn't it? Why do they let you have this much freedom?"

"It's a secret, which is also a lie, and really illegal, but if we don't tell anyone we’ll just stay getting along,” the Huntsman said.

Nepeta shrugged off the last coil around her leg. Her stomach growled again, like a prompt for the Huntsman to keep his promise. He noticed, laughed a little, but touched a finger to his temple.

"There's a fresh kill, a little ways..." he said. "Follow me?"

Nepeta did. Everything the Huntsman did contradicted what Nepeta knew about hunting. She and Trueshot, though from different traditions, still knew that a hunter had to move slowly, calmly, disrupting the environment as little as possible to avoid detection. The Huntsman walked with his spine straight and head high, like he didn't care who saw him. Like he expected nothing to harm him. His voice faltered, but his stride spoke of nothing but total confidence.

They soon came upon a small pack of wild barkbeasts tearing into a slain antlerbeast. The living animals looked up when the Huntsman arrived, but soon returned to tearing off chunks of their kill, regarding him as either no threat or one of their own. With his dagger, he cut a piece of the antlerbeast's flank, roughly meal-sized.

"I have a campsite, where I can make a fire, to cook this," he said.

"It's fine as it is," Nepeta said. She gripped the hunk between her claws and sank her teeth into it. Probably not as satisfying as if she had caught the hopbeast herself, but the blood and raw flavor hit the spot.

"So, I know you're becoming a new troll, but I kind of don't get, what you're doing," the Huntsman said. He opened a pouch and spilled some nuts into his hand, eating them one by one and watching Nepeta tear her portion apart.

"What’s—grr—not getting?"

"You've got a fancy dress, that is now much less fancy, and you speak well, but you know how to live, like an animal," he explained.

Nepeta swallowed another bite and licked blood off the back of her hand. "It's a very long story."

"I've got some time, I think."

What if she told him and he called her stupid? What if he tried to convince her to go back? “You have a culler, right? Even though you live like this?”

"Yeah..." He looked away.

"What's that person like?"

"Um," he said. "Not good."

"Have you ever wanted to run away?"

The Huntsman frowned. "Sometimes, but that won't solve the problem. If I left, she'd still be that same really awful person, and nothing would be different. And I know, it's impossible to just, make her a better person, like with magic or something. So I just, make the best of this."

"If you've decided to live in the forest, then our ideas of 'best' are pretty similar!" Nepeta smiled.

“Probably.” He returned her grin. "This really isn't so bad. She only needs me every few perigees, when someone from culling services comes, and she keeps me supplied, in exchange for, well..." His smile turned into a bit of a smirk. "Some surveillance."

"Surveillance?"

"It's no big deal, just that, my culler has some enemies? And I provide some early warning, which is pretty great overall, because most anyone trying to harm her, would trample me, so best to keep that from happening."

Nepeta bit a few more chunks out of her portion.

"I guess, you hated your culler too?"

"No!" Nepeta cried. "I don't hate him at all! He's the most wonderful person ever. The first person I ever met! He's not the problem..."

"Then, what is?"

"It was everything else. Society and all its rules. Stand a certain way, sit only at these times, don't laugh so loud, don't get so messy, don't care so much!" She tore one more bite from her meal. She nearly choked, wolfing it down, but she forced herself to swallow the half-chewed mess.

"Slow down," the Huntsman said. "It's okay to breathe."

"No... No, I'm fine," she said. "It's just... My culler is fine living in that meaningless place. He's good at it! All the chit-chat and manners and rules. I don't think he realized how much I hated it… And I didn't know how to tell him."

"You've had a really bad experience with, all of the stuff that trolls do," the Huntsman said. "Sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You weren't the one who did this to me."

"I know, it's more like, I guess, I want to know if it was all bad," he asked.

Nepeta had to stop. She stared at the last morsel of meat in her hands. Her memories from before he found her often didn't make much sense, because she never had words with which to think. She didn't know what a lusus was, or the names of the seasons, or the names of anything really.

She was a self once. She had no name but 'I,' and that was fine. There were beasts who hunted and wrestled and slept with her, and they were her pride. But nothing looked like her. She just assumed she was one of them, because the white beast was like them, and White Beast loved her.

It was many seasons—her whole life of seasons—before she met someone who looked like her. With gray skin. With horns. With a scent that she knew meant 'same.' He stayed at a distance, still and quiet as a rock or tree. The pride avoided him for a while, but as he sat there for the same stretch of every night, they got used to him. She took the group's comfort as an invitation to approach. She sniffed him everywhere, and learned his distinctive, sweaty scent until she could pick him out downwind. He had food for her, little morsels he kept hidden somewhere smell-proof. They were salty and prickled her tongue. She loved them.

They formed a routine. She nosed him for treats. She stayed with him to eat them, so others in the pride wouldn't steal from her. He made noises at her, round and flat and poppy and soft. She could make noises back sometimes. She had to do such strange things with her mouth and throat to imitate him, but he looked excited and had more food when she did it. Sometimes he made big faces that she copied. Like opening their mouths as wide as possible. And stretching their arms and legs in funny circles. She pretended to two-leg like him sometimes, which was so silly! He was so, so silly, and so much fun!

They did this all through the cooling time, until frost started to dust the ground. She hated cold time, because she didn't have fur like the others. White Beast had to lay on top of her a lot to keep her warm. She couldn't hunt, and she often went hungry because food got scarce. No one let her starve, but there was barely enough for the able, let alone the furless and frozen.

But he still came. He sat in his usual spot, no matter how cold it got. She crawled out from the mass of beastflesh to meet him, shivering all the while, and White Beast followed her. He smelled like sweat, like himself, but also long-dead animals and birds. She curled up at his feet and opened her mouth. He'd feed her. She needed it badly.

He didn't feed her. At least, not at first. He took something big and wide off of his body, like shedding his skin. He wrapped her in it, and it was warm, like little tiny suns making it summer inside his old skin. She nestled deep in his outer layer, clinging tight to the heat. He slipped her a few morsels, and held the outer skin tight against the wind.

The pride soon moved on. She looked up and wanted to follow them, and stay with the group... but she was so warm. They'd cycle back eventually. She'd join them when the warm season thawed this all out.

He let her stay in his warm skin for a long time. Then he lifted her up in his arms, as if she was lighter than the smallest cub, and he carried her away, White Beast plodding beside him…

And everything changed.

“Uh… miss?”

But that was the past. She wasn't a nameless creature on the plains, she was Nepeta, a troll aged about twenty or twenty-four sweeps, olive-blooded and sharp-eyed and imaginative.

"Oh—oh no, did I not answer your question?" She frowned.

"It's fine," the Huntsman said. "I kind of got the feeling, it's a hard question for you to answer."

“Yeah… It is.” Nepeta ate the final piece of her meat.

"But I guess, what do you want to do now?"

"I need to go very far away," she said. "My culler won't understand why I've gone. I didn't think very far ahead, so there's no note. I need to cross a lot of water, so the trail will go cold."

"How much water, do you think?"

"I'm prepared to cross as much as possible!" Nepeta vowed.

"Okay, that's a lot of water," the Huntsman laughed. "But I think, maybe, I can help with that too?"

"You can?"

"There are some people, nearly at my culler's hive. They're going to ask her for help, I know, because I was listening. And maybe, you can go where they’re going.”

“Really?”

"If I was listening right, they're trying to go far away too, which may include oceans. I’ll hear more once they arrive at her hive.”

Nepeta scrunched her nose. "How do you have such good hearing?"

He smiled. "I have friends who do the listening."

"Friends?"

The barkbeasts who made that night's kill had eaten their fill and settled next to a tree, but after Nepeta's word they roused themselves and trotted to the Huntsman. Taking turns, they bowed to her, and then nestled themselves against the Huntsman instead.

"I can commune, with the things that live here," he explained. "So really, everything they see and hear, I see and hear. It's how I led you into, that thing that happened to you before."

"You led me into a trap?”

"I told the rabbit where to run, with my mind. And I can decide, who gets safe passage here, or who gets chased out."

"You let me in?"

"I couldn't tell you were a troll, at first. I'm sorry if that was rude."

She laughed. "Don't worry about it. That just means I've still got what it takes to live out here."

"Okay, good, then," the Huntsman said. "It could be a little while, before I know where to send you, or when the boat will leave, so until then, let's say you're a guest. You can eat, but try not to disrupt other hunters. Maybe explore, and have fun?”

"I appreciate your hospitality," Nepeta said, like the Huntsman was a Courtier or Margrave. She felt a flash of anger for slipping back into the Mondaine, but the situation was funny enough to quell it. Thanks for letting me live in your forest and sleep in the mud and live without plumbing! How charitable! How kind!

In the meantime, Nepeta licked the blood off her hands and, once clean, wiped her face with the backs of her hands. "You'll know how to find me when the time comes?"

"Don't worry, I will."

She just nodded, then sprinted off into the forest with her cloth tied to her back. She could probably start nesting with these now, while she waited for the Huntsman to give her more instructions. She might really escape. She might really get to go back, older and wiser and changed for good, but at least back to a place where imagination, not lies, made things more than what they seemed.

She was going back to the winters. And for a minute, she hesitated. She looked over her shoulder, but couldn't see the Huntsman anymore. Was this a mistake?

"There's some part of this world that your soul can't stand. What is the point of a life where the soul is tortured?"

...Back to the winters it was, then.

Chapter Text

Rose was beginning to question the fortuity of their voyage through the furthest ring. Surely the most favorable outcome was not to spend three years simultaneously isolated from and way too close to each other, with this grab-bag of personality quirks and disorders coming to clash. The chances they would arrive at the new session with their sanity intact were long at best, remote at worst.

She did her best to fill the time with research, interspersing her forays into the lore of Sburb/Sgrub with breaks about troll culture, usually (exclusively) with Kanaya as her guide, and sometimes (frequently) interrupted by Vriska. What was her deal? Didn't she know how to read the mood? Was it Rose's fault for not making her intentions clear enough? Subtlety was her favorite weapon, wands and orange sari aside. Sarcasm and insincerity and doublespeak, somehow, Vriska either didn't understand or deliberately ignored. Sometimes Rose would bail early, making no attempt to persuade Vriska to leave, because she couldn't take another frustrating duel of wits with her.

She thought Kanaya understood fluent Lalonde by now. She thought Kanaya... reciprocated. But apparently matters of the heart strayed outside of her field of enLightened vision, and she had no idea what Kanaya felt. She could always ask. Or use the word 'date' instead of 'meeting' or ‘appointment.’ It might even be enough to split the difference and call them ‘rendezvous’ or 'trysts,’ that was adequately flighty and sarcastic while still communicating some form of romantic interest!

But instead, she hesitated. The ascendant Seer, the immortal God of Light, waffled. Waited. Lost her nerve. And the worst part was how mundanely adolescent it all was. She decided that if she ever alchemized some flowers and played She Loves Me/She Loves Me Not, she should take it as evidence of a doomed timeline and jettison herself into the void regardless of their proximity to their destination.

Why are personal demons so much more fearsome and indestructible than our foes?

In that moment which constituted the present, Vriska demanded a private conference with Kanaya to discuss the matriorb and its attributes. Kanaya and Rose both argued for Rose's right to be present, but with a snarky smile Vriska played the Not A Troll card and told Rose to "butt out." Kanaya gave in with a facepalm and told Rose she'd fill her in later.

So, Rose wandered the hallways looking for something to do. Research had burned her out for the moment, since she would spend the whole time fuming over Vriska anyway. She didn’t even feel like knitting, a hobby she’d returned to for a few months when the journey started. She made a blanket and got bored. A little itch at the back of her head told her, don’t be alone right now, and she decided to trust it. Maybe she would find Terezi unoccupied? Or no, since that discussion about the matriorb was “a troll thing,” she and Karkat might have been roped into this too.

Regardless of who she was searching for, she found Dave first. He lay on his stomach in one of the more common lounges and doodled in a large book. Rose thumbed through her sylladex to check that he hadn't stolen her historical record to defile it again. Safe.

"What are you up to there?" Rose asked. She sat on a couch and crossed her ankles.

"I'm chronicling some badass history all of my own. You're not the only one who can stuff pretentious books with arcane knowledge."

“This news is simply devastating. My monopoly on the subject is in peril."

"Fuck to the yes. I'm busting in here like anti-trust legislation.”

“My ability to lord over my companions as the sole knower of knowledge will never recover.”

“Mission accomplished, then. And check it, I've improved upon your illegible text dump, too."

"Have you now?"

Dave held his book aloft. In his signature SBaHJ style, he had drawn… something. The page featured a purple presumed-troll with one horn and some gray triangles on his face. The troll held what looked like a red potato with a face in a single hand. A speech bubble by the troll's head said, "FuCk yEaH MoThErFuCkEr bEsT DaY EvEr i aM In sQuArEs wItH A MoThErFuCkInG BaBy!" The potato added, "FUCKING GOO."

"I feel like you're giving me a reason to open my case study on your psyche again, if you're imagining things like this," Rose said.

"No way, this is one hundred percent accurate historical documentation." Dave flipped a cluster of pages. “Here, then this happens…”

On the new page, the red potato was now a troll like the purple one, with short horns and a big, angry scowl face. "MoThErFuCk! ThE BaBy iS LiKe..................... A PeRsOn!" the purple troll commented. The red troll said, "EVERYTHING NEEDS TO DIE!!!!!!” To which the purple responded, "I SqUaRe yOu tOo lItTlE BrO."

"I feel like I missed a few pages," Rose said.

"Yeah, I don't know what happened in the middle there, but this is definitely how it went down."

Another chunk of pages, and Dave arrived at a splash panel with more panels than the rest. The first segment looked almost the same as the one Dave had left.

"WANT TO SEE A MAGIC TRICK?" the red troll asked. Without a response from the purple troll, the next panel featured the red one on the ground with x-marks for eyes. DEAD, a helpful label proclaimed.

"Um..."

"Shh, I'm almost done."

The next page had the purple troll gasp. "GaSpEd!" His speech bubble said. Then further down the page, Dave had drawn him behind a series of vertical lines. "TiMe tO Be sAd fOr aLl mOtHeRfUcKiNg eTeRnItY......"

Rose sat in silence while Dave lowered the book. Her mind started to synthesize the likely interpretations of the story, with the Light filling in the gaps. Karkat and Gamzee, sharing a quadrant while Gamzee was grown and Karkat was still very young, before living to adulthood, then Karkat dies and Gamzee is imprisoned. It's a history, so this must have occurred on Beforus... But how did Dave even encounter a story like that, while Rose hadn't?

"You can clap now," Dave prompted.

Rose raised her hands and slow-clapped.

"Yeah, thanks. I'll be here for like two more goddamn years," he grumbled.

"Which historic tale gave you inspiration? Given that the stars of that story appear to be our crewmates, Gamzee and Karkat."

"That's the Mournful, and the Chimeric," Dave pointed at his drawings. "See, Kurloz said his ancestor was a pedophile, and based on some other shit we think ancient Karkat was one of the kids he was hot for. Then we know Karkat got his big boy troll name, and according to Kankri he lost his shit and was super murderous. Then Karmeric died and… wait a second,” Dave paused. “Why am I explaining this with words? All that should have been super obvious from the comic I drew. That was the whole point of making it."

"Perhaps you are coming uncomfortably close to the realization that a complicated epic cannot be conveyed with pictures alone, and requires textual companionship?"

"Do you even hear the holier-than-thou in your voice? I'm just trying to cope with the fact Karkat gave up on being the Watson to my Sherlock and is just hiding in his room."

"How did you even find this story? Did Kankri or Kurloz let slip some starting details?"

"No, we talked to them later. We found the Mournful's ghost in a jail cell. Being all, the poster child for hyper-aphasic depressive apathies.”

"That's not a thing."

"He recognized Karkat, so we started rooting around for what the hell happened in the ancient past. When we found out that the Mournful liked kids, or whatever the troll word for kids is—”

"Wigglers, usually. Grubs for infants, pupae for the transition."

Dave let the tension in his arms go lax. "Thanks," he said, defeated. "Anyway, once we found out the Mournful was a wigglerphile, Karkat decided to drop the story. I mean, I get where he's coming from, but all I can do is draw shitty comics about it and wonder what really happened. I’ve tried going back to the bubble where we found the Mournful but I can’t do it, it’s like sealed or hidden or something.”

"And the blank pages?"

"I was hoping I'd find out more and fill those later."

"Hmm..." Rose stared at the comic book. Those blank pages tantalized her almost as much as they did Dave. "I thought only players of the game could be preserved in dreambubbles."

Dave shrugged. "I guess not? Haven't met any non-players other than Gamzee's Beforus ghost, though."

"What if you took a nap and asked the ghosts for help?"

"Kankri and Kurloz totally shut us out, I told you."

"Those are only two of the twelve dancestors. There are ten more left unexplored. And if the Alternian version of events tells us anything, it's that all of their stories weave together in the end."

"Well, basically everyone told us to talk to Aranea, but no one's seen her since we first met."

"Maybe I could look for her."

"Really? What makes you think you'll find her?"

"I charted an unfathomable course through the endless void of the furthest ring. Unless the Gods are deliberately cloaking her, I think I'm familiar enough with the fabric out here to find her. There is only so long a Light player can hide."

"Alright... knock yourself out. Literally, because you need to start dreaming."

"Thank you for the clarification. I was unable to grasp the concept before."

"It’s what I’m here for.”

Rose kicked her legs up and spread out on the couch. Her magic flats attracted no dirt, so she didn't worry about the upholstery the way she might have before ascension. She noticed Dave pull a pillow from his sylladex, but he stayed prone on the floor.

It took a little bit of time to become comfortable, but that was one of the upsides to enchanted pajamas. With the absence of any distraction or reason to stay awake, falling asleep required no effort at all.

Standing hurt like a bitch. So did walking. But with his moirail's hand on his—his moirail! His moirail!—Gamzee steadily put one foot in front of the other, leaning on a cane on his left and holding onto the scarletblood on the right.

The narrow forest path made it hard for them to walk abreast, but Karkat—no, he should update his think pan on this, he was a bona-fide titled troll now—the Chimeric often stepped off the path to let Gamzee walk on even ground. The Benevole walked behind them, taking slow, measured steps, a basket in one hand and her skirt delicately held in the other. Meanwhile, the Lodestar blazed ahead, checking the trail and doubling back to chat. The Chimeric encouraged her with leading questions and "what happened next"s, while still keeping an eye out for Gamzee.

"How long have you been traveling these forests?" the Chimeric asked.

“Three sweeps. Since Mistress left the caverns and started to cull me,” the Lodestar answered.

"How old were you when that assignment began, if I may ask?"

“Ten, like you."

"Congratulations!"

"You're a little late, but I appreciate it,” she smiled.

“And if I understand correctly, you chose your title to reflect your love for exploring?”

“Yes. The star used to set a course is the lodestar. So that’s me!”

"What's your favorite part of exploring?"

"The chance to discover the old. Ruins would be perfect, but there aren't any in these parts. The trees are old enough to serve that purpose.” She patted the trunk of a thick one as she led the party along. "And for people like you, I like being a guide because I like hearing your stories."

"Do you now?"

She looked back over her shoulder and smiled. "You two have had quite a fascinating story so far, haven't you?"

"It's nothing you haven't heard on the newsfeeds," the Chimeric dismissed.

"The newsfeeds don't know half of what's going on in the world. Why did you run?"

"The Compasse would have jailed me if I hadn't."

"You'll be running for the rest of your life now."

"So be it."

The Lodestar pointed to Gamzee. “He'll be running for the rest of his life.”

The Chimeric looked up at him. This fact wasn't new to him, motherfucker smart as him had to have known, but in that stretcher-pile they hadn't gotten around to discussing consequences. He looked sorry, and sad, and afraid.

Gamzee took a deep breath. "...So motherfucking be it."

His moirail's expression melted into gratitude. He raised Gamzee's hand to his face and kissed his palm, a gesture the ladies decided not to comment on. The Lodestar returned to the previous topic and asked, "Is it true you wanted to abolish culling everywhere?"

"I do.”

"Why?"

"Because this is no way to run a society. We need to care for each other without dictating identities and competencies,” the Chimeric explained. "Tell me, Lodestar, why are you culled?"

"As a safety net. If I ever need help, I can call on Mistress Benevole. She's like a lifeline."

"Do you ever need help?"

"I routinely explore forests filled with dangerous beasts, so yes?”

"...Fair point."

They walked a little further. Gamzee had to give props to the Benevole's taste in painkillers for making him mobile in the first place.

“The rumors say you saw a chimera,” the Lodestar said.

“The chimera, yes.”

“What was it like?”

"Hard to say. As a physical beast, the strangest part is the weight of it. Drawings don't do it justice. It's... more pressure, to see it in the flesh."

"It gave you a prophecy?"

"It gave me information. People I had never met, places I'd never been, events of great importance. I'm going to keep a lot of it close to my chest for now, if you don't mind."

The Chimeric squeezed Gamzee's hand, like a reassurance that he would be an exception. My pale little bro!

"We followed your exploits, didn't we, Mistress?"

They looked over their shoulders at the Benevole. She nodded. "I found your actions intriguing, Chimeric. You seemed to all eyes to be a rising star in the world of politics. Though, I'm afraid the more accurate astrological metaphor would be to call you a falling star."

"Why the change in trajectory?"

"Your reputation is in shambles. Doesn't that reflect your ability to ascend?"

"From my perspective, I feel as if I have only just started to rise," the Chimeric said. "But if a space metaphor is what you want, it's more accurate to call me a meteorite anyway."

"Why the change from abstraction to accuracy?”

"Because a meteorite strikes a planet and forever alters its landscape, much like my incinerated reputation will change Beforus."

The Benevole laughed softly. "You have a rather arrogant way with words," she said. "When is this apocalypse happening, by the way? Should I begin to hoard nutrition cylinders?"

He chuckled back. "When the end times come, nutrition cylinders will be no good to anyone. That's all I will say."

The bushes to their left rustled. Gamzee glanced at the noise and saw a slybeast's eyes peering at them. It followed them along the path, far further than a wild animal would—a predator, sure, but against four trolls?—and Gamzee tapped a finger against the Chimeric's hand.

"Little bro." Gamzee called his attention to the animal in the brush. The Chimeric spent a little time watching the fox as it continued to follow them, until disbelief could no longer be suspended.

"I think we have an escort," he said.

"Hm?" The Benevole looked their way.

The Chimeric bent and picked up a small twig, then lobbed it in the general direction of the fox. It missed significantly, but rustled the bushes enough to make the animal bolt. It crossed their path, then froze in front of the Lodestar.

"Hello, you!" she cooed, then knelt down. The fox investigated her with some sniffs, then settled under her hands for a back rub.

"So much for dangerous beasts," the Chimeric quipped.

"This guy, dangerous?" She scooped the fox into her arms and turned it around to face the others. She spoke to it, introducing everyone: "You know Mistress, but this is the Chimeric and Mirthful! We're helping them run for the rest of their lives."

Gamzee raised his other hand and waved at the fox. This was pretty motherfucking cute, that the Lodestar had a pet slybeast out in the woods. The Chimeric seemed suspicious, but of what he couldn't tell.

The animal twisted and licked the Lodestar's chin. She laughed and set it down. "See you soon!" she called as the animal ran away.

"You're quite good with animals," the Chimeric said.

"Not even the best," the Lodestar said. "But thank you. You can get a lot by being just a little kind."

"While we are on the subject of kindness, and more relevant to the Chimeric and Mirthful's immediate situation, you may want to spend this last stretch of our journey here contemplating all of the supplies you will need for the rest of it. You will only get to ask once, so the more specific and descriptive you are, the more likely it is you will get what you expect."

"I understand. You know her negotiation techniques well, don't you?"

"I have sweeps of experience."

"Don't worry. I have some ideas on what to ask her for, and how to ask.”

Gamzee looked up to the treetops, starting to thin as they ran parallel to the proper road. Tall parapets stretched into the sky, belonging to a castle he had hoped to never see. With any luck, after this encounter, he'd never see it again.

Chapter Text

Rose started to feel like she was on the right track. From someone’s memory of a burning LOFAF, the Light started to give her a sense that the trail was getting warmer. She hopped through memories of a Land she had never seen, a few instances of Prospit, and a ghostly but abandoned pirate ship until the vessel "docked" in a cove that very quickly gave way to a hill, with a large tent at the top. From its central stake, the tent flew a narrow brown flag. This is an Alternian tent, where a brown-blooded battle commander has taken residence, Rose deduced. And if the rest of her deduction was correct, she would find Aranea inside.

She parted the entrance of the tent, but respectfully chose not to look in yet. "Excuse me, may I enter?"

"...What? Rose?" a voice inside said.

Rose leaned her head into view, figuring it was a kindness to announce herself as a living dreamer as early as possible. She found Aranea inside, sitting far from the entrance and nestled in what appeared to be rugs, pelts, and the odd sword. She had changed from the garb that Vriska had associated with Mindfang; now her dress was simple, blue, with her sign in white on the front.

“May I speak with you?” Rose asked.

Aranea hesitated, less confused but mostly sad. “I should have expected a fellow Light player to find me. Come in, if you want.”

Rose stepped inside the tent and looked around. There was a desk with a map, and a few brown and pink flags stuck in it. A rebellion against the Condesce. There were some other supplies and rations stacked more neatly than the pile, in addition to more weapons, notably a jousting lance.

"What is this place?" Rose asked. She felt confident she would figure it out herself with time, but would rather spare herself the effort and Aranea the awkward silence while she deduced the answer.

"It's an old memory… about clarity and certainty of purpose. I've been lacking that as of late, so I was hoping to find it here."

“Has it helped?”

Aranea curled smaller in the pile. "Not really."

Rose took a few steps closer and sat at the edge of the heap. “A lot of your friends miss you," she said. "We hear frequent tales about your talents and exploits."

She laughed dryly. "Exploits, huh? I can't think of a single recent action that you could call an 'exploit.' Exploitative, maybe…”

"What exactly happened?"

"There were so many forces at play. Everyone trying to achieve their objectives all at once. A few loose cannons, a few surprises..." One hand drifted to her neck, and massaged it. "I can't imagine that anyone would want to see me again, for my involvement."

"From what we've gathered, those mistakes were shared with versions of ourselves who no longer exist," Rose said. "There's no point in dwelling on memories that only you have.”

"You can't say you forgive me, just like that.”

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm not the one who would have the power to forgive you, since I am not the one you wronged. You could focus on the fact that you have not yet done anything to me that would need forgiving."

"You're saying we have a fresh start?"

"The freshest."

Aranea contemplated that for a minute. "That's a very good perspective... but I'm afraid I don't feel it yet. I used to think I knew so much about how to heal your point of view into something advantageous for you or others, but I just keep feeling lost."

"Do you mind if I change the subject? Perhaps focusing on something else will help you unstick yourself from this quagmire of shame.”

"What would you want to talk about?"

"You have a reputation for being an authority on all of your ancestors."

Aranea managed a small smile. "That's still true. But I don't know how long you'd really want to listen to that."

"I have quite a bit of time, and hearing these stories would be very useful to friends of mine."

"If... If you're sure, then," Aranea said. "What would you like to know?"

"We heard a few whispers recently about the ancestors of Beforus, specifically the Chimeric and the Mournful. Do you recognize those names, or know anything about their story?”

Aranea's eyebrows raised. "Oh! That's a different question than I was expecting."

"Why?"

"Because I don't actually know all that much about them. I know it threatens my credibility as an ancestral authority, but I think that has something to do with my sources."

"What are your sources?"

"Maybe... a little bit of context about the dreambubbles themselves would be useful. If you permit it, though. I think the chances of this being a long story are very large."

"Go ahead."

Aranea took a deep breath. "By now, I think you should be very familiar with the concept of doomed timelines. Despite the nomenclature, doomed timelines are simply timelines in which the paradoxical situations required to create them no longer exist. For example, if I remember correctly, John was your team's ectobiologist. A timeline where he is killed before he has the chance to create your paradox clones has failed to meet the conditions necessary for its own creation. So, once a timeline is doomed, the very fabric of reality around it begins to dissolve. But, as you've no doubt experienced by now, the assets present in a doomed timeline are sometimes necessary in order to advance the alpha."

"I think I know what you're talking about there," Rose said. "Dave prototyped his sprite with a doomed version of his future self. The timeline had continued for months after the conditions for its own existence were thwarted. So while some timelines dissolve immediately upon becoming doomed, others stay in existence, until they can contribute to the alpha timeline. It was necessary for the doomed Dave to exist for months before returning to prototype himself, in other to meet other crucial conditions.”

Aranea nodded. "Yes, exactly! You're good at this."

“Thank you very much. But why is this preamble on the nature of doomed timelines necessary?"

"It's to better understand who gets to become a ghost," Aranea said. "You've probably noticed that every ghostly resident of these bubbles is a player of the game."

"Yes, precisely."

“Those conditions have a limit, as well as a loophole. If you are to become a ghost and enter a dreambubble, of course you must die. But this means that individuals who are alive at the end of a doomed timeline are not preserved in the bubbles. They meet a fate similar to a Scratch, and are simply erased from existence."

"That's a fascinating limit," Rose said. "And would explain some disproportionate afterlife demographics."

“Yes, especially regarding why it's harder to find dead god tiers. Their resurrection mechanics make it very difficult for them to be dead at the precise moment that a timeline ends, unless they were killed heroically or justly. We lucked out that Meenah timed our demise the way she did... for a certain definition of luck."

"Then, what is the loophole?" Rose asked. "I'm sensing it’s the cornerstone of how you know so much about ancestors."

Aranea nodded again. "In reality, the dreambubbles are the ultimate destiny of any ghost belonging to a person who was ectobiologically created in the game itself. The players, and their ancestors."

Rose's eyes widened. The implications and their conclusions whirled in her head, coming dangerously close to evoking a maternal three-letter word. But all Rose managed to say was, "This is Mindfang's memory."

"Yes, it is. It's a memory where she contemplated the meaning of her life until that point, and the nature of her legacy. I always found it a poetic memory. So when all of my... efforts fell to ruin, I came here."

"So Mindfang's memories are part of the bubbles," Rose said. "Is the fabled Marquise here, too?"

"Logically, she should be, but I haven't met her in the billions of sweeps since I died. Nor have I met any other true incarnations of an ancestral ghost. They're quite rare, I would think.”

"But they're subjected to the same conditions as we are, aren't they?"

"Not quite. While the same philosophical roots are there, it's not that simple. For an ancestor, there are no doomed timelines. I theorize that characteristics of the Medium are necessary for branching timelines to exist for longer than an instant. For our ancestors, there is only one path. One timeline, one ghost."

“And one set of memories about the past,” Rose added. “A historical log.”

"Yes. Those are my primary sources."

Mom's memories are here. Mom is here. Rose's mind screamed at her to ask more questions about where the guardians and their ghosts could be found, but... what would Aranea think of her, if she got overexcited about her mother? She would look so childish, so immature, so stupid…

"So what did you mean when you said your sources are the reason you don't know much about the Chimeric and the Mournful?" Rose continued.

“For all the time I’ve spent here, it's been far harder for me to access memories about ancient Beforus. I think this has something to do with the agents of those memories. While I have experience taking up the perspective of other people in certain memories, it’s like wearing a glove that wasn’t made for you. It would be far easier for me to draw up a memory of Mindfang than it would to find a memory of Prospera, my ancestor."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "Prospera, hm?" She'd have to look into that name later.

Aranea blushed lightly. “Yes, that was her name. I’ve only brushed up against her memories a few times, and even then I’m not certain they were actually hers. While it's possible to pretend to be a ghost who you are not—and even possible to pretend to be alive—it will be far easier for a person to find memories of a life that they once lived, even as an alternate self."

"Is that the only reason you know more about Alternia’s history?"

"Not exactly. Exploring my A2 self's life led me to another timeline of memories, belonging to the functionally immortal Handmaid, Damara's A2 self. Her story is long and complex, but she was present at quite possibly every critical moment of Alternia's development. Her memories served as the most amazing resource, and interwove very elegantly with the stories of other ancestors, which cemented my authority as an ancestral expert.” She sighed. “Though... as you've just discovered, my expertise is very one-sided. Beforus had a cultural analog to the Handmaid, but despite the legends, he was nowhere close to being as omnipresent as the Demoness, and I haven’t been able to access his story.”

"Then what do you know about Beforan history?"

"No more than any normal and reasonably informed history fan would have known, but I suppose the heirs of the legacy could be privy to details I don't have," Aranea said. "You asked me about Kankri's ancestor, and his connection to Kurloz's, correct?"

"If you please."

"Let's see... The Chimeric's origin conditions are rather similar to the Sufferer. As red-blooded grubs, no lusus would raise them, so they depended on the intervention of another troll to survive. On Alternia, this savior was the Dolorosa. On Beforus, the Compasse intervened."

"Compasse?"

"Her Radiant Compassion, Meenah's ancestor and reigning empress at the time of the Reckoning. She took in the young Chimeric and oversaw his care, though she did arrange for another culler to take primary responsibility for him, in a bid to improve inter-caste relations. I'll get to that part soon… ish. Soon-ish.”

"Take as much time as you need. I've told you, I have the time to listen, and all of this is very interesting."

“If you say so..." Aranea cleared her throat again. "The Chimeric had a princely upbringing, surrounded by comforts and luxuries, but most importantly, influential nobles deciding the fate of the planet. Fascinated with leadership, the Chimeric made himself a known presence in political affairs from a young age. He secured enough favor to apply for, and on his own merits join, the order of the Guardians.”

"Who were the Guardians?"

"Elite cullers, responsible for setting standards of care for the whole planet. As protectors, mediators, healers, intellectuals, and viceroys rolled into one, they commanded amazing influence and were usually responsible for culling the most disadvantaged members of our society. Even trolls of my blood were rarely deemed worthy!”

"So the Chimeric joined their ranks?" Rose puzzled over the conflicting information: Dave's crude comic versus Aranea's testimony.

"Well, he qualified to, but on the eve that was to be his inauguration, he denounced both traditional culling and his own thesis of alternative egalitarianism, like a figurative torch to his accomplishments.”

"Could you clarify what egalitarianism means, with regards to culling? I'm afraid I wasn't raised a troll."

"On Beforus, your culler was your protector, almost always higher than you on the hemospectrum. Egalitarian culling was meant to use aptitude, not blood color, as the primary force for deciding who needed culling, which would allow for warmbloods to cull cools, and for many warmbloods to live without any assigned culling."

"That sounds like a very ‘Karkat’ thing to propose."

“He never got the chance to enact it. All rational trolls rebuked the Chimeric’s demands for abolition, and his reformist cause devolved into an outright rebellion."

“Rebellion? On your planet?”

"It had been at least three Empresses since Beforus had seen any kind of armed insurrection against the empire, and without a doubt the Chimeric's rebellion was the largest in recorded history. By some sources and calculations, he commanded an army greater than the Compasse's own peacekeeper forces.”

Rose smirked. Karkat might be happy to hear that part. "When you say 'by some calculations,' what do you mean?"

“Most historians calculated the size of the Chimeric’s army based on the number of trolls who had joined him, essentially counting every rebel as a soldier. His shows of force in battle back that up, though the exact numbers remain hazy.”

“But surely ragtag rebels couldn’t outclass an Empress’ army?”

“Testimonies described the rebels as exceptionally inventive and ruthless fighters. The Chimeric inspired an army capable of fighting with literally anything they could find, while also willing to fight to the death. Even trained soldiers often fled before their brutality, and those who didn't flee usually chose to surrender rather than increase casualties.”

"Casualties the Chimeric held no qualms incurring," Rose pieced together.

“The Alternian trolls would view the death count from this period of our history as a trifle, and perhaps the Chimeric himself as tame, but it was without a doubt the most violent period of our history. The Chimeric is remembered in literature as the Blood-Stained Knight for his rebellion, when we remember him at all.”

“What do you mean by ‘when’ you remember him?”

“His presence in history has definitely been softened. Most of his writings, like his Guardian thesis, were destroyed or heavily censored, and the battles of the era are usually attributed to the Chimeric’s high-ranking followers,” Aranea said. “From meeting the young Compasse, Feferi, I feel like I have a better understanding of why the Empire tried its hardest to forget about the Chimeric.”

“Why?”

“It’s perfectly rational to assume that the Compasse didn’t want someone she had loved for many sweeps to be remembered as a bloodthirsty murderer. She would be the only one with the reach to try and quietly erase his influence, and in the aftermath of the civil war, I think most anyone who would have opposed this action was either dead or persuaded to agree. I think she feared future mutants with any kind of genetic deviance, not just off-spectrum like the Vantas bloodline, would be viewed as potential war criminals. Granted, anyone who could find an entry point to his story would be able to discover something approximating the truth, but with so few loose threads allowing people to access his story at all… few did.”

Rose nodded. Censorship of the Chimeric’s legacy would provide a large hurdle to understanding his story, but not insurmountable. The dreambubbles, if they allowed it, would let her see events as they really occurred. “So how did it all end for him? You’ve already referenced that he failed to eliminate culling.”

"Yes, and this is one of the parts where my knowledge runs thin. The Chimeric met his end on a battlefield, in a confrontation with Rufioh's ancestor, the Huntsman. He's a fairly beloved hero for his role in ending the bloodshed. Rufioh might know more, and I can tell for certain that asking Kankri about the Huntsman is a great way to start another lecture."

"Why would that be?"

"He views the Huntsman as a glorified puppet for his submission to culling, encouraging BUOYs to support the existing class structure, and so on. He tells it better than I do, but that’s the gist of it.”

Rose's instincts wanted her to ask more about that battle, but she had a task to complete here: two trolls, two stories interwoven. "And you said you would return to the topic of the Mournful. Can that happen now?"

"Oh, of course! This is honestly a more mysterious subject for me, so it might be briefer. When the Compasse found the Chimeric's grub, she proposed a political treaty to the isolationistic purplebloods to try and gain favor with the Grand Highblood’s successor. The goal was to inculcate culling habits into future Church leadership, so she enlisted Kurloz’s ancestor to cull the Chimeric and raise him to adulthood."

"I heard rumors that the Mournful was accused of molesting a child. Was that child the Chimeric?"

"Yes, it was. The record is sparse, but around the time the Chimeric declared his rebellion, the Mournful confessed his crime to the Church’s elders. They violently excommunicated him, stripped his title, and re-named him with a heretical slur, ‘Mournful.’”

“He confessed to pedophilia?”

“Yes. The exact circumstances are unclear, but I can only assume the consequences of staying silent started to outstrip the risks of speaking up.”

“And to follow, with four forms of romance, do trolls have to be wary of four forms of child abuse?”

"Essentially, yes,” Aranea answered, but she paused. “Though, I never gave any thoughts to how a child would be abused in the ashen quadrant. That may be due to the thorny and multi-partied nature of the quadrant itself…”

"In which quadrant did the Mournful abuse the Chimeric?" Rose prompted.

"The pale quadrant. In the sweeps following their fall from grace, the Chimeric and Mournful maintained a moiraillegiance. Even rooted in childhood conciliatory abuse, the power of that relationship is considered by—um, by me—to be critical to the Chimeric's victories.”

"In what way?"

“The Chimeric relied on others in his inner circle for tactical and survival experience, but the endlessly loyal and protective Mournful must have swayed numerous battles in his moirail’s favor. And this is straying further into speculation, but with the number of people the Chimeric killed, his moirail probably gave him strength to stay the course, even as blood soaked his hands."

"And that's a positive outcome, when it comes to moiraillegiance?”

Aranea smiled a little. "You tell me. What is the most favorable outcome for this situation? The one where the Chimeric is emotionally supported as he pursues an impossible and bloody task that will cost him his life? Or the one where lives are preserved, even at the cost of allowing a broken social order to continue?”

“But a favorable outcome is impossible to determine here, since all of these actions took place in the past,” Rose said. “The most I can say is, the most favorable outcome is the one that allowed your team to play Sgrub.”

“And to that end, the Chimeric played his part, same as the rest of our ancestors,” Aranea said. “And like the ancestors of Alternia.”

What about Mom. Ask about Mom! Rose marshaled her impulses into line and asked, “So… to what degree would you think that the ancestors were aware of the future of their planet?”

“It varied,” Aranea said. “In the case of the Handmaid, the odds she knew exactly what was about to happen are practically certain. As for others, Mindfang knew many things, but she never encountered knowledge of the game itself.”

“And you’re confident in your assessment of her knowledge because…?”

The troll brushed some hair away from her face. “Because I lived through her life, from start to finish. Multiple times, then I returned to my favorite parts to inhabit those memories again, on and on as the bubbles allowed.”

“Really now? But I thought the bubbles segment people’s lives into episodic scenes.”

“That was part of it. Perhaps it would be quicker to show you?”

Interest piqued, Rose sat back and nodded. She watched as Aranea closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, exhaled, and breathed again. When she next opened her eyes, the ghostly pallor vanished, and Rose found herself looking at one yellow-scleraed eye with a vibrant blue iris, and one burned-out eye crossed with red scar tissue.

“Please sit back,” Aranea advised. “And try not to interrupt.”

Chapter Text

Aranea knew the feeling of drifting into a memory better than the ghostly back of her hand. She let her thoughts go where they wanted, which led them naturally to fill the hollows carved by the thoughts of her long-dead successor and predecessor. As she let her mind flow, she contemplated her reflection in the surface of her sword laid across her lap. The reflection of one burned-out red eye taunted her, but at last, she didn't feel ashamed of those scars. It had taken so long for that shame to fade.

She imagined the way her life stretched, like a scroll spanning sweeps, full of events and details and phases she could name in her sleep. She remembered being a wiggler and hunting for her lusus. She remembered being a youth and fighting for recognition and respect. She remembered her peak, surrounded by riches and slaves and the open horizon and adventure beyond compare. She remembered Redglare. She remembered fading into the shadows and listening to their whispers: he who suffered showed us the way. We will rise. We will fight. She remembered meeting a man who held a scarlet ember close to his chest, and planned to fan it into a flame once more.

She raised a hand to her pendant with the heretical symbol. Her life was due to end soon; if she did not die tonight, then it would be soon. She would die a Sufferist and a rebel. And what did that mean for all the rest of it? When she was a young girl who exploited the mental frailties of lowbloods, when she called them property and used their bodies and minds, when she thought her cerulean blood was a marker of greatness, were those sins that she could truly hope to erase? And say she survived the war to see their future bloom in the blood-drenched wilderness, would she be worthy to claim a place in it?

Doing the right thing will not make me a good person. But I don't have to be a good person to do the right thing.

"My love?"

She looked to the entrance. The Summoner stood just inside the tent, wispy and insubstantial, like a puppet made of smoke, going through the motions of what Mindfang remembered. Aranea knew he was Rufioh, but Mindfang didn’t, so she played along and pretended as hard as she could that she didn’t know. Then again, after this many sweeps of experience, she didn’t have to pretend all that hard. He had mud on his hands, so the final traps had to be complete. She could read his mind and know, but chose not to. These days, her brain felt half-dead, isolated and unconnected to other consciousnesses, but she actually preferred it that way. She felt clean, when her brain stayed quiet.

"Are we ready?" Aranea said, making a show of stretching her arms.

"We are. The soldiers await your signal."

"Surely you mean yours."

“We discussed this. It’s your signal, you should take credit for it.”

"But the signal I give is on your command. You are the general, aren't you?"

He leaned into one hip. His wings rippled like fire behind him, translucent and insubstantial. "What's the matter?"

"What, matter? Nothing is the matter."

"Well, you never give me credit, so I don't get overconfident. Why the change?"

Aranea knew the line by heart but had to pause. Mindfang had paused. "Maybe… It’s finally occurred to me that glory isn’t the only reason to fight. There are things I love far more than recognition. I’ll fight for that instead.”

"That's the spirit." The Summoner offered his hand to Aranea, who took it—like a cloud, there was nothing there but she somehow grabbed the nothingness—and stood. He held onto her hand for a moment longer, drawing her close to his chest.

"And while I am hardly your most ardent promoter, let me at least remember you as our commander, for now," Aranea told him.

"I understand," he said. "You'll see, Mindfang. You'll see what we can accomplish, high and lowbloods together."

She raised her other hand and stroked his face. Adulthood suited Rufioh, as much as he tried to stay a boy skylark forever. He had nothing to fear from growing up… but the wrong Aranea knew that. She had never seen the Summoner's youthful face. The persona frayed for a single moment as her thoughts spilled out of the channel, but then settled. She found the groove again and slipped in.

“I’ll rendezvous with you at the pass?” the Summoner said, the slightest hint of a question undermining his command.

Aranea nodded. "We'll marshall the soldiers and beasts, then assault the stronghold."

He stroked her cheek, a phantom touch. "For liberty."

"For victory."

He kissed her then, slowly, and she let her eyes close to savor it. She had tried to find someone to kiss her like that, but never could. In only one instance of one universe had Aranea found love like this.

When they broke, he led her by the hand out of their pavilion. The landscape stretched before them, a well-guarded highway leading to a weapons stronghold and foundry. Destroying that location could shake the Condesce's armies and make them easier to topple. She smiled a little. Though her allegiances may have changed, she always appreciated a good challenge. Fighting for someone other than herself—this would be quite the experience.

"You are quite beautiful for a standard bearer," the Summoner quipped. Aranea flipped her long—long? Yes, long—hair over one shoulder.

"I'm far more than a mere flag carrier," she said. "I wave the banner of revolution. Future artists will paint masterpieces of my likeness in this moment."

He laughed. "Like you care about that."

"Perhaps it's not my primary motivation, but it makes for an excellent perk. One must always remember the life they will lead after the war.”

The Summoner pulled a lance left in the ground out and hefted it into his hand. "Well, Lady Liberty, leave some of your passion for the fight ahead."

"You as well," she smirked. "Show me Pyralspite's shadow across the moon."

He saluted, and in a warbling flutter of wings, disappeared into the night sky. Her brilliant brownblood faded from view as Aranea turned her attention to the road about to run rainbow with blood. She could pick out the camps where soldiers lay in wait, eyes trained on this hill for her signal. She turned her gaze to the flag, twenty feet before her. The decoy, the taunt, meant to attract the enemy forces and lead them right into a massacre.

She took the flag, holding the post and banner tight with both her organic and synthetic hands. Her heart pounded like it never had before. The weight of the task at hand added so much thrill! But it was now or never. In another minute, the moonlight would shift and her banner would mean nothing in the darkness.

As if to prompt her, the breeze swelled, and she let the cloth unfurl. The Sufferer's crimson flowed again through the silk, with his irons in grey in the center. There was no way the highbloods would miss a symbol this large. This heresy, this treason, this revolt.

"DOWN WITH THE CONDESCE!" she shouted into the night. "RISE WITH THE SUFFERER! RISE WITH THE SUMMONER! RISE WITH THE LOWBLOODS!"

Signal flares chased through the outposts. They thought the army was on the hill, just as planned! Aranea waved the banner with all her strength, scarlet and silver flashing like fire. It blazed like revolution—blazed like violence—blazed like LOFAF—

"DOWN WITH CULLING! RISE AS EQUALS! RISE TO POWER!”

Red like the human blood she spilled, red like the belly of the Battleship Condescension, like the lava filling the ocean, like Meenah's face, Meenah howling at her with rage and bloodlust—

"DOWN—d-down..."

“You coddamn bitch! You think you’re worth anything!? You’ll pay for this! I’ll krill you right fucking now!”

“N—No, please—! I'm sorry—Meenah, I’m sorry!”

"Aranea?!"

Her shoulders shook, her throat choked, and she had both hands around her neck like she could un-snap it. That deep judgement, like the toll of a bell, resonated through her soul. JUST. She deserved it, she deserved to die, if only she could die again and make it stop!

"Aranea, can you hear me?"

The panic, the fear, the shame, the pain, the regret, the death, all of that death—

"Aranea!"

Hands pulled her forward, out of the memory and into someplace bright. Light surrounded her and if she was perfectly honest stabbed through her eyes. That kind of blinding pain couldn't exist along with the mental anguish, and started to chase it out like the wind chases away dust and cobwebs.

She kept crying, but squinted at her new surroundings. LOLAR, or a chunk of it at least. The Summoner's tent was still preserved from the last memory, but the flag and the pass were gone.

"Are you alright?" Rose asked.

She spent a long time trying to catch her breath. “I… no, not really," Aranea admitted. "But thank you… for asking."

"That's quite the impressive technique you've developed," Rose complimented her with a soft voice. "I felt like I was there in the past, with them.”

"Thanks.” Aranea curled in on herself.

"If you're able, I would like to know one more thing,” she said. "Did any other ancestors from your team join the Chimeric's rebellion?"

“Y-Yes…”

“Who?”

Their names and identities jumbled together, but she found the right words. "The Betrayer, and the Tameless. They helped him."

Rose nodded. She pulled a blanket from her sylladex and wrapped it around Aranea's shoulders. "Thank you. You've helped me so much. If you want to see me at any time, just seek me out. I promise I'll be easy to find."

“Alright," Aranea said, and she watched Rose back away, and then turn. The blanket was warm... made from wool? She unfurled the blanket slightly and noticed dozens of knitted squares stitched together like a quilt.

There were more colors than twelve. But Aranea didn't care to count closely—she just saw a hemospectrum. She pulled the blanket close and wept.

Some Sufferist I turned out to be... Where was the equality, where was the compassion, in using my powers the way I did? If I believed in him, why did I convince myself the greater good was more important? An ancient ghost with near flawless mastery over tremendous psychic power, infinite access to memories and the mistakes of the past, and the only path she could find was one filled with bloodshed? The prospect that maybe she never really believed in the Sufferer loomed too close for comfort. Maybe she just liked his story, and didn't care about anything he died for. Maybe she was an awful person after all.

Well, no one said that changing billions of years of adherence to a chosen persona was easy. At least it came with a hand-knit blanket.

There was an art to this. Vriska thought long and hard before she made any statement to anyone in writing. She held amazing power in these moments, and could sway a person’s thoughts to do something amazingly lucky for her, or astoundingly disastrous for themselves, or ideally both. She considered herself somewhat of a maestra, a virtuosa, that rare and elegant artisan who knew the lives and needs of her ‘business partners’ well enough to make them bend and beg for her mercy. And all with words. Rumors circulated she was powerful, but she was only as powerful as the people who served her, and the people who served her did so in fear. If they didn’t fear her enough, she wouldn’t hold power, and then where would she be?

Like this fellow she was penning a letter to. Another troll of noble blood embroiled in a scandal he needed to make disappear. Well, she could certainly send the funds he needed to erase his crime and resume the countenance of the innocent. But now she knew what she needed from him: a false testimony that would advance another scheme of hers. Irons never ceased to be in the fire.

Subtle touches, tailored to the situation. Cultivate that helpless feeling. Emphasize how he’s escaping his fate by the thinnest of hairs. Remind him the cost of keeping that fate at bay. All would fall into place perfectly if she stoked his desperation to the edge. Catching someone in her web worth keeping wasn’t all that hard. Keeping them wriggling helplessly was the fun part.

Her pen stilled, and thoughts turned to a recent victim who fell out of her grasp a few days ago. The Mirthful had taken the bullet out of her gun, metaphorically speaking, by confessing the crime she could blackmail him with. When the first proclamation of the Chimeric’s dissent went public, she had feared that the Mirthful would try to make his way to her hive with his cullee in tow, and demand she harbor him as a repayment for her earlier betrayal. But when another declaration followed on the heels of the first, she set that fear aside. The Grand Highblood announced that an excommunication had been performed—a barbaric ritual that had surely killed the now-reviled ‘Mournful.’ If the Chimeric came alone, citing the debt she owed his former culler, Vriska knew precisely how to deal with him.

She heard something small tap on glass insistently. Setting her draft aside, she looked up to see a small bird perched on the balcony, tapping on the glass doors. A grin split her face as she flung the doors open. The startled bird fluttered into the air, but stayed hovering close.

Vriska held her palms up and asked, “Is someone coming?”

The bird drifted to her ‘yes’ hand. Then it had to be a friend or client, since he knew better than to let suspicious characters get within a mile of her hive.

She took the empty hand and stretched it. “How far?”

The little bird fluttered from her hand to her elbow. Halfway. She had a short hour to prepare, then.

“Is it Mistress Benevole?”

The bird hesitated, but jumped back to her ‘yes’ hand, rather than to the end of the other one. That was all the signal she needed. She shook her hand and dislodged the little bird, then strode back inside, slamming the doors behind her. She had a lot of prep to do.

First thing’s first, the desk had to be cleared. Her threateningly-worded message got tucked away in a cozy little drawer for later revision. She triple-checked the relevant chests and safes stowed in secret locations around the office. Then she dusted a few shelves and generally straightened it up, so it looked a little more lived-in, even with all of her real work stowed out of sight. Her matesprit still meddled, but she was no snoop. Her deniability was pleasantly plausible.

Which brought her to the true source of her joy at the little bird’s news: the Benevole was coming. Her precious and perfect matesprit was coming, and Vriska had to cherish every moment spent by her sunny side. She nearly ran—not actually, but nearly—through her halls until she found her respiteblock, and her closet. Something elegant, but a little suggestive. Not screaming ‘pail me’ but implying she had something she wanted to spill. For this decade, Vriska had her wardrobe completely switched around, with the Benevole’s favorites in easy reach. Frankly, Vriska found most of her designs rather childish, reminiscent of the era’s fashions when they were wigglers. For some reason, the Benevole really liked seeing Vriska look the way she did when they met. Vriska loved her more than enough to indulge her.

They had met as children, with the shared yet conflicting interests of trouble and staying out of it. Vriska was just Vriska then, and the Benevole was merely Kanaya Maryam, a mannerly little miss with a sketchbook full of dresses and a rucksack of books the cullers told them not to read. She and Vriska met in a library reaching for the same book—Kanaya because it featured rainbow drinkers, and Vriska because she heard someone died in it. Their hands touched. And life was never the same.

Kanaya was such a nag. A meddler, a worrywart, ‘fussyfangs,’ Vriska used to call her. It was always Vriska’s idea to do something dangerous, something forbidden, and always Kanaya’s idea to poke holes in her schemes. The debates only made her plans stronger, so when something went wrong as it always did, at least no one got hurt. And no matter how much she opposed the idea in the first place, Kanaya laughed for hours once the adventure was over. Vriska felt so proud of that laugh.

She thought they were pale, in their youth. Or at least softer than your average friendship. After all, who but a moirail could fuss with Vriska’s personal life so much? But as she kept waiting and waiting for a confession, she and Kanaya grew up instead. Vriska was titled ‘Prospera’ as a promise to her future self: I will succeed. Kanaya took her title a few perigees after, explaining that it meant ‘volunteer,’ or someone helpful in a time of need. Vriska didn’t have much time to talk about it with her, because after a regret-tinged titling day celebration, they bid farewell for a hundred sweeps, as her best friend started her first tour of duty in the brooding caverns.

They stayed pen pals the whole time. Little more than letters were permitted to clear cavern security, but they traded lengthy missives describing their new lives as much as possible. Vriska began her descent into truly unsavory business which she neglected to discuss, while Kanaya started to use the phrase, “The details are forbidden to outsiders.” It made Vriska all the more curious to crack open the caves like a geode and peek at the jade wonders inside. When the first century started to wind down, they started to make plans to reunite at the surfacing point, say hello and share a meal and drink now that they had spent five sweeps together and a hundred sweeps apart.

Vriska would never forget that day. After that long separation, she swore she fell head over heels into the deepest of red feelings at the mere sight of her face. Whatever happened to her best friend in the caverns, it transformed her into the woman of Vriska’s fantasies. In eight minutes of conversation, she could identify every area in which her old friend had grown. Where before she meddled, now she carried responsibility. Instead of fussing, she advised. Her voice sounded more melodious, her skin looked more radiant, her eyes sparkled with a deeper jade.

If Kanaya was the seed, then the Benevole was the matured magnolia. And before that night was over, Vriska found herself unfastening the buttons of the Benevole’s jacket, both completely certain of themselves and the bright, blazing flush of their feelings.

After a beautiful decade together, they separated again. The Benevole returned to the caverns with a jade tear and a brave smile, while Vriska cursed the Compasse and the Mother Grub for stealing away the thing she loved most in the world. For a century, they resumed writing letters, this time signed with more epithets like ‘Your Devoted And Flushed Moonbeam’ and ‘Your w8ing, sunlit m8sprit’ than before, until they had another reprieve, and another separation.

But if Vriska had her way, they would not be separated again. She needed a few crucial pieces still, but with a little more time, she’d be ready.

She settled on a dress with a flattering bodice the Benevole adored, some lace in the sleeves and skirt, and a low enough neckline to emphasize Vriska’s favorite necklace featuring the Benevole’s sign. That would surely communicate Vriska’s intentions. She just finished buckling up a dainty pair of shoes when the hivebell rang, and though she would deny it to anyone who asked, she skipped her way to the door. The only witness was a miniature flying bull, kept safe in a cage as a decoration. And a warning.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Vriska grabbed both of the front door handles and pulled them open, a smile on her lips to greet her flushed moonbeam—

Oh no.

Oh, fuuuuuuuuck.

Three people stood on her hivestoop. One was indeed the Benevole, as promised, every inch the dream Vriska had been expecting. The other two were faces she had thought would never be seen again.

“Good evening, Marquise Prospera,” the Chimeric greeted her. He was dressed the same as on his titling day, but no longer carried himself like he was at a party. Instead, he was at war. And to his side, head skewed by the weight of a single horn that no longer counterbalanced itself, the battered Mirthful loomed over them all. “I know it has been just a few days since we last spoke, but I request an audience with you.”

Vriska looked to the Benevole. “Dearest, I thought we tried to keep the professional and personal time separate…”

Her matesprit just raised an eyebrow. “I’m quite sorry, but I believe there is a need for us to reschedule.”

“You saw the newsfeeds, they’re palatial fugitives!”

The Mirthful leaned a little closer, his demeanor at odds with his name. He growled low in his chest, “You owe me, motherfucker.”

An icy chill of fear ran down Vriska’s spine, and she made the quick decision to deal with this nonsense behind closed doors. After all, she could do whatever she wanted behind closed doors. She stepped aside, ushered everyone in, and for good measure locked the hivedoors behind them.

Chapter Text

Kanaya knocked lightly on the door. "Karkat?"

No answer. She looked to Rose and Dave, a little further down the hall. Dave stood by like an inscrutable Earth Cool Kid, while Rose nodded encouragingly. Go on.

Well. Here went nothing. She knocked harder. "Karkat, please come out for a moment? I'd like to speak with you."

Still no reply. This time, she shot a withering look at Rose, questioning the value of pestering her good friend when he clearly did not want to be bothered.

Rose mimed pulling the string of a chainsaw.

Are you serious? Kanaya mouthed.

Rose nodded, and Dave added a thumbs up.

Resigned, Kanaya took her lipstick, uncapped it, and then revved the engine. It purred in her hands, shivers running up her arms.

"Now what," she muttered over the engine.

Rose indicated she should pull the string again, so Kanaya did so, adding some threatening roars to her chainsaw's grumble. After another five seconds, Karkat's door flung open.

"FOR THE LOVE OF JEGUS KANAYA, DO NOT CHAINSAW YOUR WAY INTO MY BLOCK!"

Kanaya killed the engine immediately. "I wasn't going to! I was just led to believe that this method would be more effective at getting your attention."

"What the fuck is so goddamn important you would even threaten my door like that?"

"Actually… I don't know." Kanaya turned to Rose and Dave. "Why do you need to speak to Karkat, exactly?"

Karkat peered around the frame of his door and caught sight of the humans. "Oh god. No, no, fuck no…"

"What? We haven't even told you what we're here for!" Dave protested.

"Rose did her Lighty Thing to find out more about the story, and now Dave wants to rub it in my face, all like, 'oh Karkat, you're missing out on the best part! Don't you feel like a coon-wetting wiggler for abandoning the floating aquatic transport when you did?'"

"The story? What story?" Kanaya asked.

"The story about our team, on Beforus," Karkat said. "More ancestor nonsense."

"There's more to it than that. And I should mention that I’ve discovered information about a few topics which would probably be of interest to us as a group," Rose said.

"So are you calling an official team meeting? I thought only Vriska called those now."

"I was thinking we could try and have a brief reunion without the influence of the Scourge Sisters," Rose said. "Given I don't think you'd like Vriska finding out about this just yet, and her presence appears to be prerequisite for Terezi's attention. If there's anything you want us to tell them, you'll be the one who decides what they learn."

"So then why is Kanaya here, if I’m the gatekeeper of all information?"

Kanaya bristled. What did he mean, 'why is Kanaya here?!' Kanaya had many insightful and important things to say, and knew how to treat sensitive matters delicately! Of course Kanaya should be here!

"Trust me, everything we're about to tell you is stuff you'd feel comfortable telling Kanaya."

"And how do you know that?"

Rose just winked at him. "Would you care to invite us inside, or hold this conversation in the very public hallway?"

"I don't want to have any conversation!"

"What if I told you the Chimeric once commanded an army larger than the Empress's?"

Karkat gaped at her, and frankly so did Kanaya. A force greater than the Empress was simply incomprehensible! "Wait, I thought the Beforan iteration of our planet was meant to be peaceful and gentle," she said.

Rose shrugged. "Well, that certainly appears to be a contradiction. If only we had a more comfortable place to explore these inconsistencies and discover the truth…"

"Oh my god, FINE! You can all make yourself at fucking home in my block! That seems to be the central social hub nowadays, just like the way my personal story is starting to serve as entertainment for you all!" Karkat stepped aside and gestured for everyone to enter. "And Kanaya, put your chainsaw away!"

Oops. She had sort of forgot she was holding it. She capped it and slipped the weapon back in her sylladex. Rose gave her a Look as she passed which Kanaya felt reasonably confident qualified as Human Flirting. She did her best to hide a blush, but the glow she could do nothing about.

They all settled in Karkat's surprisingly clean room. He had taken over all the walls with posters for movies he either had stashed in his sylladex before LOPAH was destroyed or ones alchemized since they left the Green Sun. But, apart from a sleeping pile, a cushion, a chair, and a table, he had no extra clutter anywhere. Compared to the rest of the crew who sometimes artfully, sometimes gracelessly allowed their belongings to be strewn about, his block still had a sense of order to it.

Dave zeroed in on the cushion and plopped down. "Okay, so what did you find out? This is really not fair, being all mysterious about what I think is a pretty critical chunk of the story."

"Of course. Now that we have a reasonable assembly, I think it's high time to bring everyone up to speed." Anticipating the story, Kanaya scooted the chair closer and sat. Both Karkat and Rose stayed standing, Karkat mistrusting, and Rose performative.

"The Vantas and Makara ancestors of Beforus left two enduring impressions in the minds of their descendants: warmonger and pedophile. And while those assessments may be true to what they were, those labels are woefully inadequate for describing the complexity of their history."

"Wake me when she gets to the point," Dave said. He placed his hands palm to palm and tucked them beside a cheek, which to Kanaya looked like a pose impossible for sleeping, so he was probably being facetious.

"Based on my conversation with Aranea, the Chimeric was definitely remembered for brutality, but also for his intelligence and influence. He was raised in a palace with the Compasse’s protection and won the right to call himself Guardian, an honor reserved for highbloods. I think the closest cultural analog is a trusted military commander. If flaysquads were led by Alternia’s best cullers, then the Guardians were the most elite Beforan cullers."

"But we tried to ask Kankri about the Chimeric, and he didn't mention any of that stuff. If I had been involved with the culling elite you'd think he would have said something about how problematic it is for a mutant to cull other people, or whatever the hell he'd get his netherclothes in a noose over," Karkat said.

Kanaya just glanced back and forth between Rose and Karkat as their discussion continued. She felt like she had missed out on a lot of context before what had surely been a stunning revelation.

"Kankri is likely focusing on the second half of the Chimeric's life. He became a Guardian before he was ten."

Dave raised a hand. "Sweeps or years?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Sweeps, obviously.”

Kanaya and Karkat locked eyes. Pre-ten was pre-conscription for Alternians, the age that your worth to the Empire was determined forever: the soldiers deployed, the resources enslaved, the unworthy culled. There was probably some other rite of passage for that age on Beforus. And this alternate Karkat achieved flaysquad-commander prestige before his titling day?

"So after he did that, he became a murderous lunatic?" Dave prompted his sister to keep talking.

"He became a rebel general. The story goes he inspired thousands of followers, who fought with ferocity the likes of which the planet had never seen. He had many victories against his far stronger opponent, but died in battle."

Karkat's eyebrows reached into his hairline. “So he was, like, a competent and respected commander?”

"Well, that would be terrifically fascinating to know more about, but I'm afraid you decided not to learn more about your Beforan incarnation out of revulsion for another aspect of his story…"

"Oh my god, Rose, do not put Karkat through this,” Dave spoke up again.

"Through what?"

"The bogus beg-me-to-tell-you schtick! You want to tell him, so why are you dragging this out?"

"I simply wanted to verify that the other details of the Chimeric's story were sufficiently compelling," Rose said.

"Whether they are or are not, I would like to claim interest in the story independent of Karkat's involvement," Kanaya raised her hand. "I mean, if he wants us not to hear it, I don’t mean to pry, but so long as this story is being told…?"

"No, it's okay," Karkat said.

"Then to answer your question, yes. The Chimeric was undoubtedly a brilliant leader of trolls, ideologically and militaristically."

"Did you learn anything more about what the Mournful… did?" Karkat changed the subject.

"Yes, though I would like some more texture on the situation, since I don’t understand exactly what this would have entailed. History remembers that the Mournful abused the Chimeric as a wiggler in the pale quadrant."

Karkat grimaced, and Kanaya offered him the most sympathetic face possible. That stung her, to hear one of their number grew up to be that particular kind of monster, but it had to be a thousand times worse for Karkat.

"Can you explain the characteristics of abusive moiraillegance, since the quadrant is alien to me?" Rose asked.

"Well, to start, moiraillegance is a stabilizing relationship, typically between a volatile hothead and a rational pacifier, but the dynamic can flip depending on who needs calming more," Karkat started, on a roll in one of his areas of expertise. "A good moiraillegance helps give you the clarity needed to deal with the rest of your shit, and serves a pretty important social function."

"So an abusive moirail is someone who does not provide a calming influence?"

"No, that's just an awful moirail. If you two can’t find emotional sync, it just falls apart, like any bad pair. An abusive moirail is someone who exploits your feelings and insecurities, dismantles your ability to handle your own shit, cultivates dependency, that kind of awful shit. Sometimes they pose as the unstable partner to coax someone into pitying them, then turn the tables so they can exercise power over their moirail. They typically cut off their connection to their social circle too, but most quadrant abusers do that."

"Fascinating," Rose said. "So if this were to happen between an adult and a child…?"

"The adult would basically be teaching the wiggler he's worthless except for his ability to make the adult feel better. Like, a psychologically conditioned pale slavery. And since they lack experience, the wiggler doesn’t know better."

"That doesn't sound like what happened to Karmeric," Dave mentioned.

"How do we know it didn’t?! The Mournful got caught as a pedophile, there must have been signs!"

"Actually, the story goes that the Mournful confessed to his own crime," Rose said.

"Wait, really?"

"Absolutely. He stayed with the Chimeric after their exile, and given what the Chimeric went on to achieve, I think while the relationship was undoubtedly rooted in pedophilia, it’s very unlikely that it left lasting psychological damage on the Chimeric."

"How do you figure that one, O Wise Human?"

"Well, from a human perspective, none of the Mournful’s actions would be pedophilia in the first place. There’s an ancient relationship in our culture that is very difficult to translate, called ‘parenting.’ It essentially describes the institution where human children are expected to have pale relationships with our adult custodians."

Kanaya's jaw dropped, and Karkat's followed, hitting the floor harder. "What the hell?! What kind of fucked-up culture does that?!"

"It was a very pervasive institution on Earth. Some viewed the relationship as a biological imperative, where our excessively emotional and self-centered young are expected to have at least one adult, but often two, servicing their needs and pacifying them. This serves the purpose of grooming children to care for their adult custodians when the custodians begin to age and lose the ability to care for themselves. Perhaps you recall watching John's childhood? I believe his upbringing most closely resembled traditional human parenting."

Karkat choked a little. "So that adult human, he would… cuddle John?!"

"Quite excessively, if the rumors are to be believed," Rose said. "And he left encouraging notes to him, describing pride in John's achievements."

Karkat retched a little, while Kanaya bit her lip to avoid following him. Pale love letters, from an adult to a child! Disgusting!

Dave fell over on his back, hands sliding under his shades in a double-facepalm. "Rose, jegus, when are you going to stop trolling the trolls with fucked up pseudo-explanations of human culture? First funerals, now parenting?"

"Wait, are you pulling my walk stalk?!" Karkat demanded.

"Of course she is! Parents don't do that!"

"What do parents do then?" Rose asked, a smirk on her black lips. Kanaya could feel the ruination in her mirth. Even without weapons, Rose could be so enticingly dangerous. This would not end well for Dave.

"Not all the horseshit you just said, I can tell you that!" Dave jack-knifed back to a sitting position to point a finger at Rose.

"So you've had an experience with parenting not characterized by gestures of affection and support, and this strange troll emotion called moiraillegance?"

"I didn't have parents, I had my bro, who I guess was my dad, but that's only because of ectobiology shit and he couldn't have known about that, so bros it was. And I had none of that pale abuse going on, I had strife and puzzle traps to keep me sharp."

"I'm quite impressed," Rose answered. "This household full of danger and lacking any sort of comforting, positive reinforcement sounds so very un-abusive."

"Fuck you. I grew up rad, and if you want we can pass out right now and ask Latula for verification. Berries to boondollars she deems me the most ridonkulous radster to ever be cool at shit.”

"Regardless of the virtues of your upbringing, I think most individuals would agree you're supposed to feel safe in your home."

"That isn't a thing."

"I'm pretty sure it is."

"No way, that's like, a perk. Not the point."

"Does this have anything to do with the way you always try to fall asleep with extra weapons nearby?"

"That's just common sense."

Karkat finally decided to say something on the topic. "Yeah, I have to agree with Dave that keeping five backup weapons around while sleeping is something a sensible person would do, but… even for trolls, it’s not normal to expect your lusus to harm you. Like you could still end up with a dangerous or temperamental lusus, but it's never going to harm you. That's just a defective custodian."

"Okay, what the hell?! Why did this turn into 'grill Dave like a sirloin steak' hour?!" Dave cried, his voice cracking along with his coolkid demeanor.

"I just think we all need to be on the same page regarding what qualifies as abuse, since we're venturing into thorny territory about not only child abuse, but analysis of an alien pedophilic-romantic relationship,” Rose said.

Face turning red, Dave folded his arms. "How about I just sign off on whatever you think the thing is and we stop talking about this?"

Rose smiled and shrugged, and shot a glance at Kanaya. Her eyes still had that dark, appealing twinkle, and she added this smile, oh god Kanaya might lose control of her glow again with a smile like that. She looked at her knees quickly. Why can't I just say something to her?

"We were talking about something before?" Kanaya said.

"How humans apparently routinely abuse their young," Karkat reminded her.

"Okay, Dave is right, I was exaggerating," Rose said, while Karkat muttered something like damn flighty broads. She continued, "But I think it's important to remember the cross-cultural perspective.”

“Cross-cultural my ass, if you want us to lay off the idea that apparently every single human is a victim of conciliatory abuse from multiple adult humans, then you need to understand that it’s a huge fucking problem when adults try to be moirails with wigglers.”

“But the human model allows you to look at the problem from a different angle.”

“What angle? Why does another angle matter?”

“The Mournful was assigned to protect the Chimeric from a young age,” Rose said. “But, we also know that the Chimeric was raised in a palace alongside the Compasse and any security forces under her command. What exactly did the Chimeric need protecting from?”

“The Mournful,” Karkat answered.

“I’m not going to stop you from drawing that conclusion, but I think you need to consider the fact you’re wrong,” Rose said.

“Don’t phrase it like that, you know I’m right!”

“I’m not going to argue that it’s desirable, or even forgivable, for adults and children to treat each other as romantic equals. I think everyone here is in agreement that when adults like kids, that’s fucked up,” Rose said. “But we should consider the Chimeric’s situation: He was an off-spectrum mutant, very extensively coddled despite no signs of disability, belittled, demeaned, I could go on, but he was never in danger. If the Mournful had no reason to defend the Chimeric from threats, maybe he defended the Chimeric against his detractors. Maybe the Mournful was the reason that the Chimeric believed he had any power to pursue his goals.”

“And what makes you think that’s what happened?”

"Aranea's account. She theorized that as the Chimeric used violent means to meet his ends, the calming presence of a moirail helped him stay determined."

"So on Beforus, instead of killing everyone himself, Gamzee helped me kill everyone," Karkat summed up. "Really gives me that uniquely tepid and fluff-filled emotion to know that's how it went down!"

"Dude, what the hell, you were bragging at Kankri about how willing you were to kill for your friends," Dave added. "Don't act like having someone to cuddle out the guilt or whatever you felt was a bad thing."

"But we're never going to know what really happened," Karkat said. "All the history books from Beforus burned in the Reckoning. Anything the dancestors brought into the game got wiped out by the Scratch."

"There is another method Aranea taught me. It's possible for us to inhabit the memories of our alternate selves, as preserved in dreambubbles. With the right mentality, and the grace of the Gods, we could summon bubbles and re-live the past as it actually happened."

Karkat's eyebrows bunched together. "Yeah, I—that's not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Look, maybe humans just expect their adults to cuddle and shoosh them, but trolls are different. I never want to be near the Mournful again. I never want him to be close enough to touch me, and I sure as shit don't want to inhabit a bubble where his memory-phantom is anywhere near me."

Rose nodded. "I promise, we can find memories of the Chimeric that don't center on his relationship with his culler. He spent a lot of his life as a scholar and military leader. Perhaps we could find one of his public debates, or more famous battles? And from, well, what I saw, it's very easy to stop a memory if you feel uncomfortable."

"We could check one of the battles," Dave suggested. "Seriously curious to know how Karmeric got this bloodthirsty reputation.”

"Yeah, that would probably be cool,” Karkat admitted. "So are we all going to meet up the next time we dream and make it happen?"

"Allowing for the fact this is guaranteed to be harder than we expect, yes. And if we can't successfully inhabit a bubble about the Chimeric, we at least have a few other names to work with."

"Whose names?" Kanaya asked.

"The Betrayer, the Tameless, and the Huntsman. Two of his supporters, and his eventual killer. We can spend our spare time asking about them, to see if we can flesh out this story a little more."

Kanaya pinched her knees and ankles together, a little nervous. She really hoped she hadn’t earned any of those titles. They really didn't sound like any kind of legacy she would want to leave.

"We'll do our best to synchronize sleeping, but this is hardly a meteor mandate. We can take our time on this one."

"Welp, good meeting everyone." Dave rocked forward onto his knees and then stood. "Karkat, I've got a comic to show you…"

Rose looked to Kanaya. "We should leave them to it."

She nodded and followed the Seer of Light into the hallway, walking toward probably another library. She felt so aware of, or even sensitized to, the swing of Rose's hand, in sync with hers. Could she… could she try and human hold hands?

Kanaya, you idiot, trolls hold hands too! You don't have to say 'human' in front of that! And why am I scolding myself in my own thoughts, no one heard me think the phrase 'human hold hands!'

Kanaya entwined her fingers together. Her hands rested in front of her skirt now. She knew this song and dance. Meet a girl, admire her passion and elegance, fall flushed for that hint of danger in her shadow, get your heart broken. It happened with Vriska, it happened with the walkthrough's author (who happened to be Rose) and now she was onto Rose proper. She was in the phase between three and four: 'fall flushed' and 'get heart broken.' Maybe she should watch more of Karkat's mundane and non-supernatural romcoms to get a feel for what supposedly prevents flushed feelings from alchemizing into heartbreak. Her novels usually dealt with far less common relationship problems. She knew just what to do if forced to duel a venomous sabertooth stripebeast for her love. She didn't know what to do to keep from having her heart broken again.

"Are you curious about yourself as an ancestor?"

"How did you know?"

Rose raised her eyebrows. "An educated guess."

"I suppose I am. Frankly, meeting Porrim was intimidating enough. I think perhaps I wasn't anyone very interesting or important on Beforus if my story didn't inspire similar nervous emotions when she met me."

"Maybe she doesn't know your story, and she'd be completely blown away to hear of your exploits."

Kanaya stared at her feet. "Possibly, but I could also be like the Mournful, responsible for some dreadful crime. Maybe I was the Betrayer or something else awful."

"We can ask, Kanaya. It's dangerous to jump to conclusions."

Kanaya smirked. "Isn't your entire power jumping to very specific conclusions with uncanny accuracy?"

"Exactly. Allow me to now jump to the conclusion that you were a good ancestor, and you left a legacy Porrim would be proud of."

"And if you are wrong in that prediction?"

"Then I will have to throw these orange robes in the garbage."

“I’ll make you something else to wear, should that event come to pass.” Kanaya smiled a little wider. "Something flashier."

"You want to see me wear flashier things?"

"I mean, only if you want to. I will take your feedback into account for the designs."

"I'm not opposed to flashy things," Rose clarified. "I'll just have to think on it a bit."

"Take all sweep," Kanaya said, and instantly cursed her response. What if Rose took it to mean Kanaya didn't want to see her dressed up? Oh god, why was she getting flustered again? Why did she do this wrong!? Why was it so hard to just open her mouth and say something else?!

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Kanaya's thoughts changed to a mantra of Stupid, stupid, stupid… and didn't stop for hours.

Chapter Text

This was not how she wanted the evening to go.

The Benevole turned an impressively blind eye to Vriska’s misery. Once indoors, she simply gave her a peck on the cheek and departed for her respiteblock to set down her belongings. That left Vriska alone with the lunatic fugitives.

"Let's take this business to a more agreeable location," Vriska invited. "Please, come upstairs."

The Chimeric had this contemptible air of pleasantness about him, an unnaturally positive sentiment that everyone knew was false. The Mirthful made no bones about hiding his feelings, and was just contemptible. Vriska figured she could respect that. Ascending the stairs took quite longer than she expected, as the Chimeric had to help his pupa-peeling culler with just about every step, but they navigated it eventually. Are they seriously pale for each other now?

Vriska figured it was a good break that she had cleaned her office in preparation for the Benevole, even if this wouldn't lead to some nights of passion with guests in the hive. She’d give them nothing to spy on, mark her words. When they entered her office, the Chimeric paid little attention to the art on the walls, the cases of books, or the placement of the furniture. He kept his eyes on the prize—her—while the Mirthful looked around, distracted.

"Prospera, it is my understanding you owe a debt to the Mirthful, as compensation for a promise you failed to keep," the Chimeric began.

Vriska twisted a lock of hair around one finger. "You may have heard rumors of such a debt, but I'm afraid it cannot be collected any longer. From my understanding, the troll called Mirthful no longer exists. By order of the Church, his title and former standing have been redacted. I owe nothing to the Mournful."

In spite of her taunt, she did think of him as the Mirthful. The Chimeric stayed collected and replied, “Ma’am, I understand your time is precious, so please refrain from wasting more of this conversation with poor-taste insults. If you think of something funny, assume you said it and we laughed. If you wish to threaten us, assume we’d tremble at whatever scathing words you would deliver. But you are in debt to us. This is a fact, and it is time we addressed it.”

"I understand. Let me make it up to you. There's a fantastic recipe for a treacle grubtart that the Benevole and I could whip up for dinner. Let's share a meal of good cheer and let bygones be bygones."

"That's funny. We laughed. Take your grubtart and insert it in a place that has never seen the moons."

Vriska raised a suggestive eyebrow. "No such place exists, dear Chimeric."

"I don't think you quite understand what you're dealing with here," he said. "The rumors have reached you by now, haven't they?"

"Which ones? All rumors reach me eventually."

"The rumors of my declaration of rebellion against the Compasse."

"Oh, that's what that was? I thought it was a poor, helpless mutant throwing a tantrum."

“That’s funny. We laughed. But you deal with people like me all the time, don't you? You've seen the most destitute trolls to ever walk this planet and bartered them salvation for their soul. But neither of us have souls to trade. There is nothing but what we want from you, and what we could do to you if you fail to provide."

She scoffed. "Of course you still have souls. You’re standing before me, alive and well.”

“I lost my soul when the chimera revealed to me the end times. The Mirthful lost his when his faith betrayed him. And as badly as we need help, there is literally nothing left for us to lose, and nothing we have to give you but pain. You have a volatile explosive in your hive. Will you safely send it along, or stare into its core until it explodes?"

This little troll was so dramatic! And that situation was too absurd to contemplate. “What is there I love so much I would care if you destroyed it? Do you really think I am that shallowly materialistic?"

"No, not at all. You don't care about things, and you don't care about people, either."

"I care very much about people."

"You care about power. Power over people specifically. I care about the power of people, but if necessary, I'll debase myself to your means."

Vriska narrowed her eyes at him. "You brat. I don't have to listen to you."

The Chimeric hummed, more like a grunt, and looked around the room. "This is where it all happens, isn't it? You keep your records here. Or if not here, then in some other block with lock and key. If someone had the authority—or desperation—to ransack this place, they would probably discover records for countless crimes. All those letters and ledgers could be turned over to the Vigilants and used to incarcerate you for the rest of your life.”

"Who would hand over the evidence? If you did, you'd be arrested on sight."

The Chimeric met her eyes. That freakish red burned like the sun. "There's one Vigilant who would let me go. If it meant bringing you down, they might turn a blind eye…”

"That's your angle?" Vriska forced herself to chuckle. "You give Lawscale too much credit. We are equally despicable in her view, and in her twisted sense of humor, she would give us neighboring cells so we could torment each other until the end of our spans.”

But… what if Lawscale did. After decades of this contentious duel, Lawscale struggling at every turn to prove Vriska's involvement in an encyclopedia’s worth of heinous acts, she might just barter away the freedom of another criminal to end her. And it wasn’t just any criminal, it was the Chimeric, an admirer of hers who probably stroked her ego fabulously. If the Chimeric found a shred of evidence, like the half-drafted letter in her desk drawer, Vriska might just be… she might be…

Don’t get caught. I can’t get caught!

Zoned out for almost the whole conversation, the Mirthful finally looked at Vriska. She had never thought him handsome, and the bruises and gashes only rendered him uglier. But a ghastly grin completed the look this time, like something from a day terror. Her day terrors, specifically.

“I have no fear of the cells,” the Chimeric said. “I should have died an orphan grub, but as luck would have it, I survived. My whole span is borrowed time to begin with. Death will surely take me swiftly, and leave you alone and miserable for centuries more.” The Chimeric made a show of shaking his head, patronizing and aloof. “It would be a tragedy to assault you in your own hive and then destroy your possessions until we found what we were looking for, but I expect we could be efficient."

She considered her options. They had no way of knowing about her trump card. When she was a child, she discovered she had the power to sense the thoughts and feelings of those around her. The warm and feeble-minded especially presented their unguarded thoughts to her, like a broadcasted song, and her mind was the radio that could tune into the wavelength. When she first realized what she could do the very premise filled her with revulsion, but when she was titled and the young Benevole had left for the caverns, she started… testing. It took centuries of small, private, careful practice until she felt comfortable not just reading the thoughts of the warmbloods, but controlling their actions as well. Occasionally, she encountered warmblooded brains with gifts that rendered them too complicated to directly control, though she could sense their thoughts regardless. But, she felt confident of her power to control almost anyone olive and warmer, in an emergency.

The Chimeric fell into that category. She'd need many hours of focused examination to sort out exactly where his off-spectrum blood ranked him. The obvious answer "below burgundy" didn't quite feel right—his mind was stronger than the average peasant. If he tried to attack her, or her hive, she had the power to seize his will and stop him.

But he wasn't the problem. That damned grub-piler knew the Chimeric's mind better than she could dare to hope. He'd see in a flash if she was controlling his moirail, and with his lofty blood, she'd never control him, even with a million sweeps to explore his mind and find the chinks in his psychic armor.

She had never tried to control anyone jade or above.

"Before you waste more of your breath with idle threats, tell me what it is you even want," she said.

The Chimeric smirked like he had won. "Sanctuary in your hive, until preparations can be made for our departure. Transport to a new continent, any continent, defended well enough to thwart imperial pursuit."

“That's absu—”

"Sufficient disguise, so we won't be faced with imperial pursuit in the first place," the Chimeric interrupted her. Interrupted! His nerve! "Guarantee that we will have a safe exit upon arrival at our destination. While we are here, you will repair or provide rudimentary armaments for us, and I will select a map of my choosing from your records to take with me."

"Some safety, a ship, clothes, some weapons, and a map." Vriska frowned at him. She knew precisely what she would have asked of herself if she were about to begin revolting against the Empire, and it wasn’t that. "Everyone is right. You're absolutely insane."

"I know what I need from you. Other resources will come with time."

"And all of that is meant to end culling? Will that really give you what you want?"

"What I want is to sit with the Guardians as their honored equal and forge a legacy of equality and empowerment. Thank you very much for asking my preferences, that was so very gracious of you. But in case you haven't noticed, what I want is no longer possible. I have to continue on the path set before me.”

"Do you always change course so radically when your first choice becomes unavailable?"

"I haven't had the chance to find out. In the coming sweeps we'll know for sure. In the meantime, my course is clear. Give me what I want, or everything you’ve known will burn around you."

Pushy. Melodramatic. Arrogant. Selfish. How dare he. How dare he! But a small, benevolent voice reminded her: he's acting like you.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Those terms are acceptable. It will be at least a week before I have an armed ship traveling inter-continentally. It will stand up to most any Vigilant pursuit, and the captain knows better than to fail me. You'll have your safety in the meantime, where you can choose your map and my matesprit can decide how to make you look less..." Mutant. Mangled. "...conspicuous."

The Chimeric finally smiled, sincerely this time. "Thank you so much for fulfilling your agreement, Marquise Prospera. You are a lady of honor."

"Don't patronize me," Vriska scowled. "And since you're in my hive, you will have separate respite blocks." Once again, she had the Mirthful's attention, the diamond-chained fool.

“Why do you care about that? Our arrangement is strictly related to business,” the Chimeric pushed back.

"I have nothing against your choice of quadrantmate, but I have a policy against intimacy among guests in my hive. And before you claim discrimination, think of it this way: you brought me my matesprit and then proceeded to impose your presence. No pail for me, no pile for you. Got it?"

She would never be able to forget the Mirthful's face in that moment: desperate and hateful, like she was his personal angel responsible for twisting the torture knife in his gullet.

The Chimeric nodded curtly. "Your terms are acceptable. We'll retire separately and reconvene to assist you with preparing our supplies."

"Little bro?" the Mirthful pleaded with a weak voice. The Chimeric took one hand in both of his—both necessary to cover it, really—and smoothed over his palm and the back of his hand. For the love of the Mother Grub, this still-wriggling youth had no sense of decency!

"If you're done, I'll have a steward feed you," Vriska interrupted. Just get them out of her sight, at any cost.

The Chimeric offered her a small bow, like she had seen seadwellers offer to superiors they expected to replace someday. Then he led his moirail out of the office. Vriska took her seat behind her desk and tipped her head back. God, what a night. But this shouldn't matter too much. Everything should still be fine…

Someone knocked faintly on the door. "Prospera?"

They had left it ajar, the animals. The Benevole stood in the frame, poised and perfect as ever. Vriska held out a hand to request she come nearer, and her graceful Mistress obliged.

"They are trouble," Vriska said. "And completely out of their pans."

“I’m sorry, dearest.”

"You don't sound sorry."

"I suppose I'm only a little sorry. I knew they would frustrate you, but that you were also the only one able to offer them any modicum of hope."

"And their quadrant! They were pale while he was still underage, don't tell me you support that, O sworn defender of children."

"The Chimeric explained himself while we were waiting for the Mirthful to recover. He passes most rudimentary examinations for psychological well-adjustment—”

"Pft."

“Rudimentary examinations,” she emphasized. “And he basically takes the stance that if the past could not be changed, he would rather use the present as a foundation for his future."

"In other words...?"

"Accept the Mirthful as his moirail, and see where fate takes them next."

"Fate, hm? Since when did the Chimeric believe in fate?"

"Since it became more than a little obvious that fate believes in him."

With a graceful twist, the Benevole settled herself on Vriska's lap and wrapped her arms over her shoulder.

"Wise, wonderful, beautiful Benevole," Vriska smiled, and the Benevole kissed her. The light, slight-warmed feeling of her lips tickled her nerves.

"Am I needed in your schemes?" the Benevole asked.

"They'll need disguises..." Vriska leaned forward, chasing another kiss.

“I will thread the sewing machine.”

Their lips met again. Vriska slipped a hand over her matesprit's waist while the Benevole ran fingers through her hair. It was never enough. A lifespan of her would never be enough, and she had just six more sweeps...

"My moonbeam, hold," Vriska said in a gasp of breath.

"What is it?"

"We have company!”

“They're not in the block…”

“It’s a rule. And you're the one who brought them, so you brought this celibacy upon yourself.”

The Benevole leaned back and pondered this turn of events. "Prospera…” she started, a teasing smile on her lips. "If you intend to start playing by the rules instead of cheating at every given opportunity, I would prefer some more advance warning. Otherwise I’ll have to ask, who is this woman, and what has she done with my matesprit?”

Vriska gaped at the Benevole—Is she saying what I think she's saying?—while she gave Vriska a tap on the nose and stood.

"I'll see you this morning, my sunlight," she said over her shoulder, before she left the room.

Vriska took a moment to savor that farewell and promise. Then she found the letter she had been working on just before the interruption. Plans would need to be accelerated, but she was certain she could manage. She really only had one ship able to meet the Chimeric’s demands, and it would be a waste to send it with a pair of fugitives and nothing more. If she pooled her resources and made a large enough payment to the gentletroll now petitioning for her help, then she could begin working immediately. The Chimeric’s ship was the perfect one to send it on. He didn’t care to specify where he ended up. She’d send that payment to the ignoble courtier, demand his falsified testimony immediately… Yes, this ship would be the match to light the fuse, which could excuse the Benevole from the caverns forever. They could both retire. They could live in peace.

There was work to be done before that. She scrapped her letter and started a new one, emphasizing immediacy.

I will defend the Benevole at all costs.

Chapter Text

“…If I’m being honest, the most problematic part of social justice is the amount of cynicism outsiders attribute to our worldview, largely by people who haven’t spent as long examining their privilege, and they start to become rather lackluster in their commitment to creating real change in their societies, often settling for half-measures or allowing some problematic slurs and attitudes to slide so long as they see what they believe is ‘improvement’ in other areas, often related to pet issues of their own; for example…”

Terezi just smiled and nodded. In a really weird way, Terezi liked listening to Kankri. It kind of reminded her of sitting in the branches of her treehive and listening to the sounds of the forest. All the birds chirping, the small tree mammals chittering, the wind rustling in the leaves, it all wove together into a background hum that made thinking very pleasant. She could never tune out Karkat this well, since even though he talked for about as long and at times had just as little to say, his bombastic, colorful rhetoric at least kept Terezi entertained, and made him really fun to fuck with.

Kankri was just a white noise machine to her. He would flip his shit if he found out, so Terezi didn’t say anything.

Vriska apparently did not think of Kankri’s lectures as opportunities to relax and ruminate. She liked to make exaggerated yawning motions while Kankri spoke, but so long as Terezi approximated a studious, interested listener, he either didn’t notice or didn’t care about Vriska’s disrespect. At least this time around, Latula had come along, so she and Vriska could pull faces at each other and whisper “neeeerds” under their breaths.

So long as Vriska was happy, the rest didn’t matter. Terezi still didn’t understand how they all got here. It kept her awake sometimes, thinking about it. She had been about to go through with it. She had seen the two vortices that would be created by her decision: kill Vriska now and save everyone, or let her go and let everyone else die, and she knew what she had to do.

But then John Egbert… happened. There was no other word she could use to describe the event. Like a blue dork in pajamas came out of nowhere, someone scrawled HAPPEN in the air around him, and then everything flipped upside down. Vriska was alive and safe after a meteoric punch to the face. There was a lot of shouting, a lot of frustration, and then John vanished with a fresh cornflower flash.

She had spent hours trying to think of what had happened—some of those hours spent as she was right now, listening to paragraph after paragraph of Kankri’s sermons—to see if she could deduce the preceding decisions leading up to that event. What was John thinking? Why did he choose that course of action? Who gave him the power to teleport, not just through space, but across time as well? That John’s scent was the same one that had lingered in odd places through the months leading up to his sudden appearance. Outside her hive, in the upper atmosphere of her planet, in rooms of the meteor right where she found her most important clues… He was not the same Egbert that she once-upon-a-time manipulated to his doom in an offshoot timeline. He was older, a little taller. Did he time travel? But whose mechanisms did he use, Dave’s timetables or Aradia’s music boxes? She hadn’t smelled those in use!

Why can’t I figure him out? Honestly, he had probably said a lot more that might have helped her, but that was part of the problem. She told herself she could be forgiven for not remembering every word that came out of his stupid mouth, but she really couldn’t. If she had only listened closer, or not gotten so caught up in the shenanigans, maybe she would know what the hell was going on. Instead, she knew nothing. And knowing nothing frustrated her worse than anything.

John Egbert was too stupid to be the puzzle master who flummoxed her. She refused to be bested by him. But, on a meteor in the middle of the endless not-so-empty void, she couldn’t do anything about it but fume.

She sniffed a bit to double-check her surroundings. Kankri was still ranting, so she nodded a few times, like one would add a log to a fire and stir the embers. Latula had pulled out a handheld TrollStation and started up a game. Vriska leaned over her shoulder, watching the mini screen and pointing out the powerups.

She seems happy. Terezi would probably never tell anyone how glad she was to have Vriska with her on the meteor. It was too sappy to confess. The dancestors confirmed that there had been a timeline without her, and that Terezi had not only been doomed, but tormented. No one would really go into the details. It seemed Terezi herself had tried very hard to conceal her pain.

She and Vriska hadn’t talked about that timeline. They technically had made a conscious but silent decision to not talk about it. But its existence meant that Vriska knew one thing crystal-clear: Terezi would have stabbed her in the back. John’s intervention was the only reason she was still alive. That had a way of adding a sour note to an otherwise happy reconciliation. “I’m so glad you survived my attempt to kill you!”

In a weird way, that encompassed a huge portion of Terezi’s relationship to Vriska. She wished it didn’t have to be like that: waiting for the moment Vriska next hurt someone she liked, and having to deal with the consequences…

“…not even beginning to account for this ancestral cross-contamination of our universal instances. First, it’s extraordinarily triggering to conflate a person with their post- or pre-scratch counterpart. You are no doubt aware that there were members of my team that were perfectly willing to adopt mannerisms and identities similar to their post-scratch counterparts, and while I will never be someone who advocates for dictating what a person can and cannot identify as, certain individuals have tremendously problematic legacies. This is especially true, I believe, for certain members of your Alternian team as well, given that while we from Beforus at least had the existing Alternian power structure to blame for many of our crimes and other suspected personality differences between our spectral and adult incarnations. Your team had no excuses during your incarnation on Beforus, and frankly, I believe that our team has done an admirable job of making these dreambubbles a judgement-free zone for your team to make their own choices independent of any previously held impressions…”

“Hang on,” Terezi held up a hand. “What went wrong during our pre-Scratch incarnation?”

“Well, quite possibly everything that could have gone wrong. It’s quite honestly all incredibly triggering, and even if none of your personal triggers are present, it’s a disturbing narrative overall. I will not be recounting it here, if you don’t mind. I think it’s distracting from the larger point I wanted to make about the necessity of complete unanimity when it comes to social change,” Kankri continued. Terezi was a little surprised he had paused when she asked.

“I know, and I will let you get right back to that, but I want to ask for some small footnotes first,” Terezi said. “We’ve spent a while hanging out, and no one has even once mentioned who all of your ancestors were. So if I were to guess, someone brought up ancestors to you first, and that’s why it’s on your mind.”

“Well… yes, that’s accurate. I’m still not going to talk about it.”

“I know, and I respect that completely. But, who asked you about it? Maybe I can give them a friendly reminder later about being sensitive to other people’s private legacies.”

Terezi smelled a smile break out on Kankri’s face. Yep, she got the right buzzwords. They were the grease that kept those mind-gears turning, the flattery that let slip the clues she used to engineer the demise of the wicked. She was the puzzle master. It was her.

“If you must know, Karkat and Dave inquired about my ancestor, but I declined to share that story with them, on account of some frightfully immature antics,” Kankri huffed. “Could you please take a minute or two of their waking time to inform them how problematic it is to extort people for information and then stuff things in their mouths when a simple ‘farewell’ would suffice?”

Dave and Karkat did that? Terezi struggled not to break out laughing, and offer Kankri a sympathetic smile instead. She’d congratulate those dorks later. Kankri didn’t seem to realize that opportunities to leave a conversation with him were about as rare as candy-blood mutants. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Thank you, Terezi,” Kankri said. “You know, it’s really nice to meet someone who has an actual appreciation for the subtle actions which create our societies and dictate our relationships. Most of my pleas for social awareness have fallen on deaf ears—”

“Deaf?” Terezi made a questioning mouth, just to poke the fire.

“Oh no, that’s so clearly a microaggression against the hearing impaired, and is frankly completely inexcusable. What I meant to say was more along the lines of…”

Blah blah blah blah blah. Terezi just smiled again and nodded. She couldn’t tell if Vriska or Latula had heard her little tangent with Kankri. They stayed engrossed in the little pings of Latula’s video game. Did Latula know about her ancestor? Even if she did, Terezi didn’t know how easy it would be to get information out of her. After all, having an older, wiser role model to look up to wasn’t very radical. But Vriska… she was an ancestor on Beforus, too. If they had grown up on a peaceful planet, would they have been friends there, too? The kind of friendship not marked by repeated attempts to kill each other in pointless revenge cycles?

Maybe she’d ask Vriska about it later. She’d spend a few minutes thinking up just the right words to entice her. As much as Vriska liked to play the spider, she could get trapped in webs if she wasn’t looking. And if Vriska’s passion for Mindfang’s story was any indication, she wouldn’t mind at least inquiring about their Beforan selves.

She hoped she could find at least one other instance in all of paradox space where she and Vriska let each other live.

Aradia’s hair and skirts tangled behind her as she sprinted through the forest. She had brought Mistress and her companions within sight of the door, then split for the wilderness. Surely no one could blame her for being so excited! She had seen him recently, but she had such interesting news and she couldn’t wait to share it!

She knew the way well: just a slide down this slope, then a little bit further to his camp, but her foot caught on something. A root kinked an inch higher than she expected, and she pitched forward into the open air as the ground dipped.

"Look out!"

She clenched her arms in tight and prepared to catch herself with her psionics, but a pair of arms did the catching first, taking her weight and spinning with it to slow her plummet. She looked up at the face of her rescuer, the handsomest she had ever seen.

"My hero," she giggled, looping her arms over her shoulder.

"What's got you in such a rush?" the Huntsman asked. He made no motion to put her down.

"Surely you saw, didn't you?"

"I mean, I saw you were coming, but I didn't think that was a reason to run like monsters were chasing you."

"Maybe it wasn't a very good reason to run, but I had a very good reason to believe I wouldn't get hurt." Aradia smiled. "Trust paid off this time, didn't it?"

"Sure did." The Huntsman finally set her down, and they started a slow stroll toward his camp. "So you came running that fast just because the Chimeric and Mirthful were on their way to see Prospera?"

"Oh, 'just because' the two most wanted fugitives on the planet came our way! That's a really lackluster attitude you have."

"It's just because, I kind of know what's going on, and I saw you earlier, so I think I ruined the surprise," the Huntsman said. "If it means that much to you, we can try it again, and I'll pretend to be shocked."

Aradia laughed. "We can't rewind and do it over again. But thanks for offering."

"Glad you appreciate it."

Aradia looped her arm around the Huntsman as they walked. "It's so strange to see him in the flesh."

"Who?" 

"The Chimeric. He really is off-spectrum, and the red makes his eyes so bright! Like they could glow in the dark, like lanterns. Or suns!”

"I didn't get that good a look, when I was watching," he said. "The only time I met him, his eyes were still grey."

"Really? You’ve met him?"

"Prospera took me on an outing, which was normal, and I'm fine, so don't ask," the Huntsman explained quickly. "But the Chimeric was sort of, sympathetic."

"Sort of?"

"It's hard to describe. He wanted to talk to me, but I can't talk on outings. He tried like, three different dialects, and signing, to find a preferred language. By the end of it, I know he had Prospera and I figured out."

Aradia clutched his arm a little tighter. "What did you do?"

"I wrote him a warning, and I guess he listened, but I don't think he did so willingly, or easily. He doesn't stand for injustice, so I think he's naturally an enemy," the Huntsman kicked a pebble down the path. "That is to say, he doesn't think that sometimes, peace is more important."

"More important than justice?"

"Look, maybe it hasn't been stardust and smiles the whole time, but I like my life," he said. "I've got the whole forest to look after, and it looks after me. I don't have to impress anyone. I have a matesprit who loves me the way I am..." 

He stopped walking for a second and kissed Aradia between her curly horns. "And, that matesprit is the bravest, strongest, most lovely adventuress," he finished. "So maybe I'm not free, but I'm fine. Trolls might think that can't be a real thing, but I don't mind."

"I don't know..." Aradia frowned. She'd had this conversation with him a dozen times, but she'd have it again. Maybe the Chimeric's meteor-impact would change the landscape enough to help him. "You're happy now, but you're always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You're helpless."

The Huntsman smirked. "Not really," he said. "Prospera isn't the only one who can scheme."

"What do you mean?"

They arrived at the Huntsman's camp. A very stable and expertly pitched tent faced a well-used fire pit. Supplies hung from tree branches where predators couldn't reach, and with ties too thick and clever for nutbeasts to crack. The fox from earlier paced around the edge of the camp, and twisted itself around Aradia's ankles, asking for more petting. She sat down and let the fox hop into her lap.

"There was a girl here, a few hours ago," he said.

Aradia looked hard at him. "A girl?"

"It's not what you think, Starshine. She just needed some help."

"Uh-huh..."

"She's basically doing what I'm not, and running from her culler. So when you were walking up the path, and I recognized the Chimeric, I knew Prospera would be sending him somewhere far away. That's just what she needs."

"You're going to put her on the same ship?"

"Sure am."

"But everyone in the Empire is looking for the Chimeric. She'll be caught for sure."

"Not really, because Prospera is going to throw all her cunning at him, to make sure he doesn't," the Huntsman said. "So all it takes from me, is a little cunning too, and then the girl will be a stowaway, safe. She’s an oliveblooded woman, when everyone is looking for a scarletblooded man.”

Aradia gave the fox a few more back rubs. "Who is this girl?"

"She didn't say, and I didn't pry, but she had a formerly-fancy dress. She's going to live in the wild."

"You think she can?"

"She'll be fine. She can run and hunt for herself.”

"And once she's gone, she'll be gone for good, right?"

"I guess so. What does it matter?"

She shook her head to clear out the thoughts. She didn't want to feel this way about people who met the Huntsman. She was thirteen, and she would be lucky to see twenty-five. The Huntsman was twenty-six, and with his healthy body would probably see forty. There would be a part of his life, like before they met, where Aradia wasn't alive to love him. And he met people so rarely—at least, people who saw the true him—so a cloud of worry that he would meet someone he liked better shadowed her. If he filled his other quadrants, or felt flushed for another after she died, that was fine... But was it wrong to want to be the only one he loved while she was alive?

"If you want, I can introduce you. She's in the forest, waiting for the signal."

"I don't care about her," Aradia forced herself to say. "But while she's here, can I stay with you, too?"

The Huntsman knelt before Aradia and kissed her again, this time on her lips. “Will Mistress allow it?”

"Of course she will. She trusts you."

He smiled again, as if to say 'I don't mean to brag...' Aradia smiled back, and then gently unseated the fox.

"C'mon. I wanna stargaze with you."

The Huntsman offered her a hand and helped her stand. She didn't need it, but loved the attention. Their favored climbing tree was just on the other side of his camp. With a small boost, he lifted her to grasp the lowest branch, then she pulled herself onto the next one to make room for him.

She stared up through the leaves, broad and fluttering like a thousand flowers, hiding the sky. With each reach, she drew herself that much closer to the great expanse. With her goal ahead and a trusted companion behind, Aradia's heart thudded as she scaled the tree. Higher, higher, higher, toward freedom...

In the upper reaches of the tree, she could see for miles. Aradia sat on a branch and left enough space for the Huntsman to take a seat beside her. A few moments after she reached the top, he joined her, and slipped an arm around her waist.

"I don't understand why any troll would seek riches," Aradia said. "There are millions of jewels in the sky for everyone.”

"There's one jewel that’s not, in the sky," the Huntsman replied.

"Oh? What's not in the sky?"

He scratched around one horn. "It's... garnet. That one’s… yeah.”

"You like garnets?"

He couldn't look her in the eye, but kept going. "I like—uhh—I like two garnets."

"Really?"

"Yeah, they're... they're like a pair? Dammit, I'm doing this wrong..."

Aradia laughed. "No, I understand you. Even I can tell when someone is calling my eyes beautiful."

"You knew you were a star from the beginning," the Huntsman said, pointing to the sky. "You're the Lodestar... Right there."

"And you're right next to me."

"Probably not, since I'm not that great. I'd be satisfied if I was just, part of your constellation, or something."

She leaned closer. "So which star are you?"

"Hm... What about that one? The second star to the right."

"I think it suits you," Aradia smiled. The strength in his arms, the balance in his legs, the beat of his heart, every part of him made her wish they could just leave the world forever.

She pulled back. "Hey... I think I'm ready to try it."

"Try what?" The Huntsman puzzled for a minute, but then dropped his jaw. "Oh... Are you sure? Do you think you can?"

"I know I won't let it go wrong, so..."

He took her hands and squeezed them. "I love you, Starshine. I trust you."

She kissed him one more time, then let the hum of her psionics fill the air. A pale white glow surrounded her body, and with a thought, she eased her body off of the branch and into midair.

The Huntsman stared at her as she floated before him. His rich, brown eyes focused so intensely Aradia felt nearly naked.

"Oooo..." she teased. "I'm a ghost!"

"You're a fairy," he whispered, and she blushed.

"Well, let's try this..." 

Aradia took both his hands in hers, easing the glow around his body, too.

"That kinda tingles, and feels really weird, on every level, and I'm not sure what—” he babbled.

"Hush," she said. "Just think happy thoughts."

The Huntsman met her eyes again as Aradia's power spread further, enveloping his torso, legs, and extremities. With just a little more focus, she eased him off the branch as well, until they both floated hundreds of feet in the air. She could feel his chest rise and fall against her powers. She took a deep breath of her own—this high up, she needed to stay focused—and gradually moved herself and the Huntsman away from the branch. From the first moment they twitched forward, the Huntsman flailed his arms, but Aradia caught one hand and held him stable. He gripped her, tighter than she had ever been gripped in her life. She felt afraid. She felt powerful.

The distance from the tree grew. Ten feet. Twenty. Fifty. Before long, they were floating over the treetops with nothing between them and the sky. The Huntsman looked at his new, airborne surroundings with nothing short of joy and wonder.

“I can’t believe it,” he cried. “You’re doing it!”

“We’re flying!” she laughed. 

“We’re flying! We can fly!” 

In mid-air, the Huntsman pulled close to Aradia and hugged her. She nestled close to him and hugged back with all her might, grateful for the chance to love him and certain she would never let him go.

Chapter Text

“Hey… How lucky are you, exactly?”

“The luckiest.”

“Yeah, but if you had to quantify it.”

“Terezi, we’ve been over this. I have all the luck.”

“But how much luck exists in the first place? Does this mean there’s a finite amount of luck? Can it be created or destroyed, or is it like energy?”

“Um, I don’t think so?”

“So saying you have all the luck is like saying you can break off the left half of a stick. Every time you break the stick, the center becomes the left half, ad infinitum.”

“Jegus, Terezi, why are you bringing up all this thought experiment shit? I’m really fucking lucky, that’s all that matters!”

“Yeah, but if ‘really fucking lucky’ suffices, I don’t know why you go around saying you have ‘all the luck.’ That’s just a nonsensical statement, coming from your own understanding of your abilities.”

Vriska bonked her head against the back of the chest she and Terezi were currently using as a hiding spot. “Because it doesn’t matter if it’s literally true, because it’s really cool! It fits this pattern of other stuff I say. Y’know, like having all the treasure and all the levels…”

“So you just don’t care if you make sense?”

“Okay, this is probably where a lot of things have gone wrong in your life,” Vriska said. She could feel her voice sinking into that low-blow territory, but honestly figured it was Terezi’s fault in the first place for insulting one of her catchphrases. “You just don’t appreciate the glamor that goes into these things! So what if it doesn’t make sense? I sound like a badass, and everyone knows it.”

“What are you talking about? What about my coin flipping trick? That’s plenty glamorous and badass.”

“Oh, please. You call that glamorous? It’s a mind-fuck, sure, but surely you don’t think you look cool when you do that. You’re better than that, Terezi.”

Terezi pillowed her hands behind her head and smiled very, very wide. “I didn’t see you complaining when my coin-flip was the crossroads that turned ordinary kids into lusus chow."

“Well yeah, because it was useful. You still didn’t look cool.”

“And how about the first words out of your mouth when I finished my Redglare costume?”

“What?!”

“‘Wow, Terezi! I can’t believe how cool you look!’”

“That was not what I sounded like!”

“And I distinctly remember you saying ‘squeeeeeeee.’”

“Shut up, Terezi! They’ll hear us!”

Terezi giggled, and crouched a little lower. Vriska peeked her eyes above the lip of the chest, surveying the cityscape of nutrition cylinders around them. Dave, Karkat, and the Mayor were in the middle of renovations to what appeared to be the town’s financial sector, clearing aside three skyscrapers and building a triply-tall spire in its place. Vriska had no idea how those three knuckleheads planned to create something architecturally sound, but it involved a lot of loudly talking back and forth. Loud, but not yelling.

When did these two start being so cute at each other? Do they even realize what it looks like to outsiders? Then again, if they knew anyone was watching them, they might try and go back to their usual, flimsy, tough-guy personas, typical.

“But yeah, I wanna know exactly how lucky you are.”

“What do you need to know my luckiness for?”

“Because I want to know how much luck you need to brew a little catastrophe for a pair of candy-blooded nerds." 

Oh, that was good. That was very good! And people thought Vriska was the devious one. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Leave the Mayor out of it. No structural damage to Can Town, he has a hard enough time rebuilding everything any time the meteor bumps up against a dreambubble. And basically… whatever you think would be most embarrassing for them.” 

“Hmm, exactly how embarrassing are you talking here?”

“Unable to look each other in the face for a whole week.”

Yeeeeeeees. So very much yes. Manipulating dorky boys never got old, and though her favorite impressionable human hadn’t joined them for the meteor voyage, she still had plenty of chumps to fuck with. She scanned their surroundings for things teetering close to that edge of being unlucky. Well, she could at least take a page from John’s book and go for something high and open and falling.

The thing about luck is, it usually manifested to Vriska as noticing things that had definitely been there the whole time, but hadn’t seemed important or relevant before. It wasn’t like she could just add advantageous objects and circumstances to the past, but in practice it sure could look like she did. Like the way one of those boys had chosen to open a can of yellow ringfruit as a snack. Not something Vriska had felt like commenting on before, but it had definitely been there the whole time. And as luck would have it, the can had been left somewhere rather high after they finished constructing some other tower. So many details and decisions that were so favorable to Vriska’s desires, she almost felt bad for them.

Who was she kidding. She didn’t give a shit.

She leeched away their fortune; spatial awareness in particular took a sharp decline. Surely whichever dork had opened the can had forgotten about it, or where they had placed it. And all it took was a little time, a little influence, and the unfortunate chain of events played out perfectly.

Karkat was fussing over the placement of some foundation cans. Dave opposed his direction, and gave him a little shove. Quite unluckily, Karkat had one shoelace untied, and as he stepped to brace he instead jerked and flailed more. The troll backed up and bumped a stack of cans, just enough to unsettle the yellow ringfruit can and send it toppling over.

The syrup drenched him first. Then the rings fell, two catching perfectly on his nub horns, and the can dropped right on his head like a tin hat. And as luck would have it, the arrangement of snaps and zippers presently keeping Karkat’s pants around his legs dropped, leaving him with denim around his ankles and heart boxers on display.

Terezi and Vriska clapped their hands over their mouths to keep from giggling out loud. Dave had no such reason to hide, and laughed long and hard at Karkat’s misery. Karkat’s oh-so-special blood flooded his cheeks as he started spluttering for Dave to either shut up, go away, help him, or fuck himself, perhaps all four at the same time.

“Tell me his face looks as funny as he sounds,” Terezi hissed.

“Oh, even better.” Vriska smirked. “I’m surprised you can’t smell how downright ruddy his face is.”

“The ruddy is coming through loud and clear. I just want to know whether his misery is as delicious to the eyes as it is to my nose.”

Vriska looked back to the boys. The Mayor had helped Karkat down a Can Town alleyway to try and repair his pants while Dave continued to laugh his weird, hornless head off.

“Jegus fucking christ Karkat, that was a fucking Looney Toons cartoon of utter bullshit!” Karkat kept telling Dave to shut up as the laughter gradually died down to little sniggers. When Karkat emerged again, he had found something to hold his pants up, but had forgotten one of the yellow ringfruits around his horns. Oh man, Dave was going to tease him so badly about that—

Dave picked the fruit off his horn and just tossed it aside. And then he… he offered his cape to help Karkat clean up the syrup?!

“What the fuck…?” Vriska muttered.

“What?” Terezi asked.

“Dave doesn’t seem to care Karkat looked like a fucking idiot,” she reported.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really! And Dave volunteered his God cape to get Karkat cleaned up!”

“Well, they have perma-clean properties. That cape will be clean enough to lick the instant it stops touching Karkat’s face.”

“But it’s ingratiating! You don’t become a God just to get special cleanup powers, and you sure as shit do not let any plebeian with a sloppy face put their claws all over your divine regalia!”

Terezi gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. “Oh my god, Vriska! I know what’s going on!”

“What is it?”

“We gotta get out of here so I can explain!”

Vriska and Terezi crouch-crawled their way out of the Can Town hall and into a corridor, heading for who knew where.

“What’s up with those two? What’s their deal?” Vriska asked.

“Don’t you recognize it?”

“Recognize what?”

“The way they’re acting around each other! It’s so textbook! Dave and Karkat are too comfortable with each other to feel that kind of embarrassment. You know what that means, right?”

“Wait… you can’t mean that they’re… actually…” Oh god, that was just too weird to think about. Like, could they actually feel that way about each other?

“They have to be!” Terezi nodded furiously. “They’re in cahoots with each other!" 

…Oh. That was not the answer Vriska had expected. Weird. “Seriously? Just cahoots?”

“Vriska, we spent how many sweeps in cahoots with each other, and you can’t recognize when two geeks have got that special secret between them?” Terezi shrugged.

Vriska smirked and tossed her hair. This was familiar territory for a Scourge Sister. “Well, the cahoots part is plain as can be, no doubt about that,” she said. “But for someone to suffer that much and still feel comfortable looking a guy in the face? Surely there’s something more than cahoots going on there.”

“Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t, but we have to treat the hard evidence as what it is. Whatever Karkat and Dave are up to, a large part of it involves scheming. Those two are practically flaunting their secret pact in our face!” 

“But what could they be up to? There’s almost literally nothing to do on this meteor. We’ve plundered almost all the secret rooms and chests until there’s nothing left.”

“Okay, but we also keep shoving new shit in the chests whenever we open them, so they basically replenish themselves that way,” Terezi said.

“Yeah, it’s hilarious. I love that we do that." 

“You’re still missing the point. We know everything that goes on when Dave and Karkat are awake on the meteor, but we’re also spending pretty literally half our time asleep and in dreambubbles.”

“So you’re saying they’ve been getting up to some shit in dreambubbles?”

“I’m just saying I’ve heard rumors from ghosts that they were causing quite a ruckus a little while ago. Ruffling all sorts of dead honkbeast feathers and everything.”

Vriska raised an eyebrow. “So we need to redouble our reconnaissance efforts, while awake and dreaming?”

“No, the dreambubbles are too treacherous of an environment for any worthwhile eavesdropping. We’re not going to be able to keep the advantage there.”

“Then what do you propose we do? I have a feeling you’ve already got a plan.” 

Terezi smiled, like the old days. “We take the straightforward approach. Ask them about what they’re doing, and then volunteer to help.” 

“Ha! Good luck.”

“Let me rephrase that. We interrogate them about what they’re doing, and then commandeer their plans.”

“Much better. I’m definitely down to hear more about this.”

“First step is to call a team meeting. If my hunch is correct, Rose and Kanaya know more about what’s going on than we do, even if they aren’t considered cahootable.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The four of them have all synced their sleeping schedules." 

Vriska scowled a little. How had she missed that? A slip like that meant someone getting the drop on her, and after she very nearly let her arrogance get her killed—thank John she didn’t—that kind of error stung worse than she expected. 

“And before you beat yourself up over not noticing that those four had scheduled their nap times, we’ve been keeping plenty busy while they slept. You know, securing the actually relevant assets places where random passers-by won’t find them. Things like the bodies…” 

“Oh, yeah. Gotta keep them out of that goddamn clown’s hands,” Vriska agreed. There was no way she could let those fall into Gamzee’s possession. She doubted that Gamzee had any power to harm the party directly anymore, but that was what Bards were all about, if she understood their purpose correctly. He had outstripped her murder count there in terms of dead friends, but the only harm she could see him enacting on the party was passive errors. Oh, and his really ill-advised blackflirting with Terezi. At least he learned quickly how to take a hint and realize that the only murderers Terezi had space for in her life were the ones who would kill to keep her safe.

“And just to give you a little bit of a heads-up… we’re straying into outright rumor territory, but this could give us an edge in the interrogation phase.”

“Out with it, Terezi! Jegus!”

“Okay…” She still added a dramatic pause. “I don’t have any more information beyond this, but I think that Dave and Karkat’s secret is related to ancestors.”

“But I thought Karkat hated all of that ancestral legacy bullshit.”

“I think he hated it more in an Alternian-society sort of way. You know, the way highbloods get obsessed with their ancestor and start to let the ancient adult supersede their present identity. I’m blind, and even I can see that all he was upset about was the fate-chains aspect of a legacy.”

“It’s not about chaining you to a legacy, it’s about the promise of guidance and protection if you choose to pick up where they left off, and finish what they started.”

Terezi just sat there for a second. She had no eyes that she could use to fix Vriska with a scathing look of any kind, but she felt a twist in her stomach the instant she said that. Following Mindfang gave me so much, but it cost me nearly everything. Would I have hurt Terezi anywhere near as much as I did if I was following a different path? But there hadn’t been another path for her, just her lusus and all the people she needed to kill to keep from being killed. Terezi understood that, right? That’s why they were always such good friends… right?

“Okay, so maybe I can understand if Karkat is skeptical about the idea of ancestors in certain specific cases that were really unfortunate and waaaaaaaay not representative of the tradition as a whole. But doesn’t he have a pretty cool ancestor? If you want to talk about cornerstones of Alternian history, the Sufferer is basically one of the most important parts of the story.” 

“Should I tell Karkat you said that?” 

“Don’t you dare. But think about it, his execution set into motion the Summoner’s rebellion, which banished the adults from Alternia and is basically the reason our planet existed the way it did! Why the hell would Karkat be dissatisfied with a story that important?”

Terezi shrugged. “I can’t tell you what’s going on in his head about that, but for some reason, Karkat and Dave are up to their nearly or totally non-existent horns in ancestor lore. We can probably spare some time in our busy schedule of staring at people from behind chests to figure out what’s going on, don’t you think?”

Vriska sighed. What was really going on here? Even if they were going down the ancestral path, the chance of them finding anything really interesting or important was pretty damn low. Was this Terezi trying to get involved with those dorky boys again? Her old client player and her chosen human? Did she feel jealous of this little bond that was brewing? For the last year, it had nearly felt like old times, except with no need to kill anyone, or even maim them a little. It was a totally murder-free zone, and for once Vriska could breathe easily.

Well… so long as Terezi was happy, the rest didn’t matter. She’d sink her fangs back into the fray without a backward glance if it made her happy.

“We’ll strike when the moment is right. Lie in wait and see what we can’t discover on our own. Then I’ll call a team meeting, and then we’ll either discover this plot is a bunch of meaningless bullshit, or make them loop us in on everything that’s going on. Okay?”

Terezi’s smile nearly glowed, like she was proud of something. “Sounds like a plan, Vriska!”

Chapter Text

Gamzee didn’t dare open his eyes. They had locked him in a coffin. They had said this was just a crate, and maybe from the outside it looked like a crate, but it was a coffin through and through. A coffin where you put a dead person so they could never ever get out. Sounds and smells and movement, everything outside his six-paneled prison was just madness, and if he opened his eyes he might see something he might see hell…

He could feel fearful trolls around him. None of them had noticed him, but if anyone did, if anyone decided to pry the lid off of this coffin, if anyone saw him… He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes tighter. He had to be silent or someone would catch them, catch the Chimeric, everything would end but this was the only way to sneak him aboard!

One mind was full of candles again. Right beside his coffin, that calm yet fearful mind churned, like a glass full of boiling water. The coffin didn’t give him enough space to move, but he leaned his head closer to the thoughts, trying to read them a little deeper.

They weren’t words. How the Chimeric had managed to split his thought and fear like that, Gamzee couldn’t begin to imagine. He could see perfectly well why the Chimeric might have wanted to learn that technique. He remembered sweeps ago, when he told a little boy about what he could do to a person’s pan, he seemed to assume Gamzee would use that power to test him through the sweeps. Trolls with a thorough understanding of their own terror lasted far longer against the ancestral chucklevoodoos than those who ran from their fears. And in situations like this, as the Chimeric posed as a fake troll to pass through a crowded port and get on the motherfucking boat in the first place, his resistance to fear served him well.

Gamzee counted along with the candles and struggled to calm down. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. None. One. Two. Three…

He heard voices, asking to know what was in the crate. Papers changed hands. ‘Mistress Greylace’ passed on to a new security checkpoint. An official explained that cargo usually had a different boarding process than passengers. More papers: medical exemptions, local permissions. Copied, recorded, returned. The official allowed the Mistress through, with her crate of cargo.

Four. Five. None. One. Two. Three. Four…

The scent around him changed, from sea breeze to musty, old wood. The noises grew quieter, but closer. He heard snippets of conversation and instructions about how to launch the ship. They strapped ropes to his coffin—even tighter, even more trapped—and lowered him down into a hold where even the cracks in the wooden box cast no more light on his eyelids. He held his breath.

The coffin came to a stop. Its only motion was the gentle up-and-down of the seagoing vessel. The Chimeric stayed close to the coffin, silent except for his humming mind, always so busy at any given moment. Then everything stayed still for a very long time. Thuds resounded in the hold as more barrels and crates piled high. When would this stop. This had to stop soon or Gamzee would really start to question if he was alive in the first place!

He had no idea how long he spent in that box, but it had to have been hours. And then he heard the blessed creak of wood and nails. Someone with a crowbar.

Chimeric, please be there!

Each second dragged into eternity, but eventually the creaks gave way to open air and the dim light of the hold. Gamzee stared up into the face of his moirail and nearly cried in relief. The scarletblood’s hair was matted to his skull from the weight of the discarded prosthetic horn frame, and he was still clad in the dress the Benevole had altered. He freed me before he bothered changing…

“Are you okay?” the Chimeric asked.

“Gh—” His throat was too dry to make a sound, but he nodded and held out his arms. The Chimeric hoisted himself over the edge, skirts and all, and threw himself into the hug. Gamzee cuddled the Chimeric close, letting the heat of his body and flutter of his bloodpusher seep into him.

“You did it,” the Chimeric muttered into his collarbone. “I’m proud of you, I knew you could…”

“We’re safe now, aren’t we?” Gamzee whispered back.

“We are. We’ll be safe until the ship makes port. We’ll have a plan by then.”

“Motherfucking miracles, little bro.”

The Chimeric pulled back and gave Gamzee a kiss on his forehead, and then sat back. All of the cloth and sacks they had stuffed into the coffin to disguise its purpose made the whole noise look like an ablution trap now. Gamzee chuckled and ran his hands over the surface of the Chimeric’s personal effects, imagining it to be foam on the surface of a bath, while the troll in question started to strip out of the dress.

“It was so strange, wearing those clothes in public,” he commented. “I felt like some sort of fraud, or impostor.”

“You were an impostor.”

“Not for those reasons. I was lying about my blood color. And not just lying as any old caste, I was pretending to be jade. That kind of behavior is highly appropriative, could you imagine if you had the power to just claim membership of any blood caste you wanted, regardless of your lived experiences as a member of that caste? I do my best to be empathetic to the struggles of marginalized voices, but I could never imagine what it’s like to live as a jadeblood. That lack of lived experience is precisely what disqualifies me from claiming any sort of membership in their caste. Honestly, I’m halfway disgusted with myself that my own actions are contributing to this concept that it’s okay to say you belong to any caste you wish.”

Through that whole rant, the Chimeric finally peeled off the dress. The whole time, he had worn his red kurta underneath, in addition to a set of leather pauldrons that added bulk and upper-chest protection. Resources extorted from the Marquise, to protect him in a fight that would hopefully never come.

“And that is only half of the problem! What would it say about one’s pride in their own blood caste if they abandoned it in favor of another? The only two explanations from a sociological standpoint are a warmblood seeking to aggrandize themselves by claiming they were hatched as ‘blue inside,’ even if the claim itself is merely a reaction to internalized hemophobia, or a coolblood fetishizing the cultural traditions of warmblooded castes and seeking to participate in the benefits of a warm tradition without any regard for the problems those colors face as a matter of routine! It’s sickening, and I just participated in that system—”

Gamzee reached out and papped the Chimeric’s cheek. “Shoosh all that noise, little bro. A jadeblood gave you those clothes because you’re fleeing from the motherfucking empire. She knows and you know that you aren’t gonna model yourself into some jade-all-along bullshit crackpottery.”

“Ugh, I know that cerebrally of course, but the emotional side of me is, as usual, refusing to get with the fucking program. I feel like I just committed some incredible social travesty.”

“More than wanting to abolish culling?”

“Far more, yes. Culling needs to be destroyed. Blood castes do not.”

“Figure that one at me later, little bro. I think we’ve got some much-needed jamming to do…”

The Chimeric smiled. His red eyes nearly glowed in the low lamplight. Sweeps of longing and a week of forced abstinence had taken its toll, and in this pile of random refuse and knickknacks they could finally properly pile! Gamzee watched as the Chimeric eased himself closer, lifting out a hand—

A deadpan voice interrupted. “Oh, yeah. Pap him good. Unf.”

They jumped and rounded on the voice. A troll with symmetrical up-pointing horns leaned on a stack of other boxes, watching the two of them with interest, but it probably wasn’t the illicit quadrant affection he was interested in.

“What do you want?” the Chimeric snarled his direction. For the love of the stars, if Gamzee and the Chimeric were kept from piling on this boat too, Gamzee would not be responsible for what he might do to the passengers.

“I’m just solving the mystery here,” the troll said. “So, you’re the one everyone’s in a huff about? The Chimeric?”

“I am, yes. And who are you?”

“They call me the Deadbeat.”

“Were you named by your enemies?”

“That’s the short version of the story, yeah.” He folded his arms. “I don’t get what’s so dangerous about you. You’ve got an idea. People don’t like it. Lots of people don’t like lots of ideas, but not everyone gets made public enemy number one.”

“I am very seriously not in the mood to explain myself and my actions to you,” the Chimeric said. “Especially since it feels like it’s all I’ve been doing as of late. We have a few weeks to kill on this ship together, so you’ll be sure to hear the whole story before the end of this voyage. Now, if you don’t mind…”

The Deadbeat apparently did mind. He stepped closer and plopped himself down outside their improvised cuddle-trap, and offered Gamzee nothing but a halfhearted salute for his intrusion.

“See, speaking of the voyage, there’s this weird little question I had in my pan,” the Deadbeat said to the Chimeric. “I was slated to sail on some little sloop with barely a cannon to fend off a kraken or squid. But instead, at the very last minute, I got a note from Marquise Misfortune that I’d be sailing on the Lux Volans instead, a sixteen-gun barque with enough tricks to blow away most any Vigilant coast patrol. And I had to wonder, what in the world was she sending that needed such a big show of force?”

“Could it be that she was attempting to find a vessel large enough to ferry your egotistical, self-important rambling?” the Chimeric retorted. “It seems there was a little bit of space left over for your tactless interruptions, though it’s a shame you see that as an opportunity to bring your manners instead.”

“Yowch, how the hell did they make an asshole like you a Guardian? I just wanna know the score. You owe ol’ Prospera something big now, don’t you?”

“She arranged transport for us to fulfill what she owed us. The debt is clear.”

“Oh, come on. She’s too much of a sneaky bitch to let two valuable political refugees go without owing her anything.”

“It’s true. She has nothing left with which to blackmail us. She could still betray us, but so could literally any other person we encounter.”

“Not gonna be me, sir. Not at all,” the Deadbeat said. “Maybe I’d be a hero for turning you in, but the thing with being a hero is, then you have to act like one. I have too many vices and skeletons to be a hero.”

“You’d be surprised how many heroes have those in abundance.”

“Still. Not interested.”

“Glad we got that cleared up. Do you know what I’m not interested in? Continuing this conversation.”

“Look, I promise I’ll let you go, I promise… I just couldn’t tell if the upgrade was for your sake or for some other sake. There’s a big payload on this ship too, and I’m meaning that literally.”

Despite his best efforts to send the Deadbeat away, the Chimeric paused. “Payload?”

“Marquise is sending gold to someone, and a lot of it. I saw them bring the chests aboard. I would say I envy the bastard it’s meant for, but they’re going to pay her back a hundred times over when it’s all done.”

Gamzee nodded almost without meaning to. The Chimeric seemed to take this information and cautiously file it away. He and Gamzee had no plan after they landed on the new continent, and large sums could buy enough loyalty to keep them safe for a while. But, agitating the seagoing vessel could spell even worse trouble.

“So it’s pretty obvious what happened, yeah?” the Deadbeat said.

“The Marquise consolidated all of her current outbound assets and debts into a single vessel, troll and object alike. As her most well-defended ship manned by trolls who I can only assume constitute her most loyal and talented sailors, the risk of loss is negligible, even with all the eggs in a single basket. And now she has any of the other ships she owns and had expected to sail available for other ventures, legal or otherwise.”

He grinned. “So you are a smart cookie after all. That’s cute.” He reached out a hand to pat the Chimeric’s head. Before the scarletblood could utter a scathing retort in the face of such condescension, Gamzee cut to the chase and snarled, full of thunder and teeth. The Deadbeat flinched, pulled his hand back, and ran it through his hair instead.

“Alright. I get it. I’ll keep my distance. No touching your things…”

“You should have saved yourself the trouble of coming over here in the first place,” Karkat quipped. “I’d be happy to speak to anyone on this ship, from crew to cargo, but not. Right. Now.”

“Gotcha…” The Deadbeat drew to his feet again and dusted his shirt. “Well, don’t let me kill the mood. I’m just gonna stretch my legs, get some fresh air.”

“You do that. Knock yourself out with all of the fun you’re going to have pacing around the deck.”

The other troll walked away with his hands in his pockets and a slump in his shoulders. He even moved like a deadbeat.

“Good fucking riddance,” the Chimeric muttered. Gamzee placed a hand on Karkat’s back and rubbed small, comforting circles.

“You doing okay, little bro?”

“I just really wish the universe would stop jerking my chain like this and give me half a goddamn second of privacy,” he grumbled.

“Hey now, we’ve got our alone on now.”

The Chimeric sighed, relief seeping into his expression. “We do indeed.”

“Are you gonna keep that motherfucking armor on the whole time?”

“Oh! Right, I forgot! I just really think it suits me, don’t you?”

“It suits you when you’re being the big, bad motherfucker that the Empire’s gonna get their fear on to. But what do you need armor with your moirail for?”

He side-eyed Gamzee, a small smile on his lips. “Are you going to get me out of my armor, Mirthful?”

“Fuck yeah, motherfucker. I got all these wicked ways to ease you outta any sort of metal or leather protections you got round your body or your brain…”

The Chimeric giggled. “That’s your idea of pile-talk? I’m surprised.”

“You’re laughing, aren’t you?”

“I am, simply at how stupid it is! How many romantic movies did I make you sit through when I was a wiggler? Did you learn nothing from them?”

Gamzee waved a hand like a pompous courtier. “Oh, my fairest motherfucking, um, red diamond? Shit, that’s not what I mean. Little bro, why do you gotta have a blood color corresponding all up and with the wrong quadrant?”

His laughter died out, but the smile remained. “Don’t worry. You’ve proven your point. Now, didn’t you say you could dis-armor me?”

The Chimeric leaned back and held his arms parallel to the hold floor. Gamzee traced his hands along the straps and belts holding his pauldrons in place and undid each buckle one by one. The whole rig gradually came loose, until Gamzee lifted it over the Chimeric’s head and set it aside.

“There you go, little bro. Looking so much less like you got a world worth of weight pressing down on you.”

The Chimeric rolled his shoulders and hummed. “I think there’s still some residual pressure…”

“I can fix that.”

The Chimeric twisted in the coffin stuffing until he faced his back to Gamzee. The larger troll’s hands could cover his shoulders almost as well as the armor did, but he had a different use for his hands. With careful, measured motions, Gamzee pressed firmly into his back, working out at least a week’s, and possibly even ten sweeps’, worth of tension.

“Pity you,” the Chimeric mumbled as the knots unraveled and he started to slump.

Gamzee kissed the crown of his head. “Pity you, too.”

Chapter Text

They were getting nowhere.

Rose had said it wouldn’t be easy, but Kanaya thought that was an understatement. They had to envision a planet they had never seen, pretend to be people they knew nothing about, and then live through memories that did not belong to them. It didn’t help that the star of the story—or at least, the one whose life they knew the most about—was Karkat. The Betrayer and Tameless were incidental for now, and even though they knew who the Huntsman was, trying to learn more about his role in the story seemed uncomfortably close to skipping to the end. No one would understand anything if they did that.

“Seriously, Lalonde, what the hell are we supposed to be doing!? How do we even start?!”

“It’s a simple concept! We need to find locations where the Chimeric existed, then go through the motions of what he would have done, and that will allow the memory to reveal itself,” Rose lectured. “Theoretically, while any of us could attempt to fill the shoes of the Chimeric, it will be easiest for you, as his alternate incarnation.”

“If you call this easy, then I have to say you’re full of shit!” Karkat snapped. “We just keep galavanting around all these god-awful bubbles with no rhyme or reason!”

Kanaya placed a hand on her forehead. Karkat could be such the prima donna when he wanted. Even Dave looked frustrated, his usually neutral mouth drooping a little lower than usual.

“If you center on the person you’re trying to emulate, the bubbles will play along! It’s like a game of pretend, a roleplay!” Rose insisted.

“News flash to you, I hated all those RP shenanigans my teammates engaged in! At best it was a waste of time, and at worst it got friends killed!”

“There’s no other way to do this, Karkat. And I thought you were interested for your own sake: you wanted to see an example of successful leadership that you were personally responsible for. If you can’t do this, you’re never going to find out what happened!”

“Well how about I roleplay this!? ‘Karkat gasps an enormous breath and transforms it into the most beleaguered sigh in all of paradox space! He exhales this mighty breath of despair while he flings up two middle fingers, one Skaia-ward and one for the Outer Gods, too!’” And true to his words, he extended two middle fingers and stalked away. “‘Watch him say fuck off to everything!’”

“Jesus christ,” Dave grumbled. “I had to watch so many fucking romcoms to get him calmed down enough to sleep in the first place. At this rate he’s gonna rage himself awake." 

“Is he really that afraid of seeing things from the Chimeric’s perspective?” Rose asked.

“I think it’s less about his feelings right now and more having to do with the fact we don’t know anything about the Chimeric’s perspective,” Kanaya said. “We look upon his history with awe and terror but that is nothing more than an outsider’s perspective.”

“Surely Karkat would be best to empathize with what his alternate self felt in each situation,” she said. 

“But we don’t know what those situations are,” Kanaya said. “I can envision an ancient imperial palace, but it was never a place where a Compasse reigned. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to be trained as a Beforan Guardian, or what it must have been like to throw it all away.”

“So what does that leave for us?” Dave asked. The bubble darkened as the memory shifted. None of them recognized the new environment, full of hills and stonehenge-like structures.

“We need to know more about the story itself,” Rose said. “We know some of the critical moments of the Chimeric’s history now, but we’re completely lacking context.”

“I could speak with Porrim,” Kanaya offered.

“Do you think she knows anything?”

“Compared to some of our less stable dancestors, she will at least be forthcoming about what she knows.”

Rose nodded. “That’s a very good idea.”

“So what should we do? Can we tag along?" 

“It is far less intimidating to speak to Porrim when I am unaccompanied,” Kanaya explained. “No offense, Dave.”

“None taken. So Rose and I…?”

“Are going to see if we can convince the star of our show to give it one more shot.” Rose grabbed Dave by the wrist and started tugging him away in the general direction Karkat had departed, but even with her faith in Rose’s Sight, Kanaya doubted they’d find their ornery friend any time soon. 

She set off in another direction, thinking of LORAF—the pattern of the lights across the oceanic surface, the scent of water carried by its breeze, the little tadpoles she discovered in small shallows—until the planet started to materialize. She skipped across the series of lily pads that had dotted the surface of LORAF like paths, until she reached another archipelago that started to bleed into a more typical beach. Maybe this was their powers as Space players, but when Kanaya really needed her, Porrim was easy to find.

Compared to before, it was easier to speak with Porrim now. It had taken Kanaya a very long time to shove aside the ‘upgrade’ feeling. Getting to know Porrim had helped ease the sense that everything about her abilities and identity had been improved to create her dancestor, but she still had to count to five—no, make that ten—before she had the courage to approach the other Maryam.

Porrim had remembered a beach towel for herself to lay on, basking beneath the rays of a sun far gentler than the one from the trolls’ home world. Still, even the memory of sunlight was comforting, maybe even more so for the dead. Porrim sat up when Kanaya approached, and scooted over. 

“Hey. Take some towel,” she offered. Kanaya tucked her legs under her and sat. “How’ve you been?”

“It’s been fine,” Kanaya said.

“Glowing going better?”

“Not quite… Things have sort of taken a very strange turn on the meteor.”

“What kind of strange turn?”

Kanaya had their names on the tip of her tongue, Chimeric and Mournful, but for some reason she didn’t say them. She knew it was her ‘mission’ to find out more about them, to help Karkat, to help everyone… 

“Do you know anything about your ancestor?” Kanaya asked.

“What, the person you grew up to be on Beforus?”

Kanaya nodded. “I’m supposing that from your reaction to first meeting me, she must not have been as impressive as your Alternian incarnation, but if there’s anything you can tell me about her I would appreciate it.”

“Hang on,” Porrim said. “Who says she’s not as impressive as the Dolorosa?” 

“Well, if she was, wouldn’t you have been more… enthused to meet me?”

“I’m not the kind of person to gush all over the place, like a Meulin or a Latula. Maybe that made it look like I wasn't happy to meet you. I promise, I was.”

“That’s nice to hear.” Kanaya shifted her weight to sit leaned to the other side, the most fidgeting she could do while seated.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about my ancestor…" 

“That sounds like a fairly common refrain,” Kanaya interrupted.

Porrim chuckled. “Let me guess, those who know more are being tight-lipped.” 

“Precisely,” Kanaya said. “Karkat’s ancestor is of particular interest to him.”

“Obviously. In my opinion, you each have a right to your ancestral stories, much as we had a right to ours.” Porrim shook her head. “I knew a bit about my ancestor before I entered the game. It was kind of complicated, though.”

“I’d like to hear it, if you don’t mind telling,” Kanaya said.

Porrim leaned back and stretched her neck side to side. The way her hair cascaded over her shoulders made Kanaya uncomfortable with her own short style. “I remember when I was very young, and I first learned about my future as an auxiliatrix in the caverns, I thought it was unfair. I was angry that my blood had dictated my destiny. I spent as much time as I could outside in the sunlight.” She paused a second. “Did you ever feel that way? About the caverns?”

“Not exactly,” Kanaya said. “I woke on Prospit very early relative to my friends, and what I saw in the clouds there proved to me that I would never enter the brooding caverns as an adult, though I would still be responsible for hatching a mother grub and serving as an auxiliatrix. I focused on that goal, and the game we were about to play, far more than I spent wondering about my legally enforced, caste-standard destiny.”

“That’s a really interesting perspective,” Porrim nodded. “For a long time, I just thought of my ancestor as Mistress Faceless who lived and died a slave. I was around five this time, and I was way more obsessed with my ‘right to light’ than anything resembling real responsibility. But on one of my journeys out into the desert to just enjoy the sunlight, I found a chest with my sign on it, half-buried in the sands.”

“What was inside?”

“Love letters,” she said with a smile. “Addressed to someone named the Benevole. There were dozens of them, hand-written and full of poetry.”

Kanaya glowed a little. “Who wrote all of them?”

“Each was signed with the letter ‘P.’ The letters sounded like their writer was traveling around, and that they were trying to win back the Benevole’s heart.”

“What happened to make that re-winning necessary?" 

“The letters never said. The writer just kept pleading with the Benevole for forgiveness, bringing up shared history and promising that as soon as they completed their task and found what they were looking for, they would spend the rest of their life winning back her love.” Porrim hesitated, and the rush of the dream-sea filled the silence. “According to their letters, the Benevole had been matesprits with this letter-writer for centuries. I think because of the letters, I spent a long time searching for that kind of love.”

“You’re not looking for it anymore?”

“When you think about it, being dead puts a damper on a lot of romance,” Porrim said with a smile. “But I just felt so bitter when I framed it that way. Spending all your time searching for your serendipitous soul mate means you start holding partners to impossible standards. And then you don’t see all the things that are great about them, because you’re so focused on eternity and destiny and true love. I had a lot of fun dating the people I’ve dated. But I don’t think I appreciated everyone the way I should have.”

“I’m sure you appreciated them a lot!” Kanaya insisted. “And they all seem to still appreciate you. There doesn’t seem to be many people who still hold ill will toward you.”

Porrim’s smile had a tinge of regret now. “Thank you, Kanaya. I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten better at taking moments for what they are. Love doesn’t have to be a promise; sometimes it can just be a feeling, like happy or angry or sad. And feelings aren’t meant to stick around forever, so it’s okay when it fades.”

Kanaya nodded. “But… the love in the letters was a different kind of love.”

“That one was a promise-love. A promise that I think P broke, but I don’t know how, or why,” Porrim said.

“Do you still have the letters?”

“I memorized a few passages, but the letters themselves were lost in the Scratch. But before that, I think you would rather hear more about the Benevole first, am I right?”

Kanaya looked away. “Oh, yeah…”

“Well, once I had a name, I got to do a little digging. There were still public records about her, even though she lived fifteen hundred sweeps before our current age.”

“Really? What kind of records?”

“I found three recorded tours of duty in the caverns. On Beforus, jadebloods were permitted a decade on the surface for every century in the caverns, so that timing means the Benevole lived to see at least three hundred. And I found her mediculler certificate, and a few records that said she ran a clinic during her time on the surface.”

“That’s quite a lot of accomplishments.”

“I didn’t understand her for a long time,” Porrim admitted. “I just couldn’t imagine a person like that existing. Someone who had a legal obligation to help the species survive, did more than her fair share, and then when they sent her on vacation, she kept working to help.” She laughed again. “But then I met you, Kanaya, and I don’t have to imagine her anymore.” 

Kanaya twisted a finger in one of her short locks. “She must have had faults…”

“Of course she had faults. I have faults, and so do you. Our adult selves weren’t free from them, either. But I think what I like most about the Benevole’s story is she didn’t think her faults were a reason to not help people.” 

Kanaya thought back to nearly half a sweep ago, when the whole team had spent their last few hours as a dozen living trolls. Just before the murders began in earnest, she had found the key to retrieve the matriorb from her sylladex, and then used it immediately. Maybe she still should have waited. If she had, the matriorb might still be safe…

My faults aren’t a reason to stop helping. Rose had promised at the Green Sun that coming with them would give her the best chance at recovering the orb. And she had nearly given up on that.

“Everyone is very focused on Karkat’s ancestor at the moment,” Kanaya admitted. “He apparently changed Beforus forever in a massive war the likes of which the planet had never seen and would never see again." 

“Wow,” Porrim said. “Let me guess, Kankri wouldn’t talk about it?”

“So I hear.”

“Figures. But what do you think?” 

“I think… I want to be part of that story. And I’m afraid that I’m not. I know there are many other circumstances involved, but if the Benevole was really as helpful as history remembers, I would like to think that she helped the Chimeric.”

“I can’t say for certain whether the Benevole did that,” Porrim said. “But the Benevole is the hero of her own story, after all. I think if you get the chance to learn more about her life, you should look for the ways she changed Beforus.”

“You really think she changed Beforus?”

“She saved lives. That changes the course of history more than anyone can imagine.”

Kanaya smiled again. “We found a technique that can be used to inhabit a memory of an ancestor. It’s a kind of empathetic role-playing technique—Rose says that Aranea developed it.”

Porrim smirked a little. “Maybe Aranea used it the most out of all of us, but I tried my hand at it a few times, too.”

“Really?”

“I encountered memories of the Dolorosa, and lived through them. Hardly her whole life, but I found a few critical moments. When you find the right feeling to start with, it’s fairly easy to rely on instincts to see it through. It’s an empathetic connection to an instance of your own life.”

“Do you have any tips?" 

“I started out very meditative, thinking about the kind of adult I likely would have been on Alternia. Someone who took her duties seriously, determined to defend what mattered to her, with faith that the future would be better. And I focused long enough on that feeling until I found myself in a memory from Alternia. Green and pink moons in the sky, scarlet-blooded grub in my arms.”

“The Sufferer?”

“I know Kankri absolutely hates our Alternian dynamic, but in that moment, the Dolorosa was… feeling so much. About the future, the grub, her fears, her dreams… she was thinking about what her life was going to mean if she devoted it to raising that mutant. And what that mutant meant for the future of her people.” Porrim paused. “And then a human appeared, and she hissed at him.”

“…What.”

“She didn’t know it was a human. He popped into existence, no horns and clad in blue, and gave her a funny look. So she thought he might be a threat to the grub, so she hissed at him, definitely prepared to fight if my memory is accurate. But he disappeared before she could do anything. The Dolorosa didn’t know what he was, but I recognized something when I inhabited the memory.” 

“What was it?” 

“He was a God Tier. An Heir of Breath.”

“Heir of Breath? John?”

“If you know someone matching that description, it’s likely him.”

“But he exists in an entirely separate universe! How could he appear in Alternia’s ancient history?”

Porrim shrugged. “It’s really outside of my scope. There’s probably an answer somewhere in these bubbles, but I can’t explain it. Besides, I think we’re distracted from the whole point.”

“What whole point?” 

“Helping you discover memories of the Benevole. Do you think you understand how you’d go about doing that?”

“I think so. You’ve given me some ideas about locations I could try and ‘remember’ her in.”

“You missed the point, Kanaya,” Porrim reminded gently. “It’s not about the place. It’s about the feeling.”

“Oh…” Kanaya dimmed a little. “That sounds harder.”

“It would be a lot harder for emotionally guarded people. Maybe this is something you should try alone first, so you don’t have any sort of ‘performance anxiety.’ Besides… I think I know exactly the right feeling to focus on." 

“What is it?”

“I’ll recite some of what I memorized from those love letters to the Benevole. You can remember them, and focus on how they make you feel. It will probably be very close to what the Benevole felt when she received them, so you can use it as a jumping point for some of her memories." 

“You’re always so helpful to me,” Kanaya said.

“Hey, this isn’t pure altruism,” Porrim winked at Kanaya.

“Oh?" 

“You have to tell me who the writer was.”

Kanaya laughed. “Perhaps I will be able to deduce their identity after hearing a sample of their prose.”

“Settle in, my dancestor. Our mysterious ‘matesprit P’ was quite verbose.”

She leaned back on the sand and stared up at the pale white-yellow sun. Its lukewarm rays did very little to warm her, but after half a sweep on a sunless meteor, anything was better than nothing.

“My treasured Benevole… It has been three perigees since I saw the light of your eyes. I look to the stars for a reminder of your beauty, but they are a most feeble imitation of your emerald glimmer. This long road and the hostile company I must keep fills me with gratitude and longing for the time I spent by your side. In these hours of silence, no detail is too small to be worth recollection. The possibility that I may one day see the curve of your smile again grants me the courage to continue. Did you know how many smiles you have, my flushed moonbeam? The small smirks, the proud glows, the secret grins. I feel privileged to have witnessed a number of your smiles through the sweeps, and honored to have been the cause of some. The most precious thing in this world is your happiness, my Mistress. All that I have done to blight the radiance of your heart, please take these words as my vow that I will heal every wound I have inflicted upon it. It is my dearest wish that I will earn back the love you had once entrusted to me, and that I can once again make your life a sunlit paradise. I have loved, do love, and will love you until my end of days…”

Chapter Text

Terezi should have expected the hunt to lead her back to Prospera. All hunts led back to Prospera eventually. Always.

The Mondaine’s trail was warm for a little while, progressing very rationally away from the palace, the way a cornered animal would try to run. But then Terezi entered a forested area which by deed—spotless, pristine, rightful, legal deed—belonged to the Marquise Prospera. Even at the edge of the forest, she could feel the Huntsman's power swell within it, prepared to savagely eliminate any intruder. She backed off.

But, that didn’t mean she couldn’t continue to investigate. She had been very aware of the day the Marquise accepted a direct culling case for a very weak brownblood grub. And by the time the grub was a wiggler, barely three sweeps, access to the Marquise’s forest started to dwindle. People told stories of the savage beasts living there and warned all away from it. Only the path to the front door was safe, and even then if you were not expected at the hive, raptorbirds and howlbeasts were known to attack travelers. It took a while, but Terezi realized that little brown wiggler could commune with fauna. Not that hard to figure out, honestly, but very hard to defeat.

There were really two options here. One story was, that Prospera had arranged for the kidnapping of the Mondaine in order to extort Guardian Trueshot. But both Prospera and Terezi knew Trueshot’s reputation too well; if the Marquise told him she had the Mondaine hostage, he would level her hive with his bare hands, wild beasts be damned.

The other story was, the Mondaine was running away. That matched with the trail Terezi had followed. If the Mondaine met the Huntsman in the forest, maybe he empathized with her plight. Maybe he gave her supplies, shelter. Maybe he played roulette to gain a favor for the Mondaine to help her flee. And where could she run that the accomplished hunter Trueshot would not be able to follow? Most likely, she would want oceanic transport. Something to send her far away, where he might lose track of her. Well, he would if he didn't identify the ship she was to sail on.

Terezi had ledgers full of the Marquise's tricks alone. All her known resources, favored maneuvers, known debtors, on-call rogues, the whole lot. She shuffled possession of her most conspicuous resources as often as possible, like she was playing a cup-and-three-ball game, but Terezi knew where to focus her attention.

The Lux Volans was a ship that came into Prospera's possession a few decades ago, bequeathed to her in a violetblood's last will. She had sailed it for a while, then donated it to a charity, which then sold it at a public auction for nearly a song. A notably not-very-wealthy greenblood hemorrhaged life savings to own the thing, and now spent her time renting it to trading companies. She sub-contracted other sub-contractors, shuffling about cargo so that the crew handling it could reasonably claim to have no knowledge of any illegality. Honestly pretty elementary, as far as wicked schemes go. Prospera had done better before.

And the Lux Volans had just set sail. A number of other ships Terezi had traced back to the Marquise stayed docked, declarations to sail abandoned.

Terezi was no good at tailing suspects herself, but a number of small investigators answered to her badge or coin. Many of them had protested the assignment, complaining that they would prefer to join the masses and claim the bounty on the Chimeric's head, but Terezi had some counter-arguments. After all, only one person could claim that crimson prize. Would they let a dozen other criminals collectively worth double that amount go free? The easy pickings making sloppy mistakes because they assumed everyone was looking the other way? Soon enough, everyone agreed with her, and got to work.

Security around most every single ship had been increased, but Prospera had no doubt already bribed or threatened her own inspectors into submission. But Terezi's team of special investigators reported favorably: there had been a woman matching the Mondaine's description lurking near the Lux Volans, and one person saw her board. A stowaway not to be reflected on the ship's passenger list. The Mondaine escaped notice from everyone not looking for her, but for the ones who were, she stood out like an un-hammered nail.

Terezi couldn't help herself. Trueshot was still at the summit and wouldn't receive any notice that Terezi had found her for another week at least. In the meantime, Terezi was free to pursue her own hobby: annihilate the Marquise.

With heightened security, Prospera had been forced to submit more thorough passenger records than before: identification, declarations, and transcripts. Terezi subpoenaed as many as she could and started to dissect them. Every other profile had a lie in it somewhere. Maybe this would finally be it. Maybe she'd finally have the reasonable evidence she needed to open a formal investigation, and crack Prospera's vault of secrets!

On a slightly sour note, there was a single passenger proving a little harder to trace, and all the more suspicious for it. One woman, Mistress Greylace, had very clean papers, but in a surprising combination. She had finished two tours in the caverns, and was now escorting a very large number of genetic samples to a laboratory across the sea. Why such a young auxiliatrix would be chosen for such a task already had Terezi's mind pulsing—surely they would want an elder matriarch for such a job—but then the conditions became even more suspicious. Greylace had with her a number of mediculler certificates, verifying her as limited in mobility, feeble of constitution, and completely mute. Due to a traumatic childhood accident that had destroyed her voice, she had extreme facial scarring. Under a decree by her Radiance securing respect for the disfigured—what nonsense, "respecting" the injured by encouraging them to hide!—Greylace had permission to wear a veil through all of customs. Not to mention her height, as reported on her standard identifier license, was very close to another individual’s familiar nose-level.

She didn't speak. No one saw her face. Her luggage had been listed as “very large, biological” with no other descriptors. Terezi’s heart froze to even contemplate it. Please, let it not be true...

Terezi set the mystery of Mistress Greylace aside. She could distract herself. She had a long wanted list developing as she tracked the truth through various reference volumes and criminology reports. But, she didn't feel satisfied with the findings. Knowing the way her nemesis operated, even though all these people had done wrong, Prospera was the guilty one. All she needed was a strong enough reason to secure a comprehensive warrant. If she could pull that single string, the whole web would unravel.

A hivebuzzer sounded through the dwelling, and Terezi set aside her papers. If that was who she thought it was, the missing piece may have just arrived.

"Grenet, darling! It's time to play!" Terezi called out as she took up her cane and left the study.

"Tea game?” the young troll's voice responded.

"Yes, please! And snatch up anything you see!”

"Right!"

Terezi entered the hallway and carefully descended the stairs. She heard the patter of her cullee's feet behind her, coming to a stop as she waited for Terezi to descend, and then the little greenblooded girl barreled down the stairs once Terezi was clear. 

"Careful, Gren-neato," she warned with a smile. The girl was a new assignment. She had been taught the rules of the game, but even three sweeps later Terezi’s heart ached. No one could play it quite like Twinhorn. 

Grenet scampered her way to the nutrition block while Terezi composed herself and opened the door.

"Lawscale, it's good to see you again," a deep, old voice said, like an oaken soporific cask.

"Please come in, Defender." She waved her friend inside. A former reinforcementer of Terezi's color, the Defender, had retired into part of Terezi's crusade for justice across the empire. She wore her age clearly now, with only a few decades left to her span, but she stayed loyal and informative, if a little… prejudiced. "Grenet is making us some tea."

"That sounds lovely. I have what you asked for."

"We'll discuss that in a minute. I've been reading for so many hours, I can barely see straight. Just a moment to relax with a friend would do me wonders."

"I see, then. Sorry for pushing you then. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a nap?"

"And let Grenet's tea get cold? I could never!”

Terezi led the Defender to the lounge block, where her guest would have a clear line of sight into the kitchen.

"She's spritely," the Defender commented as Grenet clattered around the kitchen while the water heated. “What happened to the other one? The brown one.”

“I wasn’t suited to Zulkis’ care. We transferred cases about a sweep ago. Grenet has been a lovely match so far, though, bright and lively, and a wonderful cullee. Can you even remember five sweeps? Such a charming age.” 

"I can barely remember fifty most nights." The couch creaked as the Defender sat down. "Pity she'll never amount to much."

"I think you'll be surprised. I only cull the curious. Those with a thirst for knowledge so great they'd run into trouble otherwise. They’ve always gone on to be greater than their blood.”

“Honestly, the government is going to ruin, accepting so many hotbloods into positions of power. They simply can't handle the responsibility!"

"Do I need to remind you of current events? The highest are hardly flawless.”

“Oh, the Mournful is an outlier. I blame that absurd cult of his to be honest. You can't look at those painted freaks and see anything wholesome there.”

“Perhaps…”

“Besides, maybe the Mournful abused him, but the Chimeric never told his betters! There's no way he could have been accepted as a Guardian and not realize what the Mournful was doing. He wanted it to happen to him, I just know it!”

Terezi bit her tongue behind pursed, smiling lips, dozens of scathing arguments on her tongue. But, silence was how she survived. Silence kept her allies and contacts. The Defender was old enough to remember the previous Age of Compassion, and did not have much more of her span to spend in this one. Terezi would bring a flower to the cadaver ceremony, but she might not cry.

"I'm still struggling to contemplate it, all things considered," Terezi started diplomatically. "And it's far too early in the investigation to begin assigning blame for the crimes committed."

"Maybe a little more evidence will help shape your perspective." The Defender slid a file folder onto Terezi's coffee table. 

Terezi smoothed aside some of her hair and adjusted her shades before sitting down. "Before I look at that, do I owe you anything for your trouble? Or perhaps there are incurred expenses I need to help you with?"

"You say that every time! I've told you, the day I ask my color to pay back a debt to me is the day they fit me for my passing-on suit. You don't owe me a half-caegar until it comes time to tell my story to the broods to come."

Terezi laughed. "Are you sure I can't just pay you now?”

The Defender echoed her. "I want my legacy, Lawscale! If my descendant ever knows my name I want them to be proud of it! You'll understand when you get to be my age.”

"Two hundred sweeps aren’t enough?"

"Nowhere near. When you're past six you'll understand."

The tea tray rattled as Grenet drew near. She placed the pot and saucers between the two tealbloods and then poured two cups. Terezi took hers gently, and the Defender thanked her.

"Anything else, Miss Lawscale?" Grenet said.

Terezi had been over this far too often to truly be afraid, but the small worry flared up anyway. "That's alright. The Defender and I are about to discuss our ongoing investigation. You're dismissed." 

"Oh, okay." Grenet bounced on her heels, the soles of her shoes squeaking. Then she exclaimed, “Wait, what's that folder?!" 

Terezi rolled her eyes behind her glasses. No one could see them, but the gesture was instinctive. "Grenet, I'll tell you later—”

But the young child already had the folder in her hands, flipping through the pages. “It’s about... a box? With a number on it… It's on a ship, it belongs to Greylace... Um, classified as a... Peri... Perishable organic matter, and sealed for... Biohazard!" 

"Oh, no, Grenet, please, that doesn’t concern you…” Terezi ad-libbed.

"The box is very big. Bigger than your couch! Um, it's... the length of a person, it looks like. A tall person. And then square on the sides." 

"Defender, please allow me to apologize for my cullee's behavior," Terezi said. “She’s simply uncontrollable!”

 It's quite alright, it's not like what she's reading has any meaning to her. It'll all go right over her little green head." The Defender paused to sip her tea. “Hey, olive, can you read the other page?"

The paper rustled. "Althelney Biote... Biotechnologic Association, has no common source scheduled experiments to be performed on genet—genetic—ew," Grenet pushed the file into Terezi's hands. "They're doing tests on—on stuff! Ewwww!”

"It sounds like they're not doing tests on ‘stuff,’” Terezi said. “Now please, Grenet. Leave us be. We will play some more later.”

The Defender got right back to business as Grenet scurried away. “Right you are, Lawscale. The laboratory reported as the final destination for Mistress Greylace's package is not expecting any genetic material for testing anytime soon. Unless this mission was highly classified, in which case—”

"Why would the very precious and private resources be transported on a common trading vessel? If the experiments are for the sake of the species, then why couldn't they spare money for a private charter ship, or even a proper escort?”

"Right you are," the Defender said. "Sorry I couldn't check the cavern service list. The identities of active duty Mistresses are tightly guarded."

"'No, this is more than enough. Greylace is obviously not who she says she is."

"Then who is she?"

"Once I know for sure, so will the world.”

"I'll hold you to that."

Terezi spent another thirty minutes entertaining her guest with half her mind while the other half buzzed. That exchange really proved to her how badly she missed Twinhorn. When he was Grenet's age, he was full of wit and sass. He would have snapped up that folder and announced the information inside with such derision.

“This Mistress's luggage is the size of a baby trunkbeast! Well, a trunkbeast rolled out long and stuffed in a crate. It's full of slurry, good god, who puts slurry in wooden crates? And the lab isn't even expecting anything. Won't they be in for a shock when she shows up lugging a thousand gallons of pail sludge.”

Those were the nights. Eight sweeps with Twinhorn wasn't enough. Eighty sweeps, his whole span, wouldn’t have been enough. With the power of the nascent Internet, he connected to psionics like himself across the planet, and created a system that would let them all rely on each other in a perfect phalanx. Terezi didn't dare discourage him from leaving, though she had badly wanted to. She could have tried to convince him to pursue vigilance under her wing, but Twinhorn never believed the order would allow a goldblood. He thought it was his fate to be a victim of discrimination in this world, and trusted his color alone. In his blood, he found something to believe in. And rather than try and sway him toward justice, she let him pursue his dream.

In the three sweeps since his departure, none of the children Terezi welcomed into her hive to take his place matched him. They lacked so much; his drive and sarcasm, his highs and lows, his lisp and eyes...

After she said farewell to the Defender, Terezi sighed, and cleaned up the tea set herself. She was only missing Twinhorn this badly because he had seen her so recently. In light of current events his role at the API was more important than ever. It didn't matter how she felt; society needed justice, and if the Chimeric couldn't find it, then the duty fell to Twinhorn to prove what warmbloods were worth. But if the apocalyptic rumors were true, what was the point of justice?

She had her evidence now. The Chimeric was posing as a jade, while his culler had posed as a box. They were fleeing on a ship operated by Prospera. And Terezi had a choice to make.

If she announced that she had found the Chimeric, and accused Prospera of helping him escape, she would be able to secure an imperial warrant. Just scratching the surface would give her enough evidence to sentence the Marquise for the rest of her span. Her crimes would end and justice would win. But then the Lux Volans would face imperial pursuit, and unless the Compasse sent a sorely unprepared vessel, they would be stopped. The Chimeric’s rebellion would die in the egg. But if she gave the Chimeric the chance to escape, then the Marquise would go free, too. If it took an event as catastrophic and divisive as the Chimeric’s fall from grace to even put a chink in Prospera’s armor, Terezi knew she couldn’t count on it happening again.

She returned to her study and found a large box, thicker than some of her law volumes. She cleared some space on her desk, sat down, and removed the lid. One by one, she took out letters, written once a week for three sweeps in delectable red ink. She ran her fingers over them, feeling the weight of the paper, the crease of the fold, the dust of smudges and corrections. The action was rhythmic, soothing, as her mind wandered.

Why didn’t you tell me what the Mournful was doing to you? Terezi asked the letters. Your first letter arrived after it started. Were you under duress? Did you think I wouldn’t have helped you? You, who understood what I'm trying to do better than anyone? Would you have opened up to me if I had written back more than once over three sweeps?

But she knew why she hadn’t. Silence was how she survived. Trusting the Chimeric with even the subtlest clues about her secrets was almost too much. But as bigoted as she was, the Defender had made a good point. The Chimeric could not have studied to be a Guardian without a thorough analysis of known forms of culling and quadrant abuse. He knew—perhaps after the fact, but he knew—exactly what the Mournful had done to him, what it meant, why it was wrong. So why was the Mournful still traveling with him now? 

She would never have the chance to know now. Not unless she met the Chimeric again and got to ask him. There were no more letters, no more analyses, no more dances, no more contact. She had three hundred and forty-one letters from him, written once a week, and now there would be nothing. 

Betray the Chimeric, and end the Marquise. Save the Chimeric, and let the Marquise go. With scarlet letters strewn about her, she reached into her desk and found her favorite trinket: a double-headed caegar with a scratch on one side. She ran her fingers over the profiles of the two faces, feeling the deep gouge on one of them.

Heads, I let the Chimeric go. Scratch, I report him.

She rolled her fist, nestled the coin atop her thumb, and flipped. The coin plinked onto the floor, rolled, and dropped, but she didn't see the result. By the time it landed, she knew what she was going to do.

Chapter Text

Soon after Kanaya woke from the team's latest attempt to summon memories of the Chimeric, she found herself a cup of tea and a very thick, boring book. She needed to go back to sleep again, alone this time.

The letters written to the Benevole were gorgeous. Whoever her matesprit had been, she was a well-read, witty, and romantic individual. Internally, Kanaya was already referring to Matesprit P as a female. It was just so hard to picture herself feeling concupiscent toward a male, though she knew she shouldn't count out the men of Beforus. Still, Porrim's advice had been to find the emotional center of the memory, and if Kanaya wanted to imagine herself into a memory of being loved, she knew she'd do better if she imagined a woman as her lover. It was just a little quirk about herself that she didn’t talk about. How would you even go explaining something like that to people? Was it even a real ‘thing’ to have arbitrary preferences for who you were romantically involved with? Probably not.

Once she made it to sleep, she woke in her old respiteblock, overlooking her carefully cultivated oasis and the deserts and ruins beyond. She decided to give the sun a chance to help her, and left the hive for the multi-colored sands around the memory.

Beautiful, wise, wonderful matesprit. Flushed moonbeam. Treasured Benevole. Okay, she could be all those things. She wasn't bad to look at, had above average intelligence among her peers, was pleasant company. She definitely brought light to the meteor with her literally luminescent skin, much like a moonbeam… and people wanted her around? Mostly?

Um.

Yeah, that wasn't working.

She sat down on a dream-dune and sighed. How was she supposed to find the emotional center of the memory if Kanaya had no idea what it was like to be that flushed for someone? Or have someone be that flushed for her? Maybe she should dream up one of her novels and read that for inspiration instead?

No... No, she needed to stay focused. But also open? She folded her arms and stewed for a little. She should have asked Porrim to demonstrate how it was done. Or maybe Rose knew something? Apparently this was Aranea's technique. But judging by how Karkat was suffering as the Seer’s dream-walking pupil, maybe Kanaya would be better off on her own after all.

She stood up again and brushed off bubble-dust. She closed her eyes and remembered what Porrim had recited. Fragments in no particular order came back to her mind.

“The most precious thing in this world is your happiness, my Mistress. All that I have done to blight the radiance of your heart, please take these words as my vow that I will heal every wound I have inflicted upon it.”

She wished a certain someone would apologize for breaking her heart. When she saw Vriska kissing Tavros, she cried and hurt and couldn’t bring herself to talk to either of them for almost the whole game. Maybe if Vriska had apologized Kanaya wouldn't be this confused over Rose. She'd have closure from the past to let her pursue the future. But how was Vriska supposed to know to apologize if Kanaya never told her there was anything wrong?

“I feel privileged to have witnessed a number of your smiles through the sweeps, and honored to have been the cause of some.”

Rose made her smile. Rose and her sarcastic streak. Rose’s affinity for the dubiously benign. Rose’s adorable knitted creations. Her rare playful moments. Her courage. Her loyalty. She wished she could tell Rose how she felt. She wished she had confirmation it wouldn't end in disaster. She wished Rose would write her a love letter.

“I look to the stars for a reminder of your beauty, but they are a most feeble imitation of your emerald glimmer. This long road and the hostile company I must keep fills me with gratitude and longing for the time I spent by your side.”

With her eyes still closed, Kanaya took a few steps in a circle, thinking about that possibility. What if she left a note to Rose? Just tucked it in the crack of her respiteblock door, a secret admirer confessing attraction. It would hardly be a secret, unless she went out of her way to develop a new quirk, which was unlikely. That would be just the kind of gambit Rose would love, too! And then Kanaya might find a letter slipped between the pages of a novel she was reading. And she'd cast aside the novel for Rose’s response any day.

“Did you know how many smiles you have, my flushed moonbeam? The small smirks when your wit out-maneuvers our friends, the proud glows when you finish a dress, the secret grins as a lovely plot unfolds before you in a book. I would be honored if you allowed me to be the cause of more of your smiles.”

She wondered what it would be like to fly with her. That would make her smile. If Rose just took her hands and raised into the air, and took her up for the ride. In the black void of the Furthest Ring, going too far could be a disaster, but oh, the way Rose would smile and say, “I know.” She'd take Kanaya in her arms and whisper, “Isn't that what makes it fun?”

Her heart was pounding as she imagined the moment. Bright, brilliant, elegant, dangerous, like the wands of her needlekind specibus. She would hold Rose gently and feel the energy—the venom—in her blood. She would know that every part of Rose, from the blood to the venom, cherished her, treasured her... Kanaya twirled faster and faster as she imagined it, letting the idea grow within her.

“This game has cost us all so much, and even victory will not be able to truly replace what we have lost. But I wanted to tell you, more than everything I have been able to see and do throughout the course of this adventure, my favorite part has been the opportunity to meet you. I wish to call you mine, Kanaya, and would love to be yours.”

Her steps had an order to them now. Kanaya could feel they were a dance, and she knew exactly where to place her feet. It was like someone had laid out a series of footprints for her to follow, but inside her head instead of on the floor. She followed them naturally, curious about where they would lead her and comforted by their familiarity. She had danced like this before. She liked having the chance to dance like this. It almost felt like sunlight.

“I wish it too, my love,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m yours, my sunlight!”

Certainty swelled in her, like electricity, like fresh blood. Her whole body hummed with vigor she had never imagined before. She felt powerful. She felt able. She felt people depending on her, but the terror accompanying that burden didn’t follow. After all, since her titling day, had she ever once asked for a lighter load? She knew instead to ask for a stronger back. With her sisters by her side, deep underground, in a place where little more than rock and air and slime could become life, she found that strength. And how strong she felt now! She spun about faster and faster, letting this feeling thrill her senses and expand into her every atom.

She opened her eyes. The desert had vanished. In its place, a magnificent ballroom spread around her, with a vaulted ceiling three stories high, covered in murals and carved trim inlaid with gold. Hundreds of trolls occupied the space, their colors a swirling kaleidoscope as Kanaya followed the steps. Many were dancing, others standing by and talking, laughing.

A little niggling instinct told her to stop looking around and focus on her dance partner, but Kanaya couldn't help it. Where was this? Beforus, her feet told her mind. Wait, was it actually Beforus? The instinct flared again: of course it was Beforus, her home, her nation, her planet. The place and people she had pledged to protect with her whole life.

So that meant it worked! Kanaya was walking in the shoes of the Benevole! Or, dancing, as it would seem. She trained her eye on the spiraling crowd, searching for any sort of familiar face. Was there anyone here with her? Anyone at all? She saw no familiar faces. No signs she recognized. Plenty of colors, but it was hardly rare to be a rustblood or a midblood or—crimson!

For just a flash, she saw someone dressed in bright red. The dance demanded she turn away and circle around the floor, and she followed lest she lose the memory, but Kanaya craned her head to keep looking. If this is who I am on Beforus, the red must be Karkat! Where is he? Why are we both here? What are we doing?

She felt a crescendo in the remembered music. Her steps would run out soon. Where was he?! She begged the memory to let her see. Like a combination safe, she spun and twisted to try and bring the tumblers into alignment. Show me!

And for a single second, the bubble cooperated. The Benevole's partner spun her out in a direction that allowed her to see the scarlet-clad troll. The memory presented him as insubstantial, even compared to the ghosts they met frequently. But he was overwhelmingly, blindingly red, like hot metal, or the sun. He stood slightly shorter than average, but with a proud spine and miles of poise. His horns had grown, but retained their shape, and he matched the short, symmetrical nubs with well-groomed hair. He looked like someone who knew what he was doing.

He looked like a leader.

Kanaya didn't know what to think. She wanted to call out to him by name, as Karkat, to see if any inch of her friend was present in the shadow. Would he even recognize her? Was he even truly there?

But the memory had other plans for her. Her partner took another few steps and pulled her back in, twirling her around for a grand finale and a dip. The person she had been dancing with this whole time looped Kanaya's arm over her shoulder and leaned her back. As she bent, Kanaya finally looked at the face of the troll she had been dancing with this whole time.

Delicate fangs in a smug smile. Waves of dark hair. Mismatched horns, one claw and one stinger. Cerulean eyes, the right eye with one pupil and the left with seven.

 "Vriska?!"

The bubble burst. Kanaya jackknifed awake, back to the meteor. Heaps of sewing scraps and cushions surrounded her. Her drained herbal teacup and the dull, drowsy book lay nearby. She struggled to get her breathing under control, startled as if the memory-dream had turned into a horror. It essentially had; past demons made very good day terrors.

That was Vriska. That was Vriska in the memory! What was she doing in that memory?! Had Kanaya been followed? Was someone playing a prank? Well, it wasn't funny! Anyone who thought it was funny to play a prank on her like that would meet the stern side of her chainsaw, and the rapidly rotating property of its chain meant that all the sides were the stern side!

But her lipstick stayed capped as the anger started to fade. She was partially wrong, but mostly right. That had been Vriska back there. A Serket could not be mistaken. But it wasn't the Vriska that she was thinking of. There was another name on her lips. Nervous, and not really sure why, Kanaya checked that her deserted room was as empty as she thought, before she spoke the name aloud.

“…Prospera.”

Chapter Text

Vriska sent the shout around for a team meeting, and the usual gallery of assholes assembled. And of course, Vriska had that sneaky, spidery smile on her face as she asserted control and then made all kinds of demands to know what was going on in the dreambubbles. Everyone put forth their best effort, saying it was none of her business, not very interesting, whatever nonsense they could use to obfuscate and delay, but there was no stopping a Serket on a mission. She found out.

Fuck me in every orifice I possess and a few I forgot about, this is the worst.

To everyone else’s credit, explaining the story of the Chimeric was quickly approaching a science. Red grub, queen saved him, raised a prince, said “fuck you” to the government, ran a rebellion, died, and the Mournful was there, being a creepy molester. Karkat barely had to say anything. Rose blabbed and Dave editorialized, and all Karkat had to do was glare his nastiest face in Vriska's direction.

"Alright, it sounds to me like you need to organize what you know,” Vriska announced. "Terezi, equip your chalk!"

"Right!" Terezi chirped, and Karkat rolled his eyes. The only thing worse than when he had to worry about them hurting each other was having to watch them cooperate.

"Let's start all the way at the bottom. Well, the less-than-bottom. Karkat on Beforus was the Chimeric, so get that on the wall."

Terezi selected the red chalk, drew Karkat's sign, and added CH1M3R1C under it. He winced to see his sign in his actual blood color. It made his skin crawl, like he expected the drones to see and show up any second. It didn’t help that Terezi slobbered over her chalk once it was done.

"Have you talked to Kankri yet?" Vriska said.

"Yeah, and for once he shut up," Dave reported. "Well, not really. He just talked about everything in the universe except Karmeric."

"Hehe, good one," Terezi said, adding an x-mark beneath the Chimeric's name.

"Then let's head up the spectrum. What do you know about Aradia?" Vriska said.

Terezi changed chalk to white—Why didn't she put me in white?! What the fuck?!—and drew Aradia's sign while Rose reported, "We haven't uncovered any information about her."

"And have you spoken to Damara?"

"Not yet, but we might be able to parse some information from her if the legacy is favorable."

Terezi put a question mark and a squiggly line beneath Aradia's sign. Vriska plowed ahead. "What about Tavros?"

"The Huntsman. History attributes the Chimeic's death to him."

Vriska raised an eyebrow while Terezi wrote down HUNTSM4N. "Wow, seriously? Tavros got to be a badass on the planet of pansies?"

"Yeah, it's total badassery that Tavros murdered me in the pre-Scratch session. I think he should get a medal and a fragrant garland of laurels for that incredible accomplishment,” Karkat interjected.

"Okay, wow, calm your nook?” Vriska shot him a disgusted look. "There's probably more to it anyway. Like maybe it was more of an assisted suicide than a murder.”

"We actually know very little about the Huntsman, and we have not yet been in contact with Rufioh," Kanaya spoke up. "But I think it is likely that if we explain ourselves and our interest in the story, he will be cooperative and tell us what he knows about his ancestor."

"Thank you, Kanaya," Vriska said with a little head-nod. Rose clenched her jaw, and Kanaya brushed some hair behind an ear while Terezi added a check-mark under the Nitram sign. "So next is Sollux?"

"Zip. And asking Mituna feels like barking up the wrong tree. We can try it, but we probably won’t get far,” Dave said. Terezi added the Captor sign, another question mark, and another squiggle.

"Alright, Leijon..." Vriska sighed. "Why are there so fucking many of us, jegus."

"Meulin said her ancestor was called the Mundane.”

"Mondaine, you fuckwit," Karkat corrected Dave. 

"Well, she was happy to talk to us, but she didn't know much," Dave added.

"Let's call that a check mark," Vriska said. "Maybe she won't be able to tell us more about Nepeta, but she can spill the other stories she knows."

"Now where are we? Kanaya?" Terezi drew the Maryam sign.

"I have been in conversation with Porrim, and she has helped me discover that my ancestral incarnation was named the Benevole."

"Kanaya, you are on fire tonight!" Vriska cheered while Terezi added B3N3VOL3 and a check-mark to the wall.

"I didn't know you had discovered who your pre-Scratch self was," Rose commented.

"It was a fairly recent discovery, and came with a condition that I felt made the information rather private, at least at first. But, since I am learning more, I am ready to share a few details. For instance, she was an auxiliatrix, and also a mediculler."

The trolls in the room nodded while Dave looked to Rose. "Doctor," the Seer of Light translated.

"Oh."

“So you think Porrim will be a good resource going forward?”

“Yes. She even has experience navigating ancestral memories. She told me about one of the Dolorosa’s memories, with the Sufferer and John.”

“Wait, John? In the Dolorosa’s memories?” Vriska said.

“It sounded like an event very similar to his sudden appearance on the meteor. From her recollection, they did nothing but notice each other before John disappeared again. But the Dolorosa remembered a strange alien and Porrim recognized an Heir of Breath.”

“But what the fuck is John doing on ancient Alternia?”

“I asked Porrim exactly the same question, only I didn’t say ‘fuck,’” Kanaya agreed. “I pointed out that John is a player with no time or inter-universal travel abilities, but she had no better explanation for me.”

“Seriously, what is up with that kid…” Vriska worried her lower lip with her fangs, but then a small snap interrupted that train of thought. Terezi sniffed her hand, realizing that she had just snapped her chalk in half.

“Whoops! Butterfingers…” she laughed. She dropped the fragments and dusted her hand on the wall, and then chose a new lime-green chalk. “Where were we?”

“We were about to do you. Does anyone know Terezi’s title?” Vriska asked, and was met with a room of head shakes. “Alright, so we can leave a question mark for the name and… Wait, why is Latula a squiggle? She's cool!" 

"Exactly, and that's the problem. If Latula thinks ancestor stories are un-rad, she won't tell us anything."

"Any chance you can convince her they're rad?"

Terezi cracked her neck side to side and smiled. "I'll give it a shot." 

"That's the spirit." Vriska grinned. "Now, we're moving on to me..."

Rose opened her mouth, but Kanaya beat her to it. "Prospera. That was your name on Beforus."

Terezi nodded and started writing it down, while Rose side-eyed Kanaya a little. "Did Porrim know that too?"

"Not exactly, but also sort of exactly that, but I think we should talk about Aranea and what she knows instead since she knows lots of things,” Kanaya said, changing the subject. 

"Yeah, what about Aranea?" Vriska said.

Rose side-eyed Kanaya, but answered the question. “It's fair to say that Aranea would love to tell us everything she knows about her ancestor, if not for the crippling anxiety and traumatic stress that has fallen upon her following an unknown event that harmed our party significantly in a doomed timeline. When she tried to convey a memory to me, it ended in a panic attack.”

"Besides, where's the fun in just asking the know-it-all?" Vriska flipped some of her hair over her shoulder. "If I know me, then Prospera was a huge fucking deal. Lots of people are bound to remember her, so we can learn about her story that way. Let's call Aranea a check-mark in parenthesis. A cooperative party that we should leave alone, for now." 

"Great now what about Equius?" Kanaya said quickly.

"Gimmie a minute!" Terezi had to shift significantly down the wall, then added Equius's sign.

"We know nothing," Dave said. “He hasn't been part of this story at all." 

Terezi question-marked below the arrow as Vriska asked, "What about Horuss?"

"Haven't asked him, but he’ll probably at least talk to us." 

"That's true. I would say he's likely to be in the same category as Rufioh: willing to disclose what he knows, depending on what he does know," Rose clarified.

"Sounds good. Now, we've talked a lot about the Mournful already..."

"Exactly, which is why you need to give me a second to draw!" Terezi snapped, blazing through a rather sloppy Makara sign, scrawled MOURNFUL below it, and then a big angry x-mark. "Kurloz isn't gonna talk to us at all, is he?"

"Basically. Even with Meulin interpreting he said almost nothing."

Karkat looked from the wall to Rose. All her theories about human-style pale feelings were well and good, but she didn't know for sure what had happened. She didn't know what it was like to live as a troll. A highblood wouldn't need to raise a lowblood just to make sure someone would care for them in old age; the lowblood would grow up and live and die in the same century, while the coolblood lived on. And on Alternia, important highbloods could keep whatever kind of quadrant slaves they wanted. And sure, this story was on Beforus where they didn’t enslave each other, but she couldn’t use the Chimeric's accomplishments as evidence that he hadn't been abused.

Then he looked from Rose to Dave. Is he okay? Hearing about the way his lusus treated him had Karkat worried. And after half a sweep on a rock with him, hanging out and maybe kind of sort of enjoying himself a little, Karkat might have had to privately admit to his present self and present self alone that he cared about Strider. He wanted to ask about the custodian situation again, to make sure he was fine, but how?

"We'll leave the Mournful alone. Next in the chain is Ampora, right? What do we know about him?”

"Nothing, but if my interactions with Eridan can be used as evidence, it's safe to say that he was a pompous and insecure poser clinging to his identity as a royal in lieu of other redeeming qualities." 

"Oh man, Lalonde, that's perfect! Ten points to you!"

Rose glared at her. “I have never known a greater honor.” 

"Will she be able to redeem the points at a later date?" Kanaya asked. 

"No, that's not a thing."

“Then what are the points for?”

"They're not for anything.”

“Why should we try to acquire them?”

“Because I give them out to acknowledge competence! I gave ten points to Rose because she wasn’t being a useless hack of a Light player.” 

The frustration got a little too much to bear, so Karkat spoke up too. "Seriously, Vriska, if you're trying to encourage a ton of irredeemable dipshits to stay on task, you don't introduce a point system with points that you won't even keep track of and won’t mean anything later. That's an awful way to motivate people."

"Oh, sure! How about I go around calling my friends irredeemable dipshits? You're soooooooo good at leadership when you do that." 

“How about you take a chunk of discarded metal and shove it so far down your throat you start shitting it out?! You’re much more pleasant to deal with when you do that!”

"Gross, Karkat! Do you talk to all ladies that way? I think you ought to watch your mouth since the ladies severely outnumber you!"

“Excuse me!” Terezi interrupted. "We're supposed to be talking about ancestral hipster fish trolls!”

"Well, we don't know anything about him, except he probably sucked!" Vriska countered.

"Then we have to ask Cronus, don't we?"

A shudder passed through the group.

"I can see Cronus being... cooperative," Kanaya said diplomatically. "But the desire to know more about his ancestor is almost perfectly balanced by the revulsion of having to speak with him." 

Terezi nodded, and rendered this challenge as a check mark with a vomit-face next to it. 

"Now last and most royal, we have Feferi," Vriska said. "She was the Compasse, right?"

"Yes, that's right. Aranea mentioned that she was the reigning empress when the pre-Scratch trolls began their game. She witnessed both the Chimeric's rebellion and the Reckoning."

"So maybe we don't have to go hunting down Feferi's dancestor," Dave said. "Since she's being about as elusive as most of these other fuckers."

"Exactly. We can just ask them about the empress, which should present a reasonable picture of the Compasse's rule," Rose said.

"But Meenah might know about the Chimeric's story," Terezi added.

"Again, the Chimeric's influence in the history books was muted by the Compasse's own influence. The likelihood that Meenah knows anything about his story is rather low."

"But not impossible," Vriska said. "That's the funny thing about ancestors. Their influence echoes through history in the ways you'd least expect."

Karkat made a retching sound.

"Shut up, Vantas. Now, are there any names of people we know are involved in the story, but we don't know whose ancestor they are?"

"The most notable are the Tameless and the Betrayer, allies of the Chimeric."

Terezi wrote them down far below the spectrum while Vriska talked. "Okay, any guesses about who they might be?"

"Well, the Tameless sounds like Nepeta," Terezi said.

"Nah," Dave said. "Meulin said her ancestor was a socialite. Like fancy lady that goes to parties and drinks tea and stuff."

"There's always that possibility," Rose said. "We have to consider that many of these ancestors are likely to be remembered for one or a few defining traits. Not to mention, Nepeta had no cause to be a vicious killer on Beforus." 

"Well, Karkat had no reason to become a killer, so it looks like he made his own reason." Vriska smirked. "If Nepeta had to make a choice between tea parties and hunting, she might choose hunting."

"Then we'd need to find the Mondaine's ghost to ask her."

"Or some other ghost of Nepeta. Maybe she can use that trick and live through her own memory from another universe to tell us.”

“Would she be willing to do that?"

Vriska's smirk got a little wider. “She could be persuaded.“

"What about the Betrayer?" Kanaya brought up.

They scanned the wall of blank names. "Aradia, Sollux, Terezi, myself, Equius, and Eridan are untitled," Terezi summarized. "Good god, you guys are awful at this."

"Hey, we just started like, a few weeks ago? And we don't spend literally all our time sleeping so progress was slow." 

"Wait a shit, the Mournful had a cell neighbor!" Dave snapped his fingers. "He mentioned him by name in the bubble where we found him!"

"You're just mentioning this now? Who was it?"

"Uh..." 

"Dammit, Strider! You brought it up and you don't even remember?"

"I think I do," Karkat said. "Twinhorn, right?"

"Yeah, that was it." 

“Judging by appearances alone, Twinhorn sounds like Sollux." Kanaya nodded. “But doubled horn patterns are not rare enough to verify his identity.”

“Come on, Kanaya. Paradox space is so full of coincidences and connections it has to be him.”

“Maybe Twinhorn is the Betrayer?" Dave said. "The Huntsman fucked up Karmeric's shit and then his good buddies Mournful and Twinhorn paid the price."

"Yeah, that's... that's the last thing the Mournful remembered before he died!” Karkat explained. “I didn't really pay attention to it, but the Mournful said that the person in the cell across from him was always talking, and then he died shortly after Twinhorn stopped.”

“That kind of makes it sound like Twinhorn kept the Mournful alive in jail,” Terezi said.

"And the Psionic had supported the Sufferer on Alternia. Maybe Captors and Leijons follow loudmouth mutant infidels no matter the universe,” Vriska added.

"But what does that mean for the Dolorosa and Benevole?" Rose said. "Those are two analogous figures."

Vriska shrugged. "It looks like the Mournful occupied her 'slot.' The Benevole might not matter too much to this story." 

"Hey, I know the Chimeric and Benevole occupied similar social circles at one point!" Kanaya protested.

The Thief quirked an eyebrow. "Really now? How do you know that? If Porrim knew that, then why didn’t you tell us all when we were talking about the Chimeric in the first place?”

“It’s not exactly something Porrim knows.” Kanaya looked away.

“Then how did you know?”

“My sources do not change the fact of the matter.”

“Not all sources are created equal, Maryam. Spill!” 

Forced into a corner, Kanaya finally talked. “I successfully and briefly inhabited a memory of the Benevole. Just last sleeping-period, actually.”

“Holy fuck,” Dave said, and he offered Kanaya a thumbs up.

“There we go! What was the memory about?”

“I don’t want to say. It’s private.”

“The Chimeric was there, so it can’t have been too private.”

“It’s just not a memory I want us to use as the cornerstone of our understanding of the Beforan ancestors and their lives and stories! What this memory has revealed to me is incidental at best compared to the information Porrim has shared with me. And even then, though I know the Chimeric and Benevole have met before, all I did was see him at a distance. Sort of like a first impression.” 

“Why are you wussing out on me, Kanaya? This is huge, amazing! You’re the first of us to do the ghosty thing and be your alternate self! Why can’t you just tell the rest of us what’s going on so we can get on your level?”

“Hey, lay off this one, Vriska,” Terezi spoke up. "It doesn’t actually matter what Kanaya saw so long as she can help Karkles zero in on the right technique.”

"It's just awfully suspicious that Kanaya knows things and isn't sharing!"

"Think of the big picture! Who cares what the memory is if it can help us find more?"

"I'd go with my fellow Seer on this one," Rose said. "We can come back to this point of the memory at almost any time of our choosing. The more important goal is helping Karkat pick up the train of the Chimeric's memory."

“Alright, Kanaya. What does Karkat need to know about being the Chimeric?”

It felt like that moment in a romcom when a superior officer shoves two of their lower subordinates together to complete some bullshit plot device objective. That moment would then be the impetus that placed the leads in dozens of awkwardly hilarious situations that eventually led to budding romance in some quadrant. Why else would Kanaya be struggling to meet Karkat's eyes? Why would Karkat's pulse jump? He bit his lower lip and waited for whatever she decided to say.

"Well… The memory wasn't precisely about the Benevole and Chimeric together, or interacting in any way, so I've been trying to gather details about him out of the proverbial corner of the Benevole's eye, and even that's not really the best way to explain how difficult it is…”

"You're rambling," Rose advised gently.

"Right... Um. He's very... red."

"Yeah? Why is that news?" Dave said. "It's hardly a secret anymore what his blood color is."

"No, I'm explaining this badly. It's sort of like Kankri, but feels tremendously different. The Chimeric wore about as much red as Kankri does, but I can tell it’s for some other reason. He had made the presentation of his blood color central to his identity. Like he never wanted anyone to forget he was scarletblooded."

Karkat's gastric sac dropped while its acid rose into his throat. No. No, no, no, this whole endeavor was about to ask of him the one thing he couldn't do. Pretend that his blood color hadn't caused him nothing but anguish from the moment he learned that red was abnormal, a mistake, a deformity? Something that could end his life at any moment if anyone found out?

Terezi, the freak, had the nerve to cackle and lick her lips. "A candy-coated Karkles?! Oh man, I'm drooling! When can we start?"

"Hey, hey. Karkat can decide to stop being a pissbaby about his blood color whenever he wants," Vriska said. "And just so you know, Karkat? You decided that your story is the most important one out of all of ours. So, that means it's all up to you. If you don’t pull it together, nothing will advance.”

He was going to be sick. He was going to lie on the floor and empty his stomach in front of everyone and hope his intestinal fluid wasn’t crimson, too. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

Dave scooted a little closer. "You okay, man?"

"I'll be fine," Karkat forced out of his mouth. “Give me a few minutes." 

"Now that's the spirit!" Vriska said. "Whoever feels like being a scribe, take down all those notes. Make a list of who's good to talk to and who's not and we'll go from there. I'd like to see if we can bust open some more of these ancestral memory-bubbles first before we subject ourselves to more dancestors."

Vriska sauntered away. Terezi gave the word CH1M3R1C a huge lick before following her, chalk dust on her lips. Rose drifted toward Kanaya, who wouldn't meet her eye either, but they left together. 

"You positive you're okay?" Dave pressed. "I know I don't get why blood matters, like not even a little bit, but this sounds like an Armageddon-style big deal."

Karkat forced out a laugh. "Ha! I survived Armageddon. This is nothing."

"Okay. Just making sure."

"C'mon. I want to watch a movie with humans in it. Just spend two hours with absolutely no trolls involved." 

"I applaud you for your xenocultural appreciation. Let me see what I got for you."

Chapter Text

The sun sets and the world still spins.

Everything had happened three weeks ago. And Feferi had heard nothing since. Plenty of rumors to be sure, accusations and theories, but no evidence.

But she couldn’t focus on that. Her Radiant Compassion had work to do. She had decrees to write, laws to approve, councils to manage, advisors to meet, court to hold. The number of culling abuse cases coming to light in the wake of the Mournful's crime was staggering, and even as she did everything in her power to treat these cases with the seriousness they deserved, there was too much for one troll, even a tyrian. Ever the optimist, Feferi saw the bright side: maybe the Chimeric was in grave peril, hurt by the one Feferi had chosen to protect him, but now everyone else in similar situations felt empowered to speak out. Still, the bright side offered nothing but cold light.

The Seafarer remained her bedrock. They had been together when the Grand Highblood’s statement reached her. Before she was even finished reading the leader’s words, the Seafarer had her wrapped in his arms and held her close as the horror gripped her. Nearly four sweeps ago was the cited date, and Feferi pinpointed the exact moment the Grand Highblood was talking about. Sundance’s arrest had hurt her young treasure so deeply, and she had all but ordered the Mirthful to comfort him… But he piled him instead. And three sweeps before that, a sodden Mirthful had sat in one of her lounges, fretful and seeking guidance, and she had just cheerfully informed him this was according to plan, and “these feelings have more in common with what lusii feel for their young charges.” Why had she not taken him seriously?

“I was so stupid,” Feferi had sobbed into the Seafarer’s chest.

“Shh, Fef, shhhh…” he had whispered, smoothing her hair and holding her tight. “It’s not your fault. It’ll be okay.”

The sun sets and the world still spins.

In the aftermath, Feferi held court as usual. The empire still depended on her. The Seafarer stayed in attendance, helping like a true moirail. She could handle most everything, but when it came to new culling abuse charges, the Seafarer stepped in and directed them to a new task force. Some tried to use their allotted time to interrogate her about the scandal, but the Seafarer pushed them away from that topic, and when necessary, threw people out. When in recent memory had their moirallegiance run smoother than this? The Seafarer knew precisely when compassion was not the answer, and in return, she reminded him that it most often was.

Court had been in session for nearly an hour when the troll arrived. Feferi knew she had seen her before, with pointed, balanced horns and red square glasses. She had been seen recently. In fact, Feferi remembered exactly where she had seen her.

The woman bowed. "Your Radiance, I am honored to stand once again in your presence. I am the Vigilant Lawscale, sworn to the defense of all trolls across the hemospectrum."

“I remember you!" Feferi said. "You prosecuted the Eastern Drought trials quite expertly!” And she was present at the Chimeric's titling day—Feferi couldn’t forget that.

Lawscale nodded, and brushed some hair behind an ear. "It has been a privilege to serve."

“Why are you here?” the Seafarer asked. Feferi couldn’t blame him for being antsy. He probably recognized the Vigilant from the same places.

"Your Radiance, I hope to present this information with the least amount of alarm and distress possible. This is evidence I encountered entirely by happenstance, but I found it was too important to not bring to your attention."

Feferi could feel another admonishment bubbling behind the Seafarer's lips, so she cut him off with kinder words. "Please continue, Vigilant."

"I was conducting an independent investigation regarding a runaway while the majority of the Vigilants were tasked with finding our fallen Guardian,” Lawscale said. "This search led me to uncover a ship full of rogues making way now to Althelney. In addition to the criminals, there are other suspicious passengers. One investigation revealed some startling inconsistencies regarding a person who completed the entire customs process without once speaking or revealing their face."

The room started to whisper. "Is she saying... Does she mean... Has she found..."

Feferi took a deep breath. "Speak, Vigilant. Who are you hunting aboard this ship?"

“I was searching for a woman known as the Mondaine, and though I am certain that I have found her, I request permission to submit evidence regarding the movements of the Chimeric.”

The court rumbled with a rainbow of emotions: some shocked, some amazed, some horrified. The Seafarer looked back at Feferi, two lines between his brows. She didn't dare exhale as Lawscale continued speaking.

“For a certain person aboard the Lux Volans, all of their physical documentation matches the Chimeric almost perfectly, while a series of permits meant that they did not have to reveal their voice, face, or blood. This individual was traveling in possession of luggage which also circumvented inspection, and is large enough to contain a person matching the Mournful’s description.”

“How did he obtain so many forged documents so quickly?” the Seafarer asked.

"I am certain that he engaged the help of a prominent figure in the underground, an individual known as Marquise Roulette Prospera." Lawscale threaded her hands together and let them rest before her. "I am intimately familiar with the methods of the Marquise. She is a suspect in easily hundreds of crimes: theft, perjury, culling abuse, extortion, assault, assassination, and that's just off the top of my head. She has spent centuries building her network of crime, and I have spent a century trying to unravel it. Dismantling her web could be instrumental in arresting the Chimeric. For instance, interrogating her could reveal where the Chimeric intends to go when the Lux Volans makes landfall.”

“Why allow the Lux Volans to make landfall in the first place?” the Seafarer proposed. "What type of ship is it?"

Lawscale offered a small bow to the seadweller. "A merchant barque, Esteemed Seafarer. I know for a fact that the Marquise prefers to arm her ships lightly and allow intimidation to see her through. It’s a game of smoke and mirrors to convince her enemies she possesses a great arsenal. If you sent a light ship, maybe two, they would easily catch him."

"I believe your analysis to be flawed, Vigilant." The Seafarer stepped into the center, essentially volunteering his assistance. "A barque traditionally has twelve to sixteen cannons aboard. The hull is crafted to withstand medium-grade cannon shot. A light pursuit would not be able to stop a properly armed ship.”

"I humbly beg your pardon, but I know the Marquise prefers to transport gold over iron,” Lawscale said. “The Lux Volans is large, but poorly armed. Scout-class vessels wouldn’t be able to harm it, but they could certainly board and stop it with ease.”

“There is no margin for error in this matter. Maybe the villainous Marquise habitually keeps a light offense. Maybe this time is an exception. If there's even the slightest chance a this vessel bein' armed for conflict, we should choose a stronger ship."

“How much stronger are you suggesting?”

The Seafarer turned and addressed Feferi. "Your Radiance, please allow me to pursue with the Absolution. I will guarantee the Chimeric's safe and swift return."

"That show of force is excessive,” the Vigilant jumped in immediately. "What kind of message do you send if you launch the Empire's most powerful destroyer galleon to pursue a merchant craft whose only crime is ferrying criminals? The crew likely does not even know that they have done anything wrong!”

"I have been a sailor for five hundred sweeps, and have all but hand-crafted the Absolution. She is the perfect vessel for near any mission, including ones like this.”

"And what would be gained if the Empress sent you to sea for two months? The Empire is swamped with new reforms in the wake of this crisis, would you leave her Radiance alone to face that?"

"What do you expect me to do, stay here and treat the disease's symptoms or go to sea and find the cause? The Chimeric needs counselin’, and the Mournful needs prison."

“I cannot make my objections strong enough! Sending the Absolution is an inappropriate show of force. With all due respect to you, your authority, and the Empress, that action is unacceptable.”

This was getting nowhere. Feferi spoke up and silenced the argument. “My good Vigilant, I would like to ask you a question.”

Lawscale stood at attention and bowed her head. "Anything, your Radiance."

"The Chimeric spoke to me often about your accomplishments. He admired you, and said he had started writing letters to you sweeps ago. Did you receive them?”

"I did, your Radiance."

“What did you think of him?”

“I didn’t realize who was writing me at first. I thought it was just someone who knew my work well and engaged with it intelligently.”

“Did you keep them?”

“Every one.” Lawscale looked bashful for a moment, but straightened her shoulders and rested her hands in front of her. “Their contents have already been submitted as evidence—”

“Don’t worry about that. I trust you’ve complied with everything necessary. But if I send the Seafarer to pursue the Chimeric, his safety will be secured, and we will win justice against his abuser. Why would you oppose that?”

“I believe that action will have unforeseen consequences.”

The Seafarer scoffed. “A midblood with perspective greater than the Empress? Is this the kind a nonsense Vigilants are allowed to spew these days?”

“Seafarer…” Feferi warned him, but she stayed focused on Lawscale. “What kind of consequences?”

“I know becoming a Guardian had come to mean more to him than anything in the world. He would not have thrown that dream away unless he felt he had no choice.” Lawscale’s mouth set into a grim line. “If you send the Absolution, he may once again feel that he has no choice. Crushing his rebellion will not gain peace. He will return, yes, but he will be radicalized.”

Those words cut deeper than she expected. Lawscale was right. Whenever Feferi told her scarletblooded treasure "no,” it drove him to fight her harder. No books, he started raiding libraries without permission. No voice, he organized his own sub-court. No power, he threatened to revolt. And then when Feferi said that culling would continue in defiance of his prophecy, the Chimeric ran away from everything he had ever known. Feferi feared what he would be driven to do next.

She took a moment to scan the assembled nobility. A handful of them had witnessed the Chimeric's declaration, and had seen her solicit the former Mirthful in the ashen quadrant. She knew they judged her for it, but they hadn't lived it. They hadn't listened to him scream, and scream, and scream, and demand access to things that would only hurt him in the end. Whenever she caved to his wishes, he always demanded more than she could give next time. It had taken its toll, and it had started to consume all of her energy. Asking his culler to become their auspistice was the last thing she could think of to create peace. She wanted to understand the Chimeric, and she had thought the only way to do so was to reach out to the one who knew them both well enough to mediate.

Feferi had thought wrong. She had thought so very, very wrong.

“Thank you, Lawscale,” Feferi said. “Now, my diamond, explain yourself. Lawscale has presented many good reasons for you to stay. I need you here, and badly. Why have you volunteered to pursue?”

It was the Seafarer’s turn to look shy. She knew that face so well: the droop of his fins, the violet in his cheeks, the double-crease between his brows, always just two lines, shallow or deep depending on the mood. Before he spoke, she almost knew exactly what he wanted to say.

“Compasse,” he said, and in his tone she heard ‘Fef.’ “I was… dismissive, and reckless about the whole thing. I opposed raisin’ the Chimeric in the first place. But even seein’ how this all ended up, you were right to save him. And what’s happened to him is just as much my fault as it is yours. Since you can’t be everywhere or think a everythin’ all at once, I help you. I should have helped you watch over the Chimeric. If I had paid closer attention… maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Now, all I can do is volunteer to end this. If I use everythin’ I have at my disposal, I will stop him.”

Feferi met eyes with her moirail, and understood him. It had always been like this. From the day they met, the Seafarer had done everything in his power to help Feferi. For five hundred sweeps, he had supported her Age of Compassion and helped her become the Empress she dreamed of being. And she could feel clearly: the offer to pursue was just as much for the Seafarer’s sake as it was Feferi’s or the Chimeric’s. He wanted to say sorry the only way he knew how.

She took a breath, and exhaled it.

“Seafarer, ready the Absolution. You have my order to sail the instant she is ready,” Feferi announced. “May the stars watch over you and see your swift return. You are dismissed.”

The Seafarer bowed and swept out of the room. The gallery had much to say to each other about this turn of events, and Feferi had to knock her trident several times to restore order. Lawscale was staring at the floor, her shoulders slumped.

“Vigilant Lawscale?” Feferi prompted. The Vigilant looked up slightly, but kept her gaze deferential. "You identified a rebel sympathizer and serial criminal. By order of the Empress, you are empowered to detain Marquise Prospera and investigate anything that you believe is related to any of her crimes, not limited to her involvement with the Chimeric.”

Lawscale froze. She looked for an instant like someone who just got everything she wanted, but didn’t know what to do with it.

“My only condition is this. You say you have hunted her for a century. I feel that she may have harmed you or someone you care for in this time. Please, do not seek vengeance. Do you understand?”

Lawscale stayed still a second longer, then nodded. "I am your obedient servant, your Radiance."

"You are dismissed, Vigilant.”

She followed the Seafarer out. A few other members of the court filed behind her. Feferi had nothing left to do but call, "I will now hear the next case!"

The next troll entered the hall, aware that something monumental had occurred in the block just a few moments ago, but unable to tell what it was. Court proceeded normally, but Feferi could not keep her mind on task.

“Why have we never played chess, ‘Feffy?’ It would be a match for the ages.” 

She held back tears. She knew not a single fuchsia drop would fall, but it never got easier. Because I can’t stand to fight you, Karkat. But I am an Empress, and so I must. I am so sorry.

Chapter Text

“Really? A Serket?”

“Believe me, I am completely pissed off by this stunning revelation.”

Kanaya had summoned up a memory of her hive, just to surround herself with something familiar, and she went about completely redecorating the place. She had torn down every last curtain and wall hanging and conjured up new fabrics with which to replace them. At the moment, nothing really caught her inspiration. She kept picking up new stretches of cloth, holding them up to the wall, and throwing them back down again. But she was too agitated to stay still.

Porrim, for what it was worth, had curled up in a chair and looked more like Kanaya had told her an unsettling fact about how long meat links are produced. “God, that’s just so crazy to think about.”

“I keep trying to not think about it, but so far all of those efforts have resulted in total failure.” She was sick of blue. Anything remotely blue was not going on those walls. Pink? Too gaudy. Hanging her own color would be indulgent. Red, no red. Red had started this mess.

“Slow down. You were just dancing with her, right? And you had one foot out of the memory the whole time, since you were looking for Kankri’s ancestor. So maybe you got it wrong.”

“The letters are signed with P and her name is Prospera, isn’t it?”

“My name begins with a P.”

“Are you implying you wrote love letters to your own ancestor?”

“Stranger paradoxes have happened. But no, I’m very sure I didn’t write any letters into the past. But what about Pyrope? What if P was Latula’s ancestor? Or someone not associated with the game at all. It’s not a rare letter.”

Kanaya pushed against her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I really appreciate what you’re attempting, but believe me when I say that I am totally certain that Aranea’s ancestor, Prospera, was the matesprit of the Benevole.”

“You’re sure? The dreambubbles are strange places. Even your sight cannot be trusted sometimes.”

“I felt its… gravity,” Kanaya said. “What it’s like to love someone for three hundred sweeps. To live a life where someone matters to you that much, and for that long. I can think of no other relationship that could exist to produce a feeling that massive, and I am similarly certain that those feelings were once directed toward Vriska Serket.”

“I see, then.” Porrim sat up a little straighter. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? You did not create the past.”

“What I mean is, I’m sorry that the Benevole’s life doesn’t feel like one you would have lead.”

Kanaya stooped to pick up a swath of purple fabric, but then dropped it. “I don’t know. This isn’t what I wanted at all. There’s no reason for it that I can see, and I don’t believe that any of it is building up to some greater purpose. This is all so hard.”

“There’s someone who understands,” Porrim said.

“What, do you understand? You admitted to me that you have no idea what it’s like to love one person for so long.”

“I don’t mean I understand. I just mean, someone understands. There have been adolescents for millions upon billions of broods, in two distinct universal instances. You are definitely not the first young woman to feel shame and confusion over a regrettable romantic relationship.”

“Is that all this is? I could quite possibly be the first adolescent to discover that an incarnation of herself in a universe previous to her own existence had been in a deeply flushed relationship with the incarnation of a friend of hers who at best should be described as a clueless heartbreaker.”

“When you put it like that, sure, it’s harder to find someone to empathize with,” Porrim said. “But you’re cutting yourself off to it when you look at things from that perspective.”

“Don’t I have a right to?”

Porrim sighed. “Sure, you have the right to cry and curse the universe. But it’s far better to look for the similarities to your pain than the differences. Maybe it’s not going to match up one-for-one, but staying open is far better than staying closed off.”

“Why?”

“Because it helps you heal.”

Kanaya grabbed a random strip of fabric and realized it was orange. Not orange either! She tried to muster a scowl but her eyes burned.

“Is… everything okay?”

“I just want her out of my life,” Kanaya said. “But no matter what I want, the universe keeps conspiring to put her right back in it! I’ve started to wish that confrontation between Terezi and Vriska had ended fatally after all!”

“You don’t mean that. Just take a deep breath.”

“Who cares if I mean it!? The universe doesn’t! Expressing any sort of desire for Vriska Serket’s alpha timeline incarnation to die for good appears to be exactly the sort of thing that will ensure she remains part of this timeline for all eternity!”

“Kanaya! You really have to calm down!”

“Oh, pap me, why don’t you.” Kanaya scowled and flung all of her sarcasm into that phrase, and marched to the other side of the block and sat down on the floor, just in front of her old wardrobifier.

“…Do you really mean that? Because—”

“No, I don’t. I don’t, that’s not how I—I’m sorry. I don’t feel that way about you, and it probably wouldn’t help.” Kanaya arranged her knees to complement the flow of her skirt, but honestly wished she could curl up in a pupa position and just not dream for once.

“Yeah, that’s probably a bad idea,” Porrim admitted. “I’m not sure it would help either of us for me to just behave pale toward you.”

“Thank you for acknowledging that,” Kanaya said. “I just really want things to be quiet for a while.”

“They can be quiet here, can’t they? If you can find a memory of quiet, that is.”

“It’s quiet for the brief moments before something else happens. Either a ghost arrives or another bubble intersects with mine or I am rudely awoken via dreamself sleeping.”

“Could a Void player help you?”

“Neither Equius nor Horuss were very well in-tune with their abilities at their times of death.”

“A doomed God Tier, then?”

“Trying to explain this situation to one of them who lived an entirely different experience that led to their ascent and subsequent doom is not a task I currently feel capable of completing.”

“Well, I’m running out of suggestions to help, so you either need to figure out what you want to do about this or have patience that it will resolve itself,” Porrim said, folding her arms and curling tighter in the chair.

Kanaya had heard that tone seep into her voice when dealing with Kankri’s more absurd moods. The comparison was a two-edged sword: on the one hand, it meant that Porrim was reaching the end of her rope with Kanaya. She felt strangely comforted that Porrim had an end of her rope in the first place. She wasn’t perfect. She certainly wasn’t endlessly wise just because she was dead. Kanaya took a deep breath and let it out. On the other hand, she was acting as irrationally as Kankri.

“I just don’t like what this means… for anything,” she said. “If it were just a pair of loving and committed matesprits, it would be fine, but this is Vriska.”

“Why is that such a problem?”

“You’ve met her, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve met her. She reminds me of Damara, and that’s no crime.”

“But you’ve heard about what she’s done, too. She maimed and murdered two members on our team before it began, thousands more before them, and completely failed to show any sort of regret for her actions. Then she killed again on our meteor, without any justification or remorse.”

“I’ve heard. Compared to your bloodbath, our team’s conflicts were barely skirmishes.”

“And I did… like her,” Kanaya said. “I felt flushed for someone that despicable. I am well aware of my preference for dangerous ladies, but even looking back on my own choices I can’t help but place a hand on my face and release an exasperated exhale. There’s bad taste in a matesprit and then there’s… Vriska.”

“So do you think the Benevole had bad taste too?”

“Last time we spoke, you told me that our ancestors had flaws same as we do. From my experience of her memory, I know that the Benevole was aware of Prospera’s flaws, and accepted them.”

“But you’re not certain if those flaws were more along the lines of an overzealous ego or something close to unrepentant mass murder,” Porrim summarized.

“That’s right.” Kanaya tucked her knees closer to her chin. “It makes me question things about myself and my romantic choices if I know that a version of myself maintained a relationship with a woman experiencing or perhaps perpetrating tremendous evils. I think the term for it is an ‘enabler.’ I want to be helpful, but I never want to help someone hurt others.”

Porrim teased her lip ring with her fangs. “That’s… always a difficult line. I think it’s very wise for you to stay aware of when your helpfulness becomes detrimental.”

Kanaya looked curiously at Porrim. “Is this generalized or personalized advice?”

“I really don’t think it’s valuable to discuss that prolonged doomed timeline where I met a living yet doomed version of your team, but let’s just say that you are the kind of person who stands by those you love long after they have made choices that are… detrimental. To themselves and others. It’s simply a case of your greatest virtue being your greatest flaw as well. If you’re aware of this, then you’re already equipped to start addressing this flaw.”

Kanaya sat in silence for a moment, a little chilled by that vague and ominous warning. “Do you think the Benevole knew when she was being an enabler?”

Porrim shrugged. “All I know is what the government recorded and what Prospera said in her love letters. But knowing the way that jadebloods lived on Beforus, even if they had been matesprits for centuries, they had probably only spent a few decades in each other’s presence. The Benevole probably had no ability to intervene in anything Prospera was doing.”

“Maybe,” Kanaya said. “Did the letters have any date on them? Is there any indication of when they were sent?”

“No, they don’t. Are you trying to determine whether they broke up and got back together, or whether the Benevole ended their relationship for good?”

“I think that’s it.”

“I really can’t help you with that, then. I think the only way to discover that would be to continue to live through her memories. You have a foothold in her timeline, so you can live it backward or forward, to find the moment where the Benevole received those letters.”

“But I know I’m going to find at least a number of other moments where she and Prospera were deep in the throes of the flushed quadrant. I don’t feel that way about Vriska anymore, and I don’t want to feel that way about Prospera.”

“But Prospera wasn’t the only person she knew. What about others?”

“She had seen the Chimeric from a distance…”

“Maybe she spoke with him. If Karkat took up the mantle of the Chimeric, then you two could discover some other conversation. And from that moment, you might be able to find out more about who else was important to the Benevole.”

“Karkat is having a very hard time inhabiting any sort of memory. I can’t call on him. And if I did tell him, then he’d be part of the memory where Prospera and the Benevole were dancing, and then the news could get around, and Vriska would find out…”

“Or worse, Rose.” Porrim finished the thought.

Kanaya buried her face in her knees. “Yes.”

“Why is that a problem?” Porrim asked.

“She could get the wrong idea,” Kanaya said. “Ancestral legacies are a very compelling cultural and historical connection. It’s almost akin to reincarnation, and typically is seen to predict a young person’s future. If Rose saw that the Benevole was flushed for Prospera, she might think I still have feelings for Vriska.”

“The Benevole is not your ancestor. She’s mine. And as far as predicting relationships go, do you see Aranea and I as the picture of flushed and serendipitous devotions?” Porrim drooped her hand sarcastically. “And she can hardly blame you for falling in love with someone else if she was not there to court your affection.”

“That’s all very rational,” Kanaya told her. “But these romantic affairs never are.”

“Then consider this a timer. You have to tell Rose how you feel about her before she finds out how the Benevole felt about Prospera. I’m no Seer of Light, like she is, but I’m certain things will go more favorably for you if you can at least present information in that order.”

She was right. Porrim was so completely, totally right that Kanaya almost couldn’t stand it. Almost. Instead, she lifted her head and nodded.

“And who knows? Maybe Beforus never gave Prospera the chance to be as awful as Vriska. I hear there was a murderous lusus in the equation, but the Compasse had systems in place to allow wigglers to be raised by their bonded custodians without resorting to manslaughter.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“That’s a long way of saying food was provided,” Porrim smiled.

“Oh. Well, that’s likely? Vriska would definitely use all resources available, but it’s harder to harm someone with a metaphorical toy weapon.”

Porrim nodded. “That makes a fair amount of sense, given what Echidna told us about the Scratch.”

“What exactly did she tell you?”

“That our culture had not prepared us for the rigors of the game, and so we lost. It makes sense that our ancestors would not have been prepared for it either. Too soft, too kind. So Alternia, and subsequently Sgrub, brought out the best in you.”

Kanaya stared at the pile of fabric. A streak of crimson silk wove about the middle of the pile like a vein, the exact shade of the Chimeric’s shirt from that memory. Soft and kind aren’t the same thing, Kanaya thought. The kindest person she knew was the most abrasive.

But this conversation wasn’t about him. It was about Vriska. “I think that’s true to a point. Vriska is perfectly suited to the rigors of Sgrub, since she’s an obsessive, demanding, arrogant, greedy, and borderline sadistic young woman. That seems to be what it takes to win this game.”

“Ouch,” Porrim said. “I think I can see your concerns more clearly now. Watered-down poison is still poison.”

“Exactly,” Kanaya said. “And besides, what if Prospera is the reason the Benevole died before her time? What if they were bad for each other all along?”

“Then you’ll discover that truth. And there’s nothing you’ll be able to do about it. It will be sad, and it will hurt, but it will ultimately not put you in harm’s way or otherwise affect you,” Porrim explained. “This is something I understand very clearly. I remember when I discovered that the Dolorosa had been Mindfang’s slave following the Sufferer’s death. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. If there’s ever anything like that you discover and don’t like, I’ll be happy to talk with you about it, but you don’t have anything to be afraid of. These faded memories might as well be bad dreams for how they affect us.”

Kanaya sighed. “I feel like my life has been a bad dream for the last few nights.”

“…I’m sorry that your Beforan self isn’t living up to your imagination,” Porrim offered.

“I know. I am, too.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Kanaya hadn’t touched Porrim and they stayed far away from the pile of fabric, but she was starting to feel a little better.

“Do you mind if I ask about… him?” Porrim spoke up.

“Him? Do you mean the Chimeric?”

“If you would please. It’s an obsession bordering on addiction, but anything that bothers Kankri… I just want to quash it.” She mimed squishing something in her fist, then smiled. “He frustrates me too much to call it pale, but I care about the twit, you know? And if I can understand his ancestor, maybe I can help him, too.”

Kanaya managed to smile. “He is a twit,” she agreed, then took a moment to try and present what Porrim would find relevant. “Well, the Chimeric is problematic on a scale far larger than Kankri usually experiences. Mounting an armed rebellion against a peaceful Empress is a very difficult action to excuse. And of course, there’s the thorny central issue of excruciatingly problematic romance between the young mutant and the adult charged with taking care of him, but I doubt Kankri knows much about that, based on a tidbit of information Dave shared with us after the fact.”

“What fact?”

“The Chimeric and the Mournful have been erased from each other’s stories. While Kankri and Kurloz are familiar with their ancestors’ sins, they have no knowledge of what the other’s ancestor had done. Kankri remembers a warmonger who never filled his quadrants. Kurloz remembers a pedophile who never joined the rebellion.”

“Fascinating…” Porrim said. “Well, I suppose that’s not much to go off of. And of course, if I even suggest to him that we had this conversation, he will throw a tantrum for the rest of eternity.”

“That’s likely.”

“I suppose I can just take all of this and hold it in my heart for now. I’d love to stay informed about the proceedings.”

“I’ll be sure to share what I know with you.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“Ride along with the others as best I can, I suppose,” Kanaya said. “And I’ll take your advice seriously, I promise. But I think I want to distance myself from… myself, for a little while.”

“I see,” Porrim said. “Then, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

Kanaya looked at her memory windows, unobstructed by any curtains. Sunlight streamed into the respiteblock and filled it with light.

“I think you have already helped,” Kanaya said. “More than you know.”

Chapter Text

The little bro was at it again. Gamzee shouldn’t have expected anything else.

After a night or so spent getting their bearings at sea, the Chimeric started meeting his new companions. All around, they had rougher edges than the genteel nobles and dignitaries of the palace, but they had dreams, wants, and worries just like all trolls. Lots of stories of lost friends and quadrantmates, clusterfucks of misfortune, and struggling to turn it all around.

With his time-tested strategies, asking people to teach him what they knew, the Chimeric was working his miracles. He always posed as the student. He begged the sailors to show him the ropes and started to take shifts in their rotation. He asked foreigners to help him brush up on their languages and dialects. He asked a moneylender to give him advice about personal investing.

In exchange, he shared what he had learned with everyone else. Cooler bloods long denied from court wanted to know about the inner workings of the amphibiortress, lessons the Chimeric graciously provided. But most everyone olive and warmer wanted to improve their reading. Their skill ranged from rudimentary to non-existent, so the Chimeric took up a borrowing-collection of every paper tome on board and started to teach. Sometimes coolbloods wanted to swoop in and answer the Chimeric’s questions before his class had the chance, but he rebuked them forcefully.

“They’re here to learn for themselves,” he snapped. “Let them find answers on their own!”

As all aboard the ship quickly warmed to the Chimeric, they remained wary of Gamzee. This was his first time among ‘civilization’ since his excommunication, and with his fucked-up horn and face, Gamzee scared most of them off. He would have stayed in the hold for the whole journey, but the Chimeric kept dragging him out. He fought for Gamzee’s rations, exercise, and inclusion.

He introduced Gamzee as his moirail to everyone aboard. Some tried to ignore it, but others had questions they tried to ask as delicately as possible: “Did he really… I mean, is it true…”

The Chimeric gradually condensed his explanation down into a snappy retort. “It shouldn’t have happened, but there’s no point denying that it did. I trust him with my life, and I am entrusted with his. It’s simple.” 

Things didn’t magically become simple because the Chimeric decreed it so. It was rough, and awkward, and painful, but Gamzee saw hope take root on that ship. From the people who believed in the Chimeric to the people who started to believe in each other, the Lux Volans’ collection of miserable rejects started to form something new, something stronger. A miraculous transmutation.

Even the Deadbeat was warming up to the Chimeric. The tealblood’s demeanor had improved greatly as the Chimeric started up real conversations with him, mostly dishing out gossip about all those not-so-noble nobles in court. He even listened to the Chimeric explain the big picture about his new mission to end culling.

“You really think you can do it?” he asked. “Lots of people think the Compasse has got a good thing going on.”

“When you have nothing to go back to, you’re forced to go forward. To conquer an island, burn your boats.”

“Huh. I guess you can try that. Just don’t burn this boat, okay?”

"I’ll keep the flames checked. But think of it this way. If there were no culling, would everyone see you as a deadbeat? Turning the social order on its head would be advantageous to you.”

The Deadbeat scoffed. “If there was no culling, I’d find some other way to be a disappointment. Don’t worry about what I want. Go do your revolution. With all those burned boats, you’re probably gonna win.” 

He was still an ass, but Gamzee had seen the pattern a hundred times. The Chimeric took his critics, made them respect him, and then made them his friends. The Deadbeat had moved from antagonistic to respectful. Gamzee would bet his other horn that before they made landfall, he’d be a loyal ally. 

And throughout it all, the Chimeric still found time for himself and Gamzee to lie in the cargo hold, nestled in their now thoroughly busted box with their pile of belongings around them. They usually just cuddled, too tired or observed for talking. Sometimes, Gamzee napped. The Chimeric would at least close his eyes and pretend to sleep alongside him. He called it meditative, and very beneficial. Like Gamzee was helping the Chimeric through his problems even in his sleep. Gamzee figured he could take credit for that.

They managed to jam about feelings a few times. Gamzee said what he had always been afraid to say. The Chimeric shared things he had written down to keep from telling Gamzee. The conversations were short, hushed, and often had to be split between a few piling sessions, but they gradually shared what they needed each other to hear.

“I don’t get where my pan is supposed to motherfucking be at about my name,” Gamzee said. “There are motherfuckers here still using Mirthful, and others who follow the Grand One and switched up to Mournful. It’s uncanny.”

“What’s uncanny about staying the Mirthful?” the Chimeric asked, head pillowed on Gamzee’s chest.

“It’s like, the Mirthful is some motherfucker with both his horns and all his paint and his band of brotherly minstrelisters. Since I don’t got that, I can’t be the Mirthful.”

“And you don’t feel Mournful, either?”

“Little bro, this is the happiest I’ve been in sweeps, finally being pale with you. Anything I lost I sure as shit am not mourning for a motherfucking second.”

The Chimeric laughed and snuggled closer. “So are you in the market for a new name?”

“Probably not. I figure I can stick with Mirthful for any motherfucker who’s at least willing to give me a chance. It’d be a good way to separate those who got their loyalties about the Highblood from the ones who give them to you.” 

“Then to me, you stay Mirthful.”

“Yeah…”

He lifted his head. “That was not a confident ‘yeah.’”

“It’s just… I got this weird, wicked wish, and it’s probably all kinds of evidentials that I’m as sick a monster as everyone says. It’s all fucked up, for us.”

The Chimeric stroked his cheek. “Tell me, please. I want to know.”

“I… motherfuck…” Gamzee closed his eyes and took a minute to just enjoy the feel of Karkat’s warm fingers on his face. “I didn’t realize at the motherfucking time, but… after you started to get older, and any time you called me ‘Murfle,’ it had my blood pusher in a fucking headlock and stirred up all the palest affections.”

“Is it because I sound more helpless when I do that?” the Chimeric guessed. 

“Not a motherfucking bit, little bro.” Gamzee smoothed his hand through the Chimeric’s hair. “It ain’t for any bit of the helplessness of making you little, but I guess you know all the ways it’s a motherfucking problem anyway, even if that’s not how I mean it.” 

“Then how do you mean it?”

“Well, you’re the only one who ever called me Murfle.”

“Because I was a grub with a speech impediment.”

“I know that’s how you see it, but after a few sweeps my pan got to thinking a different way,” Gamzee said. “The Mother Grub gave me a hatch name. I gave myself a name. The faith stripped it and gave me a heretic’s name. But you named me Murfle. And as all of my motherfucking life started shaking like the planet itself was trying to rattle it to bits, I… started to feel like Murfle was the truest name I ever got. It’s the name my diamond gave me. It’s a name I answer every motherfucking time.”

The Chimeric smiled and finally re-settled himself on Gamzee’s chest, comfortable and content. “You make that all sound so beautiful,” he said. “I can only see myself saying it in the privacy of a pile, but I can call you Murfle again.”

Gamzee wrapped his arms tight around the Chimeric. “Little bro, I feel like this is what I was hatched for. To be right here, as I am, with you as you are…”

He laughed a little. “That’s absolutely true.”

“What knowledge do you got of truths, little bro? I’ve been trying for weeks to get a straight answer about what that motherfucking monsterbeast did in your pan after your titling noise.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“I’ve got nothing else to do.” 

The Chimeric huffed, but said, “I want to change places first.” 

“Where to?” 

“Stay where you are. Hold your arm to the side.” 

Gamzee obliged, and the Chimeric moved around him until his head rested on Gamzee’s shoulder, face turned to the underside of the deck. Gamzee could see his expression, but couldn’t quite pap him comfortably. The Chimeric stared for a minute and took a deep breath." 

“The longer I think about it, the more I feel the gaps,” he said. “The chimera showed me so much, but practically nothing at all as far as the big picture is concerned. It was like… a huge mural, full of images and words about all of the most critical moments of history about to happen. I saw everything for an instant, and then… the chimera shattered it.”

“Shattered?”

“Exploded, destroyed, obliterated, whatever descriptor you want to use, that’s what happened. And moments after the destruction, that’s all I had in my mind. I saw the pieces full of reckoning and pain. With a finite think pan, I couldn’t contemplate anything else but the terror, so I acted accordingly.” 

“Do you mean the chimera showed you more about how to end culling?” 

“Sort of. I’ve been left with wreckage of what used to be a complete explanation. Fragments and chunks of the full picture. I’ve seen some of what comes next: for you and me, for the Compasse, for others. But I don’t understand everything about what’s going to happen. Not even close.”

“Do you wish you had taken a motherfucking breather to contemplate it all, before you stormed into the main motherfucking gubernatorial meeting to scream at some motherfuckers?”

“No. Well…” The Chimeric paused. “I mean, god, I can’t tell you how badly I wish I still had everything I worked for! It cost me so much to get there, and I didn’t even get to enjoy any of it. They were going to respect me… I could have helped people… Inspired them…”

Gamzee saw tears beading at the corner of his eyes, and reached an arm over to lightly brush his cheeks. “Shhhhh, little bro. I know, I know. Shoosh, m’diamond…”

The Chimeric closed his eyes and leaned into the touch for a moment, then hummed a small ‘thanks’ and resumed. “I regret that I lost everything, and I wish so badly that my catastrophic failure to convince the Compasse hadn’t cost you everything, too. But I don’t regret demanding revolution.” He nestled a little closer to the crook of Gamzee’s arm. “Do you know those moments where your heart and mind are suddenly and totally in agreement with each other? No doubt about what you want, and what you’re going to do about it?”

“I’ve been getting my feel on to more of them lately.”

“That was basically what I felt then. And… there was no way I could have done anything different. So as much as I regret it, it’s the truest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I have to honor it. Live with it.”

“I get what you’re saying on that one,” Gamzee said. “But what do you focus on now, since the shit’s had a chance to settle?” 

The Chimeric hesitated again. After a few minutes, he said, “I keep thinking about the children.”

“The children?” 

“Those wigglers. The survivors. One of them is definitely the heiress who will cause the whole ultimately-irrelevant succession crisis, but that’s all I know for sure. Her friends will go with her. There’s at least eight, probably more, but I can’t tell how many for sure. The hardest part is separating whether two details are about the same person or not. Glasses, hairstyles, quirks…”

“That’s a huge motherfucking puzzle to figure, yeah." 

The redblood shifted in his arms. “Do you ever imagine having a descendant, Murfle?”

Gamzee smiled and gave the Chimeric a side-armed squeeze. That name is sweeter to hear than I thought. “Sometimes, I contemplated it. It’s all a motherfucking hypothetical though.”

“What would you think about?”

“Hm… I’d imagine the motherfucker being handsomer than me.”

The Chimeric laughed. “Seriously?”

“Like the Mother Grub was gonna filter out the unpretty parts on his behalf. He’d have my code at his core, but he’d pick up some other beauty genes from the big slurrypot.”

“So that’s it? It’s all superficial vanity?”

“Nah, bro…” Gamzee chewed the idea over in his head a bit. He tried to think about when he first heard about ancestors, chilling with wicked elixir and a crew of brothers. It was hard to remember his opinion from back then. “It’s got two sides to it. Like the one of it is, you’re gonna live your span and learn all these motherfucking lessons, and you know you’ve got a descendant coming somewhere along the line and you gotta leave something to make life easier for them. You wanna give them all the things you wish you had when you were a young alive-thing. And then the other half is, you don’t get slammed with regret if you know there’s gonna be another of your bloodline coming along. So long as you do right by your descendant, they’ll go on to accomplish what you left undone.”

“So why do you want your descendant to be handsomer than you?” 

“So he won’t have slim motherfucking pickings when it comes to who he pails.”

The Chimeric laughed. “Do you really regret your romances so badly?”

“I couldn’t ask for a paler moirail, though I hope my little motherfucker doesn’t have to be a criminal just to fill his pale quadrant. And then I hope that the motherfuckers he knows are proud to love and hate him.”

“You want him to be surrounded by people who matter to him,” the Chimeric said. “And for him not to be punished for who he cares about.”

“…Yeah,” Gamzee said. “Yeah, that sounds motherfucking spot on.”

The Chimeric nodded slightly. “That makes sense… Smooth the road for them, so they can finish what you started. That’s how I feel.”

“At the wigglers?”

“Yes. I don’t know the details, but they will suffer.” He frowned, his eyes taking the glaze of a thousand-yard stare. “I can’t even begin to comprehend, let alone describe, how much they will suffer. They will hurt, and cry, and die, some of them more than once.”

“…Shit.”

He sighed. “Shit indeed. I want to protect them. I feel older, now that I know about them. I think I’ve started to feel like an ancestor.”

“How are you going to smooth the road for eight or more wigglers? And what are you gonna leave undone for them?”

“I don’t know yet,” the Chimeric admitted. “But it’s becoming clear to me that if I want to keep my descendants from hurting each other, I’m going to have to hurt people now.”

“Why are you so certain of that?”

“I have no better explanation than ‘prophecy.’”

“That’s good enough,” Gamzee said. “Do you want to hurt people?”

“No…” The Chimeric lifted a hand above his face. “But I’m worried.”

“Worried about what?”

“Even knowing relatively little about the big picture, it’s hard to care about the present when I know the future. This world means nothing compared to the one that the wigglers will create. Everything here is just fuel, and we’re waiting for the moment it needs to burn.” The Chimeric rolled onto his side, closed his eyes, and all but hid his face in Gamzee’s chest. “I’m worried that when the time comes to hurt someone… I won’t feel anything.” 

Gamzee wrapped his arms around his moirail and smoothed his hair. “If you ever need a reminder on how to feel, I’ll be there. Don’t worry, little bro. I’ve got you.”

Heavy footsteps clunked from the end of the hall, and the Deadbeat’s voice bounced around the hold. “Hey, you pity pigeons better be presentable quick! I’m coming through!”

“Two minutes!” the Chimeric called back to the Deadbeat, pulling himself out of Gamzee’s arms. After pressing a small kiss on his forehead, the Chimeric slung his armor over his shoulders as Gamzee sat up. “Okay, we’re decent!”

He was still fastening the buckles when the Deadbeat popped around a stack of crates. For a careless drifter, he looked surprisingly serious.

“There’s trouble on the deck,” he reported. “The lookout spotted a pursuit ship.”

“Are we about to fight?”

“No. Captain wants to surrender. They’re arguing about it now.”

“Surrender?! Does the captain know what will happen to her if she loses all of the resources Prospera crammed on the ship?”

“The bastard on our tail is scarier than Roulette, if you can believe it.”

“Who is it?”

“If I knew, would I be bugging you?”

Gamzee looked to the Chimeric and met his eyes. They almost glowed red in the lowlight, and he could see a small flash of dread.

“If anyone can help our motherfuckers find their courage, it’s you,” Gamzee urged. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

The Chimeric nodded, stood, and offered a hand to pull Gamzee to his feet. “Right. Let’s go cancel that surrender.”

Chapter Text

Since when was dreaming such hard work?

Dave was definitely starting to wrestle with a few regrets. It was one thing when it was just him and Karkat taking on the insane dreamscape together. It was another when there was Vriska sounding the alarm every time a dreambubble passed to get everyone in formation for another expedition to discover the past.

They had tried using Kanaya as the entry point. Vriska's theory was whichever memory Kanaya used to be the Benevole for the first time could give Karkat more insight into the Chimeric, but any time they had tried to make her do that, she had always failed, shame-faced and silent. But as usual, Vriska would not be denied. She changed strategies and bullied Karkat worse than Rose did to make him set the stage. She also tolerated far less quitting, and that led to ugly shitfits and arguments the likes of which Dave had hoped to never see again. The worst were the awake-bubbles. When the meteor physically passed through a bubble, everyone could enter it without falling asleep, but it made the journey even more exhausting, since they didn’t even get to sleep in the dream.

When they felt that cold-shower ripple of another bubble swallowing them, and then heard the rallying cry of the spider, Dave turned to Karkat.

"Alright, let's just get through this," he said. “Once it’s over, we’ll alchemize a shit ton of junk food, and then start hybrid-ing some of your awful movies together with my awesome ones. If you don’t shout at Vriska, I promise I'll even watch some of them."

Karkat scoffed. “Fuck that. We should alchemize my collection with itself. That will only make it even more perfect. But I’ll add one of your comics to the punchcard sequence to make sure it stays dumbed down enough for your human think pan.”

"Oh snap, this is gonna be a movie marathon for the ages. But only if you don't flip your shit at Serket this time."

"Look, that isn't my fault anymore! She's practically goading me! This is beyond shit-flipping, this is almost pitch-flipping!"

"Pitch fl—oh," Dave said. "Don't worry about that, just be the bigger man, or troll.”

"HELLOOOOOOOO? Can the Knights of Lame and Suck get with the program?!" Vriska hollered.

Karkat groaned, and trudged toward the door. "Let's get this over with."

Dave followed Karkat out to the surface of the meteor, where they overlooked a vast sea under a starry sky. The girls were already there, taking in the environment.

"Definitely Alternia," Vriska announced. “We had enough ocean FLARP campaigns for me to recognize this."

"So are we just going to sail this meteor around in this dream, like an SS Ball of Despair?" Karkat sassed. Dave elbowed him.

"Thankfully, no. It looks like this memory comes complete with its own boat. Look." Vriska pointed out to the distance. A ship with three masts and white sails drifted peacefully on the water below.

"Are we going to swim there?" Kanaya asked.

"Nope," Vriska said. "Mortals, choose a God Tier.”

Terezi and Vriska instantly joined hands. Kanaya and Rose followed suit, but didn't meet eyes. Dave swallowed and looked at Karkat.

"No homo, man," he said, raising his hands.

Karkat scowled at him. "Oh, so this is the amount of contact it takes to make you uncomfortable?”

Vriska and Terezi were already out, making their beeline for the distant ship. Rose offered Kanaya two hands, “for stability,” and then followed after them. Karkat stuck out his hand.

Dave wiped his hand on his pants—they were sweaty all of a sudden—and grabbed Karkat’s like a handshake, before he realized that would be even worse and switched to side-by-side. Jesus this was so weird, and it just got weirder the longer Dave thought about it. Lifting into the air wasn't a problem, but he could really feel Karkat's weight beside him. Flying, but relying on him… and it was just so fucking weird. But not bad. Not bad at all.

They landed on the abandoned deck, sails fluttering above as the sea rocked them below. Dave looked up to the rigging at the crow's nest, while most everyone else wandered around. Kanaya found a spyglass and scanned the horizon. Rose examined the door to a cabin and tried to peer inside. Vriska and Terezi moved toward the helm. Karkat just stood by, looking a little confused.

"Whose memory is this?" Dave asked.

"Not one of ours, but this is definitely troll craftsmanship," Vriska said. "Reminds me of some of the shipwrecks we explored when roleplaying.”

"You and Eridan mostly," Terezi added. "I hated sea campaigns."

“But you were so good at them!”

"Too much fighting happened with the bulky wood, not enough with hand-to-hand weapons. Naval battles are so clunky.”

"So where are we hoping to go with this ship?" Dave said.

"We can try and direct it toward someplace more conducive for memory jumping."

"Porrim reminded me that the emotion is more important than the location. The memory may be a helpful prompt, but it doesn’t matter where he starts if Karkat can feel what the Chimeric felt, and then stay in-tune enough to allow the memory to play out.”

"Okay, Karkles! How do you feel right now?" Terezi called from near the wheel.

Karkat took a moment to answer, which given the usual snappy vitriol of his retorts sounded like hours of silence. “…I feel like this place is safe. It’s weird.”

The other passengers looked to each other, surprised by the answer. "Can you tell us more about it?" Terezi prompted.

"It was full of important stuff. People, things…” Karkat turned and seemed to notice everyone had started to stare. "What?! I mean, that’s true of all boats, right? Crew and cargo?”

"Karkat, can you tell me the name of this ship?" Rose asked.

"It's the Lux Volans."

"How do you know that?"

"It was on the side of the ship when we flew over here," Karkat said.

Dave shook his head. “The side we saw was blank, dude. If the name is on the ship, it's on the other side.”

"Which means you remembered the name of the ship,” Rose summarized, with a sparkle in her violet eyes. "We've found a starting point! This could be it!"

"What are you proposing, Lalonde?" Vriska asked.

"It's very likely that the only member of our party who was also present in this memory is Karkat, but if we can determine the other ‘cast members’ of a scene from a memory that occurred here, and then behave the same way the other passengers did, then it should be easier for Karkat to stay engaged with the memory."

"So a massive LARP scenario," Dave said. "That sounds really fucking dumb."

"Sorry Dave, but you're outvoted!" Terezi grinned. "Vriska and I think that's a lovely idea."

"Not so fast," Vriska said. "I'm down for roleplaying, but we don't even know what kind of memory we're dealing with here. What happened to the Chimeric on this ship?"

More eyes turned back to Karkat, except Kanaya, who was scanning the bubble's horizon with the spyglass. Karkat floundered through his answer. "I have no clue! Not word-for-word, anyway! It just feels like this is a place where I talked to a lot of people and chilled out for a goddamn second! Is that a crime?!"

"No, but it’s so lame,” Vriska complained. “I knew the Chimeric's story would just be another chumpy boy thinking he's actually worth something!”

"Perhaps we could create a scenario where the ship is pursued by imperial forces," Kanaya suggested from the rear of the ship. "Because that appears to be what is happening right now."

"Wait, what?" Vriska barreled across the deck and snatched the glass out of her hands. She lined it up with her seven-pupiled eye. The whole team waited for her report.

"It's the Ampora sign on the sails, with tyrian banners," she announced. "It's not Eridan's old FLARP ship, I don't think Cronus has ever sailed a day in his life or death, and it looks nothing like old diagrams of Orphaner vessels. But it’s a very large ship—possibly a galleon. It outclasses this hunk of wood for sure.”

"A large seadweller warship flying the Empress's colors is in pursuit," Rose said. “Karkat, does that sound familiar to you?”

“I don’t think so?” he answered. “Everything she’s saying sounds right, but I don’t know why!” 

“You can do it,” Kanaya urged. “It’s like having a conversation with yourself. Trust that the part of you that makes you feel confused is right. Keep asking it why until it explains itself to you.”

Karkat looked at the speck on the horizon. “I know it’s Eridan. The same sleazy, hemoist bastard we’ve always known.”

“You’re not sure of that, are you?”

“I am sure! He’s been like that ever since I can remember. You know, a self-centered, egotistical, needlessly dramatic kiss-ass. His service to the Compasse is his only worthwhile trait.”

“Service to the Compasse?” Terezi repeated, her eyebrows going crazy above her glasses. “I think Karkles has got it!”

“Give him space!” Vriska ordered. “Lalonde, you’re the one who has a plan about what we should do. Hop to it.”

Karkat looked down at his shoes, hair falling into his eyes after his slip of the tongue. Kanaya drifted a little closer to him, and Dave fought the instinct to do so, too. He shouldn’t smother the guy when he was so close to being the Chimeric. Instead, Dave looked to Rose as she paced in a small circle around the deck, taking in the details of the ship. She looked on the verge of doing the Lighty thing again. He fully expected her to pull out her wands and start waving them around to scry the memory.

Then the sails folded themselves. The billowing squares of canvas tucked themselves back against the huge wooden booms they were hanging from.

“Surrender,” Rose said softly, then she raised her voice again. “Alright, I need everyone, excluding Karkat, to protest that I have stopped the ship!”

“Why?” Vriska asked.

“I’m electing to roleplay as the captain for now. I have reason to believe the captain chose to surrender to imperial forces.”

“Wait, no! You can’t surrender! I won’t allow it!” Terezi jumped in, shaking a fist at Rose.

“The Empress has sent a warship. We have no other choice,” Rose responded.

“But you just can’t! If you surrender, we’ll have to suffer so many terrible consequences!”

“I have to make a decision based on presented evidence. We can’t outrun them, and we can’t fight them.”

“I have people counting on me to reach the other side! If I’m not there to help, everyone will suffer!”

“We’ve got criminals aboard,” Vriska joined in. “If you surrender, you’re damning all of them to the slammer!”

“They knew that when they decided to run. If we surrender, some may be pardoned.”

“You don’t know that! Put those sails back down right now!”

“I feel very strongly that I should arrive at my destination unharmed!” Kanaya added. Rose offered a sympathetic smile at her attempt. Dave wanted to slow-clap for her.

“I promise, if we could evade them, we would,” Rose said. “But we have no choice.”

Dave glanced to Karkat. He was watching Rose now, but seemed a little dazed, like an actor who missed a cue and was trying to catch up. Well, Dave wasn’t much for sincere roleplaying, but he could at least bring Karkat into the action.

"Captain!" Dave said, then pointed at Karkat. “Here's the Chimeric."

Rose shot him a 'really?' look, probably because she wanted him to develop a stronger character or something, but Dave didn't care. That announcement seemed good enough for Karkat.

"Why have we stopped?" Karkat demanded.

Rose turned to him. "We've spotted an imperial vessel in pursuit. They demand our surrender."

"And you listened? You'll doom us all if you surrender.”

"There's nothing else I can do! We either surrender now or submit later."

"Who says we must submit later?"

Rose pointed toward the ship. "He does."

Karkat looked to the ship. “Someone, give me a glass.”

Vriska tossed the spyglass to Rose, who placed it in Karkat's hands. He raised it to his eye and looked. And after a few seconds, he laughed.

"The Seafarer!” he barked, passing the glass back to Rose. "There's no need to fear whatsoever. Lower the sails and continue, captain."

"What makes you so quick to dismiss this ‘Seafarer’ as a threat?" Rose asked.

"Because he's nothing more than a self-important sycophant basking on old achievements. The last time he accomplished anything worth recording was centuries ago. The Absolution is his glorified showboat.”

Vriska sauntered back over to the main crew. "The Absolution is a galleon class. He's got double our cannons, expert sailors, a larger crew, and actual experience at sea. Say whatever you want about his character, we're still fucked."

Terezi wheeled on Karkat. "This is your fault! If you weren't on this ship this wouldn’t be happening!”

“Lay off,” Dave told her, but he didn’t have anything to say beyond that. He just didn’t think it was fair to personally attack Karkat over this ancestor shit.

“And what if it is?” Karkat turned his attention to Terezi. “Time will not flow backwards, no matter the mistake. I implore you, skip the blame and live with the consequences! Whether or not he’s here for me, he’s pursuing us, so we must flee!”

“At this point, we’ve lost any hope of outrunning him since we’ve stopped for so long,” Vriska said.

“Then we stand and fight,” Karkat said.

“That’s unacceptable,” Rose told him. “We’ll be destroyed for sure.”

“Cede command to me. If we are defeated, you and anyone who wishes to surrender will be treated as rescued hostages, forced into submission by the Chimeric’s mutiny,” Karkat said. “I will take the blame for the actions of the ship in that unlikely event.”

“And if I refuse to step down?”

“Then I will turn that hypothetical mutiny into a real one.” Karkat leveled his gaze with her. “I have had to explain my willingness to use any means necessary more times than I care to recount. Just understand that no reasoning, bargaining, or pleading will change my mind. Get out of my way peacefully, and I will not have to show you how far I am willing to go.”

Rose held his eyes for several tense seconds, but then finally let it go. “Then lead, Chimeric. Anyone willing to help will follow you, but those unwilling must be allowed to stand aside.”

“Very wise terms, Captain. I accept them,” Karkat told her. Rose bowed her head and shuffled behind Karkat next to Dave.

“What are you doing?” he hissed at her.

“Hoping for a new role,” Rose whispered back.

“Now!” Karkat turned back to everyone else. “I know that each and every one of you has a reason to reach Althelney! There’s something you’re burning for there, something that will give you hope! And we are being pursued by despair incarnate, who will try and take your hope from you if you do not fight!”

He spread his arms wide and addressed the five adolescents like they were a crowd of fifty. “I am not your damnation! I am your deliverance! If for a single moment you felt hope for your future while aboard this ship, then stand with me now!”

Dave shrugged and gave a Braveheart-y shout in response. Terezi, either rapidly developing her character or switching roles, hurrahed too, and Rose and Kanaya followed suit. Vriska folded her arms, but not in a quitter way, just a doubter way. He surveyed their faces, and then nodded. “This is it, huh?”

“Were you expecting more?” Dave couldn’t help quipping.

Karkat smirked at Dave. Okay, damn, smirking was a good look for Karkat. “Not at all. This is more than enough to trounce that pretentious ass,” he said. “Now, what do we have for weapons?”

“Eight guns on each side,” Vriska reported. “There’s ball shot for hulls and chain shot for rigging. We probably have powder to spare for improvised explosives, and there’s normal lengths of rope if you want to get creative.”

“Any individual weapons? Rifles, swords?”

“I saw a chest of rifles, but I couldn’t find any swords. You’ll have to fight with the blades people brought.”

Karkat thumbed along his waist, where a belt with two silvery steel sickles hung. They seemed bright and new, but utilitarian, like the kind of weapons created by a culture that did not glorify what weapons were good for. “That should be enough. Thank you. Now, Deadbeat, bring the rifles to the deck and distribute them.”

Dave blinked. “Wait, are you talking to me?”

The nubby troll looked directly at Dave. “Of course. There’s no time to argue.”

“No, I get that, but what did you just call me?” Dave started to protest, but Rose grabbed his sleeve and tugged him away.

“He’s just following the memory. Don’t take it personally.”

“No way was there an ancient troll named ‘Deadbeat.’ No one uses ‘deadbeat’ as a name, that’s bullshit, and I don’t have to stand here and take it—”

“Shh!” Rose cut him off. Karkat was still talking, this time to Kanaya.

“Take the flags and signal to the Absolution that we will not comply with their orders and that we refuse to surrender, now or ever,” he instructed, and then turned to Terezi. “And you and seven other volunteers should go below decks. Instruct them on how to load the cannons. Start with ball shot, and listen for my command of port or starboard.”

“Who’s going to steer the ship?” she asked.

“My moirail will take the wheel,” Karkat answered without blinking. “Will this be a problem?”

“Not at all!” Terezi grabbed Vriska by the arm and pulled her toward the wheel.

“Wait a minute, you’re making me be him?!” Vriska protested.

“You’re the best at actually sailing!” 

“That’s disgusting!”

“We’ve found a real ancient memory and Karkles is playing along, so I don’t care if you’re filling in for the Condesce or Cronus! You have to steer!” Terezi argued.

“Ugh, fiiiiiiiine!”

“Lower the sails!” Karkat pointed a sickle toward the mast. “Our victory begins now!”

Dave looked up to see the sails unfurl. Shadows of color scurried around them, vaguely person-shaped. Is this his memory of the sailors?

And then when Dave looked down, Karkat had changed. His sweater had lost its sign, and looked slimmer, like it was made from silk instead of wool. The trim had silver scales sewn into it, snaking around the bottom and along a high collar. And the shoulder armor made for a pretty striking addition. He looked like a warrior from an old greyscale photo, with every detail remembered except the color. And the way he gazed out at the horizon, strong and noble, and totally confident that he would defend everyone, he looked...

Hot, Dave thought. Oh, shit.

"Chimeric?" Kanaya said. "We are not gaining much speed. Outrunning our pursuers is impossible.”

“They’re sending us a semaphore message,” Rose said, this time with the glass to her own eye. “It most likely is a response to our defiant boast. They are not amused.”

"Leave the sails and prepare for battle!" Karkat ordered. "Stay the course for now! Deadbeat, where are the rifles?!"

“Oh, right!” Dave ran across the deck and opened some chests that looked long enough to have guns. All he was finding so far was rope, rope, and more rope, but thanks to his year of experience with the bullshit chest system he wasn’t surprised.

"Cannons are prepared to fire!" Terezi added.

"Hold until we're even with his broadside! On my signal!"

"Aye aye, sir!"

“Deadbeat, the rifles?!”

Rose joined Dave in the search for the guns, and on the first try, found the crate of rifles. She held one up and smirked at Dave.

"Go suck a bayonet," Dave complained at her, but he grabbed two guns and ran back to Karkat. “Got ‘em!”

"Good! Arm everyone above decks. Get to cover, and on my command, lead a firing squad. Understand?" Karkat held out a hand, and Dave deposited a rifle in his outstretched palm.

"Sure, why not?" Dave said. Rose had already taken the liberty of arming Kanaya and Terezi. Terezi had the bright idea to actually lick the bayonet. She smacked her lips and declared it tangy. "So can any of us actually use riflekind?"

"No, but so long as we stay in the tracks provided by the memory, the simple action of holding and firing the rifle should be enough to mimic the aim of those who came before. Whether they were fine or lousy shots is out of our control."

“He’s pulling up on the port side!" Vriska shouted.

"Rifles to port!" Karkat decided.

"What good are rifles gonna do?" the Thief grumbled, but Karkat ignored her.

Dave took a closer look at the now ship-sized ship a few hundred yards away. All dark wood and bright sails, with that zig-zaggy sign on one and pink flags everywhere. It looked half again the length of their ship, and taller too, with two rows of cannons on the visible side.

Fuck, fuck, fuck... Dave's knuckles went white around the rifle barrel.

"Port cannons, ready!" Karkat shouted. Is he not scared at all?

Terezi took a moment to answer, "Ready!" and crouched with her gun behind the ship's bannister.

Karkat waited another minute for the Lux Volans to line up with his enemy. Then the order came. "FIRE!"

A series of booms shuddered under Dave's feet. The cannons fired at the Seafarer, eight balls of iron sailing in an arc… and all of them fell short, splashing into the ocean. 

"They aren't strong enough," Kanaya noticed. "And there’s more semaphore!”

Dave followed her gaze. Across the deck and visible to the naked eye, two nearly-disembodied square flags flashed a jerky pattern, like clockwork. The sailor waving them was barely a gray smudge, poorly remembered by the dreambubble’s occupants.

"Desist... and surrender!" Vriska interpreted. "What do you say to that?"

"I cordially invite him to press his face against a hot place until he blisters! Oozing pustules would improve his visage tenfold!” Karkat snarled. "Pull starboard, put distance between us!"

Vriska turned the wheel, but another cluster of thunderous booms echoed from the opposing ship. Fourteen hunks of iron zoomed their direction.

"GET DOWN!" Vriska howled, and everyone hit the deck. The majority of the shot struck them directly in the hull, with only two or three misses. Dave could hear the wood splinter and crack.

Karkat was on his feet again, running. "Stay starboard! Rifles, to the stern!"

While Vriska turned the wheel, everyone sprinted to the back of the ship. The Seafarer had pulled up his own sails, slowing down and turning to maneuver to the starboard side, where he had fresh cannons. So did Karkat's boat, but they had just received a crystal-clear demonstration that the Seafarer’s guns had longer range.

Dave's heart pounded just behind his eyes. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide. But everyone was standing with him, staring at him. What was he supposed to do?

The bow of the Seafarer's ship crossed behind the Lux Volans. Karkat joined them in the firing squad this time, his rifle nestled against his shoulder, and the girls followed suit. Dave tried, but he caught sight of four more guns facing forward.

"Shoot!" Karkat ordered the squad, but Dave ducked. Gunshots sounded above his head, and seconds later everyone else dropped behind cover as the cannons he had seen answered fire.

"This isn't working," Kanaya said.

"It’s working—we’re just not winning!” Rose answered. “We’re not meant to win. The Chimeric lost this battle." Karkat, strangely oblivious to the conversation, dropped his rifle and ran to the ammunitions crate for another.

"So much for an amazing military commander," Terezi said.

"Maybe he grew into that talent. But if this is his first time fighting at sea, and against a vastly more experienced and better-equipped opponent, we should expect this outcome."

"HEY!" Karkat barked back at them. "Rifles to starboard! Move!"

Rose led the group back toward Karkat, where they fumbled through the motions of reloading, which from the Chimeric's memory granted them new ammunition. Dave just fiddled with his unfired gun while they crouched and awaited the order.

“Pull closer! Turn toward starboard!” Karkat ordered.

"Are you nuts? He's going to riddle that side full of holes too!" Vriska argued.

"Do it! Otherwise we'll never have a chance to strike!"

Vriska groaned and pulled harder on the wheel, pulling their ship closer to the Absolution.

"Aim for the crew," Karkat said to his firing squad.

"Really?" Terezi questioned.

“We have to do what it takes to win. If we can wound them, they might retreat!”

“What if we don't have enough ship to sail away in?" Dave asked.

Karkat checked over the bannister. "I'm working on that. Now, STAND!"

The firing squad did. Dave ordered his legs to move, but they wouldn't cooperate. They were shaking too badly, and left him curled against the bannister. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to run. He wanted out.

“Get the fuck up, Dave. I’m not finished with you.”

Karkat ordered everyone to brace for the Seafarer's cannons. Literally every shot from his broadside struck their hull with more cracks and splinters. The ship started to lurch.

“Starboard cannons, FIRE!" Karkat howled the instant he was on his feet again. From within their own ship, more booms sounded, but the Absolution slowed down the instant the first syllable left Karkat's mouth. During the fuse delay, the Seafarer pulled the ship back, and only the last cannonball glanced off of its armored bow.

"Ugggh, I smell black powder and despair!" Terezi groaned.

“Did you guys see that?! Did you see that!!!!!!!!” Vriska crowed. “Eridan was never this badass! If he was I might have stayed pitch for him, damn!"

"Now is not the time to discuss your quadrants!" Kanaya called back, then looked to Karkat. "What now?"

He gritted his teeth. "He’s coming round to attack our other side! Rifles to the stern again!” Everyone started running, but Karkat crouched down next to Dave.

"Hey," he said, quieter. “Are you okay?”

Dave stared at him for a minute. When was the last time someone had asked him that? He couldn't even remember.

“…No,” Dave admitted. Rose might say he was fucking it all up, trying to talk to Karkat while he was being the Chimeric, but he didn't care. "I thought I could do this, but I can't. I'm sorry, I can’t… I can’t do this.”

Karkat nodded, not a single trace of anger or disappointment on his face. "It's alright. You’ve done a lot, and it means a lot that you stepped up to help.” He eased the rifle out of Dave’s hands. “We’ll take it from here. It’s okay.”

“N—No, I have to do something…”

“Can you keep us in bullets?”

"What?"

“Reload the fired rifles for us. Then we can fire faster. Can you do that?"

"I… think so. Sure."

Karkat smiled and placed a hand on Dave’s shoulder. His tunic started to steep red at the sleeve, like it was leeching crimson from Dave’s God Tier clothes. "Thank you. We’re gonna make it. I’m going to protect you, I swear."

Oh shit. Oh shit squared. Karkat helped Dave to his feet, and helped him gather the spent guns. "I'm counting on you!" he added, and then joined the others for another round. His silvery tunic had filled with bright crimson. Compared to his usual outfit, he blazed.

Dave did his best with his new job. Fuck if he knew how rifles worked, but usually after some poking they would load themselves, and Dave shoved them into the hands of his friends. It gave him half a minute to think about what was going wrong in his head. Karkat was being all bold and dashing and trying so hard to save everyone. And apparently that made him look hot to Dave. But he wasn't a girl. What was going on? Was the Deadbeat gay, and that gayness was bleeding into Dave's head from trillions of years ago?

The battle raged around him, one-sided and hopeless. The Absolution danced around their smaller ship, blowing holes in the hull and leaving them with less and less to fight with. Nothing Karkat tried could even leave a scratch on the war galleon, and the worse the battle got, the more dangerous the deck became, full of debris and broken booms.

"We could die here," Kanaya realized. “Since the meteor physically entered a dreambubble, none of us have the luxury of dream projections that wake upon death.”

"We're going to be fine, we know the Chimeric survives," Rose said.

"What about those of us who aren't the Chimeric?" Terezi said. "And if Karkat loses the trail of the memory, he’ll be in just as much danger."

"The Seafarer isn't really trying to kill us! He’s just a memory!"

"A deadly memory! Not all of us are gods, and if a God Tier dies saving us, it will probably count as heroic!"

“Maybe we can abscond,” Vriska shouted from the helm. "If we break from the memory that monster ship might disappear, like quitting a game without saving. It’s a loser’s strategy, but it might save our asses.”

Through the whole debate, Karkat kept trying to fight. Cannons and gunshot didn't work, but desperation kept him moving on. Bright red, blazing red, he had to keep trying. Dave kept putting new guns in his hand.

And then they heard a crackle of lightning. A bright blue beam fired directly across the bow, slicing ropes and rigging apart. One of the suffering masts heaved.

“Ahab’s Crosshairs!" Vriska called. "Holy shit, that's a good shot! Aim that good on a moving ship, fuuuuuuuuck!”

“Swoon later! Run now!" Terezi screamed at her.

"Alright! Hang on!" Vriska turned the wheel as far as it could go, sharply turning away from the Absolution. More laser fire tore their sails to shreds, but after a few volleys the assault ceased.

"Is he done?" Kanaya looked over her shoulder. The ship was still in pursuit, but no more arcs of blue chased them.

Then Dave heard something go thunk. He looked up at the top of the center mast and saw a harpoon stuck in it.

“Nope!” was all the warning Dave was able to give. He followed the rope back toward the Absolution, but whoever was holding it moved too fast. They leapt from a high mast, let the rope go taut, and a blur of violet swung toward their ship. The angle looked like he was going to hit… "VRISKA!"

She barely had time to look up. The man on the rope delivered a sharp kick to the side of her head as he flew by. Vriska hit the deck, hard and unconscious.

"No!” Dave couldn't tell who had shouted that, Karkat or Terezi, but they both ran Vriska's direction. The violet man dropped from the rope and landed in front of Karkat, blocking his path to the helm while Terezi passed him.

The Seafarer stood. He was taller than anyone Dave had ever seen, with jagged horns adding to his height. He had a purple coat with his sign embroidered along his chest, sturdy boots, and a long, straight sword hanging at his waist. He fixed Karkat with a cold, pure-white gaze.

“His ghost!” Kanaya realized.

Dave looked to the red-blazing Karkat. He had those silvery sickles in his hands now, clean and sharp. Maybe he didn't care this was a ghost. Maybe he was too deep in the memory to notice he was dealing with the real thing. Either way, Dave flinched as the Seafarer drew his sword with a scrape of metal. 

We are so fucked.

Chapter Text

Vriska blinked, disoriented. She could have sworn she was lying on the ground, but now she was sitting up, near the bow of the ship. She massaged one temple, trying to piece together what had actually happened. It was like this weird gap.

“Vriska!” She heard Terezi, and then saw the tealblood kneel down before her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, what…” Vriska looked over Terezi’s shoulder at her own body lying motionless near the deck.

“The Seafarer kicked you in the head. I’m so sorry, I’m the one who told you to be the Mournful, I put you there—”

“Terezi, chill! Water under the suspended crossing construction!” Vriska brushed off Terezi’s concern. It’s like she thinks I’m made of glass now! She had a weird sense of déjà vu, too, from the last time she got knocked unconscious and woke up to see Terezi fussing over her. “What did I miss?”

"Not much. The Seafarer and Karkat have started trash-talking, but that literally just started. I think they’re about to duel. It also looks like this is the Seafarer’s ghost, so he’s got free will like us. No escaping unless we can get back to the meteor.”

"Alright, leave me snoozing and let's get over there before we miss anything."

The ship lurched as they went, the masts continuing to tip dangerously, but they managed to rejoined Dave, Rose, and Kanaya on the main deck. The Absolution had attached to the side of the Lux Volans with grappling hooks and pulled it close, but the crumbling ship would dissolve into flotsam soon. Meanwhile, Karkat and the Seafarer were squaring off with weapons. Vriska could see the white in the Seafarer’s eyes, confirming him as a ghost. Did he not realize he was dead yet, so he was just playing out his old memories with the closest available analog? But only ghosts who remembered dying had white eyes. Why was he bothering with the memory if he knew he was dead?

"You're just makin' it harder for yourself," the Seafarer said. "Come home peacefully and you'll be protected."

"Do you look at me and see a troll who knows peace?" Karkat responded. He sounds like Troll Shakespeare. What an ass. "I will never surrender to a lackey like you."

"Lackey?" The Seafarer scoffed. "You have a sinking ship, wounded crew, unconscious culler, and no choice but to surrender to me or drown."

Karkat lifted a sickle. "I choose to fight. Single combat."

"To first blood?"

"To first yield."

The Seafarer raised an eyebrow. "And if this chunk of driftwood falls apart beneath your feet?"

"To. First. Yield," Karkat repeated.

The ghost smiled. "I can live with that. Now, who shall strike first?"

Karkat answered that question by running forward and swinging at the Seafarer. Vriska ran calculations in her head as the fight began. Two sickles versus one cutlass, a mutant six-sweeper fighting an adult seadweller: this couldn't end well. On Alternia, it would have ended with certain and brutal death, but she supposed on a soft-glove planet like Beforus, murder probably didn't even occur to the Seafarer as a viable strategy.

I mean, wouldn't it make his job so much easier if he just killed the Chimeric here? He shot up the ship to oblivion, so he could dump his body with the shipwreck and call it an accident.

And, as expected, the Seafarer was toying with him. Vriska could see it in the light ease of his motions. Karkat lashed out with his sickles, and the ghost knew just how to move between their curved blades to stop him. It was like a two-man replay of the naval battle that had just ended.

Kanaya whispered loudly enough for the group to hear. "If he's a ghost, he can break from the memory, too. He could harm Karkat if he wanted.”

"If he wanted to harm Karkat, he wouldn't have played along with the memory," Rose said.

“He’ll be fine, trust me," Vriska said. "I've got reflexes fast enough I can gank his luck if he tries to really fuck with Karkat."

"Is that why you're taking a nap by the wheel?” Rose added.

"Hey!"

The Seafarer picked up the pace, and with one well-placed strike, he locked Karkat's sickles and pushed him back. Karkat fell and hit the deck, skidding backward.

"Do you understand yet, 'Guardian Chimeric?'" The Seafarer drawled, while he swung his sword in a confident loop. "You're nothing but—”

But Karkat wasn't done. He rolled over his shoulder and recovered into a coiled crouch. In his recovery, he shed the Chimeric’s crimson, returning to his normal self, sign and sweater. And then he equipped his Crabsickles out of his strife specibus.

"RRGGGAAAAAAH!"

He launched forward, swinging faster, striking harder, and startling a glub out of the Seafarer. The ghost blocked him in the nick of time, but where he had clearly expected the fight to be over, Karkat returned with a fury even fiercer than that which the Chimeric had brought before. The Seafarer was on the defense now, struggling to keep up with Karkat’s moves.

"Aw, the cherry clothes are gone. So Karkat lost the memory?" Terezi said.

"He's acting like he's still in it," Rose said. "But he's not following his alternate self's actions."

Vriska watched them, and the longer she did, the weirder she felt about it. Karkat had been their leader all through the game. She had told people it was because it had been easier to do what he said to make him shut up, and some of that was still true. But she had a sense of why Karkat had lost the Chimeric’s path yet managed to stay in the memory. He and his old self were pursuing the same goal…

The Seafarer was still strong. Old, well-trained, experienced: Karkat's vicious Alternian upbringing couldn't entirely balance the skill difference between Ampora and Vantas. At least, not without a little more assistance. A flash of light surrounded Karkat as he drew up a particularly nasty attack.

HEMOCHROMATIC SHREDDER

The fraymotif burst into life around him. Karkat flew at the Seafarer with a series of artfully sequential strikes, each meant to exploit the weakness of the parry that would have blocked the previous blow. The Seafarer matched each move as it happened, but they forced him back, far back, shaking his sword and making him grit his teeth. It started to look like the Seafarer could actually lose.

“Go Karkles!" Terezi cheered. “Kick his ass!”

"Make him a fish fillet!" Dave joined.

Vriska rolled her eyes. Dumbasses.

Karkat progressed up the chromatic scale, then started to descend it with a second wind. The Seafarer was nearly at the shattered railing, debris littered about him. Was Karkat going to force him off the ship? Before he got too far, the Seafarer stooped and grabbed a chunk of broken ship and hurled it in Karkat's face. The wood knocked Karkat on the horn, blunt and sudden enough to give him a sharp ringing just behind his eyes, if only for a few seconds. The light of the fraymotif disappeared as Karkat clutched his head.

"Foul!" Kanaya shouted. “You cheater!"

The Seafarer didn't care. With Karkat's fraymotif interrupted, he kicked the mutant in the chest and knocked him on his back again.

"Do you... understand yet? ‘Guardian Chimeric?’” The Seafarer had to pause to catch his breath. “You're not suited to this… War... Revolution... Blood like yours sh… hah… hah… blood like yours should know its place."

Karkat groaned and rolled onto his stomach, reaching for one of the Chimeric’s steel sickles. Wisps of smoke started to gather behind the Seafarer.

"You still don't yield?" the Seafarer asked. "What will it take… to make you give up?"

It was too far away. He tried to pull up onto his elbows to crawl. This is disgusting. Put him out of his misery! More smoke gathered, solid and person-shaped.

"I'm tellin' you, it's not worth it! I'll beat you as many times as I must to prove it!"

The ship heaved again as an internal strut failed. This ship had minutes left before the structure failed completely. The smoke behind the Seafarer turned olive and nearly had a full body.

"Everyone you swore to protect will die here if you don't surrender. Face the facts and give up!"

"I will never resign myself to my existence," Karkat growled at him. "I'm not like you."

A flash of anger crossed the Seafarer's face, and he lifted his sword to strike the fallen Karkat. Out of the corner of her eye, Vriska could see weapons flash into hands—wands, blades, a chainsaw—and realized she had the Octet in her fingers, too.

But no one had the chance to move. The collection of smoke was finally recognizable as a person in a tattered green dress. That green blur leapt forward and tackled the Seafarer from behind, toppling him to the ground and making him drop his sword. Seizing the moment, Karkat retrieved his sickles and joined the fray again, fighting alongside the shadow to subdue the Seafarer. 

He had no more tricks. Fighting two foes, caught by surprise, and disarmed, the Seafarer couldn't do anything but struggle until he was kneeling and Karkat was on his feet. Karkat grabbed a fistful of the Seafarer's hair, pulled it back, and jammed his sickles under his exposed throat. A simple flex would slit his throat. A harsher pull would decapitate him.

"Do you yield?!" Karkat cried.

"You backstabbin' mutant! You said single combat!”

The green shape snarled at the Seafarer, and Karkat asked again, louder. “Do you yield?!"

He kept his teeth bared, but the Seafarer answered: "I do. I yield, you miserable reject.”

Karkat raised his head toward the Absolution. "The Seafarer has surrendered! His life is forfeit!"

"Fuck yeah!" Dave shouted, starting to clap. "Show that hipster douchelord who's boss!" Terezi whooped too, while Rose and Kanaya applauded.

Karkat glanced at Dave, and kind of half-smiled. Then he blinked a few more times, and started to look around, like he was noticing his surroundings for the first time: the broken ship to the war vessel beside them, the sickles in his hands, the olive shadow, and the Seafarer, surrendering.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Um… what now?”

The Seafarer, still with the sickles at his neck, scoffed. "Have you forgotten your lines, boy?"

"Huh?"

"What you said next. Can you remember it?"

Karkat scrunched up his forehead, and after a minute, he had to admit, "No, I... I lost it. I don’t know what… he said.”

"It was quite the proclamation. 'Any who seeks to arrest me must bear the burden of giving the Empress her moirail's head.' Words worthy of going down in history, if you ask me."

"And... she helped." Karkat looked at the shadow. She had hair down to her shoulders and an olive dress she had ripped with alterations, sleeves torn off and slits cut to allow free movement. Her feet and hands were wrapped in once-white cloth, and her horns left no question who she was.

"Nepeta," Terezi said.

“She saved me,” Karkat added. “She’s the reason I won.”

"If you're quite finished, can you let me up?" the Seafarer cut in. "This ship isn't gettin’ any more buoyant."

Karkat clenched his fists, but lowered his sickles. The Seafarer stood and dusted himself.

“I hope you don’t mind if I take the liberty a movin’ us ahead,” the Seafarer said. “It’s best to skip over the truly humiliatin’ parts anyway.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Terezi agreed. “It’ll be easier to talk to each other when we’re not sinking.”

The Seafarer nodded and snapped his fingers. The scenery flickered and switched, but only about a hundred feet to port. The broken deck of the Lux Volans transformed into the dark, polished wood of the Absolution. The sinking ship disappeared completely, but before Vriska could even gasp, she noticed her body had transferred to the new ship, too, lying on a lower deck about the same distance away. She knew it would be pretty lame of her to drown unconscious in a dream, so she’d have been sure to revive, but she’d rather not have to experience that. Right now, the situation was at least stable, and she could stand not calling attention to her embarrassment earlier. She made a mental note to have Terezi wake her body up later.

“So what just happened? How far have we skipped ahead?” Kanaya asked.

The Seafarer strode toward the helm, but stayed on the main deck. Crates and supplies had been stacked near one of the sets of stairs, and it would make a fairly comfortable seating arrangement for all of them. As he walked, the crew of the meteor trailed after him.

“Only a few minutes. With a valuable hostage at his disposal, the Chimeric demanded that the crews switch ships. He and his band of misfits commandeered the Absolution, while he forced my crew aboard the sinking heap a rubbish he was abandonin’.”

“So all of that effort you put into destroying your opponent’s ship left you completely unable to pursue him,” Rose summarized.

“His total failure as a naval commander turned into a victory at the very last second.” Vriska smiled and winked at the mutant. “That sounds like our Karkat!”

“Well, what else were we supposed to do? He took a very valuable prisoner a war from my crew,” the Seafarer said.

“You,” Dave said.

“Precisely. Locked up on my own ship. I didn’t think it was useful to this narrative for you to witness my chain-shamblin’ embarrassment.”

“No, I think I’d like to see that,” Vriska said, unable resist the dig.

The Seafarer shot back, “Mind yourself, wiggler.”

The old ghost settled himself on a crate while everyone else took similar seats in a rough semicircle: humans and Kanaya to one side, Scourge Sisters to the other, and Karkat staying standing.

“Now,” the Seafarer began, “I don’t have the firmest grasp on how much time has passed since I met my demise, but a boatful of wigglers and aliens was not what I expected to find when I caught sight of the Lux Volans.”

“Well, we didn’t expect you to be the actual ghost of the Seafarer either, so I think we’re square,” Terezi said.

“Regardless...” The Seafarer looked to Karkat. “I have questions for you.”

Karkat barked out a laugh. "Oh, you have questions? Get in line, fuckass."

Chapter Text

Rose had a thousand questions and she only had until the meteor left the dreambubble to ask them. Her mind whirred, trying to marshal them into a hierarchy: leave out the details and redundancies, focus on the priorities. With limited time, she needed to decide exactly what the Seafarer—and only the Seafarer—knew, and ask about that.

Unfortunately, one of her comrades and the ancestor himself had other plans. As soon as they had settled down enough to enter ‘question mode,’ both Vriska and the Seafarer started demanding answers to what they wanted to know, and were too bull-headed to realize that no one would get what they wanted unless one of them backed down.

From what Rose remembered of conversations with Eridan Ampora, she regarded him as a person of assumptions, who drew whichever conclusions suited his imagination. To him, Rose had been an authority on magic, a highblood princess, and a viable romantic partner. Just about all three of those things were false, for different reasons. She would hope that if Eridan were to have reached adulthood, he would have outgrown jumping to ludicrous conclusions. Karkat had remembered the Chimeric’s comment that the Seafarer was centuries old at the time of their ocean duel, after all. But, there was a chance he still thought he already knew the score.

“Maybe we should start with some of the high-level concepts,” Rose said, cutting through the nonsense as she pulled her guidebook from her sylladex. “Seafarer, I think there are a few details we can share with you about the afterlife. Specifically, how the living and aliens can exist here.”

“Well, I knew aliens were here,” the Seafarer answered. “I met a man much like you two, on a vessel a his own. One a those engine-sailers with no masts.”

“Wait, you’ve seen a human before?” Dave asked him.

“Oh, that’s the name a your species? But yes, he was one a your kind, with a hat and strange hair between his nose and mouth. Not much for conversation, but he had an adventurer’s heart, a kindred spirit. He was dead, too.”

Jade’s grandpa, Rose deduced. But this line of questioning was wasting time, and she had a lot to cover if she wanted to appease the Seafarer and make him open up about the rest of his story. She flipped her book open to a page describing the two instances of the troll’s home world, Beforus and Alternia.

“It would make sense for that individual to be here, given what we know about dreambubble mechanics,” Rose said. “You see, the place we are currently occupying does function as the afterlife for a number of individuals whose lives are intertwined with a specific game. It is also a place where living dreamers that meet similar conditions can enter. The actual fabric of reality out here is rather complex, and is best summed up using the technical term ‘utter bullshit.’ Unless you require a more detailed explanation, I’d rather not get into it.”

The Seafarer chuckled. “No, ‘utter bullshit’ sums it up nicely.”

“As for the representation of trolls in these dreambubbles, there were two instances of the trolls’ homeworld,” Rose began. “It started as Beforus, your home, with twelve ancestors of noteworthy influence and importance. You are one of them, as well as many of your contemporaries. The descendants of your cohort went on to play a game which ended the world, and resulted in the creation of Alternia.”

“So they resurrected the race after all?”

“Not exactly. We’re still working on the resurrection part,” Rose said with a small glance at Kanaya, hoping to reassure her. Maybe the Seafarer had a right to know that Eridan had destroyed their Matriorb, but Rose felt the pressure of hypothetical time and wanted to avoid the subject. “That was not a true resurrection. All of creation was undone, and then re-done, with slightly different conditions that ultimately led to a very different planet, which was also destroyed in a similar fashion.”

“How different was the new planet?”

“I think I can cut to the chase on that one,” Terezi said. “What was the dictionary definition of ‘to cull’ on Beforus?”

“To provide aid and protection to a disadvantaged troll,” the Seafarer answered. “In practice, the definition included the condition that their blood had to be warmer than yours for you to cull them.”

“That sounds lovely,” Terezi continued. “The difference is, Alternia’s dictionary definition for ‘to cull’ was ‘to slaughter the weak and injured, or anyone else you can get the upper hand on.’ With a blood caveat on the end there, too.”

The Seafarer gaped at Terezi. “That’s horrifying! How could trolls even live like that!? There’s no way the species could’ve survived all that hatred and violence!”

“Oh, like you’re so above it all.” Vriska flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“And just what do you mean by that?”

“Little Eridan never won any awards for being flower-crown child of peace,” she sneered. “All of us here have seen what you’re capable of.”

“This isn’t the right time to talk about this!” Rose insisted. “The actions and beliefs of children who grow up in a militaristic, totalitarian society will be very different from those raised as part of a peaceful collective, even when you compare two people who are essentially the same person.”

“Exactly how bad am I?” the Seafarer asked. “Please, I have to know.”

Rose hesitated for a moment, remembering caligulasAquarium and those violet words on her screen. All his bombastic rhetoric, bragging about how “the ocean wwas my killin cauldron” and other miscellaneous murders. And then he had killed two of his friends and tried to kill more.

“Genocidal,” Kanaya answered for Rose. “You made repeated attempts to engineer the demise of all landdwellers, arguing that would purify the bloodline.”

The Seafarer’s eyebrows pinched together, with two lines between them. “Oh no,” he muttered. “No, no, that’s not how I want to live! I need to speak with him, immediately.”

“He’s a ghost like you, so you two should have plenty of opportunities for a cross-universal Ampora reunion.” Vriska waved her hand dismissively. “And besides, it’s not like he did anything out of the ordinary for us highbloods. Eridan and I had quite the little mutually advantageous murder-machine running, so you don’t have anything to worry about!”

“We had a what?!”

“I’m just saying, you weren’t alone! Really, you, me, and Terezi here had some of the highest kill counts of our team,” she continued. “We laid waste to all of our enemies. Cut them down with barely any effort!”

“You two did that to some members of our team too,” Terezi cut in. “None of us have forgotten that, Vriska.”

“Why do you have to bring that up now?”

“Hang on!” the Seafarer cut in. “You killed each other? Your teammates?!”

“Um…” Terezi squiggled her mouth. “Yes?”

“So the four a you, you’re the survivors?”

Rose took the chance to direct the conversation back to the book. We’re losing time with outrage. “There are six alive trolls, five dead ones, and one half-ghost. The young Mournful, Gamzee, is alive but not present. Then the one living troll not traveling with us is named Aradia. I think she’ll be quite hospitable if you meet her.”

“So Fef and I… are dead,” he stated after a pause.

“I think the best people to explain how that happened are not here,” Rose asserted. “Really, when we’re finished here, you should look for the Eridan Ampora of Alternia. It might do the both of you some good.”

The ghost nodded a little dubiously. “I suppose. This whole chart looked like nonsense at first, but it’s startin’ to make more sense the longer I look. Twenty-four people, placed twice on two different planets, for a total a forty-eight individuals. And two members a my bloodline… each the descendant and ancestor a the other…”

“For a total of four incarnations of Amporas,” Rose said, finishing the calculation. “The term we’ve started to use is ‘dancestor,’ for a person who should be both your descendant and ancestor depending on which universe you view them from.”

“So… Eridan and… ‘Cronus’ are dancestors… I am ancestor to Cronus, alternate incarnation of Eridan, and my dancestor is… Dualscar.” The Seafarer frowned. “So many of these Alternians have despicable titles. Executor… Demoness… Condesce? What is Condesce short for?”

“Her Imperious Condescension,” Kanaya answered.

The Seafarer shivered a little. “She doesn’t sound like a queen worth servin’. No wonder Alternia turned out so awful if an Empress like her had the throne.”

“Hey, if you nearly fell to one of Karkat’s solo fraymotifs, you should probably not write off the Condesce so quickly,” Terezi advised. “She’s literally the most deadly troll in existence.”

“What was that called? A ‘fraymotif?’ Is that the maneuver or whatever the hell you did?”

Karkat nodded and puffed up his chest a little. “Hemochromatic Shredder. Ripped giants and basilisks to shreds in the game—even ones augmented with an Outer God.”

“Fascinating. I’ve never encountered anythin’ that strong in all my sweeps.” The Seafarer smirked at Karkat. “No wonder you had a hard time stayin’ in the Chimeric’s shoes.”

“Who said I had a hard time with it? That was grub’s play!” Karkat shot defensively.

“I’m tryin’ to pay you a compliment, boy. You as are you are now are stronger than he as he was then.” The Seafarer just smiled as Karkat tucked his chin into his sweater.

“But why were you playing out the memory in the first place?” Terezi asked. “You must have seen the Lux Volans and made a decision to pursue, even though you knew you were dead the whole time.”

“Because I had thought he might be there,” the Seafarer said. “I’ve met a few souls who don’t know they’re dead. They just keep livin’ through their memories, not realizin’ they’re dead until someone interrupts it. I think I was hopin’ I’d be the one to… break the news. Welcome him.”

“When did you realize that this was Karkat and not Karmeric?” Dave asked.

“When he got up after I knocked him down the first time.”

“So all the way through the memory, you thought you had found the real deal?”

“More or less. It’d be just like the Chimeric to find himself on a boatful a children and fashion them into sailors, if he thought there was somethin’ worth protectin’, all the while not carin’ that nothin’ around him was real.”

“Is that another compliment?” Terezi smirked.

“It’s a statement about what I know the Chimeric would’ve done,” the Seafarer said confidently.

“Cool,” Dave said. “So when are you going to tell us you’re the Betrayer?”

“Wait, what?!” Karkat looked at Dave like he had just suggested they defeat Jack with a group hug.

“Dave, spoilers!” Terezi hissed his way. “He was gonna reveal that eventually!”

“Yeah, you just single-handedly killed all the dramatic tension,” Vriska added. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, Earth Coolkid.”

“I’ll be prouder than a peacock who won best swagger at the arrogance festival if it means we cut to the goddamn chase,” Dave answered. “You are the Betrayer, right?”

The Seafarer tilted his head back and sighed. Rose had never seen such a perfectly executed display of sassy exasperation in her young life. And she thought she was sarcastic.

“If you’re dead-set on destroyin’ every scrap a respectable pacin’ in a good story, then sure. Look upon me, for I am the Betrayer, the Fallen One, Prince a Death, sworn enemy a her Radiant Compassion, who wants nothin’ but the destruction a our shinin’ Beforus. Happy?”

“Wow, Rose, you’re gonna need like three whole pages in your book to write down this tool’s titles,” Dave said, nudging Rose.

“But the Chimeric referred to you as the Empress’ moirail earlier,” Kanaya mentioned.

“Essentially, that was what made my betrayal such a definin’ part a my imprint on history. Runnin’ an empire that provides such extensive cullin’ services to all bloodlines is a hard operation for one troll to run, even a tyrian. We met early in her reign, I volunteered my service, and kept ascendin’ through the ranks until I was her agent, almost equivalent. I was empowered to act on her behalf in almost every situation imaginable.”

“But then why did you join the Chimeric in the first place? Obviously she would have rescued you, so you didn’t need to buddy up with the rebels just to get out,” Vriska said.

The Seafarer smiled, shook his head, and looked to Karkat. “He had me figured out. Knew exactly what to say to tear me apart, and how to set me on my feet again.”

“Uh…” Karkat replied gracefully.

Rose jumped in again, hopefully to spare Karkat. “Would you mind telling us more about what happened during the rebellion? We’ve only just begun to discover that part of the story, relative to everything else.”

The Seafarer shrugged. “I suppose I can help. What do you know already?”

“Step one,” Dave said. “Queen Cuddlefish finds a red grub. Step two, hooks that wiggle-babe up with a juggalo culler. Step three, nobody notices the clown is in diamonds with the kid. Step four, kid decides he’s gonna grow up to be a Guardian. Step five, Guardian Karmeric loses his shit and screams at everyone. Step six, Karmeric goes to war. Step seven, Karmeric dies, and step eight, Mournful goes to jail. We’re probably missing a ton of steps in there but that’s basically what we’ve got going on.”

“I’ll say you’re missin’ steps, from just about every phase a the story!” The Seafarer looked down his nose, almost offended by Dave’s summary. “Where do I even begin?”

“How about the part we know the least about?” Rose tried to wrest control of this conversation back into her hands. For fuck’s sake, with all these tangents she’d barely have any comprehensible, recordable information at the end of this all. “We need to know more about the rebellion. None of our other contacts in the dreambubbles have been able to tell us much about it. As a captain of a warship, you were probably very involved in the tactical side, weren’t you?”

“Precisely. The Chimeric knew his place was on the battlefield with the troops, and that mine was in the tent with the maps.”

“How long did the rebellion last?” Terezi asked.

“Organized armed conflict with the Compasse’s forces lasted approximately three sweeps. Some renegades kept it up for some sweeps after, but the whole affair was over within ten.”

“Why did three sweeps mark the end of organized conflict?” she followed.

“Because that’s when the Chimeric died.” The Seafarer closed his eyes for a second. “He had plans to orchestrate a cavebreak and secure a Matriorb. The strategy was to begin independent reproduction, so the rebellion would survive for broods beyond. Maybe we would have even created a divergent evolution. Somethin’ to create the pressure he thought we needed to survive.”

“Hang on, cavebreak?” Dave said.

“A crime, but also a genre of fiction, related to the brooding caverns and individuals who escape them. For purposes of health, safety, and security, the caverns were difficult to enter and exit, almost like a prison,” Kanaya filled in. “It’s strange to hear cavebreaks existed on Beforus, too. On Alternia, cavern service was essentially compulsory enslavement on punishment of death. Beforus seemed to have more of a tour-of-service model that permitted a number of freedoms.”

“There were jades dissatisfied with the system, and the Chimeric knew he’d find allies if he made his case,” the Seafarer added. “I don’t know what he was plannin’ for how to raise a mother grub with nothin’ but some defectors for auxilitrices, or how we were goin’ to dig our own caverns, but the plan never got that far.”

“What happened?”

“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know for sure,” the Seafarer said. “I stayed back at the stronghold to keep things runnin’ while the Chimeric, the Tameless, and the Mirthful left with our armies. Stragglin’ survivors and refugees returned.”

“So that must’ve been the battle where they met the Huntsman,” Terezi said.

“Huntsman?”

“Nitram, the brownblood of our spectrum.”

“Then you know more than me about how the Chimeric met his end.” The Seafarer folded his arms across his chest.

“Also, you said the Mirthful left with them,” Terezi said. “Was that the Mournful’s name pre-excommunication?”

“Yes, it was. And any loyal to the Chimeric used it,” the Seafarer said. “Who did you speak to who called him Mournful?”

“Him,” Dave said. “We found his ghost sitting in a memory of prison. That’s the reason we’re trying so hard to figure out who all the Beforan ancestors were. He saw Karkat and got excited for about three seconds before he got sad again. We figured it’d be cool to track down Karmeric for him, but it’s kind of up in the air whether they were even good at being molehills.”

“Moirails, you shit,” Karkat corrected instinctively.

The Seafarer sighed. “That fool,” he muttered, full of regret.

“Can you take a moment to help fill in these blanks?” Rose nudged the book toward the Seafarer again. “Anyone whose sign or title you remember?”

The Seafarer looked at the list. “All I can say for certain is you’re missin’ Marquise Prospera and Vigilant Lawscale. Some other pieces look familiar, but not enough for me to say I knew them.”

“You knew Prospera?” Vriska leaned in, grinning. “What was she like?”

“A duplicitous criminal, bridgin’ the gap between noble and nefarious,” he answered, a little rebuke in his voice. “It was her nature to mingle with the powerful, and I’m sure I brushed elbows with her every few sweeps or so. But her name meant nothin’ to me until a Vigilant presented evidence she had arranged transport for the rebellin’ Chimeric.”

“Wait, so that was my ship you shredded into wood chips?!” Vriska scowled at him. “You bastard!”

“I had my orders, and the Chimeric shot first,” the Seafarer said, defending his actions.

“Then who was Lawscale?” Terezi asked.

“A tealblood with your sign who presented evidence to the Compasse that she knew where the Chimeric was. Compasse authorized Lawscale to arrest Prospera, while I pursued the ship.”

“So… Terezi hunted me on Beforus, too?” Vriska said. Rose noticed Terezi curl in on herself a little bit, and also caught Vriska glancing at her sister before she continued speaking. “Well, the only one capable of taking down the brilliant Marquise Prospera was Lawscale anyway. Anything less would be undignified.”

“I think we’re missing the really important thing here,” Karkat spoke up. “Which is that Terezi ran to Feferi and snitched on me just to keep fucking with Vriska! Thanks for that, by the way!”

“Shut up for a second, Karkat, let me see if I got this right.” Terezi cleared her throat and steepled her fingers in front of her face. “Seafarer, when the illustrious Vigilant presented evidence to her Radiant Compassion, did she make a reference to the Lux Volans being a small, weak ship?”

“She did, in fact.”

“Probably advised that you send something like a scouting vessel…”

“Exactly.”

Vriska laughed. “A scouting vessel would’ve been blown to smithereens! Kind of like you did to us, but y’know. Better.”

“Lawscale was trying to have her grub and cull it too,” Terezi said. “Well, that’s a turn-of-phrase from Alternia with a different meaning. The point is, Lawscale knew how well Prospera had armed her ship, and lied to the court so they would send an insufficient pursuit. She would still get her warrant to arrest Prospera while the Chimeric escaped.”

“So what went wrong? Why did we have to fight the SS Overkill?” Dave asked.

“That was my request,” the Seafarer said. “I trusted Lawscale knew what she was talkin’ about, at least with regards to who was to blame, but figured if we used the fastest, strongest ship in the fleet, there would be no chance a defeat. And I wanted to end the Compasse’s sufferin’. The sooner the Chimeric was caught, the sooner she would rest easy.”

“Until you became the Betrayer and Death Prince and everything else.” Dave raised an eyebrow at the Seafarer. “That must have spelled an end to easy rest for her.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think the knowledge a what I had done to the person I loved most didn’t haunt me until the end a my days?” The Seafarer leaned forward, like he could feel that guilt and shame on his shoulders already. “But no matter how badly I had wanted to make her happy… I wasn’t my own person when I followed her. The Seafarer was a flawless courtier with no will or dreams a his own. The Betrayer at least lived free, and served the Chimeric as his own man.”

“How much longer did you live?” Rose asked.

“Until meteors fell. It was just like he predicted. Reckoning would destroy the planet. Another fifteen hundred sweeps. I was… two thousand and fifty. Give or take a decade.”

“Wow,” Vriska said. “That is ridiculously old.” And the Seafarer certainly didn’t look that old, by Rose’s eye. Or at least, he looked to be in the prime of his life rather than near the end of it. She supposed ghosts had control over how they appeared in the dreambubbles.

“Youth is wasted on the young,” the Seafarer scoffed, but then smiled as he seemed to remember something. “Though, there are two people who deserve the chance to be young together.”

“Oh? And who might that be?” Terezi asked.

“You and your moirail,” the Seafarer addressed Karkat. “What is his name here—Gamzee? What a relief it must be for you two to be the same age! All that discomfort over the power difference gets cleared right up. You have an even footin’ to be pale for each other.”

“…Excuse me?” Karkat looked half-embarrassed, half-disgusted. Rose wondered if he had ever received relationship advice from ancient ghosts.

“Ah, the two a you are bound to fall into pale throes soon enough. There’s no fightin’ serendipity, after all. You’ll find a way to reclaim what your alternate selves had, without all that societal baggage, mark my words.”

The Seafarer chuckled to himself, still smiling at Karkat like he was sharing an inside joke with an old friend. Rose could feel something boiling next to her. Like the earthquake signaling a volcanic eruption. She clutched her book closer to her chest like it could protect her. Oh, Eridan, you didn’t learn how not to assume things…

“And besides, you’re seven now? No, maybe six and a half. By that age, the Chimeric had chosen his title and started wearin’ red as his primary color. Come on, you’re a mutant a untold power! Have a little pride in your blood, won’t you?”

Karkat had heard enough. He exploded.

“Where do I even START with the magnitude of everything you just said and how utterly wrong it is!? How about the basics!? We all just wasted our precious time detailing to your self-righteously disgusted cultural superiority complex that on Alternia, culling meant trolls got violently murdered for no fucking reason at all! And do you want to know who were at the top of the cull list? BLOOD. FUCKING. MUTANTS. Because the last time a red blooded fucker hatched and opened his mouth to maybe suggest that we stop slaughtering each other indiscriminately, highbloods like you chained him to a flogging jut and shot him full of arrows before he burned to death from molten irons around his wrists!”

He paused for a breath and continued relentlessly. “If my appearance does not match your over-romanticized memory of a spoiled shithead who had everything handed to him by a compassionate queen, then I would like to extend to you my condolences that you never grew enough brain cells to contemplate that people you know and like tend to grow up to be completely different people when you change the one running the show from Radiantly Compassionate to Imperiously Condescending! I’m not going to stand here and listen to you whine about how I should be more like some adult I never knew, who was some sort of scarlet trailblazer unafraid of the insides of his own pump biscuit! Wearing grey kept me alive, you slurrypanned fuck, but after this conversation I really regret not flaunting my cherry cough syrup swill! If I had been culled sweeps ago, then I would have avoided all of your ignorant, brine-reeking, nookslurping delusions!”

Any trace of positive emotion drained out of the Seafarer’s face. Karkat was still not done.

“And newsflash about your Mirthful Mourner and his Alternian self! Gamzee and I have never felt any kind of quadrant toward each other. He was a stoned-out clown who could have won the award for most frustrating person I have ever dealt with, if not for the jaw-droppingly stellar competition. I fucking hated the guy! And then, right when things had just started to get bad for our team, Gamzee flips his shit and joins the murderous rampage squad! He KILLED two of our friends in the coldest blood possible! At least you and Vriska had the excuse of revenge cycles and drama to spur on some bad decisions—which are still murder, by the way, just thought I’d remind you—but Gamzee just culled Equius and Nepeta, and to this day the only motive I can imagine was ‘for shits and giggles!’ To put it in context for you, can you imagine your good buddy the Mirthful bashing the Tameless’ skull in with a juggling club!? Because that’s exactly what happened! Terezi stopped him before the death toll climbed higher, and so far some carefully administered terrorizing from Vriska has been the only thing keeping him in check and us alive since then. So the last thing I need from you is sewage containers full of nonsense about how the people of Alternia should be carbon fucking copies of Beforan shitheads, even though we’ve already established that my homeworld was the inverse of everything you ever knew or loved! Stuff your head up your waste chute before you consider tainting my aural clots with more assumptions that my friends are anything like yours! HAVE I MADE?! MYSELF?! CLEAR?!?!”

His words echoed across the decks, and for a moment all they heard was a memory of waves against the ship’s hull.

“…Explicitly,” the Seafarer answered in a slow, measured tone. “And I think I have to rescind my earlier statement.”

“Which one? You said a lot of hoofbeastshit, so I want to know exactly what you’re taking back.”

“You’re not stronger than the Chimeric. Not by a long shot. Maybe in a duel a sickles you’d cut him to ribbons, but you have no idea what made him great. I doubt you ever will.”

Rose heard a small “oh, shit,” out of Dave, sounding rather sincerely upset by this turn of events. She looked at Karkat, scowling like he wanted to punch the ghost in his fishy face for that statement… but also like he was on the verge of crying. Rose looked away, like the way you’re supposed to look away from dead bodies. Like it’s more respectful to pretend not to see them.

The Seafarer stood up, towering over the collected adolescents. “I think I’m done answerin’ your questions. As it so happens, I have some people I need to find, so I’d like to get started.”

Rose wanted to ask one more question, something useful, but Terezi beat her to it. Once she heard it, Rose knew that it was the best possible thing to ask, given everything else they had heard and said.

“We keep searching for evidence on whether or not the Mirthful and Chimeric’s moiraillegiance was abusive,” Terezi said. “You knew them both. What do you think?”

“Their moirallegiance was perfect,” the Seafarer answered instantly. “Now, are you goin’ to leave my ship peacefully or will I have to force you off?”

“Just on our way out,” Terezi said, nodding a little and standing up to back away. “Best of luck in your quest, Seafarer.”

Dave reached out to turn Karkat’s shoulder and start walking him away. Vriska and Terezi leaned close to quickly discuss how best to wake Vriska’s body back up, which Rose didn’t care to gawk at. For her part, she stowed her book and turned to Kanaya. They would be the obvious pair for traveling back to the meteor, but after all she had heard, Rose couldn’t even muster up butterflies in her stomach at the prospect of holding hands with her again.

They had learned so much in such a short and violent period of time. She felt like she needed to sleep for a week, but sleep would drop her right back into the depths of dreambubble madness. No peace, no rest. 

I almost wish I could black out again. Maybe then I could stop dreaming.

Chapter Text

Tavros thought the day was peaceful. At least, there was no reason for him to think it wasn't. Everything in his world was running in harmony: movement and rest, life and death, balancing the way it should. He lay in the shade of a tree while any creature who wanted to napped safely beside him. He could feel the peace in their minds. Peace and trust and comfort.

And then the peace broke. Tavros let out a scream as an awful pain started up in the center of his back, spreading quickly through his entire body. Stop! a familiar mind cried. Help!

Though his body suffered, Tavros quickly drew to his feet. The animals around him protested the disturbance, but he calmed them with shooshes and slow strokes. Communing with them in this state, full of another creature's pain, would only terrify them more. Once he was sure they'd be fine, he started up one of the trails toward the manor hive.

She must be furious, to be doing this. He could barely put one foot in front of the other as intense agony flooded through him. He tried to send soothing thoughts across the link, but whatever she was doing was too much. It felt like a burn. But she wouldn't use a burn, that would leave evidence, look suspicious... He just had to reach her hive and make her stop in person.

He reached the door and unlocked it, stumbling inside and taking a moment to catch his breath in the foyer. He shouted, "I'M HERE!" in hopes she would hear him and have mercy. But really, when had she ever done the merciful thing? She wouldn't stop until she could look him in the eye.

Tavros took to the stairs and dragged his feet after each other, gradually ascending into the castle. His back, his face, his arms, his stomach, his legs, he couldn't name every place that hurt. But he was so close, so close to making her stop—!

He rounded a corner and found Prospera right where he expected her: looming over his little Tinkerbull and almost gleefully tormenting the creature. She had a pincer on the base of his wings, leaving him helpless as she yanked the ring in his nose, dug pokers into his legs, and pressed his chest almost hard enough to fracture his little ribs.

"Cut that out!" Tavros ordered. He would pay for taking that tone with her later, but this was the worst summons he had ever felt, and he had to let her know, to make her stop. "I'm here, so leave him alone!"

Prospera looked up at him, her seven-pupiled eye unnerving as ever. "Why should I? Since you couldn't leave well enough alone, I don't see any reason for me to show restraint."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's just as I feared. You are still too stupid to understand the gravity of your situation. How about I cut you a deal. If you answer one simple question honestly, then I'll let your lusus go. Quite the trifle to ensure an end to his suffering, don't you agree?"

Tavros' skin crawled. "What's the question?”

"Did you help the Mondaine board the Lux Volans?"

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, something had gone wrong, and now Prospera was angry... Tavros swallowed. The truth would free Tinkerbull. "I did," he answered.

Prospera shook her head and clicked her tongue. She removed the clip and set aside her torture implements before flinging Tinkerbull back into his cage. The poor creature fell to the wire bottom and lay there, mooing lightly and curling in on himself.

"As thanks for your cooperation, your lusus will be spared," Prospera said. "Now, I trust that I will not need to convince you that it is now in your best interest to follow me to my study."

She turned and brushed past him on her way to the lofty tower study. Tavros stood taller than her, with a stronger build and broader muscles, and even accounting for the chasm between their blood colors he could probably at least wound her somewhat. She deserved it after twenty-six sweeps of torment.

But he couldn't. He didn't have it in him. He just followed her like she had ordered, meekly climbing up to the study.

When they arrived, Prospera held the door for him, then locked it. The click made his heart beat faster. "I would like to first take this moment to apologize," Prospera began. "I have clearly made a grave number of errors regarding your upbringing."

"You have?" Tavros asked. This was not what he expected her to say.

"Of course! If you've grown up to believe that you possess any degree of competence or intelligence, enough to make a difference in the life of even a single person, then obviously I've failed to teach you about the value of your utterly worthless life."

"...Oh," Tavros said. "I mean, I didn't mind that you failed, at doing that."

"It's not a question of whether you mind, for all that your half-witted opinion matters. The question is, what consequences have these delusions of grandeur wrought?"

She circled around to her desk and steepled her fingers on its surface. “The Mondaine was spotted boarding the Lux Volans. Vigilants knew she was there from almost the moment it set sail."

"Oh," Tavros repeated a little more emphatically. He hadn't meant for that to happen.

"Essentially, your overconfidence and total lack of experience in the field of ferrying fugitives means that you didn't even help her with your heroic stunt. A pursuit is en route, personally led by the Compasse's second in command. Do you know what this means?"

"She's going to be caught," he answered.

“Worse! Everything that is aboard that ship will be seized! The criminals, the valuables, the documents, the payment! Everything I had prepared to advance a tremendously important personal project of mine is going up in smoke, and the only reason they even knew to look more closely at my movements is because you gave them a loose thread to tug! If they crowned a Compasse for fools you would be the reigning radiance. The most brain dead fuck-up to ever walk the face of this planet!"

Personal project... Tavros had seen enough of Prospera’s business to know that was her code for dealings intended to benefit her matesprit, who was a very nice lady overall but honestly could do better. All he could say was, "So this is why you were torturing Tinkerbull?"

Prospera groaned and shrieked in the same breath. "Of COURSE that's all you care about! Words strong enough to communicate to you exactly how much you fucked up do not exist! Your name will have to suffice as the new expletive for useless, stupid, weaklings! Tavros, Tavros, Tavros!!!!!!!!"

He shrank back. She only used his hatch name when things were about to get awful. "I didn't mean to..."

"Well, it gets worse. Because placing the Mondaine on that ship means that the Empire knows I assisted the Chimeric. That's the reason the Seafarer has been dispatched. And you get one guess as to who they empowered to search my hive for evidence."

"...Who?"

She slammed her fists on the desk. "LAWSCALE, you useless shitblood! And I told you to guess and you just—you—!"

She shrieked again, this time boiling off some of the rage. She looked up at Tavros with metal-melting fury in her cold blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," Tavros repeated. "I can fight her off, for you. I'll just make an attack happen, on the road? I could wound her, so she’ll give up, probably.”

"No, Tavros," Prospera said. "Because as lovely as it would be to end Lawscale once and for all, I know for a fact you could never muster the courage to kill anyone. You'll botch it up and leave her alive. And trust me, no injury is enough to stop Lawscale. If you can't kill her, you might as well leave her alive. No, you've made your last mistake. My only regret is that it had to be a colossal error and not just a tiny one."

"I can make it up to you, just let me!" Tavros pleaded. "You can make me kill her, I know you can!"

"That's only part of the issue, Tavros, my sweet, precious wiggler," Prospera said, sickly sweetness oozing into her voice and making his skin crawl. "Because do you know what else this revealed about you?"

"...What?"

"Tell me honestly. How did you know when the Lux Volans was going to sail?"

"Uh..."

"You're spying. On me. No matter how many times I plug the squeakbeast holes or poison the seeded feeders, you are always able to sneak back inside, where you can listen and look and learn anything you want about my affairs. You were not supposed to spy on me, Tavros. You were supposed to protect me, like I protected you when you were young! How could you betray me, after all I did for you? Did all those sweeps of care mean nothing?!"

It was all over. Everything was over. He was gonna die, and after two and a half decades of fear he finally felt okay. He couldn't muster anything brave or witty, but he took a deep breath and stood tall.

"You didn’t protect me. You hurt me,” he said. "And you're still going to jail."

Prospera's false sweetness evaporated. "At least I will go knowing you regret what you've done."

Tavros didn't like the look in her eye. He didn't like the look in her eye at all. She was going to do something awful to him, he knew it, and it didn't matter if she had no weapons or poisons or torture devices, she was going to do something to hurt him...

Run.

He glanced to the door. Locked, he saw her lock it, could he bust through it? Just charge the door and escape?

Run.

No, no, he didn't want to get closer to her. He had to run away. Far away. He started to back up slightly as he considered his options.

Run.

Not the door. The only other door in the room was a glass door behind him, leading to a balcony. But the room was too high up. He couldn’t jump. He remembered flying with the Lodestar for the first time. If she were there to catch him, then he could escape.

Run.

Lodestar was still at the clinic now. By the time he got a bird or rat to her, it would be too late. She couldn't save him. She couldn't save him from Prospera's glare, or her rage, or her cruelty.

Run!

He kept backing away until he hit the glass behind him. What else was he supposed to do? If he ran for the door he would die. He couldn't run forward. He had to keep backing up, buy himself some time. His fingers fiddled with the door latch and let it open, giving him a small balcony's more space to work with.

Run!

Prospera stepped from behind the desk. Her shoes clicked as she walked closer to him. Oh, no, no, no, this was the worst! He had nowhere at all to run now! He should have risked the door, because now there was no way to get to safety without fighting Prospera, and he couldn't, he couldn't do it, she was too strong...

Run!

He kept backing up until his legs hit the stone railing. Nowhere left to run. He couldn't run anywhere else.

Run!

He couldn't!

RUN!

The only place to run was over the railing, hundreds of feet to fall, he couldn't fly, the animals couldn't carry him, the Lodestar was too far, he couldn't do it!

RUN!

His leg raised and braced against the railing, like he was preparing to jump. No... He looked at Prospera anew, realizing what was happening.

"Please..." he whispered.

RUN! Prospera commanded his mind. RUN NOW!

He tried to fight her. He told himself with all his might that he must not run. If he stayed here long enough, she would torture him like she tortured Tinkerbull, but he would survive, and someone would come. Lodestar, Lawscale, even the Benevole would put an end to this once they arrived. But it wasn't enough.

RUN!!!

He swayed, and lost his footing. Maybe she had expected a magnificent leap of flight, but all she got was a stumble. Tavros didn't even scream as he pitched back and tumbled from the balcony.

For most of the way down, it felt exactly like flying. The tug of the air on his hair and clothes, the weightlessness surrounding his body, the exhilaration in his chest as he breathed the cold air—

Starshine, help!

—and then he wasn't flying anymore.

Chapter Text

Karkat kicked a ball of paper through the streets of a quiet Can Town suburb. He was supposed to be sleeping, at least according to Vriska’s orders, but calming down enough to even shut his eyes for more than a few seconds took an hour minimum. After what they had just discovered, after what they all had heard, Karkat felt it would take him even longer.

Everyone else could sleep. Karkat wanted to think.

Talking to the Seafarer had been this huge uncanny valley experience from start to finish. He looked like Eridan, talked like Eridan, acted like Eridan in a lot of subtle ways, but he wasn’t Eridan. He cared a shit ton more about landdwellers, for one. Probably killed far fewer of them too. And even when they’d still had that ‘pact’ going on, Eridan never looked at Karkat the way the Seafarer had. With trust. With loyalty. And then with disappointment after Karkat lectured him.

“You have no idea what made him great. I doubt you ever will.”

Karkat booted the paper further down the street. What was so great about the Chimeric after all!? The more Karkat heard about his story, the more it sounded like a grand exercise in futility. No one remembered him, nothing changed, so what was so awesome about his life!? And the way the Seafarer had said it to Karkat’s face, that he was the inferior version, that fishy asshole was lucky that Dave pulled Karkat away!

Because Karkat had been about to agree with him.

Karkat wound up his leg and punted the ball as hard as he could. It arced through the air and landed in the manufacturing district a few yards away. He missed Eridan. Karkat’s hipster douche, hopeless romantic, genocidal Eridan. He missed gossiping with him over Trollian. He missed banging his head against his keyboard whenever his out-of-touch generalizations or inept flirting landed him in hot water with one of their teammates. He missed that little moment that came after listening to his blustering emotional theatrics. Even Eridan had understood he couldn’t run at a hundred percent drama without the act getting stale. He’d be silent a moment, then type, ‘yeah wwell… thanks for listenin anywway.’ And he’d set the issue aside, unresolved, to drag out later when he needed more attention. He knew Eridan had been doing it on purpose, but Karkat had loved reaching that point. It had felt like Eridan was leaving something unsaid, like a promise that they would speak again.

Fuck. He missed all of them. He missed Feferi laughing, maybe a little too loudly, at one of his speeches. He missed the way Equius puffed up his chest when discussing his areas of expertise. He missed the little heap of olive and blue that Nepeta made when she plopped down for a cat-nap. He missed Sollux snapping at him with wit sharp enough to pierce a battleship then snickering through his nose. He missed hearing Tavros mutter to himself, asking ‘Rufio’ for advice.

He didn’t even like these things about all these people. They were bad habits, annoying quirks, pet peeves. But he still missed them. Which might be evidence that he had liked them all along.

They were dead. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them since, with white eyes and a mix of feelings about meeting the living. Feferi was doing well as a ghost… Seemed like Sollux was too. Finding an Equius without a Nepeta, or vice versa, made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t quite put his indication digit on, but most versions of them at least looked happy to see him. Karkat had only come across Tavros once, in a weird little Pupa Pan outfit, and Tavros smiled and gave him a thumbs up and said he was better than he’d felt in a long time.

So there was that. The dead weren’t really unhappy. They were just way too close for Karkat to really let them go. Or to let go of the idea it was his fault that they were dead. His mind spun with all of the things he could have fixed. If he had been closer with Eridan, maybe he wouldn’t have wanted to join Jack Noir. Or even if he had still wanted to, maybe he wouldn’t have killed Feferi over it. And if Eridan wasn’t rampaging, Karkat never would have sent Equius to try and stop him, putting him and Nepeta in Gamzee’s reach. And whatever had been going through Tavros’ head when he thought it was a good idea to challenge Vriska motherfucking Serket, maybe Tavros would have asked Karkat for advice instead of Rufio if they had been better friends.

Would the Chimeric have been able to keep them all alive?

Karkat wanted to kick his ball again but his idiotic Past Self had booted it into the manufacturing district. He groaned aloud and picked his way through the tightly packed cans until he found his ball again and tossed it onto the street.

What the hell was he supposed to think about the Chimeric? When it had all started, he sounded kind of cool, especially since Kankri thought he was awful. And then his story had sounded terrifying when Kurloz put in his two boondollars about what the Mournful had done. And then his story had turned kind of cool again when Rose found out about his military legacy, but that all transformed to dust when Karkat stepped into his shoes and realized the Chimeric didn’t know the first thing about strategy and warfare. The Seafarer’s account kept everything hovering in the gray zone anyway too. Highbloods respected and obeyed the Chimeric—and he convinced the Empress’ own moirail to abandon her, fuck—but it seemed almost like he relied on their power instead of his own. That, and the way the Seafarer had sounded so sure Karkat would never understand his alternate self…

Karkat wound up his leg and nailed the ball, sending it much further this time—all the way to the Troll French quarter. God dammit, that was going to be even harder to retrieve! What the fuck, Past Karkat?! Why do you never do anything right?!

“Yo.”

He turned and saw Dave, same as ever, standing by and slouching a little.

“I thought everyone was asleep,” Karkat said.

“Nah, decided to stay up.”

“What did Vriska say about that?”

“The new plan is kinda divide-and-conquer. Terezi and Vriska want to look into their adult selves, and Rose and Kanaya are taking one for the team to talk to Cronus about the Betrayer. I guess I could’ve gone with them but I didn’t want to.”

“…Oh.”

“Um… wanna go to the park?”

“Which one?”

“That one.” Dave pointed to a two square yard patch of industrial flooring, marked on each corner with opened cans. “I forget what we named it.”

“The Snoop Dogg… something-botanical…”

“Snoop Dogg Memorial Botanical Gar-dizzle,” Dave rattled off, remembering. “Thanks, man.”

“Alright, sure. Let’s go to the fucking park.”

They walked the necessary ten feet and then sat down in the park. Their bodies basically occupied the whole space. This isn’t even a real park. It’s a miserable rectangle of dingy laboratory floor…

“So,” Dave said. “The Seafarer’s a huge dick.”

Karkat sighed. “Well, Eridan was a dick, so it makes sense.”

“Is it cool or weird that he’s the Betrayer?”

“I can’t decide. It was probably great for the Chimeric to have someone like him on his side. But I remember what I felt when he tried to betray us to join Jack and save his own skin. The Compasse must have felt just as awful when he turned on her. So… yeah.”

“Huh,” Dave said. “I don’t know if I talked to him after we entered the game and realized you were all, like, aliens and stuff.”

“He cared about Rose, mostly. Some wandkind rivalry nonsense she wisely wanted nothing to do with.”

“Good for Rose, then.”

“Yeah. Good for Rose.”

Dave didn’t say anything after that. Karkat picked at one of his claws. He had trimmed them too short last time. Another fuck-up.

“Hey… Don’t let what the Seafarer said bother you, okay?”

“Lots of what he said bothered me, on a multitude of levels.”

“I’m talking about the part about not understanding the greatness of your other self and shit.”

Karkat looked down. “Listen… he doesn’t get it. And not just from living on a nicer world and shit like that. He doesn’t get that everything he said to me is something I already said to myself, at some point or another.”

“What? Why? You were the troll leader and everything.”

“Sure, I led a team to victory, but I’m not a God Tier, the universe I made is full of cancer, I’m doing fucking squat when it comes to preparing for the new session. So, I’m pretty much the most useless shithead on this meteor. He doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t need to. He just drew the right conclusion from the wrong source.”

“Oh. Um… Huh.”

Karkat rolled his eyes. A fountain of emotional wisdom, Dave Strider. “You don’t have to say anything. Stuff your foot in your mouth right now, it’ll save you the trouble of doing it after you’ve said something irredeemably stupid.”

“No, I mean… I feel bad that you think that way about yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think that way about you.”

Something in his chest got really tight. Like he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He’d have to edit that idea he’d had earlier, because despite knowing as much about emotions as Karkat knew about the rules of Fiduspawn, Dave Strider was apparently a grand master at making Karkat very suddenly feel things.

“…Whatever,” Karkat said. “You have a track record for being one of the blunter instruments in the implement subhive.”

“Dude, you didn’t catch on that the Seafarer was the Betrayer, even when he was making all those comments about your prowess and giving you like, the bedroom-eyes of loyalty.”

“He didn’t have eyes! No ghosts have eyes!”

“Just saying, you can’t go throwing stones at me for being a numbskull. Your skull is practically flooded with anesthetic. The dentist’s assistant used up their whole stock of novocain on your cranium.”

“Fine! The whistling boiling vessel has sufficiently insulted the grubsoup heating container! Are we done here!?”

Dave laughed, and Karkat pouted. His face still felt hot. Before all that bullshit, had Dave meant what he said? Did he just admit to liking Karkat? Like, there was all the implicit stuff, like how Dave wouldn’t spend anywhere near as much time as he did with Karkat if they didn’t at least have some sort of mutual lack of disgust toward each other. But actually liking him?

“If we’re done being stupid, can I ask about something else?”

“Oh—sure, what?”

“You… called me a deadbeat.”

“Huh? Oh, fuck!” Karkat looked up at Dave. “Shit, I am so sorry! I just wasn’t thinking, and I turned around and just said it at you, that was so awful of me…”

“Stop apologizing about it, okay? I just need your solemn Scout’s honor that you only called me that because there was a legitimate troll named ‘the Deadbeat’ on that ancient Beforus boat.”

Karkat nodded. “Yes. I am positive of that." 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. He…” As certain as Karkat was of the Deadbeat’s existence, trying to pin down what he remembered about him was so hard. It was like remembering a book Karkat had read when he was barely past pupation, and he’d forgotten everything about it except for a character, one of their traits, and a line they said once. “…He was a tealblood. And they called him the Deadbeat because… of culling. He was a deadbeat culler.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Probably like… they told him to cull people, and he just skipped town instead. He was kind of a wise guy, too… and that’s all I got.”

“But at least as far as the rebellion was concerned, he was cool, right?”

Karkat could picture it: the Deadbeat giving a two finger salute. He couldn’t pin down anything exact about why, or when, or what he went forth to accomplish, but he knew that salute. It was always two fingers from him. “Yeah. He was on the Chimeric’s side. I think by the end of it… everyone on that boat was.”

“Damn. What was everyone else doing on that boat? Didn’t they have places to go?”

“…Maybe they did,” Karkat said, focusing harder. Who were the people around the Deadbeat? What had they done? “Some of them did. Others… didn’t. I mean, those are the only two categories possible… But I think they were the rebellion. At first…”

“Fuck, man, don’t hurt yourself,” Dave said. 

“Huh?” 

“You look like you’re trying to set something on fire with your brain.” 

“Then don’t stare at me!”

“It’s chill if you can’t answer me.”

“You’re the one who asked!”

“Because that’s how you make conversation with someone! Jegus, you’d think you had no idea how to talk to people." 

“Of course I know how to talk to people. I talk to people all the time!”

“That’s like saying, ‘of course I know how to rap. I stare at pictures of rappers.’”

“That metaphor is awful, and I don’t care about rap.”

“Wow, fuck you.”

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you, you dick!”

“Fuck the ridiculous heap of mammalian testicles that are masquerading as a person who we usually refer to as you!”

“Fine! You win the fuck-you off! Are you happy?”

“I’m about to weep tears of ecstasy over how happy I am that I won yet another inane bullshit contest!” Karkat tucked his knees up under his chin.

Dave laughed a little longer, but settled down. “What was it like? Living out a memory?”

“I’ve kind of been trying not to think about it?”

“Why? You looked really cool.”

“I got my ass handed to me until Memory Ghost Nepeta saved me.”

“Is that you looking back on what happened to the Chimeric, or how you actually felt when you were being him?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“I’m just curious, man! I’ve never seen you like that before, all bold and confident and dashing…”

“Dashing?”

“Dashing about. Like running around on the deck and stuff, giving your life-saving orders and inspiring the fuck out of people.”

“Oh.”

Karkat couldn’t see Dave’s eyes, and the rest of his face stayed flat, but he could feel Dave staring at him, waiting for an answer.

“Did you ever play with juvenile wiggler toys where you have a pair of gaze extenders, but instead of letting you see through them they had pictures drawn on the end?”

“Sort of. Like you would look through the eye parts and see like, a scene from a movie or something. Like a portal to you being there.”

“Okay, that’s a weird idea for a toy, but I think it’s the same concept. Then if you alchemized them with a pair of real two-lensed telescopic glasses, you’d get like, something that let you see half the world, but overlaid something on top of the other half.”

“Alright…”

“It was like that, except not just for my eyes. There were other things for me to feel and hear. And I knew things too. Like based on what you were saying, I knew who you were, and what to do. So I just acted like this other self…”

“Yeah, that was kinda hot.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“You said it was hot.”

Dave’s jaw dropped a little, and though his expression looked horrified his cheeks got red. “What? No! I meant cool!”

“Then why did you literally say the opposite thing?”

“Because my brain had a seizure or something so I fucked up, and I need you to forget I called you hot, okay?”

Now Karkat felt his face heating up too. “Wait, I was the thing that was hot!?”

“No!”

“What are you trying to say?!”

“I don’t even know! My mouth is just saying words and I need to stop!”

“Oh, now is when you need to stop talking!? You could have stopped your stupid blathering half a sweep ago! Or six and a half sweeps ago! It would have spared us untold miles of misery if you had just decided to stop before you started!”

“Whatever, just talk more about what it was like to be Hot Karkat and stop listening to me!”

“Hot Karkat?! What the fuck, Dave?!”

“Lalala, I can’t hear me over those words you’re saying!”

“Strider, you have to explain yourself right fucking now!” Karkat tried to sound imposing, but he heard his voice crack on the ‘i’ in ‘Strider.’ He just couldn’t make it come out right. “You have been responsible for more shit in my life than I can properly quantify but this is taking the frosted sugar grubloaf!”

Dave laughed, fake and strained. “Ahahahaha! Troll words for cake, that’s a hilarious distraction, haha!”

“Dave fucking Strider, can you stop being an imbecile long enough for us to have a proper conversation for ONCE!?”

“Apparently not!”

“If you even THINK about laughing this off as ironic—”

“It’s not ironic! It’s—the Deadbeat!”

That answer was weird enough to poke a vent-hole in Karkat’s rage balloon. “…What?”

“I think he liked the Chimeric,” Dave answered, words spilling in a rush. “When I was standing where he was standing, I think, like, some bit of what you were talking about, like the memory-echo of stuff you knew that you didn’t know before, that was happening… And the Deadbeat had this huge gay crush on Karmeric, so… Yeah.”

The vent got wider until Karkat deflated. “Oh,” he said. “That’s… um…” Was that right? He tried to focus, tried to remember his memory of a memory, to see what he knew. It was so hard to see…

“You’re making that psychic-combustion face again.”

“Sorry, sorry. I guess that’s right? I mean, I never really looked too close at you. And like, I couldn’t see if any of you were getting into the memory, because my memory kept overlaying different roles on top of you.”

But… there had been one moment. Where he felt like himself and he knew he was talking to Dave. He’d glanced down for half a second from the boats and the rigging and the sailors and the guns, and he saw Dave crouched by the railing. He thought first that he was hurt, but didn’t see a wound. So he knelt down and asked Dave what was wrong.

In a weird way, Karkat felt like that whole exchange was a dream. Not a dreambubble dream, but a real event of unconsciousness where he did what felt right. Dave looked scared. Karkat wanted to wrap Dave up in the hugest hug he could muster. He wanted to take him someplace calm and quiet. He wanted to make Dave feel okay again.

“Um,” Karkat started. “Were you scared?”

“Me? No.”

“I thought you were.”

“Nah.”

The casual dismissal irked Karkat. He bristled and readied a low blow. “Oh, excellent. See, I remember you cowering by the banister like a limp-kneed three-sweeper about to wet himself, and I had mistakenly thought that was what people did when they were afraid.”

“The Deadbeat was afraid.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because you turned red after you talked me through that. So it must have been something the Chimeric said, right?”

A chill in the middle of his chest derailed his train of thought for a moment. “It… It doesn’t feel that way. I can think of the moments when I said exactly what the Chimeric said, like when he made that big speech and when he said the Seafarer’s life was forfeit. But that wasn’t happening then. I was talking as me.”

“It didn’t sound like you. Like you didn’t say ‘fuck’ even once.”

“I know I didn’t. But I felt like me, and I was saying it for you.”

“But I wasn’t scared.”

“I know! But if you were, then that’s what I’d want to say.”

“You wasted your breath, dude, I wasn’t scared.”

“Yeah, and the way you keep insisting that you weren’t scared is exactly the sort of thing that will convince me it’s true!”

“Okay.”

Karkat huffed. Fucking cool kids.

“…But I wasn’t scared.”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD!” Karkat couldn’t take it anymore. He threw his hands in the air and screamed at the ceiling instead of Dave. “Fine! If you can’t handle sincere emotions then I’ll just have to make this all completely hypothetical to tiptoe around your delicate persona of unflappable stoicism! If it just so happened that one of my companions—any of my companions, really—aboard this meteor was feeling scared, for any reason, I would not demand an in-depth dissertation about the source of their fear! But I would hope, if one of those companions alerted me to something that scared them, they wouldn’t consider it a grave insult if I wanted to do something about it! God knows I’ve been dragged through the shit wringer in terms of things that scare me, and it fucking sucks! I don’t want people who matter to me—no matter who they are—to feel that way!”

Once he was done talking, silence echoed in Can Town. Karkat stared resolutely at one of the corners of the Snoop Dogg Memorial Botanical Gar-dizzle and refused to look Dave in the face. Why would he look at Dave after that description of what he would hypothetically do for anyone feeling scared? This wasn’t about Dave. This wasn’t about how Dave didn’t think Karkat was an awful fuck-up or maybe even thought he was not physically repulsive… Oh god, he shouldn’t put any stock in that at all, he couldn’t get his hopes up…

After the silence grew awkward, Dave finally said something. “Dude, you are so gay.”

“How does that word apply to this situation?”

“It just does, man. Gay is a word with a lot of nuance.”

“I’ve been there when you tried to explain that nuance to Meulin! It’s supposed to mean a human male who experiences concupiscent attraction to other males, right?”

“It means that, and some other stuff.”

“Then what ‘other stuff’ does it mean!?”

“Don’t worry about it. You can be my gay best friend. It’s cool.”

“I’m not gay!”

“No need to hide. I accept you for who you are, Karkat.”

Karkat dragged his nails down his face. He was such an idiot for daring to feel any positive emotion toward this asshat in the first place. “I cannot deal with all of your absurd human culture! How not-gay of you was it when you were calling me hot barely two minutes ago?! How would you explain that one?!”

“In the spirit of that big gay speech you just said about helping friends not be scared, can we drop it? Please?”

He wanted to push the issue, but that question-inflection had a sharper pitch than he was used to. “Drop it? Why?”

“I legitimately do not understand what my brain is doing, that made me say stuff. It’s really fucking weird, and I don’t get it, and I don’t know what to think about it.” He stuck his legs out and bounced his feet, like two metronomes swinging in opposition to each other—the toes touched, then separated. “In exchange for dropping it, I’ll tell you… I was scared. On the boat. That part wasn’t the Deadbeat. That was me.”

Karkat had never seen Dave look so honestly pitiful before. He kind of wanted to hug him again. Like for a very long time. And maybe that was what Dave wanted too? Did hugging him until he didn’t feel scared fall into that ‘gay’ category that Dave always seemed to define as everything he didn’t want?

“…Okay then. Consider the subject drop-kicked into the 'shut the fuck up' zone," Karkat said. 

"Thanks," Dave said. "Seriously. Thanks."

The forest was discordant when Aradia arrived. Nothing moved with that secret, intelligent assistance she had come to expect from the Huntsman's influence. Nothing greeted her: no nut creature, no slybeast, no burrowbeast. When she called his name, birds took flight, startled.

Something was wrong.

She found his camp. Everything arranged as it should be, but empty. The fire was out, the supplies on the ground. Some howlbeasts were already investigating his rations, and when she tried to shoo them away they snarled at her.

"Huntsman?!" she tried calling again. "Huntsman, where are you?!"

She took to the sky, a skill she had greatly improved since her first flight. She could see Prospera's hive, and treetops, so many treetops... So she ducked a little lower and scanned just under the canopy and kept searching. Where, where, where?! What if something had happened to him? What if he was hurt, what if he was dead?!

Please, my love! I need a sign!

Aradia tried a spiral search, gradually expanding out from the camp in wide sweeps. He must still be in the forest, he always had to stay close enough for summons. But what if he was moving, too? What if she missed him as he tried to run while she was on the opposite side? She wished she knew more about search and rescue, not just moving in circles and trying to look in every direction at once. Her psionics could help her fly, but they couldn't help her look...

A small bird flitted in front of her face, flapping wildly and screeching. Aradia held out her hands and let the little thing land. "Where is he?!" she asked it.

It nudged a head back toward Prospera's hive, but then flew away. The communion broke that soon? The Huntsman had to be in trouble. Sick, or injured, or dying!

As fast as she could fly, Aradia tore back toward the hive, scanning the forest floor for any sign of her matesprit. The brown of his clothes camouflaged so well with the ground, he did that on purpose to hide from enemies. But now he was hiding from her, and she still had to find him! She moved lower for a closer look, nearly grabbing her own hair in frustration and worry. Please, please, please, please!

And then she saw him. And she wished she hadn't.

He was lying on his stomach, braced on his arms and head hung low. She could see brown gashes all over his body, like he had been scratched by hundreds of thorns, and the way his legs trailed behind him...

"Huntsman!" Aradia dropped to the ground beside him. "Oh my god, what happened?!"

He raised his head weakly and managed to smile. "Star... shine... Hi..."

"Don't 'Starshine' me now, what happened to you?!"

"I... messed up," the Huntsman panted. "They caught the woman... so they're about... to arrest Prospera... So she punished me..."

Aradia's stomach turned. She had seen trolls in worse condition at the Benevole's clinic, but none of them had been punished. None of them were her matesprit. "What did she do?"

He groaned and lost strength in his arms, falling fully to the ground. "She used my brain... to make me jump... And I think my legs are invisible..."

She looked closer at his legs, limp and askew in unnatural ways. Out of sight, Aradia pressed her fingers against his upper thigh. Then closer to his hip. Then his lower back —

"AAAGH!" the Huntsman screamed and coiled in on himself.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Aradia moved to his head, smoothing sweat-slick hair off of his face. Prospera paralyzed him. She paralyzed her cullee, the one she was supposed to protect! She had known it was only a matter of time, everyone was waiting for the moment she decided to hurt him!

The Huntsman gradually calmed down, his breath coming in short puffs. "It's... okay..." he muttered. "I'm okay... Starshine, I know... y'can't get Benevole... But please find someone else..."

"I can't just leave you here!" Aradia threaded her fingers through his and clutched his hand. "What if she comes back to kill you?!"

"It's okay," the Huntsman said again. "I'm okay... with what happens."

"I'm not!" she cried. "She did this to you, and it won't even matter! She never faces consequences for anything! Enough is enough!"

"You can't fight her," the Huntsman insisted. "Lawscale is coming, she’ll… ggnh… Please, Starshine..." His eyes were starting to droop, and his grip weakened in her hand. Aradia clung to him all the tighter for it. "Get help..."

She couldn't help crying anymore. Deep red tears fell on the back of his hand, like he could bleed burgundy as well as brown. "Don't leave me, please!"

It was like begging with the tide or the moonset. The Huntsman faded and dropped fully to the forest floor. Hot tears kept leaking from her eyes, but she steadied her hand enough to take his pulse. Alive, but unconscious. She had to keep him safe. He needed help.

She used her psionics to cradle him as gently as she could, and carried him just a few dozen feet more into the forest. She cleared out a depression in the ground and made a small lean-to shelter with branches and leaves. It was hardly a mediculler bay, but it would have to do. At least until Aradia got more help.

With a kiss to his hand, Aradia backed away and looked through the treetops at Prospera's hive. That monster. That bitch! That psychopath! She probably thought she was going to get away with this, too! She could hurt the Huntsman and anyone else she liked and never face a single consequence!

As fury flowed through her, Aradia noticed a small stone rise off the ground, levitated by her powers. How she wished she could introduce that rock to Prospera's head! Just beat her and hit her until she regretted everything she had done to hurt the Huntsman. Make her regret hurting anyone, ever!

It started as a whim. Aradia ran a little further through the forest until she found a boulder, easily twice her height and an uncountable number of arm spans around. She reached out with a hand and pulled the entire rock out of the earth, leaving a deep cavity. The boulder drifted where Aradia's mind commanded, and her fury finally took the form of a plan.

Aradia would make her pay.

Chapter Text

"Alright, let's do this." Vriska rubbed her palms together, mostly for Terezi's benefit. She had to get the both of them psyched up for this new memory quest, independent of the rest of the dorks. The both of them were properly asleep, so anything dangerous or fatal should simply wake them up, and Vriska had the perfect idea for how to start.

"And you're really sure about this scene?" Terezi asked.

"Of course I am! The Seafarer spelled it out for us! If Lawscale reported the Chimeric for a chance to arrest Prospera, then there must have been a huge confrontation where Lawscale declared her arrest.”

"But what if things were different on Beforus? What if she just had the equivalent of some roguearrestors take her down?"

Vriska flipped her hair and laughed. "Like Prospera would fall to any but the Vigilant Lawscale! If a ton of lackeys showed up she'd give them the rapid encirclement and walk away scot free. It has to be you, Terezi."

Terezi puffed her cheeks a little. Still unconvinced.

"Come onnnnnnnn! At least try it! Pleeeeeeeease?”

She sighed. "If you think you can set the scene..."

"We'll just start like we did for Karkat. Likely banter that eventually falls into the memory. Like so..." She took a moment to shake out the extraneous thoughts and worries. Now, how to start the scene? Was Prospera surprised, or expecting her?

Expecting, Vriska decided. Then she looked up at Terezi and did her best to imagine a new scene: a law enforcer, come to apprehend her for crimes innumerable, including helping the Chimeric, who she had tried to defend. "My dear Vigilant, it's so good to see you! Was the journey to my humble abode difficult?"

Terezi answered with a smile of her own, the kind Vriska had seen offered to those whose demises were certain. "The journey has been more difficult than I can describe, Prospera, but I believe it has reached its end."

"You've certainly arrived at your destination," Vriska said.

"And you are quite close to yours. I intend to escort you the rest of the way.”

"Is this related to that nasty business I've heard so much about? Our fallen, prodigal Guardian and his Mournful abuser?"

"Related, yes. Driven by, no. There's far more that you need to pay for, Esteemed Prospera.”

Vriska got honkbeast bumps on the back of her neck. Something about Esteemed Prospera rang deep and true, like a bell. She had heard Terezi call her that before. Vriska felt the correct response, like an instinct or an itch in her mind. Go somewhere else.

"Perhaps we should continue this discussion in a more favorable location,” Vriska said. "For instance, my study? The foyer is not the appropriate venue for a discussion this serious."

Terezi's eyebrows raised a little, but she nodded. Details of Vriska's old hive started to emerge around them. Well, it was mostly her old hive. A few accents looked wrong, but it had sort of been a while since she had seen the place; LOMAT was destroyed a year ago, and she hadn't dreamed of home since.

She turned to lead Terezi to wherever the study was. Probably up some stairs. Stairs meant towers, and towers were badass. As they climbed, Terezi asked, “Before we get down to business, would you mind telling me what it was like to meet them?”

“To meet who?”

“The Chimeric and Mournful, after their fall from grace."

Lie, Vriska’s instincts said. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. They are fugitives that have not been seen for weeks. The Mournful is rumored to be dead, isn't he?"

"You deal in rumor. I deal in truth. And the fact is that your resources were instrumental in placing the Chimeric aboard the Lux Volans, which as you've no doubt heard, will be pursued by the Seafarer himself."

"A motion you opposed, did you not?"

"The show of force is unnecessary, but will no doubt be effective. There is no chance of escape, for him or any other person aboard that ship." Terezi laughed a little. "There's no point denying it. I’ve already shredded through your forged paper smokescreen. I know the identity and criminal record of every passenger. Exposing the Chimeric was merely an expedient means to the ends."

"The Chimeric is not aboard the Lux Volans. How can you accuse me of treason like this?”

"I'll present the evidence shortly, or you could decide to stop wasting both our time.”

Vriska felt like she had more to say, but a third voice interrupted her, warm and smooth like velvet. "Prospera? Who is this?"

She stopped on a landing in a hallway and turned to look at the speaker. Good god, she was gorgeous. She had elegance in every inch of her, from the swish of her flowing skirt to the barb on the end of her horn. Even the hazy edge of dream-smoke couldn't make her less beautiful. Her jade-ringed eyes looked to Vriska, and some part of the Thief’s mind knew that look. She is my moonbeam, she thought. The depth and devotion of that name resounded through her.

And then Vriska thought, oh fuck, I'm flushed for her!

"Please forgive my unannounced arrival," Terezi continued, speaking to the memory. “I am the Vigilant Lawscale. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Mistress Benevole."

Kanaya. Grown-up Kanaya. Who the hell allowed her to grow up this beautiful?! The memory filled in some blanks for Vriska as the imprint of the Benevole offered a hand to Terezi. Not only was the Benevole her moonbeam, she was a mediculler, a senior auxiliatrix, a foster culler, a seamstress, a gardener, stronger than anyone would guess at first glance, determined, attentive, playful, practical, willing to bend rules for a thrill, and Vriska would sooner end her own life than allow the Benevole to come to harm.

Vriska's stomach fluttered a little, halfway between excited and sick. She had never felt that... selfless toward another person. Only two came close. It was kind of scary.

When Terezi dropped the Benevole's hand, Vriska knew she had to say something. She opened her mouth and let some words tumble out, roughly guided by the memory around them. "The Vigilant and I have some business, but I'll be free soon and we can talk so could you… uh, could you wait in the…” Fuck, where had she told Kanaya—the Benevole, really, but Prospera had known her hatch name too—to wait?!

The Benevole nodded as if Vriska had filled the blank perfectly. "I look forward to the resolution of your discussion.”

And she walked away, further down the hall toward another staircase. When she took the first step on the stair, her form dissolved like smoke. Her role in the memory was over.

"Now, where were we?" Terezi prompted. Vriska looked to Terezi and realized her glasses had changed. They were square now, like Latula's, though the rest of her stayed unchanged. Vriska wondered what parts of her were changing, if any. She certainly felt changed after seeing the Benevole.

"Nearly there," Vriska assured her.

She and Terezi continued on, and in a few more steps they found themselves in a neat octagonal study, with a desk and books and fine rugs spread on the floor. Apparently nothing much else had happened on the stairs. Vriska glanced at a set of open bay windows leading out to a small balcony. I punished him, the memory told her, but Vriska didn't know what that meant.

"Now, as you know, this is all a formality," Terezi said. "Her Radiance has empowered me to detain you and search your every asset for evidence."

"That's absurd! I am completely innocent!" Vriska lied to her face, and she knew that Terezi knew it was a lie.

"Everything adds up when I consider your involvement. Harboring the fugitive Chimeric and Mournful alone is enough to send you to prison for an eighth-span sentence.”

"How can you accuse me of that? The Chimeric could have stowed away."

"The Mondaine was the stowaway. The Chimeric was Greylace."

"Who?" Prospera’s question was false, but Vriska’s was sincere.

"A jadeblood escorting a large number of genetic samples. A veil over her face, permits of silence, non-search orders on her cargo. It's the perfect disguise for them. And wouldn't it be convenient if you knew a jadeblood who could provide an air of authenticity to the deception?"

Vriska answered immediately. “The Benevole is blameless.”

"Then are you to blame?"

"I am not," she insisted. But she could feel echoes of the memory answering for her: the Chimeric as her hive guest, fitted for a green dress, selecting light armor from the collection she had only gathered for curiosity and show, sharpening his sickles back to a gleaming shine. The Mournful, palestruck fool, clinging to his shirtsleeve and offering her nothing but periodic scowls. Was she to blame for the two of them crashing her hive with threats of violence?

Threats of violence? Serious ones? Damn, Karkat, maybe Beforus suited you.

"It's really mind-boggling how you seem to think there is even the smallest chance of you escaping your fate,” Terezi quipped.

"I've evaded worse scrapes before."

"As have I. But no system is without its faults. You know me too well to think that your records will go unfound for long."

Vriska just laughed, but the memory told her that Lawscale was right. Vriska had nothing left to fight with. Incompetence, malice, and an old fashioned bad break had put her in this situation, and she would not escape unscathed. But I have to think of something!

Prospera had tried to stall for time, and Vriska echoed her words easily now. "What are you going to do when I'm gone, dear Lawscale? How ever will you occupy your waking hours?"

"Tracking down the next troll who fashions themselves as a crime lord," Terezi answered with a laugh. "Do you really think you're the worst to ever exist? Some power grabs, boxes of gold, puppets on strings? I look forward to the day when I lay waste to a scoundrel savvier than you'll ever be."

"Oh, and you think I'm arrogant for basking in my glories? How can you brag about criminals you have yet to fell? Such a lack of foresight..."

As soon as Vriska said the word, a moment of realization passed between Scourge Sisters. Lawscale is blind, too. Terezi did not visibly react to the barb, but her appearance changed again. Her simple shirt and pants swapped into a powerful white uniform, with rows of gold buttons down the front and her sign looping around her waist, the arch of the top weaving behind her back while the level bar crossed her like a sash. Vriska wondered if she looked like Prospera yet, but dared not break character. After all, her experience as a roleplayer told her that the clothes were irrelevant. She couldn't depend on her outfit to let her know she was in character.

"This ends tonight, Prospera," Terezi said, voice colder. "No more traps, no more tricks, no more misdirection. There is nothing you can do."

"...I know," Vriska finally admitted. "But I meant what I said before. The Benevole has nothing to do with this. Anything that suggests her involvement is a distraction.”

Terezi lifted her nose a little. "I'll keep that in mind. Adding to your own guilt is the least of your worries. I have enough to put you away for three cobalt spans, maybe more, as soon as I find the missing links.”

Vriska opened her arms and gestured to the study. "Then investigate, noble Vigilant. Lay me bare and rip all my secrets open."

The noble Vigilant Terezi stepped forward, but the distant crash of glass and crumbling of rock stopped her. Vriska knew that sound: cannon shot hitting a fortified wall. Who the hell is firing at me? And from where?

"What was that?" Terezi voiced.

"I don't know," Vriska said. She should be protected, this shouldn't be happening! But she remembered: she broke her protector. Because he was a betrayer. But she had destroyed her best line of defense right when Lawscale was about to arrive. Who else had heard that the Marquise was under investigation? Who knew she was vulnerable? Her mind raced with suspects but Vriska couldn't remember them clearly enough to decide.

They heard the sound again. Then the foundation of the tower shook. Both women held out their arms to stabilize as the room rattled. Then Vriska looked out the window to see an enormous, centuries-old tree floating in mid-air. A psionic?

The tree hurtled forward. Moving on autopilot—and the memory still in harmony with her—Vriska ran and tackled Terezi out of the way as the trunk thundered through the bay window and into the study, shredding everything it touched.

"Is that a tree?!" Terezi cried, scrambling out from under Vriska.

"We need to leave!" Vriska shouted. More booms and crashes sounded through the hive as Vriska ran for her life, trusting that Terezi was following her but at the same time strangely indifferent to whether she survived. She sprinted down flights of stairs, skipping most of the steps, as walls and columns and windows crumbled around her. Third floor… Second floor…

She reached the top of the last set of stairs when another boulder crashed through the wall. Vriska stumbled her way down, Terezi on her heels, as the stairs started to fall out from under her feet. Vriska landed in a heap on the ground, groaning in pain.

A cane jabbed her in the side. "Stand, Prospera!" Terezi shouted. Vriska grabbed the head of the cane—it pulled backward and helped her up. Now there was only a foyer between them and the doors…

When Vriska looked, she didn't notice the doors. A boy in a long blue hood and glasses stood between them and the exit. He looked at Vriska and Terezi with awe and confusion, and Vriska felt that Prospera had done much the same to him. She didn't know what Terezi could smell of him amidst the rubble. Vriska squinted at him, and saw that around the edges, he wavered and trembled, like the Benevole had. He wasn't in the dreambubble with them; he was a memory, something the Vigilant and the Marquise had seen on ancient Beforus.

Another strut from the ceiling lurched and fell, about to hit John directly. Vriska called out, but before it hit, he vanished in a pale blue flash. Vriska turned to Terezi, a question about John on her lips, but another voice called out, "Prospera!"

Vriska looked up. At the top of the collapsed stairs, the Benevole clung to a precarious railing, her footing unsure. She had no way to get down, and the castle was still breaking around her.

"Jump!" Vriska reached out her arms. "I'll catch you!"

“It’s too far, I’ll hurt you!" the Benevole answered. "There may be other stairs!"

"There's no time!"

“I won’t make it!”

“What if there aren’t other stairs?! You have to jump NOW!"

She shook her head and tried to back up. More debris dropped from the ceiling, dangerously close to the Benevole. Vriska knew she had to make the Benevole jump. She wouldn't live if she didn't jump, but even so, the Benevole stalled. What if she couldn't find the will to do it?

Vriska could make her jump. She knew that's what Prospera had done, it felt right in the memory, so she raised her hand to one temple and focused on the Benevole's mind. She wanted to be subtle, just twitch the Benevole's perception a little and make her more afraid to stay than jump, but the memory had other plans. Vriska entered the Benevole's mind intending to influence, but instead, Prospera oppressed.

Jump, she commanded. Jump now!

Like a puppet with her strings pulled taut, the Benevole stood straight and walked to the ledge. Without a single backward glance she jumped, curling tight into a ball toward Vriska's waiting arms. Vriska did her best to brace, but catching a person after a story fall was not easy. The impact knocked her back and bruised her, but Vriska felt satisfied. I saved her…

As she started planning what to do next—get to her feet, then help her matesprit—the hive stopped falling apart. Stones and beams froze in mid-fall as the noise died down to silence. Even the Benevole's shadow dissolved, leaving Vriska alone on the floor.

She looked to Terezi. The Seer had reverted back to her black t-shirt and pointy glasses. Her hands shook as she raised a finger toward the door.

"How can he be here too?" she started mumbling, but her volume gradually rose to shouting. “He was on ancient Beforus, he was on Alternia, he was on the meteor, he was in our session, he was in my hive! How the hell can he be all of those places at the same fucking time?!”

"Wait, John was where?” Vriska stood. In the session and her hive, what the fuck?

"He's haunting me! He is the shittiest poltergeist stalking me through paradox space, leaving stupid notes and stealing my stuff and giving it back when it makes no sense and I can't take it anymore!"

"Terezi, wait! He’s not even here, it was just a memory!"

“I don’t care! I am sick of waiting for the next time Egbert pops his stupid, bucktoothed head into my business! He’s not a puzzle master! He can’t be! I won’t let him be!”

"Terezi—!”

"YOU THINK YOU'RE SO SLICK, EGDORK?!" Terezi shrieked at John's empty space, nearly frothing at the mouth. "WAIT TIL I GET MY NOOSE AROUND YOUR NECK, THEN WE’LL SEE WHO'S SLICK! NOT GONNA BE SO SMUG WHEN YOU’RE DANGLING FROM MY TREE!!!”

Vriska had seen a lot of Terezi Pyrope. She had seen her angry, and frustrated, and when Terezi didn't think she was looking, Vriska had seen her sad. Vriska had even hurt her own sister worse than most people could bear! But she had never seen Terezi livid like this, out of control and about to hurt someone, maybe herself.

Vriska didn't decide on what to do. Like in the memory, she just acted on what felt right. She slipped her fingers along Terezi's jaw and cupped her face. After another moment, she tilted her own head forward until her forehead touched Terezi's.

"Shhhhhhhh…” she breathed through her teeth. "Shhh, shhh, shhhhhhhh..."

Terezi stopped screaming. Her shoulders shuddered as she struggled to breathe, letting shallow breaths out in sharp puffs. One or two sounded like words: "I" and "can't" and "he." And Vriska just kept shushing her, nuzzled close and cradling her cheeks. Rubble and broken branches and shards of glass hung in the air around them, a moment of suspended violence.

"Shh... Shh..."

Vriska felt Terezi go still in her hands, breathing returning to normal as her rage died down. She wanted to lean closer and wrap her up in a hug, like the finishing touch on a masterpiece. Who knew Terezi was cold enough to have highblood rages? And that I'd pap her?

Wait.

Vriska papped her.

Color rushed to Vriska's cheeks. Terezi sniffed and wriggled her nose a little, eyebrows rising. Fuck, she could smell that blueberry blast!

"Okay, enough of that!" Vriska took two huge steps back, shoving her hands in her pockets. Terezi had a face that screamed 'did that just happen?' Vriska figured Terezi was her mirror for now. "We should wake up! We've learned a lot, but we’ve also left the nerds unattended for far too long! If we don't get back they're going to, uh, make a huge mess of the place! Smooching indiscriminately and getting into trouble! C'mon, time to go!"

Vriska turned on a heel and started walking the first way she saw with a clean exit. The debris of the Marquise's hive bled into the troll's Reckoning battlefield, which seemed like the quickest way out. She'd just, um, find some place that would make for a nice death! A lump of chessboard, or a meteor to the face.

I just papped Terezi.

Because she needed it! She was freaking out over John, and wouldn't shut up about him! If it was anything it was ashen. She said she was gonna hang him. Terezi never let people walk away from hangings alive.

Ashen. With Terezi and John.

Yeah.

Ashen.

Chapter Text

Everything happened so fast. Nepeta couldn’t separate the events if she tried. She pounced on the fish man, clawed him and bit him with all her might, until the Chimeric got sickles around his neck. Then there was lots of shouting, lots of moving, gathering bags and boxes and switching ships. She struggled with the rope bridge crossing, but there were so many hands, strong hands, unwilling to leave her behind. Then she was standing on a deck watching the sailors of the Lux Volans cut the ropes while four dozen pairs of bemused eyes, blue and violet, watched their old ship sail away without them.

There was about a minute of silence as everyone stared at each other, trying to understand what had just happened. Nepeta looked between three people—the Chimeric, the Mirthful, and the Seafarer—knowing that they were no longer the same people she had known.

“We won,” a tealblood with straight horns said, breaking the silence. He threw his fist in the air and shouted, “We won!”

Finally, a loud cheer ran through the rest of the crew. It reminded Nepeta of a pack of howlbeasts, and she joined in more literally, opening her lungs and letting a roar out of her mouth. The sound felt just as good to her body as it did to her ears.

“To the Chimeric!” someone said, but the Chimeric waved a sickle in their direction.

“The first person to shout my name after this battle will be the first that I fling overboard! Am I clear?! Don’t you dare applaud me!”

The cheer died, but people stared at him, confused. He turned to Nepeta.

“You are our savior,” he said. She saw a sparkle of pride in his burning eyes. “Please, tell me your name.”

Nepeta puffed out her chest like her pride alphas used to do and answered. “I am Tameless!”

“Tameless!” he repeated. “To the Tameless!”

They shouted Nepeta’s new chosen title, and it echoed around the decks. People she had seen from the shadows ran up to her and clapped her on the back, shook her hand, hugged her. She liked hugs so long as they put her down quickly. Anyone who tried to linger got claws dragged across their skin, and a half-playful snarl to let them know their mistake. People seemed to ‘get it’ after that. She felt nearly giddy that she could express her feelings with things like claws and yowls again.

Someone started up a song Nepeta didn’t recognize. Everyone’s attention started to fade from her and onto each other as they all celebrated the fact they were still free and un-drowned. Not sure what to do, Nepeta drifted closer to the Chimeric, who passed the Seafarer’s leashes on to two other strangers. The Mirthful—what happened to his horn?—stayed at the Chimeric’s shoulder, sheepish and slouched.

“…Not the brig. All it needs is a solid door that locks,” the Chimeric explained. The other trolls nodded and accepted their duty.

“Bunch a cheatin’ lunatics,” the Seafarer spat.

“Please consider your situation before you insult my friends again,” the Chimeric told him, but the vitriol ended as the trolls led the Seafarer away. Despite his sour taunts, he seemed to accept, at least for the moment, that he was captured.

Still on the fringes, Nepeta watched the Mirthful pinch a corner of the Chimeric’s shirt in his fingers. The Chimeric took a step, but stopped as his clothes tugged backward. Then he turned to the contrite Mirthful and reached up to hold his face with both hands.

“M’sorry,” the Mirthful muttered.

“Shhshhshh, it’s okay. You did more than enough,” the Chimeric answered. “I’m safe. It’s okay.”

“I let him—”

“You let nothing. You sailed with everything you had, and more loyally than if I had left the captain in charge. You were perfect.”

The Mirthful covered the Chimeric’s hands with his own and turned his head, so his lips touched his palm. Nepeta got a weird feeling that she was watching something that a ‘civilized’ troll would feel ashamed to witness. She couldn’t tell if it was strange for them to be doing this maybe-shameful thing. This was only her third time meeting them, and each time she met them, they had each changed so much. She had to call them strangers over and over again.

“Oi, Chimeric.” One of the other trolls had either mastered their shame or, like her, felt none, except this person had something to say. It was the teal-eyed troll who had started up that cheer. Slung over his shoulder was a very large and bottom-heavy sack. He tugged the strap to make it jingle. Money?

The Chimeric dropped his hands from the Mirthful’s face, but kept a few fingers intertwined with his, nodding at the tealblood. “That’s good to know. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “I just figured I should do something halfway useful for once.”

“Halfway useful? You were instrumental.”

“It’s no big deal—”

“I detest deprecation almost as much as oppression,” the Chimeric cut him off. “Everyone followed you while I was mashing ideas together to find out how naval battles work. You gave everyone purpose. I can’t thank you enough.”

“…Y’welcome, then,” the troll said, aqua-cheeked, like he didn’t know what to do with the praise.

The Chimeric clapped him on the shoulder. “Relax for now. Celebrate. We’ll discuss Prospera’s treasure later.”

The troll saluted with two fingers and stepped away. Nepeta drew a breath to say something—just open her mouth and let the words happen as they would—but yet another person beat her to it.

“Chimeric, do you have a moment?”

The captain of the Lux Volans had taken up station at the helm of the new ship. She beckoned the Chimeric up to the wheel, and Nepeta didn’t know what else to do but follow him alongside the Mirthful.

“You left the Seafarer’s crew to die,” the captain said. “Was this part of your strategy?”

“They are seasoned sailors trained in shipwreck protocols. They can craft sunshelters from the wreckage and use tow lines for the seadwellers to pull them to shore or sentry.”

“You’re rationalizing. It’s a miracle that our passengers escaped without casualties, can you really be so sure that our enemies survived? What if they starve, or burn before making landfall?”

“My priority is to those aboard the Lux Volans. If you have a problem with how I limit my loyalty, you are welcome to join this vessel’s former crew. I am sure that they will find it in their coolblooded hearts to take pity on someone as warm and helpless as you.”

“My blood is cerulean.”

“Do you think the indigos and violets care? In their eyes, we are both fragile warmbloods. Between the two of us, I am at least a warmblood willing to do what it takes to survive and protect my companions. What are you willing to do, captain?”

“Touché,” she admitted. “But I’d like to bring up something you may not have considered.”

“Which is?”

“What comes next.”

“What makes you think I haven’t considered that?”

“If the Absolution makes port anywhere without the Seafarer at the helm, we will all be arrested on sight. The castaways of her former crew will not reach land in time to warn the Empire of her defeat, but once they arrive they will surely report the Seafarer as a prisoner of war. We’ll be pursued again.”

“And if we put down anchor someplace sheltered, far from civilization?”

“I can think of some smuggler coves, but even with decades of experience I’ve never brought in a ship this large. We could be beached, or worse, sunk. Not to mention, where on the Lux Volans we had sailors to spare, the Absolution is far larger and less kind to apprentices. Without training and a new captain, we can’t use her full abilities.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find us a qualified helmsman soon.”

“The Seafarer is the only qualified helmsman. Everything from the heft of the rope to the spokes of the wheel has been precisely calibrated for his command. Unless you’re willing to throw out a secret weapon of this caliber like you threw out the Seafarer’s sailors…”

“I’ll take care of this. You have my word,” the Chimeric insisted. “Sail due south until I return with more news. Sound an alarm if we see any other pursuit.”

The captain nodded to him and placed her hands on the wheel again as the Chimeric turned away, this time heading below decks. Nepeta skirted the edges of the festivities to follow him and the Mirthful all the way down.

“Hey!” Her voice started to work again, and this time no one could interrupt her. “What happened to you? Why did this ship try to blow us up?”

“Oh, I didn’t even realize! You’ve missed a lot,” the Chimeric said over his shoulder. This ship was much bigger than the Lux Volans, and the Chimeric started checking every door for the one he wanted, like he didn’t know his way around yet. “Shortly after you ran away I declared war against the Compasse. I am a rebel traitor.”

“But you were going to be a Guardian!”

“Prophecy said otherwise. But how did you end up on the same ship as us? Did you follow us?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Nepeta said. “The Huntsman said I could use it to escape.”

“You met the Huntsman?”

“Yeah, I ran into his forest. He had heard about some people who were sailing away, and said I could join. But I didn’t know he meant you.”

“That makes sense… so he has animal communion after all.” He swung around to the other side of the ship, where the last two people seen holding the Seafarer’s ropes stood outside of a door. Without missing a beat, the Chimeric changed gears and asked the sentries, “How is he?”

“Hasn’t made a sound, but he’s only been in there what, ten minutes?” one troll said.

“Thought you’d want him under guard,” the other added.

“That’s very thoughtful, thank you. I’ve brought two people to relieve you while I speak with our hostage.”

Nepeta looked from the back of the Chimeric’s head to the Mirthful’s face. He looked as bemused as she felt. We’re on guard duty now?

The trolls accepted this change and merrily absconded to join the festivities on the deck. One passed a key to the Chimeric, who flipped it in his hand.

“Now, there is nothing I can do to stop the two of you from eavesdropping, but I suspect you have a lot of catching up to do,” the Chimeric said. “Allow me to make some basic re-introductions. Tameless, this is the Mirthful, the excommunicated heir to the purpleblooded papistry who is now my moirail. Mirthful, this is the uncullable Tameless who I encouraged to return to the wilderness as her heart desired, and she has now saved us from drowning like rodents. I owe each of you my life, so you at least have that in common.”

“Wait, I still have questions!” Nepeta insisted, but the Chimeric had already unlocked and stepped inside the Seafarer’s interim cell, and then shut the door behind him.

She and the Mirthful shared another look. Obviously they were going to eavesdrop. She pressed her ear against the door, and saw the Mirthful do the same.

Muffled, she heard the Chimeric speak. “Please pardon the rough treatment. It is difficult to treat enemies with civility on the run.”

And the Seafarer mumbled something back. Damn wood. She mashed her face harder and tried to listen.

“I know that you are not actually my enemy. I want to help you, if I can.”

“What help can the likes a you offer me?”

“I believe there are a number of burdens you’ve been carrying that no troll should have to suffer through.” And then the Chimeric’s voice got quieter as he said something else, indistinct. Nepeta tried to press her face harder, but could not force her ear any closer to the sound.

Next to her, the Mirthful chuckled.

“What?” she whispered.

“You got a mighty wicked funny face right now,” he hissed back. “Couldn’t get any more smoosh on that face if you tried.”

Nepeta couldn’t precisely see herself, but she felt the folds of her cheek anew and giggled too. “Yeah, this isn’t my best look,” she said. “But who cares? We’re missing stuff!”

“Right, right!” The Mirthful angled his head again and pressed his face about as hard as Nepeta had hers. With his broken horn, he could squish his face even further than Nepeta, while the puff of his cheek scrunched up one eye and made his mouth pout. She laughed, losing her own pressure on the door as she giggled.

“There’s that smile back,” he said. “Knew they couldn’t civilize the righteous laughter out of you.”

“Yeah, who gives a shit about that,” Nepeta answered. “I’m done with people telling me the way I’m supposed to behave. I’m going to make me comfortable first and care about everyone else after.”

“Fuck yeah, motherfucker.” The Mirthful offered her a raised open-palmed hand slap, and Nepeta connected. He shook his hand after. “That motherfucking stung!”

“Apex predator! And if you have a problem with it I’ll claw your face off!”

“Shit, I know you can, but why you gotta be doing it?”

“I don’t gotta do anything, but it’s always an option.”

“I’m just sorry I missed how you made a motherfucking mess of the Seafarer’s shit. That noise sounds wicked miraculous.”

“Yeah, are you okay after that?” Nepeta asked. The missing makeup and broken horn already made him look like he was in rough shape to her, but none of his injuries looked fresh.

“I’ve been through hell. Anything after that is a motherfucking air movement.”

Nepeta narrowed her eyes at him a little. The Chimeric had used a word she didn’t know when re-introducing the Mirthful to her. “Who broke your horn?”

He brushed his fingers along the jagged edge of the stump, biting his lower lip. “The Grand Motherfucker. Uh, head of the Church. I don’t know how much you know about the wicked Testament, but it was my faith for most all of my span, and then… they kicked me out.”

“Kicked out? Like you’re not allowed to believe in it anymore?”

“Well, they don’t care if I believe really, but I’m not allowed to be part of any devotions anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I piled the little bro.”

“Who’s the little bro?” Nepeta smiled a little sheepishly. She had a lot more catching up to do than she had thought.

The Mirthful nodded toward the room. “Chimeric. He’s fine saying we’re moirails now, but I started feeling that way at him when he was all wiggler-y… so the faith couldn’t have me staying part of the carnival.”

Nepeta thought this over a second. ‘Pedophilia’ was one of the concepts civilization introduced to her, and it had more nuance than she expected. She agreed there was a problem when an adult wanted to take a child for a mate—it just didn’t fit, it wasn’t right—but this civilized notion that a number made someone ready for mates was so weird. It was obvious when someone was ready to mate; the length of their prowl, the timbre of their roar, the scent of their fur. Nothing could control when someone was ready, especially not a calendar.

“I don’t see a problem with that, then,” Nepeta said. “If the Chimeric doesn’t think you did anything wrong, neither do I.”

The Mirthful smiled gratefully. But why? “That’s a wild way of seeing it, Tamesis.”

“Tamesis isn’t right,” Nepeta countered. “It sounds split up, like tame sister. I am untamed. That’s the whole point.”

He laughed again. “How about wildsis?”

She smiled back. “Much better!”

“Glad to oblige the motherfucker who all leapt out of nowhere and saved our hides.”

“And… what happened to your facepaint?” she said. “It always looked so cool!”

The Mirthful shook his head. “The visages are part of the faith that kicked me to the motherfucking curb. I can’t get my paint on anymore.”

“So you just believe in nothing now?” Nepeta frowned at him. “That doesn’t feel right for you.”

“Y’think?”

“You need something to live for! Otherwise, why are you alive?”

The Mirthful nodded and shrugged. “That’s some motherfucking wisdoms… I feel like I know what I live for, but it’s not something I can put on my face. Can you put what you live for on your face, wildsis?”

Nepeta had to think a second. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What’s your answer?”

“I live for my pride.”

“Pride, huh? Sounds a little arrogant, motherfucker.”

“It’s a double meaning. I want to live a life I feel proud of. I’m proud of my strength and my senses. I’m proud of the wild, and that’s where I want to stay. And my pride is everyone I surround myself with. I’ll live for them, too.”

“You don’t got a pride of roarbeasts anymore though.”

Nepeta shrugged. “I’ll find one sooner or later. But I live for my two prides. What do you live for?”

“The Chimeric,” he answered immediately.

“Good start,” Nepeta said with a small smile. “And I never got the chance to ask him, but… what is a chimera?”

“See, there’s this motherfucker who’s made up of a dragon and a lion, mashed frontways so that it’s got its face on to both the back and the front. Met the thing once. The little bro uses it like his emblem, like a way to say he’s a mysterious and powerful mutant.”

Nepeta gestured for him to lean closer to her. “Here. Maybe I can try something.”

He obligingly leaned down. She took the pads of her first two fingers and pressed them against his forehead, above one eye.

“You could start with the dragon’s teeth here,” she said, pushing them up and down as she moved across his brow, like the razors of a lizard’s fangs. “And then let it dip down this way, starting with the lion’s face… The dragon’s in a roar, and the lion’s in a snarl. So both sets of teeth overlap…”

As she traced her fingers around his face, applying invisible paint, his purple eyes slid closed, giving her a blanker canvas. He used to use such stark blacks and whites, and under the right lights his face would glow. Given enough time, she could probably make substitutes from berries, chalks, and muds. And a new design to mimic the symmetrical curves and smiles he used to wear would be a breeze.

“Feels like you’re making a brand new joker on my face, wildsis,” the Mirthful mumbled, considerate of her fingers still tracing patterns on his skin.

“I think it’s going to look good, once we finally have paint for it,” Nepeta told him with a smile. “Like a fresh start.”

“The freshest…”

Nepeta let her fingers fall, satisfied that she at least had a starting point, and his eyes opened again. He had this shade of purple that she had never seen anywhere else. And… he was much closer to her than she had thought. And he was just… looking at her…

Now that she and the Mirthful weren’t talking anymore, they could hear what was going on inside the room again. It sounded like someone was crying. Actually, if they were crying loud enough to be heard outside the room, they must have been sobbing.

The Mirthful noticed it too, and his eyebrows knit together. “What the fuck?” he muttered, pressing his ear close to the door again when it suddenly moved. The Chimeric stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. Nepeta craned her neck to try and see inside the room, but the Seafarer was not visible. She could still hear him crying.

“Thank you both for standing guard. You did an excellent job,” the Chimeric said. “Also, I misspoke earlier. I know I said the Seafarer is our hostage, but he’s actually our navigation consultant. Once he recovers from the night’s stress, he’ll join the captain and I in plotting a new course. We should all give him space and allow him to return to duty when he’s ready. There is no more need for a lock or guard.”

“Little bro, what the motherfucking shit did you do to him?” the Mirthful asked, almost a little horrified. Quiet sobs still echoed inside the room.

The Chimeric patted his cheek gently. “I provided an alternate perspective on his situation. Now, we should join the party on deck. We’ve done all the work that can be done for now, and there’s nothing left to do but play. In my humble opinion, we fucking earned it.”

Clearly deciding that this conversation was over, the Chimeric set off back to the ladder they took down. A few snatches of song drifted from the main deck. People were still celebrating.

The Mirthful started to laugh at something.

“What?” Nepeta said.

“Have you realized,” he started, chuckling, “that every motherfucking time we’ve met, there’s been dancing?”

There were only two instances to think of, but the Mirthful was right. The ninth and tenth titling days of the Chimeric, Nepeta and the Mirthful had danced. The first time she was little more than a cat in a dress. The second time she was a fine lady in a dress wishing she was a cat. Now, she felt in the middle, and comfortable there.

“Are you trying to ask me to dance?” Nepeta smiled at him.

He waved a hand in circles and bowed, mocking the usual flair of the nobles. “May I have this dance, my wildest kittybitch?”

She laughed, and picked up the corners of her brutalized dress for a sarcastic curtsy. “My motherfucking clown, you certainly may!”

Chapter Text

"Ladiessss! What's shakin'? Feels like forever since we last got to enjoy each other's company, am I right?"

Kanaya wanted to retch. Or punch Cronus in the face. Or take her chainsaw and add another notch in her lipstick case for 'number of Amporas sawed in half.' Really, two of those sounded like the better option, since they also came with the benefit of not having to exist in Cronus’ presence. At this point, the population was pretty certain that ghosts could double-die. The stuff that double-killed them was still up for debate. Kanaya hoped it included chainsaws.

Rose gave him a pinched smile. "Believe me, the separation was… indescribable.”

Cronus didn't seem to know why Rose had chosen that word, and just waggled his eyebrows at them. See, even that was repugnant. Rose could so easily defeat him in an eyebrow-off that the contest was not worth having. "I was thinking, I never got the chance to play anything for you last time we spoke. I was still trying to get the right melody down, but check this out..."

"Actually!" Rose cut him off before he could produce any instrument. "We wanted to have a conversation with you about some historical figures of Beforus, if you would indulge us."

He looked a little confused, twin scars crinkling with the rest of his forehead. "That's kinda a weird topic change. Have you asked Aranea?"

"We have, in fact," Rose said. "She made reference to some individuals that we think might be related to you, including your ancestor, so we decided to go to the source."

"Well... okay, I'll answer anything I can," Cronus said. "But fair warning, I never felt all that connected to ancestral legacy things. Probably on account of feeling human all along, heh. Like having an ancestor is cool and all, but I just want a good ol' daddy."

Rose looked a little horrified. "Uh—Cronus, for now, you might want to stick with the more common moniker, 'Dad.' Daddy had… other connotations." Kanaya wondered what those connotations might be. Whatever they were, they seemed disgusting.

Cronus seemed miffed at the correction. “You don't have to tell me how to human. I got this."

"That's obvious."

"Genetic forebearers aside, we would still like to ask some questions of you," Kanaya said.

Cronus chewed the end of his cigarette. "Alright, shoot."

"Have you heard of an individual known as the Seafarer?" Rose started.

"Nope," Cronus said. "I'm guessing he sailed the sea? And that he's my ancestor, or something."

For an idiot, Cronus sure was a smart ass. The chainsaw option felt more appealing by the second.

"You're right on that account," Rose said. "The Seafarer is the ancestral Beforan incarnation of your dancestor."

“Score. What else have you got for me?"

"Have you heard of the Betrayer?"

Cronus laughed. "Sweetheart, who hasn't heard of the Betrayer? It's like asking if I've heard of the Empress, seriously."

Kanaya's eyes widened a little. He has absolutely no idea that he's talking about the same person. For some reason, that seemed like a theme throughout this story. Everyone seemed to have two names, like identities for before and after cataclysmic events.

"Can you tell us a little about him?" Rose prompted. "As Terrans and Alternians, we have not been privy to the rich lore of Beforus."

"Trust me, he's got more lore than you can shake a wooden prong at. Which do you wanna hear first, the probable-historical or the artistic-cultural?"

"Let's start with the probable-historical, since that sounds like it will also be shorter," Rose said.

"Okay, so here's the thing. Few thousand sweeps ago or something, there was a seadweller now made Nameless by time." He paused to wag an eyebrow again, proud of himself for this mediocre line. "The seadweller was pretty great at everything, and was this hugely respected dude. Everyone loved him. But, even though everyone loved him, they loved the Compasse more, since she was like, running the show and our great protector and all. So after so much time spent trying and failing to become greater than the Compasse, he started working to destroy her creations. He sacked cities and killed people and was basically the worst ever, but I can see where he was coming from. People do crazy things in the name of love."

"Interesting," Rose said, meeting Kanaya's eye. That was quite a different story than the Betrayer himself had told. Kanaya wondered for a moment if the Seafarer would lie to make himself seem more likable, and she communicated this newfound suspicion to Rose with the most well-calibrated shrug she could manage. Rose nodded, and then asked Cronus, "So knowing that story, do you know who the Blood-Stained Knight is?"

"I've heard that phrase, Blood-Stained Knight, before," Cronus said. "But I thought it was talking about the Betrayer. If it's a different person, I got some guesses that they were like, the Betrayer's most deadly soldier, or his executioner or something.”

"So most of Beforus is in agreement that the Betrayer was a real person," Rose said. "So then what kind of cultural legacy did this leave?"

"With an origin story like that, of course the dude got fictionalized to hell and back! It's part of why we have no idea what his sign was or anything. Any time an artist painted him, they just scrawled him a new one and kept going. I mean, they made some damn fine artwork though. A shame none of it made it through the Reckoning. Then authors got involved and the sky was the limit. Any story featuring an evil force opposing all goodness and decency used the Betrayer as their main antagonist. Sometimes they made him an alien, sometimes a ghost, sometimes he was magic but magic is the fakest shit to ever not exist, so he was obviously not actually magic."

"Really? They just reduced him to a character in stories?"

"Why not? The stories are great. I really like the ones that add a bit of pitch tension between the Compasse and the Betrayer, but then Porrim gave me an earful about abusive kismesissitudes. I guess that's what I get for having a personal preference, huh? No opinions allowed in Porrim's world.”

Rose changed the subject. "You mentioned that the Betrayer revolted with violent means. Does history remember when this started?"

"Millennia before our session, at least."

"Does fifteen hundred sweeps sound right?"

"Eh, I don't know. Sounds a little light. He must've lived longer ago than that. But nice try."

Rose nodded, and shot Kanaya a glance, like this is supreme levels of idiocy. Kanaya had to agree with her.

"So what is the Betrayer remembered most for in modern times?" Kanaya said, picking up the discussion.

"Just some lame culler tales, in my opinion. Like, when the bloodshed ended, probably since the Compasse finally started to win against his armies like she was always destined to, the Betrayer started some case-by-case subversion, trying to knock the pillars out from under culling by finding all the ways cullers failed to protect their charges. And this is where I think he and the Empress had a spades thing going on, because even though he could pick off helpless lowbloods—sorry, warms—like target practice, he also found all the weaknesses for the Compasse to patch up. Like a proper pitch relationship.”

“Yes, that sure sounds like the best foundation for a romance,” Rose drawled, and Kanaya could reliably detect the human sarcasm. Apparently Cronus could not.

“I know! No one else sees it that way, so it’s great you get where I’m coming from. But then there was one thing she was never able to fix, and that’s where most stories of the Betrayer come from."

Kanaya could see it in Cronus' face. The way he lit up at being listened to, relished in telling a story people wanted to hear. She could practically see the rest of his fantasy playing out in his head; that she and Rose would be so smitten by his storytelling abilities that they would fall head over heels into a quadrant with him. The desire to chainsaw her answer into him grew.

"What couldn't she fix?" Rose prompted dutifully.

"That wigglers are fucking stupid," Cronus answered. "There are all these legends of little kids who don’t wanna follow the rules. Warmbloods who don't want to listen to their cullers and cools who don’t want to grow up and take responsibility. So they're being rebellious little shits, when who should show up but a shadowy man swearing he can take them to a place where they never have to listen to anyone else, ever. So the twerps go, ‘yippee, sounds like fun!' And then follow him, abandoning hive and lusus.”

"And then what happens?" Kanaya asked.

"Then he leaves them for dead," Cronus said with a shrug. “Takes them out to a forest or desert and then vanishes. He's the Betrayer, after all. Any time he makes a promise, just assume he's gonna backstab you. But the stupid kids don't know that, so they disappear, never to be heard from again."

"So why is this the enduring story of the Betrayer, when he has all of that other lore associated with him? Grand command over the armies of darkness and all that."

"It's for scaring the wigglers into line," Cronus said. "Better get back inside, or the Betrayer's gonna get ya! Or, if you don't do your chores, the Betrayer's gonna snatch you up. Like, by the end of it everyone was pretty certain he was dead, since seadwellers only live about two thousand sweeps. But every so often you hear a newsfeed about wigglers going missing. So everyone gets all superstitious and the legend continues."

"Perhaps he found a successor," Kanaya suggested. "Or it was not all his efforts alone in the first place."

"Yeah, makes sense," Cronus agreed, and then he smirked at her. "Doing things all alone is a drag, after all. You need someone with a little brains, a little beauty..."

"I'm not interested, so please stop."

"I'm trying to pay you a compliment, sheesh! You made a good point is all!"

"Regardless, we have more questions," Rose said. "You've heard of the Handmaid by now, right?"

"Yeah, Damara's more-psychotic-than-usual grown up self. I know her."

"Aranea referenced Beforus having a cultural analog for the Handmaid. Is that the Betrayer?"

Cronus nodded. “I never thought about it like that, but that sounds right. A little different, though.”

"How so?"

"See, the best way to understand it is to use a metaphor from human culture." Cronus drawled the word 'human' like that made it any better he was trying to be a different species. "If the Handmaid is your Lucifer, then the Betrayer is the boogeyman."

Kanaya looked to Rose, hoping she understood that. It seemed like she did. "What's the boogeyman?"

"A sort of mythological creature representing generalized fear," Rose said. "Whereas Lucifer, or the devil, was a divine being with evil powers and the presumed ability to doom and torment souls, the boogeyman had no influence in the battle of morality. His role was to represent the forces of mayhem and terror. In that way, he was more localized to childhood, but still qualified as the most frightening thing most children could imagine."

"I see..." Kanaya agreed. Why does mayhem and terror sound more like something Gamzee would do?

"Thank you very much for your cooperation, Cronus," Rose said. "I suppose we can share some details with you, too."

"Sounds fair," Cronus said. "I'm all for the mutual exchange of information."

"Well, we discovered that the Seafarer and the Betrayer are the same person. That 'made Nameless by time' thing was pretty easy to figure out from our perspective. The Seafarer was a very important member of the Compasse's administration, who then betrayed her and all of Beforus to join a rebellion."

Cronus nodded, but questioned, "Wait, join a rebellion? Like there were other people who hated the Compasse, too?"

"Why does that sound hard to believe?"

"Y'know, she's the Compasse! Our radiant and generous Empress! She set an example on how to treat each other that we below her strove to follow and all. It didn't end up mattering here, now that everyone's dead, but we all knew this. Compasse was the best. Total hottie, too."

"Maybe no one hated her, but enough people disagreed with her to create an armed resistance. This was approximately fifteen hundred sweeps before your session began."

"Whoa... Well, this is news to me!" Cronus said. "So if my ancestor is the Seafarer, then he's also the Betrayer!"

"You seem excited by this," Rose noted.

"Of course! It's not every day you learn your ancestor was one of the most popular and famous figures to exist!"

"Even though he led countless children to their deaths in the desert?" Kanaya asked.

"Part of the intrigue. Besides, lots of famous people have death tolls. It's nothing new. But man oh man, can you imagine the possibilities?"

"I don't follow," Rose said.

"Check it: if you know who your ancestor had in their quadrants, it's a clue about who your serendipitous mates are! C'mon, what do you know about who he knew? Let me guess, Captor was part of it, wasn't he?"

"No..." Rose said slowly. "In fact, we know nothing about the Betrayer’s quadrants save a broken moirallegiance."

"Oh yeah? With who?"

"The Compasse herself. He was her moirail, but we can only assume they broke it off when the Betrayer, well, betrayed her."

"Yeah, that makes sense," he said. "I always knew Meenah and I would click better in flush. Who else did he know?"

"That’s… really not something I know much about…"

"Bee ess, Rosie. What about that knight? If the Blood-Stained Knight isn’t the Betrayer, who is it? Is that Latula's ancestor?"

Kanaya glanced at Rose. It looked like she was wrestling with consequences. Sharing anything about how the Betrayer knew the Chimeric could set up Kankri for romantic harassment... or worse, set up Karkat for the same fate.

"Not quite," Rose answered. "It's the Chimeric."

"The who?"

"Exactly. Now, this has been quite diverting, but Kanaya and I need to continue our phantasmic interviews elsewhere, with other people..."

"Hey, I can help! I am great at sleuthing out the truth. I cut through hoofbeast shit like cake. Which… that's really gross, forget I said that. But I mean what I said, I can help!"

"We would really prefer you didn't," Kanaya said with a polite smile.

"Okay. Fair. I get that. But what about after, you wanna meet up again?"

"We'll see if the bubbles cooperate," Rose promised, code for Kanaya that they would avoid Cronus with everything they had.

"Don't I at least get a hug?" Cronus took a step forward, arms spread.

And Rose jabbed one of Echidna's Quills under his chin. "If you make a single move to touch either of us, I'm going to turn you into a tadpole."

He held up his hands in surrender. "I get it, I get it! Fucking hell, it was a joke!"

"Usually, jokes are funny," Rose said. "You need better material. I hope you find some before we meet again."

"Okay! Fine! Just go, if that's what you want!"

Rose stowed her wand and elegantly gestured away. "After you.”

"Thank you." Kanaya smiled and started to walk, her heart beating a little faster. She was at least confident she wasn't glowing, but the vapors had certainly arisen.

As they walked away from Cronus, a memory of LOLAR emerged, specifically centering on Rose's hive. Rose invited Kanaya inside, and up to her respite block, where there were at least places to sit comfortably. Kanaya remembered staring at this room through a viewport, sassing Rose and gradually realizing she was... different. Important.

"That went better than expected," Rose said.

"It ended with a threat of violent transfiguration."

"It could have ended with realized threats. And it makes sense with some other details we've learned so far."

"Which parts, specifically?"

"Aranea said that the Compasse most likely censored the Chimeric’s legacy and tried to lighten his presence in history to prevent prejudice against mutants. If the Betrayer served as the Chimeric's strategist, then it's very easy to twist the story and say the rebellion was the Betrayer's idea, while the Chimeric was a common soldier. Vilifying one of the elite would keep the nobility in line, and shift blame off of the blood mutant.”

"But then why did he become the boogeyman, too? That legacy must have been forged after the Chimeric’s death and the end of armed conflict, so the Betrayer is not a blame-bleatbeast.”

"Why indeed," Rose said, and she sighed. "I know the Seafarer was being tremendously rude, but Karkat's spectacular aerial maneuver off the handle sabotaged an opportunity to gather lot of valuable information.”

“I really don’t think Karkat was expecting the Seafarer to be a loyal ally in the first place, or for that ally to behave quite so condescendingly to an alternate incarnation of his former commander.”

“I know, Karkat has every right to engage with his blood color any way he chooses,” Rose agreed, a little grudgingly. “But he burned that bridge so early! He could have left and let us learn about the past. The Seafarer could have provided context for his actions that a mere memory would not have been able to communicate.”

“Or he could have lied,” Kanaya suggested. “The dead have nothing to lose but their reputations. Once the Seafarer realized we had the power to beat him, he could have tried to fashion himself the most favorable history possible.”

“Interesting… So if he lied about being the Chimeric’s right-hand advisor, then what is the truth?”

“I don’t think it’s anything as outlandish and fictitious as what Cronus suggested, but a desire to be greater than the Empress could fuel a number of terrible decisions. And perhaps the Chimeric intended to lead a peaceful revolution, more like the Sufferer’s, until the Seafarer brought his rage and hurt to the equation and unbalanced the rebellion.”

“So it’s really the Seafarer who encouraged the Chimeric to kill, not the Mirthful as we expected.”

“That’s probably completely wrong, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” Rose said. “Which is to say, I currently can’t tell if you’re right or wrong. There’s just enough evidence on all sides to keep the scales balanced.”

“How encouraging.”

“But it still doesn’t add up with why the Betrayer would be remembered for targeting children…” Rose stared at her knees, thinking. “Cronus may yet be right that it was the only part of institutional culling that the Compasse was unable to fully control, but what did he gain?”

Part of the Seafarer’s testimony had stood out to Kanaya for reasons of personal interest. She knew other people had walked away from the encounter preoccupied with their own details, but Kanaya had her own focus. “I know I literally just insinuated that the Seafarer may be a liar, but he did also report that the Chimeric’s last mission was to stage a cavebreak and steal a Matriorb. Securing independent reproduction was one of his long-term goals that never came to fruition due to his death.”

Rose snapped her fingers. “So then the Betrayer wasn’t stealing children to leave them for dead at all. It was part of a recruitment effort, for repopulation.”

“Repopulation of what? There were no armies left within ten sweeps of the Chimeric’s death.”

“But he had to maintain followers somehow, didn’t he?”

“He could have chosen the Sufferer’s model. Adults who harbored radical beliefs about peace and hemoequality spoke to each other in secret, and they gained followers that way.”

“Hm, that’s true,” Rose admitted.

“And this may simply be my perception of Karkat, but the idea that he commanded someone to deliberately target and quasi-abduct children pushes the limits of what I believe he would ever choose to do,” Kanaya added.

“So there are two possibilities here then,” Rose said. “One is, history has once again distorted the tale of an ancestor and left us with a false interpretation of their actions and intentions. The other is, the Chimeric really, truly found himself in a situation where his goals could only be furthered by the systematic abduction of wigglers, continuing far after his death.”

“Neither of those options sound probable.”

“I think the missing piece is to know what the Chimeric truly hoped to accomplish with his revolution. ‘End culling’ is a highly condensed objective that has removed a great amount of nuance.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

“We need to find the memory where the Chimeric renounced his Guardianship. If we can find his exact words when the rebellion began, then this will surely be our best starting point to sort out who is and isn’t lying.”

“Who precisely would he renounce his Guardianship to?”

“Likely the Compasse, and other Guardians, I would assume.”

“So we should find one of Feferi’s ghosts to embody the Compasse?”

“Yes. If she and Karkat can find the right entrance to the memory, then we will have a recollection of what the Chimeric declared. Technically, we only need one of them to find the memory, but I think two agents would improve our chances.”

“Others will likely agree with that proposal,” Kanaya said. But the prospect of reporting to Vriska left a bad taste in her mouth as always. At least when she was ‘reporting’ to Karkat she felt like she was freely volunteering her time and energy rather than bound by some kind of harassment-fueled obligation to appease a bully.

“Then… we’ve learned something,” Rose said with a small smile.

Kanaya brushed some of her hair behind an ear. “Um. That we have. Go us.”

“This space is actually reminding me,” Rose said, changing the subject. “When we arrive in the new session and Jade restores LOLAR, would you maybe want to visit my real hive? It’s much cozier than the meteor, and this memory doesn’t quite do it justice.”

“Just about anything would be more comfortable than our meteor,” Kanaya said.

“Agreed. But I think you might like it. The bright atmosphere, the technicolor oceans. And your company is preferable above most all of our travel companions.”

The planet as a whole sounded appealing, but her next statement sounded quite… backhanded. Did she have a crush on someone who just considered her the least of all available evils? “Oh. Thank you.”

Rose smiled a little bit, but it disappeared quickly. Kanaya looked away and studied some of the bookshelves. Rose didn’t seem to enjoy fiction very much. Either that or she kept the fiction in other places. What was the feasibility of claiming that Porrim wanted to speak to Kanaya? It felt like it had been quite a while since the Maryam bloodline had a reunion.

“At the risk of sounding awkward,” Rose spoke again. “What I meant by my previous statement was that I am feeling very interested in… um…”

Interested? In?

“In communicating to you that… if given the option of where to be, there’s no place I’d rather be than here. With you.”

Oh.

Kanaya felt that tickle under her skin that meant she was half a second away from glowing, and successfully implemented one of the numerous counter-glow techniques she’d been working on. Oh. Oh wow. Rose. She. She thought. She wanted. Here. Kanaya. Oh god, what was she going to do? What were either of them about to do? Was this the moment in the romcom where the matesprits kissed? She forced herself to meet Rose’s eyes for signs of kissability. Rose looked away with another teensy smile. She smoothed some of her hair aside too.

Okay. Probably not. This was not the kissing moment. But it was something. Something that made Kanaya glow inside instead of out.

Chapter Text

Vriska's trials felt endless. She wondered if this was Hell.

Her prison, in all honesty, was one of the nicer places she had ever slept. It was no hive-sweet-hive, but early in her ‘career,’ when she was doing the more menial tasks to lay the groundwork for what would eventually be her magnificent web, she reposed in her fair share of sewer pipes and rodent-infested barns. Those experiences certainly inspired her to rise above and succeed no matter what.

Then again, she knew this cell was only for the accused. They had to keep her somewhere secure while they tore apart her history looking for wrongdoing. Once they found out exactly how much she was guilty of, she'd go to a real prison. Nearly a perigee of trials and they had just scratched the surface, and already she was facing a sentence anywhere from three hundred nine to eight hundred and eighty sweeps long. The chances they would give her anything other than a span terminal sentence dwindled.

Compared to other trials, Vriska's was a fairly private affair. Her Radiance wasn't even in attendance, even though the crime that landed her in hot water in the first place was helping the Empire's top fugitive. No spectators either. And the proceedings were taking forever! Lawscale had kept such meticulous notes on all the crimes that Vriska may have been involved in that she practically delivered a checklist to the judge. To make matters worse, even crimes that Vriska had supposedly been cleared of came back to the table as Lawscale continued to lead salvage efforts in the ruins of her hive and exhumed damning evidence that brought guilty verdicts to previously cleared charges.

Can she at least bring me my choker? Vriska touched her naked neck. As she waited for her jailers to return and bring her to her fifty-first night of trails, she sat on her cell’s reclining platform. It was quite the ingenious little setup, with a barely-padded board chained to a wall. When let down, it covered a shallow, ablution-trap-like recuperacoon. When raised, she could sleep. She sat atop her sleeping place and traced a few interesting patterns on the opposite wall. One resembled a broken spider web. Well, that was appropriate.

The reinforcementers appeared to place her in handcuffs, same as usual. But as they marched to the courtblock, Vriska's guards took a wrong turn.

"Am I not going to face justice tonight?” she asked.

"You have a summons," one of them answered.

"I would rather have a visitor," she muttered. She had been informed no one would be allowed to see her, since the Vigilants were still investigating her associates and she could not be trusted with contact from the outside. But apart from a confirmation that the Benevole was physically safe, she had heard nothing else. Was she back at the clinic? Had she been arrested too? Interrogated? She surely knew that Vriska's past had caught up with her, but exactly how much more had she learned? The Benevole had always know that Vriska did business that no decent gentletroll would dirty their hands with. But did she realize that it hadn't been her own idea to jump off the second story? What did she think of that night? Too many questions, too much worry. Vriska just wanted to know her moonbeam was okay.

When the guards brought her down a hallway, she noticed a person with a familiar pair of balanced horns and red glasses at the other side, walking toward them. The Vigilant Lawscale, her bane and enemy, escorted by a common clerk. If not for Vriska's handcuffs, they might have looked like equals.

"My dear Lawscale," Vriska called to her as she approached. "Surely you aren't so eager to see my face you would pursue me outside of the courtblock!"

Lawscale managed to smile back. "Believe me, you are the last person I expected to meet when facing an imperial summons."

"Imperial?"

"Did no one tell you? Her Radiance has called me, and apparently you."

"Ah, what a shame! I would have dressed up for the occasion." Vriska gestured with cuffed hands at her prison-issue clothes. The Benevole could have gussied them up in a snap.

One of Vriska's guards ended the banter by opening a door. Lawscale kept her hands behind her back and nodded for Vriska to go first. Smug bitch. But what else could Vriska do? She stepped inside the block and, catching sight of the Empress, bowed.

"Your Radiance, I am at your service," she said. The space was stately, but Vriska knew her way around stately places and they didn't impress her anymore. The Compasse still did, with her fuchsia eyes and hair to her ankles and noble bearing. Vriska liked to think she looked like that when meeting people.

"Prospera, Lawscale, please sit." She indicated some chairs across a table, which had another chair behind it. Vriska's guards ensured she sat as directed, but then with a nod of the Compasse's head, they left. Lawscale, for her part, took the other chair.

"First... there are apologies in order, Lawscale," she said. "I should have trusted your judgment and advice when it came to pursuing the Chimeric."

"Please, you are already forgiven, your Radiance," Lawscale answered. Overly diplomatic, in Vriska’s opinion.

"No, this error has had consequences which are nearly unforgivable," the Compasse said. She leaned forward, and rested her folded hands on the table between them. "This is... almost impossible to comprehend. But the Chimeric defeated the Seafarer."

"He did what?" Vriska's jaw dropped. A glimmer of hope that her investment might be safe flickered to life.

"The Absolution performed admirably, but when it came time to board the Lux Volans, the Chimeric bested the Seafarer in a duel and took him hostage. Then he used my moirail as collateral to commandeer the Absolution and sail away, leaving the former crew on the wreckage."

Wreckage. The hope died.

"I'm so sorry, your Radiance," Lawscale said softly. Vriska nearly scoffed. Someone like Lawscale couldn't be all that sorry if a queen was apologizing to her.

"But this is exactly what you warned me against, Vigilant. A drastic action has radicalized the Chimeric again. He threatened to kill the Seafarer if the crew did not comply, and left them for little more than dead in the open ocean."

"Were there any casualties?"

"Thanks to the efforts of a few seadwellers, nothing more than some sunburns. The sailors are expected to make full recoveries."

Left for dead... Vriska fiddled with her handcuffs. The Chimeric had vowed up and down that he was soulless, and wouldn't hesitate to hurt Vriska if she didn't help him. Are those threats true, then? Are you a soulless monster now?

"Esteemed Prospera," the Compasse said, turning to her. "You harbored the Chimeric before organizing transport for him, didn't you?"

Vriska jumped in with her best fearful warble. "I did, but you must understand, I was so afraid! And not just for my life, but the life of my cullee as well! That aberrant would have hurt my poor Huntsman, he said so!"

"If I may, your Radiance, I'd like to add that my first response to the Chimeric's letters occurred when he expressed concern for the Huntsman's care. There is a growing body of evidence that Prospera coerced the able Huntsman into acting like an invalid to evade caste-appropriate culling responsibilities."

"What do you mean by that?" Vriska challenged.

"The Chimeric wouldn't bother threatening the Huntsman because he is nothing to you.”

"How dare you insult my pride as a culler!"

The Empress coughed. Lawscale and Vriska stopped.

"The motives are presently less important than the facts," the Compasse said. "What exactly did the Chimeric ask for?"

"Sanctuary, transport, disguise, personal armaments, and a map," Vriska answered.

"Why did he ask for all those?"

"He didn't say. But those are not the resources I would have asked for if I were about to oppose all that is good and kind in the world.”

"Why did you provide him those resources? What does he owe you?"

Vriska glanced at Lawscale, sitting to her side with her head tilted slightly down. The trials hadn't reached this part yet. Well, the Compasse wasn't the judge, in this case.

"I owed him," Vriska answered. "Specifically, I owed his culler. It's a long story, but the Mournful helped me get something I wanted very badly. I was in his debt, and he recently collected my payment.”

The Empress seemed satisfied. Maybe Vriska would be made to testify later, but this was enough for now. "You made arrangements for him in Althelney, didn't you?"

"No, your Radiance. The only part of our bargain was that I would not arrange for imperial forces to greet him."

"He won't dare dock in Althelney either," Lawscale added. "Not now. The Seafarer was present in court when I reported my intelligence, so we should now assume the Chimeric knows anything that was discussed that night."

"Are you saying the Seafarer would share intelligence with the enemy?" Vriska raised an eyebrow at Lawscale.

"I think the Seafarer understands his value to the Empire and the need to preserve his life. The Chimeric left dozens of people to die, and though I believe the details are exaggerated, he did threaten Prospera, too. The Chimeric is no longer above killing to get what he wants. If the Seafarer feeds him innocuous information, he can stay valuable enough to keep alive.”

"What are the chances of the Seafarer already being dead?" Vriska had to ask.

"Remote, but the longer we wait the larger they grow."

"So he'll want to find someplace in the wilderness to make port. Going to a town in the Absolution means instant arrest."

"You know some smuggler coves, don't you? Make a recommendation."

"Three suitable for a ship of the Absolution's size, and only one my Captain would be able to navigate safely in a destroyer galleon. But you just decided, the Chimeric won't go to Althelney. The Empire knows to look for him there.”

"The Absolution is not stocked with infinite supplies. He must restock, and short of resorting to piracy—which will still drain his gunpowder—the best thing to do is sail for the nearest port, and then aim slightly off course to avoid detection."

“Fair point. Make port in a cove, travel to town in disguise, resupply, and leave before we realize he’s there.”

"Exactly."

The Compasse grinned and clapped her hands. "Perfect! Just perfect!”

“What’s perfect?“ Lawscale said.

"Your collaboration!"

"Our what?" Vriska didn't like the sound of that word.

"It's become obvious to me now," the Compasse began. "Every single action I take does nothing but strengthen the Chimeric and make him more determined to fight. You would think you know a troll after living ten sweeps with them, but he is like nothing I have ever seen before. I cannot fight him."

An uneasy feeling filled Vriska's gastric sac. When the tyrian empress could not do something, it did not bode well for the world.

"So what does this have to do with us?" Lawscale said.

The Compasse smiled at her. "Consider this a promotion..." She turned to Vriska. "And a plea bargain. You two will serve as my imperial hunters. Operating independently and covertly from any other armed opposition, you must find the Chimeric, predict his next moves, and stop him before his rebellion has a death toll."

"You can't be serious,” Vriska said. "Do you really think I can work with someone who loathes everything I've ever done?"

"Exactly. Your Radiance, I must refuse,” Lawscale agreed.

"Why? You two are the perfect combination of insight and ruthlessness."

"If you think I was right to advise against sending the Seafarer, then trust me to be right again. Prospera will betray everyone the first chance she gets.”

"I wouldn't!" Vriska exclaimed, well aware that she would.

"Why would she?" The Compasse turned to Vriska and asked her: “What is it that you want? What is the ultimate goal for you?"

Vriska wished she didn't have to say this in front of Lawscale of all trolls. But she was sitting before the Empress, the one with the power to make anything in the world happen. She knew what she wanted and this was her one chance to get it. When a magical wish-granter appears, use precise language and ask for everything.

"I wish to live with my matesprit in freedom and safety," she said. "Meaning, I will not be in prison, and she will not return to the brooding caverns as long as we both live. And while you have me doing your dirty work, the Benevole must be protected against all harm."

The Compasse nodded lightly. "Your matesprit is jadeblooded, correct?"

"Yes. Her name is Mistress Benevole. She was at my hive during the attack. I heard she was fine, but I have received no news since."

"No news is good news," Lawscale muttered.

Vriska glared at her, though it would do her no good. "No news is maddening. If my fate is dangling from a thread, why can't I know hers?"

"Esteemed friends!" the Compasse cut in."Your concern for the Benevole is touching, and I am certain that she is just fine! I think I remember speaking with her a perigee or so ago. She is a dedicated senior auxiliatrix, is she not?"

"She is more than her duties," Vriska insisted. "And she deserves the sun after all she has done to help trollkind."

"Then what would you say to this: help the Vigilant Lawscale arrest the Chimeric, and the Benevole's duties will be made completely voluntary. She may enter and leave the caverns as she wishes, should her sisters need her. But she will have a permanent right to light. As for you, as many sweeps as you earn in prison, you will instead spend in culling service. I'm sure we will find suitable work for you where you will not be able to harm anyone else."

"Your Radiance, do you know what she's done?!" Lawscale insisted. "The damages of her span cannot be repaid with mere culling service!"

"Is this arrangement acceptable to you, Prospera?" the Compasse asked, undaunted.

Vriska steeled her expression and nodded. Eternal community service, no more glory and glamor and luxury, but she would have her freedom, and she would have her matesprit. And she might take a little bit of satisfaction seeing the Chimeric go to prison while she walked free.

"As for you, Lawscale… Accept Prospera as your co-enforcer, and use her expertise as part of your investigation, or I will grant her total amnesty right now."

Lawscale looked like someone had punched her in the stomach. Vriska just gaped, looking between the confident Empress and the horrified Vigilant.

"You can't do this," Lawscale managed to say. "I... I know the Chimeric was your cullee, and you are presently without moirail, but this is... this is insane! One crisis shouldn't upend the principles of justice like this!"

"I assure you, Lawscale, I am making the correct decision now," the Compasse replied. "Do you understand precisely why the Seafarer is a perfect counterbalance to my reign?"

Lawscale shook her head. Vriska had a few ideas—his loyalty, his obedience, things she valued in a servant—but did not feel comfortable enough guessing.

"He is merciless!” the Compasse said with a cheerful smile. "He does what I cannot. And I do what he cannot. That way, everything gets done!"

"So what does that have to do with letting Prospera avoid consequences?"

"Because this is precisely what he would do. Before attacking the enemy, forge an unstoppable weapon. The two of you are that weapon: calibrated intuition and pathological determination.”

"What if we can't cooperate?" Lawscale said.

"You'll have to find a way. If Prospera quits, she goes to prison. If Lawscale quits, Prospera is pardoned. I think that sounds like the perfect way to encourage you to compromise, since neither can permit the other to win.”

Vriska had no idea if she had ever heard worse news. Worse than the Chimeric darkening her doorstep, worse than her hive blasting to pieces, worse than the threat of a lifespan in prison. Lawscale would be her overseer in this awful game of investigators. Like all of her good luck had run out at once, she was now chained to Lawscale's side.

"For the record, your Radiance," Lawscale said, “as soon as the Chimeric is arrested, expect my immediate resignation."

"We'll see."

"I mean it!"

"We'll see!" The Empress stood and crossed to the door, where she knocked to signal Vriska's guards to return. "Lawscale, pack anything you need for a field investigation. Prospera, you will be outfitted for travel. Your first destination will be Althelney, where you can collaborate with reinforcementers there to root out the Chimeric's most likely location.”

"Wait!" Vriska burst. “I—I want to say goodbye. To the Benevole."

The Compasse nodded. "That can be arranged. Before she departs for secure care, you two may meet."

Vriska nodded and returned to the custody of her guards, but this time she would be destined for somewhere other than a cell. Her mind reeled with what had just happened. A second chance to salvage the thing she wanted most of all. And all it took was cooperating with her sworn enemy.

I won’t let her win. I’ve survived everything else Fate has thrown my way, I’ll survive this. I will prosper.

Chapter Text

“Heeeeeeeey! Tereziiiiiiii!”

The pounding on Terezi’s door reverberated through her block. She continued to sit in the corner, surrounded by her scalemates. It had been a few days since Terezi saw Vriska, since the end of that crazy memory where she showed a little too much of herself. She and Vriska had been engaged in a very uncomfortable mutual-avoidance maneuver, with Terezi absconding to her block and her plushies while Vriska did… something else. But now Vriska was here and knocking on her door. She demanded attention.

Should I pretend I’m not here? The problem was, Vriska definitely knew Terezi had decided to hide in her block. And Vriska would only be breaking the silence like this if she had something else she wanted to talk about. Rose and Kanaya had probably had a meeting with her about what they learned from their latest post-mortem interview.

“I know you’re in there! Lalonde and Maryam got back to me about Cronus!”

Nailed it. Terezi slipped her hands under her glasses and massaged her numb eyes. This was about to be so awkward. What was she supposed to say about their... little moment? Terezi would only admit this to her trusted Chief Deputy Pyralspite, but it had felt really good to get papped right then. It almost scared her how much she liked it. Terezi had never felt conciliatory at anyone before, and if she was being honest that half of the grid had always made her nervous. All those emotions; it was so easy to mess up! But she had never considered the other side of it. She hadn’t realized how nice it would be to have someone there for her when her feelings were spinning out of control.

But what was she supposed to tell Vriska about it?

In the meantime, Vriska knocked again. Eight pounds on the door. “Get your ass out of the sopor and open up!” She would not be denied.

Terezi dragged her hands down a little bit and slapped some life into her cheeks. Then she stood up, crossed to the door, shook her shoulders, and opened it to smell Vriska’s black-and-blueberry self outside.

“Jeez, desperate much?” Terezi teased her.

Vriska scoffed. “Get real, Pyrope. There is some important research going down and you need to get up to speed! What took you so long?”

“You were waiting for two minutes, chill.” Terezi stepped aside to let Vriska in.

With a flounce of her hair, Vriska sauntered into Terezi’s room. She had a few stacks of books lying around and some swatches of the most colorful stuff she could hunt down in the meteor pinned to the wall. She also had a legume sack seat where she had been sitting a few minutes before, when Vriska interrupted. Her friend flopped down in the bean chair, while Terezi pulled up some books to use as a stool.

“So Cronus knew about the Betrayer, but not the Seafarer,” Vriska said, getting straight to business. “Even as the least accurate historical source possible, he had a lot to say about that history’s impact.”

Terezi hesitated. Is she just pretending nothing happened? She always did this, replacing reality with whatever interpretation of events suited her designs best, like blaming Tavros for his own crippling, bragging about going God Tier when really Aradia had beaten the shit out of her, and acting like she and Terezi had stayed close friends even after they maimed each other. She’d probably make up some excuse later about how papping her didn’t mean anything and she was just trying to help out.

But Terezi couldn’t dwell on that. Vriska was plowing ahead and Terezi had to keep up. “We should probably send them a thank-you note for putting up with Cronus,” she said. “What did they learn?”

“The Betrayer was definitely remembered as a rebel, but more as a kind of semi-Handmaid, reverse-Orphaner. According to legend, he would steal kids and leave them to die, as a scare-you-straight grub’s tale. And Rose doesn’t think he was leaving kids to die in the first place.”

“Then what does Rose think?”

“She thinks it was something like a recruitment ‘plan B,’ considering the Chimeric needed to repopulate his rebellion and stealing a matriorb failed.”

“Hmm…” Terezi sniffed a little, a reflexive habit she had developed to replace the instinct to look somewhere contemplatively. “I wonder whose idea that was really.”

“Why wouldn’t it be the Chimeric’s?”

“Because even the most Past Karkat possible would probably not be dumb enough to think that randomly abducted children would make good fodder for raising a rebel army from the ashes. It’s like why conscription doesn’t happen for Alternians until ten sweeps. You need some time to learn what you’re good at before the Empire decides how to use you.”

“Maybe the Betrayer tried that, but it didn’t work. Or he was going for more of an ideological survival route.”

“What, like he didn’t need soldiers? Just… students?”

“Sure! Like sleeper agents within the system. Kids that grew up without being culled who then integrated back into society and went on to create change from within.”

“So then we need to talk to someone with an extensive knowledge of Beforan culling history and reform.”

“Could you ask Kankri about it and give us the shortened version after?”

Terezi stuck out her tongue. “Ugh.”

“I thought you liked listening to him.”

“Well yeah, but I don’t actually listen. I couldn’t tell you a single thing about what he’s actually trying to say apart from the buzzwords.”

“Then maybe we should try reaching out to Aranea again,” Vriska said. Terezi could sniff a frown on her face. “Gotta say, I have some questions for her, too. Sort of, Serket-to-Serket.”

“About what?”

“About our powers.”

“The mind control powers?”

“Yeah! It really pains me to admit it, but Prospera was a total weakling!”

Terezi raised her eyebrows. “Wait, really? But she was a full-grown adult, centuries older than you at least.”

“How much of the end did you remember there? Right before we, um. Got weird.”

Oh. She had to admit, she hadn’t been paying attention at all. She was just feeling rage and dying to wring John’s neck. “Maybe… remind me what happened?”

“The hive was falling apart, and the Benevole was trapped at the top of the broken stairs,” Vriska summarized. “To save her life, Prospera mind-jacked her into jumping. But her technique was awful! She didn’t have any finesse over the power, and had to brute force her way in like an amateur.”

“So the Benevole knew she had been mind controlled?”

“Almost certainly. She’d have to be an idiot not to recognize it, and Kanaya is no idiot.”

Terezi had another maneuver to perform with her eyebrows this time: the suggestive waggle. "Speaking of Kanaya..."

"What?"

"Nothing~"

"Whaaaaaaaat?!"

Terezi just popped her eyebrows up and down, continuing to goad Vriska. "Miss Minty grew up to be quite beautiful, didn't she?"

"Oh, shut up!" She could smell an azure flush on Vriska’s face. “I didn’t know that we were like that on Beforus! Kanaya and I have never been flushed for each other, ever! It just blindsided me right out of nowhere!”

“Uh-huh…”

“I mean it! Kanaya had a crush on Tavros, remember?”

That… sounded wrong. Terezi played along to make Vriska tell her more. “Not really.”

“It’s totally true. She helped make me a really cute fairy dress to kinda put the moves on him once, and afterwards she just totally cut me out! She was my server player and everything and suddenly, not a peep out of her! And then she vengefully sawed his legs off so Equius could give him some new robot ones. Definitely upset about me stealing her man.”

Terezi grimaced a little. Vriska was usually a lot better at sensing people’s thoughts and feelings than this. She supposed this was the simple ignorance that happened when someone jumped to conclusions: she thought she knew how Kanaya felt, and was now blind to evidence to the contrary. And even as someone who cared more than was wise about Vriska Serket, Terezi couldn’t help but feel relieved that Kanaya had shifted her affections elsewhere. It would work out better for everyone.

On the topic at hand, Terezi tried to re-focus the conversation. “Our session wasn’t Beforus. The Benevole and Prospera led pretty different lives than you and Kanaya, so anything is possible. I just wanna know, how serious was it?”

The blue-raspberry blush on Vriska’s cheeks spread. "Serious. I got the sense that they met when they were young, and long-distanced most of their relationship. And Prospera was... protective."

"Protective? Don't you mean possessive?"

"No, that's just it! She was protective! Whatever it took to protect the Benevole, she would have done it. She basically did, with the whole mind-jumping thing.”

“I’ll let that go then. We can talk more about Prospera’s powers. You said she was weak?”

“Yeah! Like she barely knew how to use her powers at all, or at least not on a midblood. Did I ever explain what using my powers is like?”

“Not exactly, since you always liked to pretend that it was some amazing mystery, and that you were more powerful than you let on,” Terezi said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I had to fill in the gaps about how strong your powers really were, even though you wouldn’t tell me, because I had to make my plans based on what I knew you were capable of.”

“Well, you underestimated me! Routinely, if what you say is true.”

“This still means I’m good at scheming, because I never asked you to do more than you could deliver on. And spidermom still got fed, so that was a mission accomplished for Team Scourge!”

Vriska’s flush changed from embarrassment to indignation. “Fine! If you know so much about my powers, then why don’t you tell me about them!?”

Terezi clicked her tongue. “Well, for starters, the hemospectrum grants different castes natural resistance to psychic powers. Lowbloods are easier to control than midbloods,  highbloods hardest of all. And then once you’ve got a connection with their mind, you have to meld your thoughts with theirs, which is again easier to do with a lowblood. Otherwise they can tell you’re in their head. So step one is connection, and step two is subtle control.”

“...Yeah, that’s pretty accurate,” Vriska admitted.

Terezi grinned again, quite pleased with herself. She got most of that from the experiments they used to run as kids, when even Vriska’s powers were much weaker. Wanting to test her own psychic resistance, Terez had insisted Vriska try and control her. She felt the power against her thoughts, like someone scratching at the door to her hive. But she kept it closed, and Vriska couldn’t control her.

She brushed the corner of one burned eye. Not directly, at least.

“So since I’ve got it right, what part was Prospera having trouble with?”

“All of it,” Vriska said. “The hurdle to form an initial connection took way more effort than usual, and once she was in the Benevole’s head she had no subtlety at all. Her blood caste is a little high for me, but in a situation like that I am positive I could have disguised my influence, since I didn’t need to make her do anything complicated. All it would have taken was a little extra fear to convince her there were no other stairs. But Prospera couldn’t even manage that.”

"Huh." Terezi rubbed her chin. "But you and she are sort of the same person. Your psychic potential should be the same, right?"

"It's like she never practiced. I got more practice with my power in six sweeps than she did in three hundred."

"Wow, that's how old she was?"

"I mean, how old was Lawscale?"

Terezi paused for a moment. She could feel the answer was there, but buried, vague. "Two hundred... On the young side of two hundred. I'd need another memory to check for sure."

"Ha! I was older than you."

"You just had a portal that spat you out earlier. All our grubs were ectobiologically cloned at the same time, dummy."

"Still older." Terezi could smell Vriska's silvery, triumphant smile.

"Blar, whatever," she replied. "It must be so awesome to know you were older than me and somehow managed to accomplish less."

"Jeez, who spit in your recuperacoon? Why can't you just be happy for me winning?"

"Because there's a lot more at stake here. You were talking about how Prospera's powers were underdeveloped compared to yours. I'm hoping we can find out what the point of that is."

"Oh, right. I mean, I know my powers get better with practice. I practiced using them on Jade for almost her whole life before I was confident I could put humans to sleep and wake them up."

"And you haven't figured out how to do anything else?"

"Nope. I mean, again, with practice I probably could do more, but given how hard it was to figure out how to knock them out in the first place, I doubt I’d have any mastery before we arrive at the new season."

"If all it takes is practice, then what are the actual limits of your powers?"

"I don't know. Mindfang pretty explicitly said she couldn’t read Dualscar's mind, and it'd be pretty pointless for her to lie about her abilities in a private journal. But she definitely had a lot of dexterity when it came to manipulating lowbloods and melding her thoughts with theirs. So I kinda expected the Serket ancestors to be pretty equal to each other, y’know?"

“Sure, but even with all of Prospera’s irons in the fire and crimes and such, Beforus was still a pretty peaceful planet. Maybe she just didn’t need to use her powers as much as you or Mindfang did.”

“I guess,” Vriska agreed, rather unsatisfied. “Figures that a wimpy planet would make Tavros and Karkat into badasses and nerf the rest of us.”

“I don’t know, I still felt like you were badass,” Terezi said. “Or at least, Lawscale regarded you as someone incredibly dangerous.”

Vriska combed her fingers through her hair, a little too subdued to be a proper flip. “Really?”

Terezi nodded. It kind of hurt to talk about Vriska like she was the enemy, since thinking of her as the one source of all evil on the meteor had almost led Terezi to make a terrible mistake, but Vriska seemed to revel in the idea that she was dangerous and deadly on Beforus too. “At least, that’s what she was thinking when Prospera made that foresight comment. She thought about all the ways Prospera had hurt her and everything she could do to hurt others.”

“Hurt her?”

“Yeah. I think Prospera blinded Lawscale, too,” Terezi admitted. Unable to stand the tension of that confession, she added a sarcastic, “I’m smelling a pattern here...”

Vriska took the bait. “Give me a break! I have blinded you once and only once! And you weren’t even mad about it, you like being the freaky blind girl! You should be thanking me.”

“Maybe later,” Terezi said. “Lawscale certainly wasn’t thanking Prospera, though. I can’t say for certain how she was ‘seeing,’ but I could smell my way through her memory just fine.”

“We could try and ask Latula to see if she can inhabit the memory. If Lawscale remembered things by smell alone, she shouldn’t be able to sync up.” At least, that might be how it works.

“I still need to convince her that ancestors are radical,” Terezi said. “I’ll add it to the to-do list.”

“But did Lawscale remember anything about how she was blinded, or why?”

“Not really. I just got the vague sense that Prospera had used it to try and end Lawscale.”

“Why not kill her?”

“Murders are messy! And on a planet like Beforus, you couldn’t just say the victim was justifiably culled. Prospera would have been in even more trouble if anyone found out. Or at least, that’s my theory. I think the actual reason has to do with Beforan culling.”

“Why?”

“Every single disability is grounds for disqualification from society. If Prospera blinded Lawscale, she’d be removed from duty and coddled for the rest of her life. Like, I know it’s a well-intentioned system, but if Latula bends over backwards to convince people that she shouldn’t be pitied for having no sense of smell, then it’s probably a hugely restrictive status, and lots of different disabilities could get you culled. The best investigator to ever hunt her made into some highblood’s pet.”

“But Lawscale was on the case.”

“Because she was hiding her blindness,” Terezi said. “She must have developed some other way to perceive the world and make up for all of her disadvantages without attracting suspicion.”

“Why didn’t Prospera tell anyone that Lawscale was blind?”

“Probably because Lawscale would then testify about who blinded her.”

“Shit, you’re right.” Vriska sank back further in her bean chair. "Man, why did we grow up to be losers on Beforus? This stupid stalemate standoff is so boring. I'm better than that! You're better than that!"

"There's more we need to learn before we call them losers," Terezi said. "Prospera was still the ruler of the Beforan underground, even without super mind control powers. And even more blind than not, Lawscale was the finest Vigilant of the age."

"Still, that planet left us so weak! Maybe we would have trounced our fellow ancestors, but if Karkat can nearly defeat the Seafarer, then what does that say for us?"

"It's says maybe we were strong in other ways. Ones that didn't involve fighting or murdering people."

"Pft, where's the fun in not killing people?" Terezi smelled those eight pupils roll.

She answered before thinking. "Was killing people ever fun?"

Vriska froze, and Terezi realized her mistake. Oh god, that was too pale. She hadn’t mean to share that at all. She had danced that confession around with Dave half a sweep ago, and here it was, out in the open. With Vriska, practically the embodiment of the ideal Alternian highblood! Of course Vriska liked killing, she was fantastic at it, she had killed thousands without hesitation, she had killed friends without remorse...

...so then why was she taking so long to refute Terezi?

Make it stop, make it stop! "Gog, I think the humans are rubbing off on me," Terezi said, following her own statement and lolling her tongue like she was trying to keep something gross out of her mouth.

"Ahaha, yeah! Those losers. I can't believe they made it this far, honestly."

"Probably only survived because we helped them," Terezi added, but her own words tasted hollow, like the dusty shell of a nut.

"True. But we should get back on topic."

"Which topic?"

“...Actually, I don’t know. There were a lot of them,” Vriska said.

“We need to talk to a lot of people, again.” Terezi nodded. They really should keep a list.

“Aranea about culling history, Latula about Lawscale, and we have to somehow find out what to do about this uncertainty re: why the hell the Betrayer was stealing kids, since you think Karkat would never give such an order...”

“He wouldn’t give an order like that without a good reason. If he’d had some other motive, wiggler-napping might make perfect sense.”

“Rose thinks we should go back to the source and find a memory about the true cause of the Chimeric’s rebellion. Like the day he decided to not be a Guardian or something. The Compasse was probably the first to know.”

“So we should try and find a ghost of Feferi…” Terezi paused. “But wait, all of these memories are emotion-based. Do you think Feferi could really pull off stepping into the shoes of the Compasse?”

“Why not? It’s her, isn’t it?”

“But you saw how hard it was for Karkat. It’s not an exact science, and it’s got a lot to do with imagining feelings we’ve never had.”

“Then what are you proposing, Pyrope?”

“We need to find the right Feferi,” Terezi said. “If we can find out what the Chimeric and Compasse’s relationship was actually like, and then find a doomed Feferi who had a similar relationship with Karkat, she might be able to help us.”

“But why can’t Karkat just lead us through the memory on his own, like he did at the Lux Volans?”

“Did you see the shape he was in after the Seafarer dissed him? Because I sure didn’t. But he smelled awful. I don’t think he’s going to feel up to being the Chimeric anytime soon.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then he and Feferi will have a lovely little roleplay together.”

Vriska nodded. She seemed to like the idea. “Lots of goals. I don’t know when we’re going to get to each of them, but between the six of us I think we can do a little dividing and conquering.”

“The best kind of conquering,” Terezi added with a razor smile.

“Nice,” Vriska answered. “But… look, before we break, um…”

Her blood ran cold. “Um what?”

“Are you going to be cool with John by the time we get to the new session?” Vriska asked tentatively. “Personal preferences aside, he’s a powerful God Tier and we’re going to need as much firepower as we can muster if we’re going to have to fight Jack to claim the Ultimate Reward.”

“Oh! That? That’s just… sorry, I really don’t know what came over me then.” Terezi struggled to put it into words. “I was just really mad, and I guess John took the brunt of it! I’ll be fine by the time we see him again, trust me.” Maybe.

Vriska let out a sigh of relief. “It’s really good to have that cleared, actually. Like, apart from the fact that I really just don’t want to see John dead again after I tricked him into dying, I don’t think I want to be in that kind of relationship with you!”

Terezi swallowed. “Pale?”

“Ashen! C’mon, even I can school you on this one. The relationship where one person keeps two others from murdering each other is ashen.”

“I wasn’t going to murder him!”

“You were gonna hang him.”

“Yes?”

“That kills people.”

“He can fly…”

“Terezi!!!!!!!! Don’t murder my human! I worked really hard on him, okay?”

“Fine, jeez! I won’t touch your things!”

Vriska laughed a little at that, and it did make Terezi feel a little better. “But you mentioned he was… stalking you? Across space and time?”

“That’s actually part of the reason I feel so angry at him right now,” Terezi said. “You don’t need the details, but basically there was this shitty series of pranks he played on me, always at the weirdest moments, and a lot of it was actually like… advice, in a weird way. Like he showed up when I needed something to shake me out of a vortice of possibility. All of the answers are probably on that scarf he gave Karkat, but of course I can’t just ask him for it.”

“Why not?”

“Because then Karkat will know this is still bothering me!”

“It’s bothering you?”

“No, it’s not! And that’s why I can’t ask Karkat for the scarf.” Terezi hated how unconvincing her own voice sounded. “Look, I’ll figure out what’s up with John by the time we see him, and we will have nothing but fond memories of generalized, directionless animosity.”

Vriska nodded again. “Alright, that sounds like a plan. I just really don’t want to end up in a quadrant with you over this, could you imagine?”

Terezi giggled and fake-retched. “Exactly! Things need to stay platonic between Sisters. That’s how we’re so good at what we do.”

"Perfect. Well, good talk, sis," Vriska said. The legumes of her sack chair crunched as she stood up, and Terezi followed suit. "Hey, you wanna go digging through the chests again? I want to see how many of my traps have sprung."

"You've set traps in the chests?"

"Not like trap-traps, just random bullshit that no one will want in eight billion sweeps, but due to the rules of chestiquitte, you are obligated to keep it!"

Something about that idea tasted blue to her: blue and breezy and ectoplasmic. But she put a smile on her face and followed with the most genuine glee she could fake.

Chapter Text

Eridan didn't know how much time had passed. After tearing him apart, the Chimeric left him with barely a word, giving his prized captive privacy to bawl like an orphan grub. Everything was in shambles in his life and he didn't know what to do, so he cried and cried until he felt like his whole soul had leaked out his eyes and dried in salty trails on his cheeks.

Feferi...

The Chimeric knew everything. He looked upon Eridan and his Empress and saw the truth they pretended not to see, and then spelled it out with honesty so brutal the seadweller wondered if it would have hurt less for the mutant to decapitate him. Eridan's flushed feelings and pale relationship had poisoned each other until it hurt to be in the Compasse's presence. It hurt to think of her even now.

Oh, Fef... What was I thinking?

He'd have to be more specific than that. What had he been thinking at literally hundreds, maybe thousands of moments throughout his life? What was he thinking when he was three, and decided the best thing he could do was devote his future to serving a hatchling Empress? What was he thinking when he was thirteen, a talented young captain, and he dreamed that he would serve her administration and her heart? What was he thinking at fifty, when he accepted the Compasse's appointment as a commodore, just another rung in the ladder eventually leading to her? What was he thinking when he decided to ignore the hissed accusations, 'loyalist shill, imperial puppet, sell out?'

Those slurs had been a warning that he ignored. Everyone around him could tell he cared for the Empress and nothing else, even if they didn't know why. If only he had listened.

Aboard the Absolution, Eridan sat up. His head throbbed with dehydration. The block had a small porthole, and he reached out a hand to trace his fingers along the metal fitting. He threw out four batches of metal before he found the right grade of copper. Anyone else would have used the first batch, maybe the second. Eridan liked to think he had been fussy because he wanted to create something perfect. That was a lie. The Absolution was his distraction. Something to control so he could pretend his life wasn’t in pieces.

Mind spinning, mouth dry, body weak—Mother mighty, Eridan felt like he had been through surgery. Perhaps that was the best metaphor for it. Eridan had been suffering for centuries from an emotional tumor so old he couldn't even tell which quadrant had corrupted which. Then the Chimeric took his scalpel and sliced it out of him. The gap left behind hurt almost as much as the tumor, but presumably, he could heal now.

Probably not. Eridan was still among traitors and criminals, the scum of the world. As soon as the Compasse heard what had happened to him, the rescue pursuits would begin. Eridan could name five captains off the top of his head capable of defeating the Chimeric, even with the Absolution at his command. None of them would make the same mistakes Eridan did. He'd be home safe soon.

Back with you, Fef.

He should wait for rescue. Return to the palace, take her aside, break it off. Train a replacement—maybe more than one—to take on his duties. And then... resign? Retire? But he was violetblooded, the Empire needed him to serve, and he had three-fourths of his lifespan left. If seadwellers and bluebloods could just retire when it pleased them then culling would not exist.

And if Eridan had to look her in the eye to end it, if she shed any tears or said anything even resembling 'please don't'... he'd cave. Unable to leave her in pain, he’d hold her, he'd shoosh her, and he'd be right back where he started. Moirail and menial to the Empress.

He milled aimlessly around the tiny cabinblock. He stared out the porthole, sat on the bench, laid down with his eyes open, laid down with his eyes closed. Someone brought him rations and left it just inside the door. He ate when he was bored enough.

Fef, what am I supposed to do?

It took two nights and five more plates of rations for him to decide to leave. The door was open. He could do something heroic. Ambush the Chimeric this time, demand surrender from his followers, and hobble his way to the nearest port. A seadweller against a slew of warmbloods, even with the outliers of the Mournful and the cerulean captain, was still a fight in his favor. Sympathizers would be his skeleton crew all the way to landfall.

But that wasn't going to happen. Eridan knew this. So did the Chimeric. That was why he left the door open.

The second day's dawn was nearly on the horizon when Eridan finally stepped out of the little cabinblock. The galleys below decks were empty, but there was a soft conversation behind the door next to Eridan's. Apparently the fugitives had made themselves quite comfortable.

He climbed to the deck and took a look at the stars. A few bright spots stood out, and he got his bearings. They were quite south of Althelney now. Perhaps trying to find a cove to land in? Eridan could think of one or two he had used to harbor the Absolution. Putting anchor would be tricky without a trained crew.

"Seafarer!"

Eridan nearly flinched at his name. Or rather, the voice that said it. The Chimeric, brash and burning as ever, crossed the deck to him. He had left the Mournful with some other passengers. Eridan heard laughter from their loose circle.

“It’s good to see you again. I want to apologize for the rough treatment. We will have you stationed back in your quarters shortly," the Chimeric assured him. Like my quarters are the thing that matters right now? "The captain and I were hoping to include you in our discussions to update our destination."

"Include me?"

"Certainly. Our previous destination is no longer viable. We need an unsettled place to land so we can re-evaluate our objectives."

Eridan felt like a novice sailor again. Like he couldn't keep his feet beneath his body no matter how hard he tried. "I'm not... I'm your hostage."

The Chimeric snorted. "If you were our hostage, you would be in chains. Please refrain from resorting to extremist negativity to describe your situation. It's far more accurate to think of you as a navigation specialist, much like a hired consultant. Your service will terminate upon arrival at our destination.”

He still couldn't process this. "So you're goin' to set me free?"

The Chimeric gestured to the ocean. "You're already free. You could dive and swim all the way to land, and not a person aboard this ship could stop you."

That wasn't going to happen. Eridan knew this. So did the Chimeric.

The rebel gestured toward the captain's quarters. "Shall we convene?"

Lost, Eridan agreed. He followed the Chimeric to his old quarters—everything untouched—and stood beside an unfamiliar map as the Chimeric and captain explained their needs. Eridan stayed very quiet, far quieter than he had ever been in any sort of strategic conference. He spent most of the meeting just studying the Chimeric's map. It was up to date, global, and marked with nearly a dozen red x-marks scattered randomly around the planet, in cities and wildernesses, a few clustered but most of them far-flung. What do they mean?

There was one isolated inlet where Eridan felt confident he could anchor the Absolution, even with novices and laypeople for a crew.

"I know there's smuggler activity nearby,” the captain said. "I don't believe they've swarmed to that exact cove, but we should be wary."

"If we encounter anchored ships, I'll negotiate," the Chimeric reassured her.

"And if we spook anyone at the mouth, and they attack?”

"We should downplay our allegiance," the Chimeric said, and he turned to Eridan. "It's your call. May we remove the fuchsia flags?"

Why was he asking like that? “We might be attacked if we don't. They have to come down."

"This is your ship. We sail under any flags you want. It's up to you if, when, and why we take down the flags."

"Of... Of course, take them down. There's a hold where we can pack them." Even if he were actively planning to escape, Eridan would be stupid to signal imperial allegiance to pirates.

The Chimeric nodded. "Thank you, Seafarer. You and the captain should confer about a new course. I'll leave you alone to do that in a moment. First..."

The Chimeric pulled out another roll of paper, covered in dense, compact, and all-caps writing, arranged in a meticulous grid. "I took the liberty of copying down the framework of your duties schedule. You were sailing with forty-eight trolls before, and it's fairly obvious that was a compact crew. We now have fifty-three, and only half of them have sailing experience. After consulting everyone, this is the best schedule I could approximate, taking into account everyone's prior ability and present adaptability."

Eridan stared at the chart. The stations and duties were familiar, but the only names he recognized were ‘Chimeric’ and ‘Mirthful’ in a variety of positions. "I don't know any of these people," he said.

"I'll introduce you. Please do not expect military precision from them, but I can personally guarantee anyone whose name I put down on this schedule is not only willing but also able to follow your command."

“Guarantee, huh?"

"Everyone understands that our freedom depends on maintaining a mutually beneficial relationship with you. You cannot sail if we do not help. We will not survive if you do not sail. It's simple."

Is it? Eridan nodded at the schedule. "Fine. We can't run at top speed this way, but we'll... we'll make it. And we can make landfall."

The Chimeric nodded and rolled the schedule up again. "I'll leave you to it." Then he left the captain's quarters and shut the door behind him with a snap.

"Was he always like this?" the captain asked.

"Hm?"

"The Chimeric."

"Like what?"

"So certain. Convinced that anything is possible."

Eridan tried to think back. The Chimeric had been barely a person to him for so many sweeps. When he had piled the Compasse through her distress over discovering the Chimeric's secret court, he revised his position, but he had never realized the Chimeric was this... what was the word? Was there a word for someone who could see the world in two ways, see both the thoughts and souls of everyone around him and knew how to speak to both?

"I don't know," he said.

The captain raised her eyebrows like a shrug. "To the matter at hand, then?"

"Right, yes."

They charted the course, and when Eridan left the cabin he found there were no more joking circles of lounging trolls. Everyone had been arranged into stations in preparation for sunrise. He saw many pairs of sailors and passengers, as sea hands quickly tutored their new crewmates. According to the duties schedule, Eridan would not take the helm until tomorrow evening. He returned to his little block below and curled up into a ball.

Fef, I don’t know what to do.

When the sun set and Eridan resumed command, things continued to feel hollow and empty. The Absolution almost mirrored the clumsy, lost feeling in his soul as the inexperienced hands got the job done, but with no elegance. The Chimeric took his place as a common sailor, and helpfully addressed people by name when all Eridan knew was their station.

“Calciner, he means you! Hey Orpiment, listen up, new orders! Deadbeat, get off of your ass! Pelterer, that’s not starboard, that’s port! He said starboard!”

He started to learn who was who without speaking to anyone. Very few people spoke to him directly. The captain could look him in the eye, and an aqua man often sassed his orders before complying, but other than that no one would talk to him. Even his old acquaintance, the Mournful—once again called Mirthful, is he just pretending nothing happened? —barely glanced his way and offered only small, nearly awkward smiles. Actually, that was probably for the best. The last time Eridan had a real conversation with the purpleblood, it was to try and convince him to put a stop to his cullee's ambitions. He distinctly recalled comments about letting the Chimeric burn down the world. Eridan wished he had taken the Mirthful more seriously back then. Well, he almost wished that.

From his vantage point at the wheel, he could see almost everything. There were eight or nine cliques of good friends. The duties schedule played with these allegiances, sometimes uniting these miniature crews and other times splitting them up to interact with others. A few people were free-floaters, drifting from one group to another, and sometimes acting as the bridge to connect people. The Chimeric himself was the best example, and he employed the Mournful and Tameless for those ends too. Eridan had only seen the Compasse balance a large group of different factions so well.

Sometimes, he couldn't watch. So he just stared at the sky and held the course steady.

Nearly halfway to their new destination, the Chimeric asked to speak with Eridan. They made small talk for a while about the other sailors, their strengths and weaknesses, and what improvements Eridan would make to the duties schedule. Other than a few amateur mistakes to correct and suggestions for drills to build fundamentals, Eridan had nothing to suggest. Things were fine.

"Are you fine?" The Chimeric asked.

"Yes," Eridan said, more automatically than honestly.

"Are you sure?"

He felt his fins flit back. "If you're lookin' to make your moirail a cuckold, don't drag me into it."

The Chimeric smiled, unfazed. "If moirallegiance was nothing more than the exchange of concern about feelings, then all the world is a polyromantic omniconciliatory clusterpile. I just want to know if you're okay."

He had trouble finding the words. Even when he spoke, he knew he hadn't found the right ones. "Everythin’… isn't okay. Everythin’ I knew and cared about before is gone. But... I don't know how I feel. I should feel worse... I did feel worse... but now..."

Now he sounded like an idiot. He let the thought trail off. Telling the Chimeric about his feelings was like adding ammunition to a gun aimed at his own heart anyway.

Mercifully, the Chimeric nodded. "Thank you, Seafarer. For everything. I mentioned this earlier, but I'm going to be explicit to you now. As soon as we land, you are free to go."

"That's insane. I’d report you, get you captured.”

"We've survived thus far with a truce between us, but for what comes next, I need to be certain everyone standing with me is there because they believe in my mission. Letting you go, even if you go on to command the forces that will pursue us, is far better than keeping a prisoner who will stab me in the back when I least expect it.”

"What is your mission?"

The Chimeric smirked. "I'm running some errands," he said. "And those who assist me will become stronger than they ever imagined, and experience freedom the likes of which trollkind has never known."

Eridan remembered the red dots on the Chimeric's map. "Will these 'errands' end culling?"

"In a word, yes," he confirmed. "And that is precisely why you need to make a choice. I will offer the same choice to everyone else soon."

“To go free?”

“Sort of. They will pledge allegiance, or walk away. There is a large sum of money we secured from the Lux Volans before it sank. We can provide about sixty-two gold caegar to any troll who wants to leave. They can use it to find their way back to civilization and maybe get back on their feet. Anyone who doesn't leave allows that money to be used for the rebellion, notably resupplying the Absolution."

"What if only the Mirthful and the Tameless stay?" he suggested. But that wasn't going to happen. Eridan knew this. So did the Chimeric.

"I'll make a new plan," the Chimeric answered. "But this offer is available to you as well. I don't think you have need for coin, but you can go back. I'm sure Feferi misses you dearly."

Eridan felt a punch to the stomach, hearing her hatch name from the Chimeric's mouth. He had almost forgotten that she raised him like an heiress. A chill of panic followed her name. I can't go back.

"I don't need an answer immediately," the Chimeric said. "In fact, you can wait until we are safely ashore before you decide. But the decision is yours."

The Chimeric left after that. Eridan skipped the next two meals, too disgusted with himself to even contemplate eating. Of course the correct answer was to return to the Empire. If he was afraid he’d be unable to break up with the Compasse, bring a fucking letter, for god's sake! Make his intentions clear in a way that wouldn't expose him to more pain, volunteer for any other duty in this goddamn world, but go back! Go back where things made sense, where he knew what was right, where he didn't have to listen to traitorous mutants or mouthy deadbeats or snooty captains!

But he couldn't. After these weeks sailing the Absolution with a ragtag crew of refugees-turned-rebels, any plan even resembling returning to society felt like suicide. And even with nothing to live for, Eridan still wanted very badly to live.

Before they arrived at their destination, there was one more event to observe. The Chimeric had learned the wriggling day of one of the rebels was just around the corner. He wanted to honor the day, the happy celebrant agreed, and so they chose a night to tie up the sails and just not care about moving, so they could talk and sing and dance for their comrade. He had no decorations, no special food, no band, nothing that had been part of any wriggling day the Chimeric had ever known, but the scarletblood drummed up enough excitement to match the splendor of those events.

Eridan stayed near the wheel, away from the festivities. He used the excuse that he should be ready to steer case of emergency. At a distance, he watched as people roughly took turns to either provide or dance to the songs. Though most people danced as friends and comrades, there were a few couples on the ship now. People who were once strangers who now loved or hated each other like they never thought they could before. If Eridan weren't so broken up about the state of his own grid (empty in three corners and shattered in the last) he might have mustered up more energy to feel happy for them.

But he did want to join. By all the stars, how wonderful would it be if he could just step down there and find someone willing to dance with him? Not because he was the Compasse's right hand, because they thought he was interesting. Because they wanted him around.

He heard a low growl behind him, and a very soft meow. He glanced over his shoulder at the Tameless, crouched on all fours and staring at him.

"I know you can speak," he said. "If you're tryin' to say somethin', use your words."

She stuck out her tongue at him. "What if I don't want to use words?”

"You just did."

"You're an ass."

"Whatever you say."

She giggled, then stood and walked on two legs until she was beside him. "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

Eridan refused to look at her. Looking at the party didn't help either. He looked to the sky and the pink moons. "Have you?"

"I asked you."

"I'm askin' back."

"Fine. Yes, I have decided."

"And?"

"And that means a decision was made! But I'm not telling you what it is until you tell me what you're thinking!"

Eridan rolled his eyes. "How old are you, to play such juvenile games?"

"Between twenty and twenty-four sweeps."

"Brat."

"Codfish."

"Fine! I haven't decided! Are you happy?"

"Yes! Now why haven't you decided?"

"Because it's complicated, and I don't need anyone's self-righteous advice!"

"Maybe I don't want to give you advice."

"Then what the blazes are you here for?!"

"Just to talk about the future, and what's going to happen next.”

"If you know so much about the future, why don't you tell me what you're going to do?"

She hissed this time, but that seemed more like a warning than anything. "I've had talks with the Chimeric—”

"A course you have."

“—And he said that my skills as a survivalist would be ‘appreciated’ as small bands of people move inland on missions. I'm going to stay until some of these society grubs know how to live on the land, and then go my own way."

"Where?"

"Anywhere I don't have to be civilized. If I found roarbeasts again, I would be fine."

"Okay then. Good for you."

"Why haven't you decided to go back?"

Eridan laughed dryly at the question. "Everyone keeps askin' me that. I've been askin' it a myself ever since I started helpin' you miserable wrecks."

"What's so hard about the choice?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Bet you I would."

"How much?"

She licked her lips. "A fillet of fish."

Eridan's eyes widened. Was the Tameless cannibalistic?! "What?"

"Not you! Any fish. Bring me up something tasty from the ocean. Tuna, salmon..."

"Salmon don't live in the ocean."

"Not salmon, then. But something fleshy and salty.”

"Fine. Shoot. What do you think I'm feelin'?"

She paused and considered this, narrowing her eyes at him and putting her thought process aloud. "You lived a life of tremendous comfort," she said. "With a person at your side who cared for you more than words could express. But their care made you feel so awful. It made you resent everything around you. It made you feel sick. It made you feel empty. And then you felt ashamed for being sick and empty because when a person loves you, that's the happiest thing in the world. But not for us."

Eridan gripped the wheel before him tightly. This was eerie. Like the voice that kept telling him not to leave had found a new mouthpiece.

Before him, someone with a nice voice started up a pale ballad. The budding moirallegances aboard made to step forward, but the Mirthful’s hulking frame dominated the space. He somehow looked bashful about the way everyone backed off. The Chimeric smiled at him, his ever-present pauldrons cast aside for a single night, and stepped into the circle with him. He raised his arms in a classically trained dancing frame and closed his eyes.

The Tameless continued. “And you know what you're doing is hurting that precious person more than you can imagine. But you can't stand it. You can't let your soul suffer for them anymore. You only have one life, and fate decides if it’s a long or short one. You have to live it in a way that makes your soul feel clean.”

The Mirthful took the Chimeric's hands and gave him a few slow turns, like a top. The motion in his arms traveled effortlessly down his back until his feet stepped exactly when he needed to move. The Mirthful spun his moirail faster, and faster still. In a moment, those feet could not keep up, and the Chimeric fell to the side. Without a single flinch, he sank through the air and right into the Mirthful's waiting catch, like they had rehearsed it.

"Am I on the right track?" the Tameless asked.

"...Who do you feel that way about?" Eridan asked, mouth dry.

"Trueshot," she said. "My culler."

Eridan nodded absently. The Mirthful swept the Chimeric off his feet and rolled him over his shoulders and into his arms. Pliant, the Chimeric's body elegantly molded against his moirail's. Never once did the Chimeric open his eyes. He knew nothing would harm him while the Mirthful held him. And the Mirthful looked at nothing but the Chimeric, his attention consumed by the task of cradling him—supporting him. They twisted together, trust and faith flowing through their every motion.

They looked beautiful. Nearly perfect.

"Fuck,” Eridan choked.

“Am I close?” the Tameless suggested.

Too close. Far too close. He looked to her, curious olive eyes peering at him, and then he looked at the dance, and then the sea.

“I…” He didn’t know what he was trying to say. So he stopped trying to say anything. He took a leather strap and hooked it over a spoke of the wheel to keep the ship steady as he turned and sprinted away, to the stern, to the railing, to the ocean below.

His fingertips touched in a streamline, breaking the surface of the water before his face did. Once the darkness swallowed him, he began to descend, kicking his way down into the depths. The taste of the salt and the push of the currents felt like an entire upside-down world, but the motion down here was much easier, freer. He could go anywhere he wanted now.

Things were quieter, too. But not silent. The rush of water and the song of faraway creatures filled his aural canals, and he felt a curious urge to sing back at them. Just make some sort of sound that expressed what was inside of him, what had filled the cavity left by his broken diamond.

And he realized nothing was stopping him. So he did. Eridan let his mouth open and let sound pour out, starting as a clear, long note that grew into a cry, and then a wail. Like sonar, the sound cast forward from his mouth and reverberated around any structures on the ocean floor, bouncing back to him and beyond.

He could never have danced with the Compasse like that. He knew almost everything there was to know about her—he knew her favorite time of night in every season, how many sweeteners she added to her seateas, her dreams to perfect culling before her Age of Compassion ended, her hatred of pants and sleeves alike, her love for every single fucking person on this planet—but he realized now that he didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust himself to be honest with her, and couldn’t trust anything she did because he had deceived her. After all, she wouldn’t look upon him with such kindness, such care, if she knew the truth.

Suspended in the cold depths, Eridan asked himself what he was thinking on that night when he was seventy-two. The Compasse had called for a brief recess after a downright ugly debate about culling standards—where the Compasse’s plan had been ripped to confetti—and he found her hiding in a disused closet, fuchsia tears falling down her cheeks and hugging her elbows.

“Please go,” she had told him. “I’ll be fine in just a moment. I can do this.”

It was clear to him now, that when he had stepped into that little closet with her and said, “You don’t have to do it alone,” he wasn’t thinking of her. He was thinking of himself.

At nearly two thousand feet under, after Eridan’s cry had faded, he heard something else. A high-pitched ping of something nearby, and then that same ping again, closer. Well, he should have expected something to hear him. From a belt near his boot, Eridan unstrapped a dive knife and then floated there, still, as he waited for the creature to approach. That was always the first rule of deep hunting; many of the denizens of the depths knew what to do when faced with a seadweller. The trick was to not let them know you were a seadweller. Stay still as stone or coral until it was time to strike.

Flecks of light from the faraway moons illuminated a few shimmering scales. Then a long needle-like nose. Ahh… a bladefish. Eridan cracked a small smile, thinking of the Tameless’ bet. The closer the fish got, the larger it became. This one was easily twice as long as Eridan was tall.

It started to speed up. Eridan stayed still. It screeched again to check his location, and still Eridan didn’t move. It was closer, and closer, he could nearly see the shine of its eyes.

“Oi! I need a net down here!”

Eridan had to shout a few more times before he caught someone’s attention. Spindly horns peeked over the edge of the ship, and he waved at them.

“Man overboard!” they hollered. “It’s the Seafarer! He’s still here! He’s alive!”

More commotion aboard the ship. Lots of screams, lots of confusion, and then someone threw down a life preserver. Eridan rolled his eyes.

“I said a net! I have somethin’ to bring aboard!”

They pulled back the preserver and started shouting more. Another troll popped his head over the edge of the ship and hurled far less welcoming words at him.

“You utter neandertroll! If you don’t have a good reason for that stunt of total lobotomized insanity you just pulled, don’t bother coming back aboard!” the Chimeric threatened.

For the first time in weeks, Eridan laughed. “I got a present for the lucky wriggler. The party you threw for him was too disappointin’ to suffer any longer.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Get me a net and find out!”

Everyone finally pulled together a proper net. Eridan set about wrapping it around his kill, and then tugged on the lines to signal it was ready. He heard them try three times to gather enough people to heave the weight of the thing, but soon they managed. Eridan just held tight and rode the fish-filled net back up to the ship. Once at the lip, hands helped him over, and he added his strength to the line to pull the bladefish over the edge and onto the deck.

Gasps and curses passed through the crowd. They had never seen a fish so huge (or in some opinions, ugly) before. Violet blood leaked from some of its wounds, and Eridan had to reassure a few people that apart from a cut on his hand, none of the blood was his. He fixed the Tameless with a sly smile. She had probably expected some half-rate fatty tuna, not this few-thousand pound behemoth. A feeling of victory in defeat filled him.

“That’s royal bladefish,” Eridan explained for those who didn’t recognize the creature. “A fairly expensive delicacy. Violetbloods hunt them for sport on long voyages like this, so I thought it’d serve as a nice gift for the Finagler.”

The Finagler, a yellowblood with ball-tipped horns, stared at Eridan. “I… didn’t realize you knew my name.”

That was a little embarrassing, to realize he had that sort of reputation. “Yeah, well… I do.”

He didn’t have to spend any more time trying to pass himself off as some cuddly buddy captain because the Chimeric clapped his hands slowly for him.

“Oh, yes! Everyone, we need to congratulate the Seafarer on his ability to remember one of the most basic signifiers of individualistic identity! That’s certainly one skill we all assumed he didn’t have! I think we all need to take this moment to question every assumption we’ve ever made about our dearest navigator in light of this new information. For example, and I am quite embarrassed to admit this fact, but I had assumed that the Seafarer was the kind of person who would give someone some fucking warning before he decided to swan dive off of this ship to possibly never be seen again! But you learn something new every day, don’t you!?”

“What are you even mad about? This is a major haul of gourmet fish. Do you want to eat hardtack tonight?” the Deadbeat asked.

“Maybe I do! Someone decided not to fill me in that there would be anything else to eat, so I mentally prepared myself to ingest bland rock biscuits instead. I’ll just go get them!”

And the Chimeric stomped his way back down into the hold. Most everyone laughed at his tantrum and re-focused on the prize of the night. The Culinari offered instructions about how to prepare the fish while the Mirthful scooted closer to Eridan.

“So you know…” he rumbled. “What the little bro is meaning to up and say at you is, he was all motherfucking full of fears over your wicked abandonment of the ship.”

“Because we wouldn’t be able to make port without me?”

“Because he was worrying that you were making your old choices again. The ones that up and made everything hurt from the inside out.”

“I’m through with hurtin’,” Eridan said. “I’ll give healin’ a chance for a while. Mind informin’ the Chimeric?”

“Sure thing, fishbro. He’ll be back up in two motherfucking ticks,” the Mirthful answered. “And… I’m glad you’re still here, too.”

Eridan nodded, feeling a little warm in the face, and turned back to the bladefish, now gradually coming apart as seahands carved the beast into steaks. He started to feel a little nervous about this new mood of his. Sure, fighting a giant fish and being the hero of the night was one thing, but what was going to happen after? The Chimeric had mysterious plans that Eridan might not agree with. He had a ship that would soon be wanted across the globe, manned by people who were still sweeps away from naval mastery. How was Eridan supposed to rebuild his life?

For the first time in nearly sweeps, Eridan felt like laughing. I don’t have to do it alone.

Chapter Text

Rose had fond memories of speaking to only a select few trolls. She liked grimAuxiliatrix, for obvious reasons; apocalypseArisen, for her eccentricity and far-reaching knowledge; and arsenicCatnip, for quite adorably failing at her given mission and pestering Rose's sprite instead of her. The idea to speak with a ghost of Nepeta to fill in the blanks about the relationships of the past in order to ensure they found a Feferi suited to revealing the Compasse’s memories did seem like a great one. In fact, Rose was looking forward to it!

Why wasn't Kanaya?

Karkat was still 'on leave,' in a manner of speaking. The difficulty of getting him to sleep in the first place was finally starting to wear down even Vriska, so the Thief started to adopt a ‘we'll tell you l8r’ approach to Karkat's involvement. They only brought him into the dreambubbles if it was a physical passing-through memory or if they needed him to inhabit a memory. Since the latter event had only successfully occurred once, Rose doubted he would be needed anytime soon. And as it followed, no Karkat meant no Dave.

The meteor's ladies traversed some memories on their hunt for a hunter. That was when Rose noticed Kanaya hanging behind. Trying to strike up a conversation, Rose asked her, "Something on your mind?"

"I am questioning the validity of using speculation and gossip as a foundation for our investigation," Kanaya said, staring at her shoes as they walked the dunes of LOLCAT.

"It shouldn't be too much of an issue," Rose reassured her. "We aren't hoping to discover the objective truth. Just a few starting points. If we mischaracterize the Compasse and Chimeric completely, then we'll just probably land off-target but still somewhere along their timeline. Knowledge that we did not intend to discover is still enlightening."

Kanaya nodded, but did not seem convinced. Was Rose prattling on? Was she boring? Was she missing the point?! Should she try and hold Kanaya's hand this time? That could come across as comforting, but not too romantic, so Vriska and Terezi might leave them alone, but on second thought what if it was too comforting, and Kanaya got the wrong idea—

You should have kissed her, you useless… nerdbitch! You can’t keep waiting for opportunities forever!

Vriska broke the silence. "There we are," she said, pointing into the distance. A dark pink bud rested atop a very tall spiral with a Heart symbol shimmering above, something Rose immediately recognized as a trollish Quest Bed, or Quest Recuperacoon. The plan was to find a ghost of Nepeta, and a God Tier if they could manage it. The Rogue of Heart, Queen of the Shipping Grid, was the most qualified person to make guesses about the feelings and relationships between people. With knowledge of her friends, a crash-course in Beforus, and hopefully access to Heart powers, they hoped to uncover more about the nature of ancient relationships.

"Do you think she'll be there?" Kanaya said.

Vriska flipped her hair arrogantly. "I'm sure of it! We'll track her down for sure."

"We hunt the hunter!" Terezi cackled. "Our prey, a rare and powerful Nepeta, draws ever closer!"

"Okay, we don't need to roleplay this part out. That sounds dumb."

Terezi just stuck out her tongue and laughed some more.

As they drew closer to the Quest Recuperacoon, they did in fact intercept a God Tier Nepeta wandering away from the mystic egg bed, clad in maroon and a domino mask and sporting iridescent green wings. She and the trolls had quite the passionate greeting, full of hugs and squeals, and started to get each other up to speed. For one, Nepeta's timeline doomed long before the trolls made contact with the humans, so Rose's required a lengthier introduction than usual. Then they asked how she went God Tier.

"Well... It was after you died, Vriskers," she said. "When we found out you could die and become a God Tier, I... well, y'know. Pounced on the oppurrtunaty."

"You offed yourself?" Terezi summarized. "Holy shit, Nepeta! Some of us talked about doing that but no one could follow through!"

“AC paws at one of her ears nervously, and says, giggling,” she began, “I just thought if I was a God Tier, Equius would worry about me less!”

Gleam in her eye, Vriska leaned forward. "Oh god, what did he say when you showed up with wings?!"

The olive wings fluttered, and Nepeta blushed to match them. "He... kinda fainted?"

Vriska burst out laughing. Rose found that to be a remarkably insensitive response. If she had learned anything about Nepeta since she stopped being merely AC on a screen, Rose knew that Equius Zahhak and his happiness mattered a lot to Nepeta.

Nepeta expressed it, sort of. "AC hisses at AG and tears up her web with her rocket claws!"

"AG doesn't give a shit," Vriska replied.

"Hang on, if we can assume from this fact that more individuals ascended to God Tier, how did your timeline end?" Terezi asked.

Nepeta's white eyes looked a little sad. "Well... Um... I'd purrfur to not talk about that. Everyone was dying... And then I kept dying, over and over, until I woke up here. So I think that means the timeline ended while I was dead.”

"You don't have to tell us the details," Rose reassured her. "If anything, we need your help on another subject."

"What is it?"

Terezi placed a hand on Nepeta's shoulder. "Nepeta, we need to talk about ships."

They double-checked that this Nepeta was in the know about dancestors and the concept of Beforus, as well as up to speed about a number of ancestors. Using Terezi's chalk, she and Nepeta mocked up an enormous array of shipping squares, for all four quadrants and all four cohorts of trolls.

"Hey, why did you put the Alternians up there?" Vriska asked. A huge half of the wall was dedicated to the A2 ancestors and descendants.

Terezi shrugged. "Nepeta said to."

"It's impurrtant, I promise," Nepeta said. "Legend says that your ancestor's legacy will predict your own. And as a Rogue of Heart, I know that the soul always stays the same, but looks diffurent on a case-by-case basis. Or, maybe that’s not the best way to explain it…”

Nepeta widely gestured at the pre- and post-Scratch flips, where descendants became ancestors. “I like to think of it like, there are twelve different species of creature in two different habicats! And each unique animal will have the same needs and patterns, no matter where you put them. So sometimes, if you know what the animal needs, you can purrdict what it’ll do in a new situation. Or, if you know something about how the animal behaved in a situation, you can make some guesses about its needs!”

“But we’re not animals, we’re sentient creatures,” Kanaya mentioned. “We’re far more complex than basic needs-driven beasts.”

“I know that! People are way more complicated than animals, and so are relationships. But you can still use what you know about the same animals in diffurent habicats to learn more about… well, whatefur interests you!”

“If it’s not too rude to introduce a non-feline… metafur,” Rose brought up, adding a cat pun of her own. Nepeta made a little squeak and clapped her hands. “Maybe we can think of this as romantic algebra. We can learn more about the properties of some variables by observing how they manifest in other equations. And even though there will never be a perfect solution, some inference and deduction should get us a long way.”

“I think I’m gonna go with the algebra metaphor,” Vriska said. “Better than the animal bullshit.”

Terezi patted Nepeta’s shoulder. “It was really clever, though! And really, it’s kind of funny to think of our bloodlines as species. It explains a lot!”

Nepeta looked miffed, but definitely placated. Terezi continued, “Can you give us an example of the habitats and animals in action?”

"Oh, sure! Um, how about this one..." Nepeta pointed to the squares for Meulin<3Kurloz and Disciple<3Sufferer. "These two ships are actually a lot alike, which can say something about the kind of purrson my dancestor is.”

"You're equating Karkat's prophet ancestor and Kurloz the shitty mime?" Vriska's lip curled at the ship.

"They’ve got a lot in common!”

"Men of faith," Terezi filled in. "Her flushed 'type' are people with very devout beliefs!”

"Yes!" Nepeta nodded. "So howefur you decide to think about it, we can use everything we know to find out the things we don’t know!”

"But we're really only looking for one ship," Kanaya said. "Only the Chimeric and the Compasse. There's really no need to explore any of the other ships, is there?"

"I need everything you have to work with. Sometimes you have to go on long, winding journeys with lots of retracing your steps to finally track down your prey!"

"I see..."

"Do you think you can use the dancestors to help fill in the Beforan ancestor gaps?" Rose asked.

"Got it," Nepeta said. "I'm not trying to let purrsonal preference get in the way, but if you find out just a little more about the Tameless, you should find Equius, too!"

"Because you and he were soooooooo serendipitous?" Vriska drawled.

"There's more than that! Darkleer spared the Disciple, and Horuss and Meulin seem to be getting along! That’s a fairly new ship so I'm reserving judgment for now. But this is a lot of evidence that Leijons and Zahhaks can't help but be kind to each other!" She took some chalk and marked the square for the Tameless and Horuss' ancestor with a circle. "Let's see, Aradia and Sollux are missing too?"

"We haven't found a good place to start discovering them," Rose said. "Dave and Karkat suspect that an individual named Twinhorn is Sollux, and he eventually went to jail for something. This led us to suspect that he was the Betrayer, until it was proven otherwise. We don't know why he's in jail or if he's even Sollux."

"Hmm. Sollux is a tricky one. His relationships fray in so many different directions. There's almost no overlap."

"What do you mean?"

"In our session, Sollux was close with Aradia and Feferi. His ancestor was close to the Sufferer, Disciple, and Dolorosa. And then his dancestor has relationships with Latula and Kurloz. There's no overlap."

"Leave it to Captor to be difficult, even in history," Vriska said. "Let's talk about Aradia instead."

"For Aradia, I'm pretty sure she'll have a connection to the Huntsman," Nepeta said with a nod. "Aradia and Tavros used to FLARP as Team Charge, and then Rufioh and Damara were matesprits for a while."

"I think we've been avoiding coming at the Huntsman's story directly, since we know he's critically important to the end of the Chimeric's life,” Terezi said.

"I don't know what else to recommend, really. The Huntsman had a life leading up to that moment, and he had a life after. So you can use that to discofur more people!”

Rose felt the Light whisper to her. Maybe not after. The possibility that neither the Chimeric nor Huntsman walked away from their confrontation was apparently quite strong. But she had no confirmation of that.

"Maybe we could learn more about the Huntsman through... us?" Vriska said.

Unclear about who 'us' referred to, Rose looked to Vriska. Who had her attention on Kanaya.

"What? Us?" Kanaya bristled. "What are you talking about?"

"Look, there's a lot of... algebra or whatever, saying Prospera and the Huntsman knew each other. I've got some suspicions about what that relationship was like. But remember when you liked to hassle and hop in the ashen quadrant even when it was totally unnecessary?"

"Vaguely," Kanaya said.

"I think you and I could make a lot of headway finding out who he is, since Prospera and the Benevole were—”

"Okay, yes, we'll definitely do that later, but now we should talk about someone else since our time with dear sweet precious sweet sweet dear Nepeta is limited by how long we can stay asleep so we should keep asking her questions instead of consorting with each other!”

Kanaya was rambling. She was nervous. Nervous about something Vriska knew. And it made Rose feel very very small.

"I disagree," Rose said, hoping no one could tell she sounded anything other than totally certain. "Vriska, what were Prospera and the Benevole?”

"Prospera and the Benevole were matesprits," Vriska answered. "And pretty good ones, if you ask me."

"No one asked you," Kanaya insisted. "And the Benevole ended it with her."

"Probably over a misunderstanding," Vriska said. "Seriously, I lived a memory with them. It was a big deal! Prospera was about as flush-whipped as they come. She would have walked the world for the Benevole! If she dumped her, then she threw away something really good. So they probably got back together too!"

Kanaya curled in a little bit, wrapping one arm around her middle and the other hand forming a fist she left on her forehead. "If my involvement becomes absolutely necessary, tell me, but otherwise I would prefer not to be forced into a quadrant with you by our alternate selves."

"Oh, totally! I am waaaaaaaay on the same page as you on that one," Vriska clarified. "But you should really see it sometime, we grew up to be so gorgeous."

Nepeta kept her ghostly eyes trained on Vriska while her chalk-holding hand drifted toward the Alternian descendant side of the shipping wall. Without moving a single other muscle, Terezi intercepted her hand and lowered it.

Rose had nothing to say. She didn't know what to say. She wanted to ask how long Kanaya had known that relationship existed in the past, but she couldn't just ask that. Kanaya had her reasons for keeping a secret. That was what characterized matesprits as separate from moirails, right? Deception was still not excused, but flushed partners kept their share of secrets. It made the relationship more exciting!

But Rose wasn't a fucking troll! And the only explanation her mind could imagine for why Kanaya would keep this a secret was that she was considering it. Maybe that's why Kanaya hadn't made any sort of move? She was playing the field to see who wanted her most? Well, Rose had a huge crush on her. But Vriska was a cheater, and a bully, and a winner. And she had heard stories of things Vriska had done to her friends to try and recreate these ancestral legacies she loved so dearly.

I don't want to be here. Not when things are like this. I don't want to be anywhere.

"So the point of that tangent was, the Benevole's connection to Prospera is a connection to the Huntsman, which could connect us to Damara's ancestor," Terezi said, summarizing that awful exchange.

"Seems that way," Kanaya grumbled.

"Thank you for getting us back on topic. Twenty points to Terezi, because no mutant nerds are here to berate me over my point system."

"Hooray!" Terezi responded. "We're still trying to maneuver in reverse toward something that could describe the Chimeric's relationship with the Compasse."

"We just need to think of things that are important to Feferi's soul," Nepeta said. "I think one of the nice and not-so-nice things that I remember about being her friend was she loved everyone a lot, but she could get… stubborn.”

"I never got that impression," Kanaya said.

"It doesn't come up much. Or at least, it didn't in our session. But as a person, she's very committed when she makes a decision, and hates changing her mind. It means she’s very loyal and dependable, but when she’s chosen what to do next, she digs her claws in deeper and doesn’t change her mind easily.” Nepeta shrugged. “I don’t mind that about her, though. Some of the people I like best are stubborn!”

Terezi snapped her fingers. "So when you have a plan to benevolently cull the world and someone proposes hemoequalized egalitarianism..."

"She's not going to be happy." Nepeta nodded.

"But she endorsed the Chimeric's bid to become a Guardian. She must have thought the plan was good," Terezi continued.

"Ten more points if you can guess who made the Guardians. Double if you guess who they answered to." Vriska leaned into one hip as she stared at the wall. "Nice one, Peixes. She did learn how to keep her friends close and enemies closer..."

"So what kind of ship is this? It's probably not even a ship, since the Chimeric had barely come of age when this all went down." Terezi returned to the topic.

"Well, it looks like there are two really different feelings here, at least from the Compasse's view. She saved a grub who grew up to fight her. Sort of like, she promised to unconditionally protect someone who opposed everything she cared about."

"That sounds like quite the unsatisfactory arrangement," Kanaya observed. "Almost star-crossed in its misfortune."

"And it doesn't sound like something Feferi would be interested in at all," Terezi added. "Near the end there Eridan was dishing out ashen solicitations like inexpensive tobacco rods, but Feferi wanted none of it. She was always really frigid to the black quadrants."

"That's really weird—because that doesn't sound like our Feferi at all!" Nepeta said.

"What do you mean?"

"Our Feferi was ashen with Eridan," she reported. "Karkat was their auspistice!"

"Karkat was an auspistice?" Kanaya raised an eyebrow. "How, um, did that work out?"

"It was okay, I think. When people started dying, it wasn't Eridan or Feferi doing the killing." Nepeta shivered a little. "The story there is basically that they flipped ashen when their moirallegiance ended. Karkat filled the mediator role mostly beclaws their inability to get along posed the greatest threat to the team."

"It doesn't sound like he was right, based on all that murder you keep alluding to," Vriska said.

“Romance wouldn’t have saved us,” Nepeta said, a little quieter, but she shook that topic off. “The point is, Eridan and Feferi were ashen because they wanted to get along, but couldn’t figure out how to. Karkat was like their… translator! So if we’re looking at the ancient past, maybe the Compasse and the Chimeric needed a translator, but couldn’t find one.”

"Nepeta, can you find your session's Feferi for us? She seems like she'll be able to step up and help show us the memory," Terezi asked.

"Sure," Nepeta said. "Um, how will you find me again?"

"Don't worry about it! I have all the luck!" Vriska answered. Rose saw Terezi puppet her hand in perfect time with Vriska's words. "We'll see what we can do to bring you more information the next time around. All this algebra really helped out!"

Rose wanted to glare at Vriska. This is your idea of helping? But she couldn't muster the energy. She kept wanting to sleep, but she was already asleep. She had never realized how precious unconsciousness would be as a resource until it was denied to her.

Terezi hugged the Rogue of Heart, while everyone else bid farewells. Rose gave her a small wave as they walked away, Vriska chattering about next steps.

"This is an excellent development! We should have a Compasse-compatible ghost at our disposal soon, so we'll just bring Vantas up to speed and get that spherical object rolling! Then once we know the true purpose of the rebellion finding all those other memories should be a snap..."

Rose felt Kanaya drift closer to her. "Hey..." she said softly. "Don't listen to what Vriska said. This is all circumstantial. She always gets carried away when it comes to ancestor stories."

Carried away could include carrying Kanaya away. Rose wanted to feel reassured, but she couldn't muster it. "These are circumstances we need to emulate in order to progress. We'll just... deal with each situation as it arises."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Kanaya stopped talking to her. Rose stopped talking back. The Scourge Sisters ahead of them continued to plot without their involvement. With any luck—ignoring the fact Vriska had all of it—Rose might not be necessary to their schemes for a while. Maybe she could find out how to not be anywhere at all.

Chapter Text

Karkat did not stop being hot. Somewhere along the line, this must have turned into a doomed timeline, since Dave had clearly lost his marbles. Because he wasn't gay! And this was the literal stupidest way to doom a timeline, by Dave becoming gay for Karkat.

But he knew it wasn't a doomed timeline. All the bullshit that Dave would best characterize as 'the temporal energies' felt fine. Aradia and her robots sometimes tried to tutor Dave in sensing a doomed timeline, but maybe it was a Maid of Time thing to be able to feel that a timeline was doomed the way normal folks could smell gas leaks. Dave sniffed for the time stream gas leaks and found nothing. Either he was timeline-nose-blind like Latula or whatever, everything was normal.

Except everything was not fine because hanging out with Karkat was getting really weird. He looked the same as ever, all sweater-clad and floof-haired and nub-horned, and he still screeched and swore and ranted as usual, but all of that was making Dave feel really different inside. Like stomach-churny, throat-closey different. Was Dave allergic to Karkat now? Did allergies usually make you want to hold someone's hand and snuggle them and stare into their eyes for an uncomfortably long time?

Who was he kidding, of course allergies didn't do that.

Dave was 86% sure he had a crush on Karkat Vantas. The other 14% thought he might be sick in the head. After all, he had a crush on Terezi once, which said a lot about his taste in... well, people. Or at least his taste in trolls. That taste was god-awful. Worse than rancid milk. Leave it to Dave to crush on insane assholes. But the more he learned about Karkat’s brand of crazy, the more he found out that it was really kind of cute.

"I think we should watch this one next," Karkat said, holding up a new movie title covered in spindly writing. "It's sort of a spiritual successor to 'All of my social contacts have achieved perfect serendipity except me and now I am feeling very insecure about the state of my life and relationships and have started to seek many meaningless pastimes to try and fill the void, which by the circuitous nature of troll serendipity may lead me to my destined matches anyway.' Like, of course the title isn't in first person, they stopped doing that broods ago. This one isn't a period piece, so they gave it a more sensible title—”

"Spoilers, dude," Dave said. "Just put it in and let me figure it out as we go along."

"Excuse me for trying to accurately represent the movies I'm asking you to watch," Karkat grumbled. "Human movies are so ridiculous. Like 'Good Luck Chuck,' what the hell is that movie about? Is it 'good luck appeasing the culling drones, Chuck?' Or 'good luck appeasing your superior officer so you don't look like an imbecile in front of your squad mates, Chuck?' Or what?"

"It's 'good luck finding better movies to star in later, Chuck,'" Dave said. "Which sadly did not come to pass."

"That's a lie and you know it." Karkat cued up his troll movie and put the subtitles on. They were in Alternian, but it was a compromise to allow Dave to talk through the movie if he wanted. Dave could still hear the mysteriously already translated dialogue, but if he opened his mouth during ‘the best part’ Karkat could still follow the plot.

Then Karkat plopped back down on the couch next to Dave. Dave glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. From this angle, all of Karkat's blustery scowls looked more like really cute pouts. Dave had never understood what 'kissable lips' had meant until seeing Karkat like this. The movie started with a swell of music, and it just drove that stake of kiss-desire deeper into Dave's chest. It hurt. That was an understatement.

"Can we watch one of the Didney movies after this?" Karkat said. "You can pick which one inspires you after the end of this one."

"Disney," Dave corrected on autopilot. Karkat definitely had acquired a taste for Disney once they managed to alchemize some titles. He critically called them 'overly straightforward, simplistic candy pop movies' and then proceeded to consume as many as possible. And Dave suddenly had a song stuck in his head.

There you see him, sitting there across the way. He sure got a lot to say, but there's something about him... And you don't know why but you're dying to try, you wanna: kiss the troll.

Dave tried to look at the movie. Christ on a bike, this was... He felt... He felt like he wanted to die. Die and then double-kill his ghost so no one would ever know that Dave Strider felt anything less than totally straight.

He had to solve this problem. Somehow. And soon. As the scene finally started and Karkat lost track of Dave, he pulled up a chat window in his shades.

CURRENT turntechGodhead [CTG] is now pestering CURRENT gallowsCalibrator [CGC]

CTG: hey terezi
CTG: let me know when you wake up
CTG: i have something to ask you

Now close the window. Pretend the conversation didn't exist until Terezi contacted him again. Then play it off as no big deal, aloof as shit, like the super earth cool kid she used to drool over. A+ plan, Dave. All systems go. All he had to do was stay too ungodly terrified to grab Karkat and kiss his face, and then everything would go fine.

Chances of Dave feeling anything but ungodly terrified until Terezi messaged him back were sitting at a beautiful nil.

"I don't think I will ever take the presence of proper clothing for granted again," Vriska chatted to the Benevole. "Now that I know the garb afforded prisoners, it really provides a new incentive to do right!" 

The Compasse had pulled through and arranged a short burst of time for Vriska to see her matesprit. The civil detainment building now served as a departure point for two pairs of trolls. From there, Vriska would join Lawscale in their quest to arrest some traitors, while the Benevole would depart with her new culler, a blueblood Guardian. Vriska could think of no finer protection.  

The Benevole hummed in agreement. She had been acting distant, avoiding Vriska's eye and answering with barely more than two words, and most of the time with little noises like that one. She hadn't even kissed Vriska upon their reunion! But, Vriska chalked that up to the watchful eyes of their guard. Flaunting intimacy in front of people who would deny Vriska freedom seemed a little obscene.

As it so happened, they walked from the block where Vriska had been presented her new investigator's possessions down to the mews where the Benevole would depart by carriage. It was a short walk, but Vriska would make the most of every moment.

"Lawscale is presenting herself as quite the slave driver," Vriska said, trying to continue the conversation. "We have already had three consultations over my last dealings with the Chimeric. I am well aware that she's the one who knows what the Chimeric would likely do with given resources, but does she really need to know if... say, the cannon shot was three pound or four? Could that have an impact on his decision to use it in battle?"

"Probably not," the Benevole said.

"Exactly! It's a total distraction. She's putting me through the procedural wringer, perhaps in hope of exacting her justice which the Compasse, blessed be her infinite kindness, has already determined I am not suited for."

"Curious."

"Curious? What's curious about it?"

"It's simply curious." And with that, the Benevole closed the conversation.

Vriska could not remember the last time the Benevole had behaved like this. Had she ever? They had their fights and disagreements like normal matesprits, but even when in conflict the Benevole fought with scathing wit, and only when very truly furious, a snarl in her beautiful voice like a revving engine.

"Please, darling, what's the matter?" Vriska implored. "Something is troubling you, and it's darkening our last reunion before yet another separation.”

The Benevole looked over her shoulder at a guard escorting them toward their respective vehicles. "A little later," she said.

Vriska nodded and winked. "Of course."

This could have something to do with her missing cullee. Following her arrival at Vriska's hive, the Lodestar vanished completely. Not a single buzz from their two-way communicator device, no hint of her in the forest... and no clues about the Huntsman, for that matter. Vriska had no way of confirming if he was even dead or alive. She was in no state to make use of the Huntsman, but what could the Lodestar do other than bury him? She had a mediculler servicing her every need and decided not to call for her. That was all the evidence Vriska needed of death. But surely someone would have informed Vriska if her poor, precious Huntsman had been proclaimed dead.

In the mews, Vriska smiled to see that they had apparently beaten Lawscale down there. The only soul in the yard was the Benevole's new culler, who Vriska now recognized as Trueshot. How strange that the man who culled the woman who started it all would now cull the Benevole! But Vriska could see the bureaucratic logic in it. Following the Mondaine's disappearance, Trueshot had an opening in his hive.

The Guardian looked up from his multi-hoofbeast carriage and nodded to the Benevole. Vriska missed whether the Benevole prompted or answered this signal.

"You may leave them," Trueshot addressed the guards. "I will keep watch until the Vigilant arrives." The guards saluted him and left.

"May I speak with you, Prospera?" the Benevole asked quietly.

"Ah, yes! Let's find a little corner..."

"No. We can speak here, on the steps.”

Vriska glanced at Trueshot. He had dropped all pretense of tending the hoofbeasts and stared openly at them. Was he just going to stand there? And watch? What a creep!

She did her best to angle herself toward the building, away from those prying eyes. "Don't worry, my moonbeam. This will be a trying time for the both of us, but we'll pull through. I'll be a good girl for the Empire and earn amnesty for us both. We'll be fine, trust me."

The Benevole looked down. “…Should I?"

"Should you what?"

"Trust you."

"Yes! We know I'm a thief, but those who fall to me deserve it."

"That sounds true..."

"It is true! Darling, you know me better than this."

"Do I?"

Vriska did not like that tone. Not at all. "Benevole, please, what's wrong?"

"Back at your hive, during the attack... I was certain I did not want to jump. But then I felt... something, like a pressure in my mind… commanding me. And then my body moved on its own. Prospera, I was so scared, and not because the hive was falling apart. I... couldn't trust my body to do what I told it."

The Benevole's hands were shaking. Vriska moved to take them, but the Benevole pressed them, first together, and then to her chest.

"But then, as I thought more about it, I started to realize... the pressure was you, wasn't it? You... controlled me. Used my body like a puppet."

Vriska knew she hadn't been careful. How could she, when it was her first time controlling a jadeblood and all the warm castes before her had taken decades to master? She had hoped that the panic and chaos of the moment would have convinced the Benevole to brush it under the floor covering. And yet, the universe kept giving her these signs that her luck had run out. She should take a hint.

"An act of the Mother?" Vriska suggested, but before the words were out of her mouth she knew the excuse was bullshit. "To ensure her precious auxiliatrix survived calamity?"

"It was you, Prospera," the Benevole asserted. "Please admit that to me."

Vriska glanced at Trueshot. Still staring, motionless. She lowered her voice. "Let it be our little secret, my darling. That was the first and only time I have set foot in your mind. You have my word."

"Why should I believe you?" the Benevole replied.

“Because I'm your matesprit of three centuries! The only things we keep from each other are the secrets of our respective, well, 'trades' and the feelings only a moirail should know."

"Then it is about your trade," the Benevole said. "I never approved of what you do, though in certain philosophies, my silence would have been taken as approval. And I know that I have used your influence to my own gain, so I will not remove myself from that guilt. But every day, I found the peace to sleep because I rationalized that you were always dealing with people who came to you freely. Maybe you cheated them, robbed them, hurt them, but... they didn't have to deal with you. They were not forced to be there."

The Benevole could not meet Vriska's eyes. Vriska kept staring at her, searching for some sign that she was kidding, that she wasn't about to do what Vriska feared.

"But that's not true. You can control people. Make them do what you want. Perhaps you can even make them think what you want. It is even within reason to assume... you can make people feel what you want."

"No," Vriska breathed. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, that's not it! That's not what I do! I can't do that, I never did that!"

"It would certainly explain why I fell so easily into your arms after my first tour," she added.

"That's not what I did! I’ve never harmed you! I’ve never controlled jades, I barely know how, my first time in your mind was the night of the attack, you have to believe me!”

"I don't have to do anything," the Benevole answered. "You can't make me. And even if you try, you won't get away with it."

"What?! Why are you talking like this, moonbeam?"

"I have informed Guardian Trueshot that the purpose of this conversation is to terminate our matespritship. If we make any physical contact, or if I tell anyone that I have changed my mind, he will take that as evidence that you are manipulating me. And since his blood is cooler than yours, you shouldn’t have psychic influence in his mind.”

Vriska looked at Trueshot again. He was still staring at them, but he no longer looked like a creepy voyeur. He was, true to his title, a Guardian keeping watch at the Benevole’s request. Protecting her from Vriska. From Vriska, who loved her!

"This is insane," Vriska said. "Please, I'll do everything I can to make it up to you. I'll say sorry every night of my life, I'll never hurt another soul, I'll work until my horns fall out, just don't do this!"

"I won't change my mind. And you won't change it for me."

Vriska nearly choked. “Benevole…”

The Benevole took half a step back, lifted her skirts and dipped in a curtsy, and then stood straight. She still wouldn't look Vriska in the eyes.

"Goodbye, Prospera," she said. "I wish you well in all of your endeavors."

She was crying now. She could feel wet streaks on her face. "No—please, Kanaya!”

Face and spine straight, the Benevole walked away, toward the hoofbeast carriage. Trueshot kicked down a small set of stairs and offered the Benevole his hand in assistance as she took her seat on the driver's bench.

And Vriska couldn't do anything. If she ran to the cab, Trueshot would stop her. He'd think she was trying to pressure the Benevole, manipulate her and make her stay against her will. But that was never true! The Benevole was the only one who was in Prospera's life because they loved each other, how could they not see that?! How could she throw it away?!

Tears obscured the shrinking cab as Vriska's knees gave out. She dropped to the ground, in the yard of a government building with no love left to live for. It was over. Everything is over.

A hard stick poked her back. Then jabbed harder.

"Stand, Prospera," Lawscale instructed. "The sooner we finish this, the sooner you'll see her again."

Vriska turned her head up to the Vigilant, with her disdainful expression. To her blind eye, was there no difference between tears of longing and of heartbreak? Did she think Vriska was faking?!

"We can't stand here all night," Lawscale added. "We have a job to do. Move along before I move you."

Okay. Fine. Vriska stood—no helping cane this time—and staggered her way to their designated transport, a more modern engine-based vehicle. She saw a driver waiting, and while Lawscale brightly chatted with him to distract him from how many tries it took her to find the door handle, Prospera slipped in the opposite side unopposed.

"I won't change my mind. And you won't change it for me."

Everything was over. If the Benevole didn't love her, what was the purpose of the rest of her life? What was the point to prospering? Why should she care about this planet? This rebellion? This alliance?

The car moved. But Vriska felt her soul was still lying there, bleeding, in the yard of the civil detainment building.

Chapter Text

The noble steeds carried them swiftly away from the civil detainment block and onto the open road. The journey would take quite a while, and require some rest for the hoofbeasts. Motorized vehicles might have been faster, but preserving ancient arts at every possible opportunity meant a lot to Equius. Many of the nobility would agree with him; after all, sailing ships persisted in this age of machinery. Cooler hues understood that preserving the artistry of their predecessors mattered, and put their trades to use in service of those who needed them. Such was the natural order of trolls. Responsibility and creativity worked hand in hand to create lives that all bloodlines found fulfilling. Holding the reins in his tremendously strong hands, in service of the unfortunate jadeblood at his side, was the perfect representation of this harmonious system.

The Benevole had not spoken since they departed the civil judicial building. Equius knew she probably had many difficult feelings and thoughts to process, and his input would not be welcome at this time. He focused instead on the road before them, letting the silence continue.

After several hours, the Benevole finally spoke. "You're also a mediculler, aren't you?"

"I am," Equius answered.

"Do you have a hospital you work in?”

"I do. I am not in residence, but I trained and now supervise several senior practitioners who oversee care."

"May I spend my time under your care in residence there?"

Equius hesitated. "I will consult her Radiance, but I do not believe that is wise. Your former matesprit's enemies may believe that you still have a connection to her. The assassin from before, among others, may target you, and you must be protected."

"I understand," the Benevole answered. Her face looked stone-still, like if she moved a single muscle she would destroy her composure. Equius could empathize with that fear.

"When I visit, it should be safe for you to come as well," he offered. "Perhaps we can arrange for your assistance with surgeries. You were trained as a surgeon, correct?"

"Yes, I completed that certification in the caverns."

Equius nodded. He really should give jadebloods more credit. With no access to coolbloods, they could not call for help from anyone but their own sisters. They were resilient. Equius would try to remember that going forward. "Your assistance will be greatly appreciated."

She returned to silence for the rest of the journey. Equius made two stops to care for their hoofbeasts before they arrived at his hive. He stopped the carriage and flipped the steps down for the Benevole, again offering his hand to assist with her descent. In another moment, Equius gathered her luggage and knocked for a steward to open the door to his hive.

"This is quite the estate you have," she complemented him. “How old is it?”

“A century and a half. I designed it myself.”

“Really?”

“One of my areas of expertise includes designing structures that will stand the test of time."

"The duties of a Guardian are so varied," the Benevole said as the doors opened to allow them inside. "Which do you consider most important?"

He had to delay answering for a moment to confer with the steward: stable the hoofbeasts for now, Equius would finish the task when the Benevole was settled. After the steward departed, Equius answered her. "The most important duty is the one that helps the most people. From that perspective, architecture is my greatest contribution. Providing physical space for trolls to live and work in safety does the most good."

The Benevole nodded. "Then which of your duties is the most enjoyable?"

Equius couldn't answer her for a moment. He could feel sweat start to bead on his forehead and back. The answer was also his greatest shame. "Culling trolls directly," he answered, though that was a stretch of the truth.

"I see," she said. "I will do my best to ensure this experience is mutually enjoyable."

He tried to offer the Benevole a smile, but found it rather difficult. Even as he walked through the halls of his hive with her, Equius could see clues of the former tenant's presence, and he knew the Benevole could too. She used to claw his banisters, scribble on his walls with his drafting inks, and stain the rugs. And that was only the physical reminders. Equius remembered watching her tear through the halls after specks of dust, or listening to her yowl at the moons outside the window. For a case as difficult as hers, he had taken no other cullee. He wanted no other cullee…

He arrived at a prepared room, with a deep recuperacoon and many dressers. "I understand that you enjoy crafting clothing, and that many of your possessions were destroyed in the attack. So I ordered some different fabrics for you, as well as sewing supplies. And if you need anything by way of food or refreshment, there is a bell near your door."

"Thank you very much, for everything,” she said. "You are quite an excellent host."

"I pride myself that all who enter my hive will be comfortable here," he explained. "I will return shortly."

"Take your time," the Benevole said, opening her suitcase.

With his guest cared for, Equius departed for the barn, forlorn memories playing across his mind.

He remembered carrying her—then nameless, but soon to discover she was greater than a simple self—from the plains and to the carriage, and then to his barn. The poor woman was frozen, naked, filthy, and starving. Equius spent three days in the pen with her, sleeping beside his hoofbeasts as he cared for her day and night. He fed her simple meat broths her stomach could handle, encouraged her to learn to sip water from a cup with a special lid. It took him a full night to scour all the dirt from her body. He cut her hair, washed it for fleas and ticks, and trimmed her fractured claws into smooth crescents. She wouldn't tolerate clothes, but he had many riding blankets for her to bury herself in. He administered vaccines, which made her scream and her lusus snarl when the needles stabbed her. But both troll and lusus could be soothed after, and in exchange for her healthy survival Equius could play the bad guy.

As she healed, she became more alert and curious, wandering the barn and investigating all of its smells. Equius stayed her companion, helping her explore what was foreign to her. He could demonstrate what the saddles were for, how his clothes fit together, how he made food taste so different. In those three days, he sounded out his name until she could repeat it back. To this day, he was never sure why, but he introduced himself with his hatch name.

"Ehh-qwee-us."

"Ehh-hee-ussss."

"Ehh- qwee -us."

"Ehh-kee-us."

"Very good."

He could mimic the way roarbeasts groomed each other for her. Around her ears and the back of her neck, she enjoyed attention the most. Her love for mimic games helped her learn how to say his name, along with some other basic vocabulary: food, water, cold, hot, and play. She also parroted back phonemes and consonants.

After a week, she was healthy and safe in the barn, playing with her lusus and the hoofbeasts and showing no signs of wanting to return to the pride. And this time, Equius had a new gift for her.

"Neh-pet-ah," he sounded out for her. An ancient word meaning 'lion-hearted.' "Neh-pet-ah."

She could say it back, "Neh-pet-ah," but looked around, wondering what Nepeta was. Teaching her it was her name took quite some training. He would say 'Nepeta' to coax her to come to him, but she started to say 'Nepeta' when she wanted him for something. He gave her things and tried to say it was 'Nepeta's food' and 'Nepeta's toy,' but the possessive concept was too much. He felt frustrated a few times, but knew he would soon be assigned as her culler for a reason. As a Guardian, he had the strength and patience to help her.

And... once she could speak, he would get to know the real her. What she thought, how she saw the world. She would be a person. Her own person. And he would protect that person no matter what.

The moment she managed to tell him, “I am Nepeta,” everything changed.

“Sir? The beasts are stabled.”

Equius looked to the steward, standing at attention just outside the barn door. He nodded to the servant. “Excellent. You are dismissed. I’d like to pay a visit.”

The steward nodded and walked back toward the hive while Equius let himself into the barn. It was warm, dry, smelled of dried plant and healthy animal. The non-equine resident of the barn roused herself from a lump in the corner and immediately noticed Equius, padding up to him and rubbing her head against his side.

“Shhh,” he told the white lion lusus—she had named her Pounce, once she found the ability to speak—kneeling down and wrapping his own arms around the lusus’ neck. Pounce threw her whole weight against him as he stroked her fur, unbudged. The lusus sniffed him, and he could feel dissatisfaction in her puffs of breath. The Guardian wasn’t her wiggler. And this lusus was not his cullee. With her gone, the space in their lives she filled went empty, and the void ached.

Neither of us can protect her now.

Equius never considered himself a man of faith. He believed in the real forces of this planet, like the Empress, and the natural order of fauna and flora. But he had a prayer he wanted to offer to any being that listened to such things.

Please bring her home. If she will not come home, then please, keep her safe.

It wouldn't stop. Nothing would stop.

The urge kept coming stronger and stronger. She wanted nothingness. She wanted a break. She wanted to sleep. She couldn't stand it any longer. And she couldn't think of what else to do.

Rose remembered her mom. No, strike that. She missed her mom. Growing up, she had questioned every single gesture of affection her mom had to offer, and she more or less understood why now. When her mother was drunk as often as she was, sometimes important details got lost. Things like what Rose had wanted for Christmas, or when she turned eleven. And then her mother would try and make amends in ways Rose at the time found tawdry and passively aggressive. Like by organizing a vacation to the scenic Canadian tundra to make sure ‘Santa’ didn’t forget next year. Or instead of a party on her birthday, offering party-like amusements for weeks following and keeping the ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROSE’ banner up until nearly John’s birthday. Because of course she loved her daughter so much, she made up for her mistakes tenfold! Like an alcoholic floozy could ever rebuild those treasured childhood memories she was too drunk to do right the first time around.

But now, Rose would give anything for mountain cabins or ill-timed piñatas. She would give anything to have her mom back in her life. To tear down the façades and just hug her mother and tell her “I’m sorry, I love you.”

Jack Noir destroyed that possibility. And at the rate things were going, it would never happen in the dreambubbles either. Whenever she got a moment to sleep alone (not dominated by Vriska Fucking Serket and her compulsion to be the most important person in any room) Rose had scoured memories of her childhood searching for her mom. So far, she only found phantoms and imprints, moments in her past that only made her miss her mother more. Bitter memories she reconsidered from another angle, making them sweeter. Happy memories she had buried under angst and drama.

She couldn't take it. And now she stood at the alchemiter, slipping in cards and codes and noting what they produced. Fuck the meteor. Fuck Beforus. And fuck Mom. She knew of precisely one thing that would end this, and she had to discover it.

This ‘distillation project’ had been going on since Rose learned of the ancestral matespritship of Serket and Maryam, but it had been on her mind for a while before that. The discovery of that fact just gave her an… incentive. She alchemized wine and liquor bottles quite easily, all brandless but certainly in shapes that suggested their true purpose. And she could manifest a variety of liquid substances, most of which just splashed uselessly on the platform of the alchemiter. She had to identify them by smell, and clean them up after. Once she knew what she was searching for, she could combine the code for the alcohol with a bottle to hopefully produce a full bottle of something.

She paused a lot. A part of her kept asking, is this really the best solution? She had hated when her mom drank. She thought it made her look stupid, and sloppy, and then Rose had to clean up after her and keep the house in order. If she missed her mother, why was she pursuing one of the woman's most reviled vices?

Rose clenched her jaw and tried another combination. I was young and stupid when I thought all of that about her. She hadn’t known about the game, or the true nature of their relation, or how her mother's job would demand everything of her, including her life. Her mom gave her life for Rose... of course she'd do whatever she could to take the edge off the acknowledgement of her own mortality. And Rose was older now. She understood what her mom was going through better than ever.

Dark red fluid splashed on the platform. It looked like a deep wine. She stepped closer and sniffed it. It smelled like her mom, so it was probably alcoholic. She alchemized the fluid code with a glass bottle and created a bottle of something the alchemiter called Celestial Cabernet. She uncorked it. The smell of wine became more certain.

Are you really going to do this? she asked herself. And then she answered herself with a hearty swig.

She immediately spluttered on that swig. Wine tasted awful. Like nail polish remover mixed with sour cough syrup. How could anyone drink something this disgusting?

Mom did.

She tried again. Still awful, but she coughed less this time. For a lukewarm beverage, it felt so hot in her stomach. Her acids didn't know what to do with it. She drank again, still straight from the bottle. This was not the elegant glass-swirling her mother used to engage in. This was... this was ridiculous. So Rose found the nearest cup, a coffee mug, and poured some of the wine into that.

As she looked at her mug of wine, protests continued to bubble forth. You shouldn't be doing this. There was a legal age for this stuff for a reason. Are alcohol related deaths ‘just?’

To which Rose responded by drinking again, slower this time, and deeper. I should be starting high school, not spiraling through the void on a meteor with aliens. All concept of laws were destroyed with Earth. And my mom didn't die justly, she died heroically.

She drained the mug in a few minutes, thinking about her mother the God Tier. The post-scratch heroes were going to have titles and everything, but Rose's mom, she was... she was special. She was a hero all on her own and no game or consorts or Quest Bed told her what kind of hero she was.

Then she refilled the mug. That was harder this time around. The bottle was way way heavier than before, and... And why did she keep moving the mug?! Rose frowned and focused to keep her hands still until the mug was full again. With a sigh of relief and accomplishment, she drank again. This was certainly getting easier the more she did it. Like practice! Her body felt warm and light in a way she had never experienced before. And while she still knew all the things that were stressing her and making her sad before, the bubbly hazy heat pushed them further and further, like—no, it shrank them! Like Jade did! Ohhh, but now she missed Jade too, funny happy Jade, time to... time to drink more.

Taje that, soberity... Rose thought as she kept tipping the mug back.

Chapter Text

"Crabcatch! It's so good to see you!"

Feferi flung her sea-breeze scented arms around Karkat's neck with reckless abandon. Karkat nearly suffered a horn to the eye socket for it. Unsure about what to do, Karkat just patted her back. She seemed really familiar. That bubbly laugh, her overwhelming excitement, her positivity. Was this really a doomed Feferi? If Vriska and Doomed Nepeta were sure, then it should be true…

They had found the Eridan from her timeline too, actually. The bescarfed Prince of Hope stood aside, arms folded and eyes white behind his glasses. He looked a lot the same, too. How did they die again?

"Let him breathe, Fef," he said. "He's not even our Kar. What are you so excited for?"

Feferi released Karkat and shot him an empty stink eye. "What, I'm not allowed to be happy to meet a Karkat? I didn't see you complaining when we found the wrong Aradia."

"That's different! And it's not like I slobbered over her, like you're doin’ now!"

"Ha! You, not slobbering over people! That is the biggest load of carp I've heard all DEATH!"

"Well, it's true!"

"Who's the one constantly reeling in drama?"

"Who's the one who makes a point a laughin’ at everythin’ I ever do?!"

"It's only worth laughing at because it's so stupid! Seriously, do you even realize how awful you choose to be?”

“It’s not a choice, Fef, it’s the truth!”

Oh god, this was getting awkward. Ashen leaves without their auspistice were uniquely sad and pathetic, and the juvenile taunts of the two seadwellers kind of made Karkat want to tell them to get a block. But there were no blocks, not in this strangely breathable seascape remembered from LODAG. And Karkat could feel everyone else waiting on him to do something about this, even though this wasn't his problem at all.

"Hey..." Karkat said. Oh god, that was too weak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hey fishfucks, swimmer down!"

Their bickering ended mid-word. The two seadwellers took deep breaths, held them, and exhaled together. Karkat could almost see them counting out the same rhythm, something his doomed self must have created for them. His heart thudded anxiously, like he had touched a power he wasn't meant to wield.

"Thanks," Feferi said, much calmer. "It's just so funny how he brings out the worst in me, y'know?"

"Did you meet our Kar? Did he tell you to do that?" Eridan asked.

"No. Doomed Nepeta said it was your... clubs-word or something,” Karkat said. "And I'm only bringing it up because we have a job to do."

"Oh! Right, right," Feferi giggled. "Well, it's an appreciated gesture, believe me!"

Even Eridan nodded at that. "Even if you’re the wrong Kar, our Kar would want us to get along."

"Awesome! Wow! We're having all of the of fun watching your ashen indiscretions!" Vriska jumped in. "Now can we get to the point? We need you guys to be your Beforan selves."

"Yes! Nepeta mentioned that," Feferi said.

"So what exactly are we supposed to do?" Eridan folded his arms.

"I'm glad you asked..." Vriska took over explaining the mechanics of memory hopping to her ghostly alternate friends. Terezi added her perspective when necessary, while Dave stood with Rose, who looked weirdly sleepy, even though they were already asleep. Kanaya actually scooted next to Karkat.

"That was an excellent use of ashen word coding," she said. "It looks like your doomed self pursued strong fundamentals over advanced techniques in his auspisticeship."

"It's really not that big of a deal," Karkat mumbled.

"You know you can give yourself credit where it's due," Kanaya chided.

"It's not due here! My doomed self is their auspistice, and besides, we have it on good word that those two want to get along! They're voluntary clubmates, not imbecilic pitch-crushing chutewhistles who can't tell they're in the wrong quadrant."

And besides, ashen word coding was way harder than what everyone had just witnessed. It was a basic technique that required so much ground work before it paid off. The auspistice had to take the time to understand the two leaves, identify a technique that the both of them would accept, and then carefully and peacefully train them to accept it as a calming signal. Some doomed Karkat had written a computer program from scratch, and now Karkat looked like a miracle-worker because he hit ‘execute.’ It didn’t matter. I’m not that great.

"I was just trying to pay you a compliment," Kanaya said.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, now Karkat had made Kanaya feel bad too. No matter how people tried to be nice to him, he fucked everything up. "I know, and I appreciate you trying, believe me. I'll just... accept it next time."

"Will you?"

"I'll try?"

Then she smirked. Like she was amused, but also like she knew it was a lie.

Karkat looked at the rest of his party. Dave had joined the fray, helping Eridan pose like the Seafarer, while the Scourge Sisters coached Feferi. Rose had sat down, and was holding her head.

"Oh no," Kanaya said. "Excuse me..." She moved to sit down next to Rose, concerned. Karkat almost breathed a sigh of relief. She could fuss over Rose instead of him.

"Do you think you got it?" Vriska asked

"If you're right, then yes," Feferi said. "I think I know exactly the feeling you're talking about."

The vaguely underwater environment shifted and settled, until they were in one of the dew temples from her planet instead. Though usually submerged in bubbles of glass and only accessible to landdwellers with a breather mask, the fact these were memories made breathing a non-issue. They had a long entrance before ending in a circular node with pink crystals hanging from the ceiling. Ancient transcriptions and frescoes covered the wall, and the Life symbol stood out on several.

"This smells familiar," Terezi said. "Are we sure it's the right starting point?"

"It feels like the right place to start if we want to learn more about someone I hated to love!" Feferi flounced away. The rest of the party followed her, with varying degrees of excitement and resentment. As Karkat looked around, Rose surprisingly beat out Eridan for the person who looked least like they wanted to be here. The Seer of Light leaned heavily on Kanaya and dragged her god-slippers the whole way.

Feferi took her place at the far end of the temple, the place where one would logically put a throne. She closed her eyes and twirled a few times. Eridan secretly scowled at her, and took his place to her right with little more than a flip of his cape over his shoulder.

"Alright, the best we can do now is just dive in," Terezi said. Feferi laughed, so apparently 'dive' counted as a fish pun. Terezi made finger guns at her. "So Karkat, you probably need to start us off."

"Me?"

"Yes! Everything we know about this scene is that the Chimeric made a big declaration. You're good at those!"

"Think of it like one of your leaderly inspirational speeches," Vriska said, waving her hand like she was brushing away dust.

Leaderly speeches. Jegus fucking a diseased quillbeast, did Vriska think Karkat just did those on command? That wasn't what they were for! That wasn't what he was for!

But then what was he for, other than talking a lot and being loud and not being listened to?

“You have no idea what made him great. I doubt you ever will.”

"Give me a minute," Karkat stalled. "I don't... When was this? Where did it happen?"

"Uuuuuuuugh, we keep telling you! The when and where won't make the memory happen! It's about what you feel! The Chimeric obviously had some pretty strong feelings in this moment, so figure out what they were and just live them already!"

"Well, maybe the Chimeric was feeling something really complicated that's hard to understand without a little fucking context!" Karkat shot back. "If you know what's going on so well, then why don't you be the Chimeric?"

"Wait, what if we tried that technique from before? Where everyone filled in the other roles?" Terezi turned to Rose. "Lalonde, can you help with that?"

Rose had propped herself up against one of the columns of the dew temple. She opened her eyes to look at Terezi. "I'm acshally a little queasy right now... Sorry, I'm... I need to stay right here, and this bibble... needs to not move."

Kanaya placed a sympathetic hand on Rose's elbow, and Dave frowned. The Time player spoke up. "Yo, fish trolls, any chance you can give Karkat his starting line or something? Sorry we don't have the script to help out but maybe you can figure it out.”

Eridan and Feferi kind of shrugged at each other. "You said he wants to end cullin’, right? So I feel like Kar would just... come out and say it."

"Bassically!" Feferi added. "Whenever Crabcatch had anything to say, it was always as big and heavy as an imperial decree! So he'd come flying into this room and he'd say something like, 'culling must end immediately!'"

The word 'immediately' echoed in the hall, but not quite with Feferi's voice. There was something a little lower, more intense. More powerful.

"That sounds like a starting line, then." Dave turned to Karkat and shrugged. "You wanna try it?"

Karkat looked back at Feferi, her white eyes turned expectantly toward him. I let her down, too. Even if Eridan wasn't the one to kill her, I let her die —

He took a deep breath and shouted. His voice shook, but his volume bounced around the temple. "Culling must end IMMEDIATELY!"

Karkat glanced down at his shirt when he said that. No red. He looked up at Feferi. She no longer looked expectant. She looked serious. Almost grave.

"We... We have to end culling right now," Karkat tried. This was nothing like back on that ship, where he found a groove and felt instinct guide his actions. "This is... the most important thing we need to do! We can't spend another second doing what we're doing, because... Uh..."

Vriska was staring at him. Terezi was grimacing. Dave looked let down. Rose looked sick, Kanaya wasn't looking at Karkat at all. And Eridan and Feferi, why did they drag them into this? So they could watch their shitty alt-auspistice be pathetic and worthless and nowhere near the person who kept them in line, in sync?

Feferi spoke up, a little distantly. "...A chimera."

"What?" Karkat said.

"Because of a chimera," Feferi rather unhelpfully clarified.

"That's impossible," Eridan sneered at her... or at Karkat? The magic-doubter wasn't facing his fellow leaf. "First of all, chimera don't exist."

As Eridan said this, his scarf vanished in favor of a tall-collared military jacket, like a dressier version of what the Seafarer's ghost had worn, still bearing his sign. Beside him, Feferi's dress also swapped for a flowing fuchsia gown, like something from an old myth. They were getting into it, falling into sync with their alternate selves. Feferi knew what it was like to be an empress. Eridan knew what it was like to be a commander.

And what did Karkat know? He looked down and mashed the heel of his hand against one eye, then the other. Keep it together, Vantas, you fucking shitworm!

The silence was growing long, but Dave stepped in, making an attempt to grease the wheels. "No, sorry. Chimera are real as shit, and we totally have the proof for it, but you should keep listening to the Chimeric, who... y'know, probably knows things about chimera, since it looks like he named himself after them."

Oh, fuck, he was right! Even staring him in the face, Karkat had never bothered to contemplate that connection. And maybe he should later. Dave had set him up for his line again. What was his line?!

"So the chimera is... a mythic creature which is actually real! And it's... powerful..."

"Don't stress, Karkles," Terezi urged. "Close your eyes and take deep breaths until you find it."

He wanted to snap at her, but that would be even more humiliating than following her instructions. Like admitting defeat somehow. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, letting each one whoosh out of his mouth.

"Hey, Terezi?" Feferi said. "If I remember what happened next, can I move us along?"

"Please do! You might create a better opening for him later."

Feferi should have giggled. She didn't giggle. Instead, a voice filled the space, like Karkat's but deeper, older.

"The chimera is not just real. It is an omnipotent and omniscient beast guiding our evolution—it could be called the first Guardian of Beforus," the memory narrated. "This creature visited me once before, and this is the second time I’ve seen it.”

Karkat opened his eyes. A few yards before him, far closer than Karkat would have dared approach an Empress, the semi-translucent red of the Chimeric's tunic shimmered. Karkat stepped to the side until he could see the phantom’s face in profile. The last time, Karkat was being him, so he had no real idea what he looked like.

The first thing that came to mind was Kankri. From the way he wore his hair cropped around his nub horns to the huge expanse of scarlet on his torso, Karkat couldn't stop feeling like he was watching a slightly older Kankri. Maybe Karkat couldn't recognize himself in his dancestor's ancestor because the two Beforans were so close in age? At six and a half, what did Karkat know about being ten? Or about being bold, or proud, or strong?

But the memory had to continue. "The chimera showed you the future?" Eridan asked skeptically. The question didn't seem to draw him deeper into the memory, but it spurred on the shadow-Chimeric.

"It showed me a vision of the main events and their disastrous consequences. To prevent it, we must end culling now."

"But society would fall apart!" Eridan continued playing the devil's advocate, while Feferi stood by, stone-faced and gradually starting to look... older.

"Listen!" the Chimeric shouted, like he was speaking to many trolls and not just two. "The next heiress will herald the End Times. She is not suited to the throne—which will serve her well, but spell ruin for the rest of us. Five sweeps after her hatching, she will abdicate and flee."

"Five sweeps! The Deep Abdication will be in progress!" Eridan said, but he blinked, and for a moment his white eyes met Karkat's. What the hell is a Deep Abdication?

“The chain of succession will be the least of our worries. Shortly after she runs, a rain of meteors will destroy the planet, slay the Mother Grub, and leave all survivors to die in a wasteland."

"So ending culling will stop the apocalypse?" Eridan sounded a little sarcastic on that one, since he knew exactly what the Chimeric was talking about. And on top of that, his voice sounded strange, like his seadweller accent was dampened. He seemed to be slipping out of his role, all while Feferi fell deeper into hers. A fine net of gold wrapped around her billowing hair, and she had a trident in one hand now.

"No," the Chimeric's shadow answered. "We will all die, but there will be a few survivors. Children, from across the hemospectrum. Ten or so. If they are saddled with the baggage of our broken social order and its countless injustices, then the sacrifice of our planet will be meaningless. The survivors will be unprepared to resurrect our race from the ashes. We will be extinct forever.”

Karkat could feel the look shared between many (sighted) members of his party. The Chimeric knew about the dancestors and their session.

"But why are you telling us this?" Eridan continued to debate the memory. "Why not propose reforms—”

"Reforms won't be fast enough! We need immediate abolition of all culling! I wrote my thesis before I knew the world was going to end! Egalitarianism will not be enough, same-color culling will not be enough, traditional culling will sure as fuck not be enough! Culling must end NOW!”

The memory devolved into rumbling. Karkat could feel loud and clear now that this scene had happened before dozens of trolls, not just the Compasse and Seafarer. Feferi was standing still and stately, far calmer than any Feferi Karkat had ever met.

"Your Radiance!" The Chimeric pointed directly to Feferi. "You took a hiveless orphan grub and protected him because you believed that grub's life had inherent value. Let me repay you with this warning! Our race faces extinction, but you have the power to create hope for the future! Just let the cullees go!"

The rumbling continued, and so did the Chimeric's pleas to the frozen Feferi.

"Are you listening!? This is the only way! Let the cullees go! LET THEM GO!"

Dave muttered something loud enough to hear: "O pharaoh!" Karkat hissed at him to shut up, because Feferi took a step forward. He looked closer and realized she had color in her eyes, like a living person—and not just yellow, but fuchsia too. Her body was still quite small, but she looked like an adult, and met the Chimeric with the resolute stance of a forgiving person pushed too far.

“For sweeps, I hoped that you could be persuaded toward moderation,” the Radiant Feferi said. “That hope is dead now. You and your philosophy are a danger to us all. Millions will certainly die if we abolish culling, even before your impossible apocalypse. This is my decision: culling will continue!”

The Chimeric tried to argue more. "You can't do this! The ultimate fate of the species—”

She refused him. "I will give you one last chance! Forswear your visions and join the Guardians, and you will have the power you earned to reform the system. If you do not, then you will be branded a traitor and punished as a corrupt Guardian. Chimeric, recant or face consequences!"

The shadow turned his back on Feferi. Like he was wreathed in wisps of flame, the Chimeric stormed away, burning into smoke as his role in the memory ended. In another moment, Feferi left her position, and stayed pink and regal and alive as she ran… to Karkat. He finally saw emotion in her face, after the frozen queen's demeanor. She looked distressed, in pain. With two hands taking one of his, Feferi bowed and pressed his knuckles to her forehead. Ashen?

"Please… If he makes me fight him, I will, but I don't want to… Mediate, please…” she begged.

Karkat wondered who he was filling in for. But from where he stood, he had no clue. "Mediate between who?" he asked.

Feferi looked up at him, pink eyes wide. Then she blinked and they turned child-gray. And she blinked again and they were white.

"Oh!" She released Karkat's hand and stepped back, starting to laugh. "Oh wow, sorry about that! I–she–was just reaching for an auspistice and, whale, there you were!"

"No, stop apologizing, Feferi!" Terezi exclaimed. "You did it! You really did it!"

Feferi twirled some hair around her finger. "Thanks... I do hope it helps, that was... unclammy!"

"It's hard to take you seriously with those fish puns. Just sayin'," Eridan spoke up as he sauntered over to the collected ghosts and dreamers. While he moved, Kanaya finally had Rose standing over her own feet, and helped her stumble toward the group.

"Oh my glub, you total hypocrite! They're clever when you do them and immature when I do?!"

Vriska clapped her hands for attention. "Okay, fishes need to swimmer down!"

Karkat saw Eridan and Feferi begin their calm-down breath, but abort it halfway through with sour looks directed at Vriska. At least they stopped bickering as the Thief began to speak.

"I gotta say, I didn't expect this memory to be that crucial! The Chimeric wasn't really trying to end culling for the lowbloods. He wanted to end culling for Sgrub."

"He didn't seem to know that much though," Dave said. "Ten-or-so dancestors is really vague."

"Well, he knew some things in detail, like about Meenah running away.” Terezi turned to the seadwellers. "What's the Deep Abdication?"

"When the old Empress vanishes into the ocean and an heiress is crowned!" Feferi answered, almost dissonantly chipper. "I got the feeling I… she… was afraid of it. It's a very slow and helpless way to essentially die."

"But Karmeric got a pretty big 'I told you so' on a lot of this shit," Dave said. "Since we know the dancestors screwed the pooch on their game. So the fact that culling continued is why their game fucked up.”

"So it’s possible to view the Chimeric's rebellion as a training program, like cadet trials before joining the army. He wanted Beforans to know how to fight, so they'd be prepared to play the game. Maybe he was proposing an easy-mode version of how Alternia prepared all of us. Maybe even something more like Earth.” Vriska nodded along with her own analysis.

"It could also explain the continued legends of child abduction associated with the Betrayer," Kanaya said. "Since it also appears the Chimeric knew very little about the individual identifiers of the Beforan heroes, he would have needed to instruct the Betrayer to target wigglers almost indiscriminately, on the hopes he would intercept some of the foretold heroes.”

"Or the Betrayer could have come up with the idea himself, after the rebellion fell apart. It looks like he was here to witness the original declaration," Vriska said.

"How many Poké-kids do you think he caught? Any?" Dave asked.

"That should be a question for Aranea," Terezi said, turning Vriska's way. "She seems to know all the available knowledge about her team’s history."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll add it to the list.” Vriska waved the duty off. "And it wouldn't hurt for you chumps to talk to ghosts, too.”

"Whatever," Dave said, his two boonbits on Vriska's orders.

"And Karkat, you get a fail on memory sync," the Thief declared. "What the hell was that? That was weak!”

"Oh, sure! I'll just stand in the shame cube and feel pathetic because I couldn't meet your absurd demands! You hand-picked a Feferi able to hate me like the Compasse hated my alternate self, but did it occur to you that maybe I'm not suited to living out this memory?" Karkat argued back. Maybe I'm not suited to living out any of his memories.

"Who was..." Rose spoke up, slow and careful like she was having trouble making her mouth move correctly. "The asher, when she…” Words failed Rose, so she raised the back of her hand to her own forehead. “Who was that?"

"Um... Oh cod, this is embass-rassing!" Feferi pressed her hands against her cheeks like she was trying to hold back a blush. "That was Gamzee!"

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?!" Eridan reacted first. "That half-panned psychopath?!"

"Psychopath?" Terezi repeated. "Does this have anything to do with the end of your timeline?"

"It's got everythin' to do with the end a our timeline. The sopor must've run out or somethin’, because Gamzee started slaughterin’ us all like infant barkfish."

"Barkfish?" Kanaya said.

Dave shrugged. "The best guess I got is 'seals,' which sort of fits, with the clubbing, and the helpless dying, so yeah, props for the awful metaphor about killing baby seals, fish man."

“Well, that kind of makes sense with what happened in our session,” Vriska said. “Gamzee got two of us, but then other people were on the rampage too, so it wasn’t just him…” She trailed off and then cleared her throat to change the subject. “But we're pretty sure the Mournful never killed anyone on Beforus. Really, all of us who have killed people were waaaaaaaay defanged in the pre-Scratch world. This rebellion we're investigating only had a death toll of like, a few thousand."

Eridan crinkled his nose, distracted from the grisly tale of the end of his timeline by a far less gory story. "Fuck, that's all?"

"I know, right?!"

"Pathetic…”

"Excuse you!" Feferi cut in. "Any death is too much!"

"Do we have to get into this now?"

"Why not now? I have eternity to oppose you on this!"

With a groan, Eridan turned away. “I knew I should've just joined up with the rustblood…”

"Not until we find our Crabcatch! Then the three of us will join together!"

Whatever that meant. Karkat looked to Vriska, trying to fix her with a 'are you satisfied yet?' expression. In a weird way, she was.

"Alright, people. Time to wake up. Rose needs to stop being so sick so we can get what we just learned down in her book. I need to find Aranea, and everyone else should start tracking down other dancestors about their pasts. Let's break!"

They waved goodbye to the ghosts. Literally only Vriska and Terezi looked happy about anything. Karkat wondered if that was going to be a recurring theme or something.

Chapter Text

I was promised a partner, not a weeping potato.

Terezi felt grateful for her burned-out eyes in this particular moment. Stowed away in an unassuming traveler's hive on the outskirts of Althelney, Terezi had to finally broach a very difficult topic, something she had only discussed with children before. She had to ask Prospera to play a game with her, but in this condition—sighing, barely eating, not speaking, wilted like old celery in an armchair—the accused Marquise wasn’t fit to play anything.

The Vigilant knew what had happened. It wasn't that hard to deduce, and the hastily licked missive from Guardian Trueshot confirmed that the beloved Benevole had decided to end it with Prospera, at long last in Terezi's opinion. Consorting with someone of Prospera's character was frankly below the Mistress' dignity, but Terezi figured everyone made mistakes. In the Benevole's eyes, Prospera had made her last.

But Mother merciful, could Prospera stop being such a twit about it?!

"Are you listening, Prospera? We need to confer before we meet the Governor,” Terezi prompted.

Prospera made a sound. "Mn."

Terezi pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. Wearing her shades was pointless around the woman who blinded her in the first place. "There is something tremendously important I need to discuss with you. And I need you alert and attentive."

"What."

"I said alert and attentive!"

"I'm listening!"

"You're moping! Should I slap sense into you before I speak?"

"What's stopping you?"

"Common decency! I'd ask if you've heard of it, but it's obvious you haven't!"

"What does it matter," Prospera moped. "I know about your game, and I'll play it. Don't bother me."

"You can't play it behaving the way you are! You'll make a mockery of it, and me, and we'll be caught."

"Oh."

"Don't 'oh' me! You're facing span terminal sentencing with the scum of the earth if you don’t cooperate.”

"Didn't you always say that's where I belonged?"

Terezi growled in exasperation. Her patience with this romantic melodrama was wearing thin. For the good of the Empire, couldn't the Benevole have waited to break it off with her matesprit until after the Chimeric was captured? She left her former matesprit in abject despair this way, completely unwilling to fight or even quit. If she at least dropped out, she would go to jail and Terezi would be free to investigate alone or select a new partner—Twinhorn, if the Compasse would listen to her this time—but Prospera didn't even care enough to lose.

The Vigilant leaned against one of the recuperacoons and folded her arms. "Look, she dumped you. It happens to everyone. You get over it."

"You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"Why?"

"So I can understand!"

Another depressed sigh. Terezi wanted to scream. Not only was this just disgusting, it was... unnatural. Prospera never moped. When she got hurt, she got vengeance. Terezi focused a little harder. She could understand this. She'd show the Marquise.

"...She's the only matesprit you've ever had." Terezi knew from her investigation of Prospera’s history. "So you've never had experience with a flushed partner breaking it off. And not just any flushed partner; your matesprit of two centuries. You've been flushed for her for longer than the entire olive caste has been alive."

She smelled Prospera shift in her chair. "More or less," she said.

"Why did she dump you?"

“That doesn’t concern you.”

"It must be for a good reason. Something true. If it were just a misunderstanding, you wouldn't be this depressed. You wouldn't blame yourself if you didn't believe it was your fault."

"It's not my fault," Prospera answered.

"Isn't it?"

"I've had enough of patronizing questions."

"These aren't patronizing. You'll know when I am being patronizing. What I mean is, you know that you did something to make her end it. You probably had a very good reason for doing it, but those good intentions didn’t matter.”

"I saved her life!"

"How?"

"Does it matter?!"

"Yes! That's the difference between us, Prospera. You believe that your ends are always justified."

Prospera laughed. "Oh, like you're so far above me!"

"This isn't about me."

"How many cullees have you exploited? Have you asked to 'play your game?'"

"I gave those warmbloods an education far above what others allow their caste to achieve—”

"You used them. They were tools in service of your lifestyle, and I am your latest implement.”

Terezi gritted her teeth. At least Prospera was fighting back now, not whimpering and crying. "I asked you a simple question. What did you do to save the Benevole."

"You already know."

Terezi did. “Mind control."

"I made her jump, and she is alive. Maybe if you hadn't been so preoccupied with that phantom, you could have helped me find an alternative solution."

“This case already features feral trolls, blood mutants, and hybrid monsters. We should be alert for other impossible elements."

"Ferals and mutants are not supernatural, and this chimera still might not exist. But because you were sniffing around for a ghost, I lost my matesprit."

"Fine, blame me," Terezi said, feeling not the least bit guilty. But she could accept Prospera’s blame if it meant moving things forward. "So you used your psychic abilities on the Benevole. That's the coolest blood to experience your influence, as far as I can confirm."

"That was the first time I controlled a jade. But she didn't believe me, she assumed I had been controlling her this whole time..."

Terezi nodded. "Well, yes. Once you discover someone you know has mind control powers, then you need to be prepared for the possibility that they have controlled anyone they’ve ever met. Including you.”

“I never controlled her! Not until I had to!” Prospera sounded distraught again. "I've loved her for my whole life, I was flushed for her for two centuries, she's the most precious person I've ever met. The only reason to keep living on this miserable planet is because the Benevole cares for it so much."

Terezi placed her knuckles against her mouth. She couldn't speak hastily here, not when Prospera had just expressed some borderline suicidal opinions. Which, first of all, how pathetic was it that Prospera had basically turned her matesprit into a symbol, or a crutch, for her own morality? And how half-assed it was too; if Prospera really wanted to be a good person for her matesprit, then why did she keep committing crime after crime after crime?

She reached into her pocket and removed her double-faced coin. She let it flip through her fingers while she allowed her thoughts to settle into binary choices. Heads, I follow the Compasse's plan and support Prospera. Scratch, I report her as unfit for duty.

She flipped the coin. It landed with a plink, rolled a bit, and fell. And Terezi knew what she wanted to do.

"That landed scratch," Prospera reported.

"Shut up. That's not the point of the coin."

"Is this another game I need to play with you? It looks boring."

"No, this game is mine. That scratch means I have decided to support you, not report you."

"Have you now?"

"Think about it this way. Your matesprit's trust in you is broken. If you want to win that back, then she needs an external verification that you can be trusted. You know, from someone who would never speak a kind word about you unless you had completely proven your loyalty."

Prospera sat up. "Where are you going with this?"

"I have meticulous notes about the influence of your powers throughout your various crimes. It's the most complete record in existence, outside of any notes you took yourself about your own psychic development, about the full range of your powers. If the Benevole knew that a blueblood would be too much for you, then she's already familiar with the idea that the hemospectrum offers resistance against your powers. I can prove you can't control me."

"And then what?"

"I can put in my good word. If you work with me, then I can leave a glowing review as to your... change in character, and how you're ready to be a good person who would make her happy for the rest of her life.”

"So I have to toady to you for any chance of winning her back?"

"I don't need you to toady. You just need to help. All the sass and sarcasm and deliberately obtuse behavior and attempts to maim me or backstab me—”

"I have done none of those!"

"I know you haven't, yet! And honestly, I could care less about whether you win her back. But if we're going to make this work, I need you. I need you to be your reprehensible, self-interested, psychopathic self."

"Why in the world would you want me to be so awful, when you've sworn yourself to be the good shoes twofold of imperial service?"

"Because you don't have to be a good person to be a hero. You just have to know who you are and stay true to that. I want you to start fighting for people the only way you ever knew how,” Terezi told her. “By being you."

Prospera seemed to consider this. She leaned forward and folded her hands together.

"Okay. Let's say I rise to your challenge. I use all my spidery, manipulative ways to end this rebellion and win back my flushed moonbeam. But what about you? Why do you care so much that I help you? Instead of encouraging me, you could have declared me unfit for duty and received a new partner. Why didn't you do that?"

"Because I'm starting to see the Empress's point."

"Bullshit. You wouldn't bend your ideals for a god. But you would bend them for personal gain."

"Shut up."

"I'm not wrong. I know who you are, Lawscale. You've circumvented the social order for decades now, all because you believe you're still the greatest Vigilant to ever hatch, and then thrown the book that you perpetually disobey at anyone you disagree with. Why would you resort to cooperating with me if you thought there was another way?"

Terezi pursed her lips. "That doesn't concern you."

"Well, then our partnership doesn't concern you either..."

This was exactly what she had asked for. Prospera, alert and aware and sinking her fangs into any hint of weakness. And really, she couldn’t expect to work with Prospera and not be forced to show her hand at least a little bit. She had to be careful to calculate not just what she would say to Prospera, but how much the spider woman would drag out of her when offered that meager clue.

“You have to know who you are and stay true to that,” Terezi repeated. “You know who you are and what you’re good at. All the evidence says that the Chimeric… is lost. I don’t know if you kept tabs on his ascension—”

“His culler was one of my liabilities. Of course I kept tabs on his ascension.”

“He would have been a brilliant Guardian. His proposals would have revolutionized the world and brought about real, positive social change. But he’s not staying true to who he is anymore.” Terezi closed her eyes for a moment. “I want to stop him before someone gets hurt. I know it’s something he’d regret more than anything.”

Prospera was quiet for a moment. “So you know… the Chimeric very deliberately told me he no longer had a soul. A statement like that is metaphorical hyperbole, of course, but… I thought you should know, before you assume there’s anything left of him to save.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I have to. You need all the evidence, don’t you? Accept my testimony. He’s not just ‘lost.’ He’s ‘lost it.’”

Terezi locked her jaw for a moment. She considered fishing around for her coin to make another flip, but she already knew what her answer was. Something else was wrong with the Chimeric. This wasn’t just about running from culling or trying to oppose the Empress. He had some other reason to be doing things this way, and whether that reason was sound or insane remained to be seen.

“Look, you want to win back the Benevole. Allow me to win back the Chimeric.”

“Oh stars, are you that way for him? He’s not even attractive—”

“Just. Shut up. And play my game with me.”

Prospera stood and moved toward the desk. There was a folder of evidence they planned to submit to some relevant officials. “Really, all we have to present to the Governor are the names and distinguishing features of my former debtors and some goods that we expect the Chimeric will use to resupply the Absolution? This is what you needed the grade of cannon shot for?”

Terezi managed a small smile. “That’s how the game is played, Prospera. Look for clues, follow the trail.”

Nepeta held fast to the ropes, listening for orders to pull and release. The Seafarer stood at the helm and eased the wheel side to side by fractions of degrees to keep them steady. Crags around the mouth of the cove made her heart pound, like she was the hunted and not the hunter. The earth itself could kill her with one false move. The whole crew seemed to know this: she could feel everyone's fear, I don't want to die, and as she looked around, she could see everyone answering each other, I won't let you die.

She held that thought close as she clutched her rope. I won’t let any of you die.

The cove was empty when they arrived, but as Nepeta scanned the shoreline she could see a half dozen crannies and caves ideal for setting up camp. Empty didn't mean deserted. And even clearing the mouth of the cove, there were dozens of steps before they could consider lowering lifeboats and heading ashore.

"Steady!" the Seafarer commanded. Everyone dug in their heels and held tighter. Nepeta could see the Mirthful out of the corner of her eye, assigned to hold a particularly heavy rope. He had some shadows on his face, painted with oil which was probably not meant for the skin. Two long dragon fangs split his eyes, while the lower fangs of a lion followed his jaw. On both of his cheeks, a triangle pointed inward, the two halves of a diamond. She thought that one was a nice touch. He looked a lot more complete when painted, even with other pieces of him missing.

"Anchor!"

Chains rattled and gears clunked as the trolls responsible for holding anchor let go of their wheel. A deep plunk and slowing of the chain later, the Seafarer added, "Tie off!" In another minute, all of those ropes in people's hands were secured to posts. The Absolution would absolutely not move.

"We're here!" an excited voice cried. "We made it!"

There were many hugs and hand-slaps to be had. Nepeta included herself, and by now everyone knew how she wanted to be treated and seen. She preferred hand clasps and head rubs, and the willingness of everyone to follow her rules made her glow inside out.

The crew was sure to thank the Seafarer, which Nepeta did by snapping her fangs at him. She'd never actually bite him, but it wasn't her fault he smelled like dinner. She liked reminding him of that. And even though the redblood had spent the whole voyage downplaying his authority, people hailed the Chimeric. As usual, he accepted the praise with little fanfare, but the way his scarlet eyes blazed made it look like there was something else on his mind.

As the congratulations died down and people started to ask about the boats, the Chimeric nodded and found a crate to stand on. Everyone's faces turned to him, and the excitement died when they saw how solemn he looked.

"I want to thank you all for your hard work and dedication," the Chimeric announced. "Not a moment passes where I am not grateful for the choice that every single one of you has made to push forward in the face of danger. We are rather far south of our original destination, where we all had prior obligations awaiting us. Be assured, any individual who wishes to return will have my full support and assistance."

Nepeta twitched her nose and glanced at the listeners, who in turn looked at each other. Everyone knew what everyone else was reaching for, or running from. People were trying to size up who would leave. You wouldn't leave, would you? After all we've been through together?

"I want everyone to very seriously consider what they are leaving behind, if they choose to stay with me," the Chimeric continued. "And it is time for me to be completely transparent about what staying with me will require of all of you."

Now quieter, the crowd waited for his next words.

"I will attempt to create a social revolution where culling will no longer exist. The oppression of the warm castes by enslaved cool castes is leading our species toward permanent extinction. Our only chance is to create a show of force large enough that her Radiant Compassion will either be forced to abolish culling entirely, or she must recognize our new culture as an independent nation. Our mission is to provide inspiration to those who have been told they are helpless, much like everyone here. You are already proof that the culture can succeed. The only question left is the war.

"I will not ask any of you for anything I would not ask of myself. We will spend a very long time surviving without the comforts of the Compasse's civilization. We will ally ourselves with criminals to survive. We will steal from people who cannot afford to be stolen from. We will destroy hives.. and we will end lives."

Nepeta watched the Chimeric's face closely. He certainly looked grave. Like he had already killed those he would kill, and that he had already seen friends die in those fights.

"Again, I will join you in these tasks. All who join me must know I am willing to kill, and I will do so to protect you all from harm. Many will oppose us, try to arrest us and detain us, but if we want our freedom we must fight them. And sometimes the only way to escape them will be to kill them. Everyone here, please think long and hard about yourself and what you are capable of. Think about if you would kill for your own freedom. Then... look to your left, and look to your right. And think about if you would kill for their freedom."

When Nepeta looked left and right, she saw the Mirthful and the captain. And then she looked at everyone else performing the same task, looking upon their friends, their quadrantmates, their companions, their brothers and sisters.

"I will give you one week to decide," the Chimeric said. "In the meantime, our plan to go ashore will continue. We are far enough south that we cannot easily go to Althelney, so we should look for resources and the path to the nearest trading hub. I have created six expedition teams, and all will answer to the Tameless."

People turned to face her and nodded. Nepeta kept staring at the Chimeric. Killing for other people... is this a pride?

The Chimeric dismissed everyone, and they began to load up the rowboats to go ashore. Nepeta watched them move for a moment, and settled into her role in the disembarking. There were lots of ropes to release to drop the boats, but so long as she listened for orders, she was free to think. She remembered hunts with her former pride. She helped kill thousands of creatures, all to keep her fellow roarbeasts alive. And they had killed for her sake, too. Pounce had killed for her sake. And the Chimeric would kill for her sake...

When she found herself in a boat, she looked around again. A few trolls were huddled together, whispering. She noticed one woman had embraced another, holding her close to her chest protectively. She could feel them wrestling with the choice the Chimeric had asked them to make. And even more strangely, she could see some of them had already chosen. The resolute gleam in their eyes matched the Mirthful and his loyalty. The determined line of their mouths mirrored the Seafarer and his veteran experience.

Did Nepeta look like them? All she knew was how to kill for her pride. Would that be enough?

Once in the water, rowers took hold of oars and started to push them toward the shore. The Chimeric had given her another temporary mission, to help train these people to be survivalists. And then she'd find a new pride... but for the first time, she started to doubt her plan. She could act like a roarbeast, but she didn't smell like one. She had no lusus to bury her in scent like before. What if she came across as an encroaching rival? Or even if they thought she was friendly, they could never confuse her for another roarbeast. Among trolls, she could at least say 'don't be afraid, I'm like you.’ Lions lacked that language.

Why am I even going back to a pride? she asked herself. I want to live in freedom, without the rules of society. Why do I need to find animals to do this?

She looked around at the faces again. Everyone with their reasons to be here, fleeing sorrow, pursuing joy. Why were these people not creatures like her? Why couldn't they be her pride?

Well, she still had time to decide. And she felt quite certain that if she decided to stay—and she was right about everyone becoming her pride—then no one would turn her away.

Chapter Text

Vriska found her dancestor on the moon of Prospit, overlooking the planet below and Skaia beyond. She wondered if this memory was technically hers. She could clearly recall sitting with her legs dangling off of that exact bridge as she watched Skaia rise from behind Prospit. She wasn't sure though. The spot was really beautiful, almost tourist-worthy, and since the presumed same Prospit and Derse were generated for every session, there may have been hundreds, maybe thousands of Prospit dreamers who had plopped their asses down on this bridge and just enjoyed the beauty of the golden kingdom and that bright blue ball of puffy clouds.

It had been a while since Vriska saw Aranea. The first time, she had been wearing this really cool Mindfang outfit, with all the details just right. She had looked so badass! Now, she looked like a frumpy pupa, with a blue dress and this knitted quilt wrapped around her shoulders. Word around the bubbles was that Aranea had come back to life in a doomed timeline, caused a whole lot of trouble, and then died again. Vriska wished she could find the memories of what happened to see how awesome it had been.

"That's really not a good idea," Aranea said.

"What?"

"Finding that timeline where I was resurrected and everyone died. I was so stupid. Lots of people you care about suffered."

"They're fine now, so what does it matter?” Vriska played it off. "And what makes you think I can't handle a little blood?"

"I'm not saying you can't handle blood. What I mean to say is..." Aranea started, but then looked down at Prospit. "Actually, never mind."

Vriska felt an impulse to keep questioning her on that, but she reined it in. Terezi had a lot of things she wanted to know, and Aranea had the answers. “Speaking of mind... You could tell what I was thinking."

"What?"

"Don't play dumb. I was thinking about the timeline where you revived, and you knew to tell me not to go looking for it."

"Yes, I did do that," she said. "I also decided not to comment on the way you think I'm a frumpy pupa now, as opposed to a skillful battle mistress like Mindfang."

"Look, don't take that personally,” Vriska said. "I think a lot of awful things about people I like."

Aranea looked flatly unamused. "I am aware.”

"But I really brought this up because I wanted to know more about your powers," Vriska said. "Like, how strong are they, and whatnot."

"How strong?"

"Yeah! What are you able to do, what are your limits, y'know."

"Well, my limits have all but disappeared," Aranea said.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I can completely and covertly control any troll from any position on the hemospectrum… save tyrian." Aranea smiled a little this time, almost smugly.

"You're kidding! Oh my god, that's insane!" Vriska cried. "You cracked the highbloods too? Seadwellers?"

"Really, it wasn't that hard," she said. "It just took the equivalent of billions of sweeps of practice. I also hope that you trust my assessment of my own powers. I... hurt a lot of people using them, and I am not in the mood for a demonstration."

"Fair, fair," Vriska agreed, since the only observable guinea pig for such a test was Vriska herself, and ain't nobody was gonna touch her mind. "So if it took billions of sweeps, that means you only got this good after you died?"

"Yes. In life, I was more of an empath. I knew what people were thinking, and mostly warmbloods at that, but I didn't realize I could control their minds until after I died.”

Vriska nodded. "This makes sense with what we've learned. I found a memory of Prospera and I lived it!"

Aranea blinked at her. "Really? Which memory?"

"Actually, we found a lot of stuff. Let me see if I can sum it up fast..."

Vriska did her best to recount everything chronologically, from the battle aboard the Lux Volans to the ghost of the Betrayer to the confrontation between Prospera and Lawscale to the Chimeric's declaration and fall from grace. She knew she was cutting details that Aranea would have left in if she was the storyteller, but she had a lot to cover and no guarantee of how long she would stay asleep. Plus, she needed to leave Aranea time to explain the missing pieces. Everyone always said she was on the same tier as Kankri in terms of being long winded, but so far she just seemed shy and nervous.

"That's amazing," Aranea said at the end of Vriska's story. "A First Guardian's involvement would explain so much! And you met a real ancestral ghost... And you discovered the limits of my ancestor's powers. We can almost create a Serket bloodline power ranking now."

"Power ranking?"

"Yes. It sounds like Prospera's abilities were the weakest, then you improved her range and power, Mindfang perfected the subtle influences to disguise her control, while I cracked the highblood psyche."

Vriska bristled at the concept of coming in third place on any sort of ranking. It kind of made her want to stab something. "Hang on, you can't count your billion-sweep-old self. You have to count from when you were my age. Six and a half."

Aranea blinked. "Well, from that perspective we would have to rank all of us from age six and a half. And we don't know enough about how well our ancestors used their powers when they were children.”

"Then I suppose we don't have an accurate power ranking at all." Vriska flipped some of her hair over her shoulder, now satisfied that she had a shot of being on top.

"No. I suppose we don't." Aranea narrowed her eyes at Vriska a little.

"Don't worry about it. We'll find the answers, if we still care. Now, there was something I wanted to be sure to ask about the history of your team."

"What is it?"

"Rose, Terezi, and I have a theory about the purpose of the Betrayer legend, where he steals all those kids. Since the Chimeric knew about your session, he was trying to create a training program for all of you. It failed, obviously, but we think the Betrayer might have been trying to catch some of your team to raise them in the wilderness without culling. Does that sound familiar?"

"Now that you mention it, it actually does," Aranea said. "Rufioh grew up with the Lost Weeaboos in the Beforan forests. I never thought much about it because he had an otherwise normal upbringing, with friends and lusus."

"Really? He caught one?"

"The possibility exists. But in his own words, Rufioh never mentioned the influence of the Betrayer or any other troll in his description of his upbringing as a Lost Weeaboo. He simply spoke as if he had always been there."

"That could just be because he's an avoidant little shit," Vriska said. "Anything stressful or confrontational just makes him change the subject. I don't know where people get off thinking he's some daring, confident Nitram. He and Tavros are as weak as they come."

"Don't be that hard on him. Even though Rufioh is no Summoner, the best evidence I have in support of your theory that the Betrayer wanted to train young wigglers for the game is that Rufioh was one of our strongest players right when we started. He was definitely more prepared for Sgrub than the rest of us. It's possible that the Lost Weeaboos still fulfilled the Chimeric's purpose, even if all connection to his ideology had been stripped away by time."

"Who were the best players from the start?" Vriska had to ask.

"Without a doubt, I would say our three strongest heroes were Rufioh, Latula, and Meenah," Aranea answered. "Rufioh had his tough forest upbringing to make him a hardy player. Then Latula's gamer instincts helped her exploit the tropes inherent to video games, like critical hits and experience farming."

"And what about Meenah?"

"Meenah was… a sociopath," Aranea said simply. "She reveled in bloodshed and loved finding new and different ways to slaughter the underlings of the land. She ruled her planet with an iron fin and completely dominated her consorts. Imagine a scaled-down Condesce, with a single planet under her control instead of entire galaxies.”

"Wow," Vriska said. That was... kind of adorable! "So then, who were the best players by the end of the game?"

"Still Meenah, for reasons mentioned previously. Then Damara for certain. Even though much of her power was used to sabotage those who had wronged her, her transformation from demure adolescent to frightening Witch was quite startling. Then lastly, this is... probably a little smug to say, but I would select myself. I was a God Tier Sylph of Light after all, and I was instrumental in orchestrating the Scratch. In terms of actions setting into motion even more important actions, that strikes me as a very powerful thing to do."

Vriska had enough presence of mind to not fully complete the thought that Aranea was smug and self-centered. After all, the pot and kettle both knew what color they were.

"What about your team?" Aranea said. "Who were the MVPs at the beginning and end?"

"MVPs? Myself, of course, at both points. I had always been amazing at FLARP, and almost any other game I tried, and by the end I was a God Tier too, who dealt the final blow against the Black King."

Aranea giggled. "A very important action, yes."

"As for everyone else... Hm." Vriska had to think. It had been half a sweep since they stopped playing the game! Who else had been strong? "Oh, right! Equius literally jumped through his first gate, and found his second nearly instantly. Right from the start, he was hitting milestones like it was nobody's business. And then I think Terezi, too. Sort of for the same reasons Latula was good, but in her own, Terezi-ish way. She knew a lot about what this game would ask of us, and knew how to shortcut the boring parts, like me!"

"I see! Then who were the key players at the end of your session?"

"I gotta give that one to Aradia, too. Without her army of Aradiabots, we wouldn't have survived long enough to beat the Black King. Or there would have been casualties." And Vriska knew who her last answer was. She considered lying. And then she remembered that it was impossible to lie to an empath. "And... Karkat. Because without him, we wouldn't have made it that far."

"Fascinating choices," Aranea said. "I thought I understood your session before, but I believe I've learned something."

"Yeah, happy to facilitate that," Vriska said. "But we are waaaaaaaay off topic now. There was all this shit I wanted to ask."

"Sorry for the esoteric tangent. That was probably my fault. I'll stay on topic now."

"Um, thanks. I wanted to ask about the Deep Abdication and all the shit that went down with Meenah."

"Oh, right! All of that is frankly hilarious in hindsight," Aranea said. "Everyone believed that the abdication of the heiress was the apocalypse, when in truth the meteors and the Reckoning would destroy everything, regardless of whether Meenah stayed a good little heiress or revolted against everything we had ever known."

"What happened after she ran? Did you know where she was?"

"She only messaged me to say she was safe and free. She didn't say anything else. I only discovered after the fact that she had gone to the moon when she brought a chunk of it into the game with her. Her entire contact list faced interrogations."

"Interrogations?"

"Of course. They wanted to know what we knew about her whereabouts, but none of us knew anything." Aranea laughed dryly. "It's funny. Meenah's highly public disappearance matches the legendary modus operandi of the Betrayer's lure. A coolblood dissatisfied with her station, fearing responsibility, persuaded away from her hive..."

"Do you think Meenah met the Betrayer?"

Aranea was silent a moment. "If she did, I would have expected her to tell me. We were so close. Like sisters. But you know how it is. You think you know a person, just because you spent so many sweeps together..."

"I totally understand." Vriska nodded. "Where is Meenah now?"

"Somewhere. Last I heard, she was with one of your ghosts."

"Really? A dead Vriska?" Dead Vriskas were very rare, since it seemed like most timelines at least continued until she was a God Tier, which meant she was often alive at the end of doomed timelines and thus was erased from existence. Vriska would be lying if she didn't feel unsettled by how every single ghost of herself she had met so far died Justly.

"Yes. She's the one who Terezi... successfully killed in order to stop her fight with Jack and protect the meteor." Aranea struggled to explain. "By all accounts, that is the way that particular moment should have resolved. But someone saw fit to perform an intervention."

"Do you know anything about how John did that?"

"It's still a mystery to myself, the exact nature of that power he now wields. I do recall that he gained this power as part of a treasure found by a small raiding party in the dreambubbles. I was present, along with Meenah and Aradia."

"Interesting..." Vriska would probably need to pursue this as a private mission. And if Aranea was unclear about the power John had, maybe it was the power that allowed him to appear in both incarnations of the troll homeworld, the troll's game session, and the meteor. Maybe Vriska could be the one to give Terezi her answer, and help her put all this behind her.

"Did you have any other questions? About the past, or the future?"

"Yeah, I think I can muster up a few more, while I have you here," she said. "We've been doing okay with memory syncs, but they're really spotty. Karkat was trying to be the Chimeric the other day and he just couldn't handle it. Do you have any more tips?

"In almost every situation, the more time you spend in that person's timeline, the easier it will be to follow their memories. Even reliving their mundane days where little of interest or challenge happened will make it easier to find their imprint in more dire memories."

"So I should set Karkat up in the grubbie pool of memories until he knows how to swim, then toss him in the deep end?"

"Possibly. Or he needs some other aid to see the Chimeric's perspective in those crucial moments. It's really a shame that the Chimeric's legacy ended in ruin, or the perfect document would have certainly been available."

"What do you mean?"

"The order of the Guardians cared quite a bit about the ancestral legacies of their members. A Guardian's thesis would be preserved for centuries, millennia if applicable, and given to a young individual who appeared to be their descendant. It wasn't an exact science, and I'm sure it had its fair share of erroneous presentations, but I think it served the purpose of inspiring future broods to be Guardians more than exactly replicating the previous population."

"Your point?"

"The Chimeric's thesis was surely a highly censored document after his acts of rebellion against the Empire, possibly even classified or eradicated from printed memory. If he had stayed in the Compasse's good graces, then his thesis would have been presented to his descendant, where it would serve as an ideal text for helping certain teammates of yours understand the values and goals of his ancestral self."

"That's a real nice story, but I can't dwell on all the 'wouldn't it be nice' daydreams," Vriska said. "I have to work with what I got, and what I got is an uncooperative drama machine who's scared of his own potential and blood."

"Well, if you feel your understanding of the Chimeric is sound, you can always attempt to fill his shoes."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Of course. You'll never naturally slip into one of his memories like a Vantas can, and the fit will never feel seamless, but with the right mindset and enough determination you can inhabit memories that were never yours. It's just like wearing someone else's clothes. There may be a set of garments made for you that you can easily wear, but you can don any outfit of your choosing, so long as you can endure the discomfort of inappropriate tailoring."

Vriska thought about that for a moment. It did feel like the cheater's route: just make herself every person until she could play out everyone's ancestral legacies without needing to marshall everyone into line. It would mean not having to look at Karkat struggling to be the Chimeric before he was ready. It would mean not having to look at Terezi's crestfallen face, like she had expected better from him. It would mean not having to look at Kanaya like Vriska loved her. Just cut everyone else out. Do it alone.

She remembered holding Terezi's face, forehead balanced against hers, breathing light shooshes through her lips. I don't want to do it alone.

"...Nah, that's still too much work," Vriska said. "It not a constructive use of my unique talents. Differentiation of labor is gonna be huge when we get to the new session. I'm not gonna ask Dave to do Rose's job, or Rose to do the Mayor's or anything else. We'll need everyone's unique skills to fight Jack."

"And the Condesce."

"And the what."

Aranea blushed a little and wrapped her quilt tighter around her shoulders. "The... Condesce was there. In the timeline where I... tried to be very helpful in a very awful way."

Vriska almost felt her heart stop. "You're kidding. You've got to be kidding me! I thought she died in the Reckoning, with all the other trolls!"

"No, um... See, this is something I explained to your doomed teammates, and a few other noted guests. The Condesce survived the Vast Glub, as she was always destined to, and arrived back on Alternia centuries after the Reckoning ended. She dueled with the other survivor, the Demoness, won, and then entered in service to the Lord of Death, who is also the indestructible demon all the bubbles are buzzing about. I think Meenah and your ghost were supposed to be raising an army to oppose him, and by extension, her." Aranea looked down at her knees. "Oh dear, I hope that wasn't too long..."

"You're fine,” Vriska said reflexively. Her mind was still reeling that the biggest, baddest, most ruthless member of their species was not only still alive, but apparently the new Handmaid to Death and probably really interested in seeing Vriska's entire team die. No pressure.

She stared past the golden spires into the memory of Skaia, trying to catch a glimpse of some clouds. Everything was too far away to be prophetic. Depending on whose memory it was, it might not have shown her anything useful anyway.

"I'll... get to work on that," Vriska said. "Thanks for the heads up."

"It's no trouble at all. And really, it's kind of liberating to hit this moment of nihilism."

"Nihilism?"

"My... indiscretions were very strongly fueled by a desire to continue existence," she said. "Not just my existence, but the existence of the dreambubbles, and the universes and all of paradox space. So I tried to single-handedly orchestrate the salvation of reality. Turns out single-handedly doing things is a great way to fail at doing them. I think this may be why the game requires two players to even begin, but would usually mandate more for true success."

"How do you feel now that you failed?"

Aranea looked up at Skaia, and smiled a little. "I feel like it's all right if my existence comes to an end. If all existence comes to an end, really. I certainly won't usher in its end, but actively fighting to preserve reality feels exhausting now. Perhaps this is a surrender to the forces of chance. Luck will decide if I continue to exist, and also whether I have anywhere to exist in."

Vriska had never expected anyone even tangentially related to Mindfang to sound so hopeless. "That's a terrible way to think about reality."

"Maybe for a living hero, it is. For a ghost, I think it suits me fine.” Aranea laughed a little. "It's time to act like the fucks I gave stopped existing. That's what Meenah would say, at least." She rearranged her legs and tucked her blanket closer. "I'd be happy to continue answering questions as they arise. I don't think I'll seek you out, but I'm through with hiding. Your next move should probably be to speak with some of my co-players that you haven't interrogated yet."

"Yeah, thanks." Vriska stood up and stretched. "I'll... I'll get on that."

"Farewell, then."

Vriska looked down at her dancestor, thinking about the conversation they’d just had and who should get the last word. Aranea had been useful and productive, but Vriska was the hero here, the one willing to do what it took to save reality while Aranea was content to sit in the corner. She should get the last word for sure. “…Til next time, Serket," she said.

"Until next time indeed,” Aranea said.

“I’ll hit you up if I’m in the same bubble,” Vriska said, turning away.

“Looking forward to it.”

She cringed when she heard her dancestor’s continued response. Why doesn’t she know when to stop talking!? Perhaps that was the truest curse of the Serket bloodline—not knowing when to shut the fuck up.

Whatever. Vriska would have to make do with letting her have the last word, while she secured the cool walk-away pose, looking at her sneakers and very deeply contemplating her next move like a real badass.

Chapter Text

"Hey, is something worrying you?"

"Nothing is worrying me."

“Rose is worrying you, isn't she?"

"Rose is not worrying me!"

"You can drop the perpetually rational and agreeable act with me. I don't give a shit if you bring glory to your bloodline or whatever it is you're trying to do by staying tight-lipped about the things that bother you."

"Fine, Rose is worrying me."

"What's worrying you about her?"

"She's gotten sick, and I can't tell what's wrong with her."

Karkat furrowed his brow a little bit. "Wait, Rose is sick?"

"Haven't you noticed her behavior is extremely different now?"

"I mean, sure, she's acting kinda different. Like she's not saying as many words, and when she tries she can barely get them to come out right. It's actually pretty hilarious, and definitely more enjoyable than the endless lectures of the Light Seer.”

"I find it concerning. Wouldn't you be concerned if someone you had come to know quite well and cared about very suddenly and inexplicably altered their behavior?"

The murders of the meteor came to mind, and Karkat shuddered. "Okay, I see your point. But not all changes mean that she's in danger of flipping her shit and causing grievous bodily harm to the rest of us. I think it's kinda funny. Last time I saw her, it took her three tries to say my name. Karkart, Larkar…”

"That's not all that changes! Sometimes she has headaches so severe she barely wants to move. She's exhausted after waking up, the awful coffee doesn't help, she’s losing the ability to focus during our conversations, and I don't know what to do!"

He frowned for a moment. Maybe Karkat hadn't noticed anything wrong with Rose, but whatever was wrong with Rose was definitely making Kanaya at least twice as upset. "Listen, things are weird here. We'll give Rose a little time to see if she can sort herself out. Maybe all it takes is the equivalent of a half-perigee to make everything better. If we reach a point where it looks like she won’t get better on her own, then we'll sort her out somehow."

"But what if it's too late?"

"It shouldn't be. We're all kicking back and spending some goddamn vacation time here. Rose doesn't sound like she's hurting anyone, so in my book let the Seer do whatever she fucking pleases. It's far easier than trying to deal with her flighty nonsense and mind games."

Kanaya didn't seem very appeased, but she did change the subject. "Speaking of mind games, I thought Terezi was coming with us."

"Secret emergency Vriska meeting, sur-fucking-prise."

"And Dave?"

"Wrapped up in an alchemiter project. I think he wants to create some Earth candy for movie nights, so he needs to try out a ton of combinations so he ends up with things that resemble edible confections and not disgusting slop.”

"Right. So that leaves us to look for…?”

"This time? Rufioh."

It took a few more hops through various memories before they properly found one of Rufioh's favorite haunting grounds: a forest that looked much like Terezi's, but with many bridges and platforms built in a huge network. It looked like if an arbor reserve and a hive stem brutally fucked until they merged into one being, or as Dave liked to call it, ‘had a baby.’

"Oh hey," Rufioh said to them, relaxed and easygoing as ever. "How's it going?"

"Listen up," Karkat started. "I am getting pretty sick of explaining our objective to everyone we meet. We want to know about all of your ancestors. We know some things about a few of them, more things about others, and shitwhistling squat about the rest. We have now decided to ask you about yours. Are you feeling cooperative?"

"Karkat, we just need to ask him questions, not interrogate him about some nefarious plot," Kanaya chided. “There’s no need to lay it on so thick."

"Sorry, I'm just frustrated we have to keep doing this like, twelve times over. I wish I could wave a wand and have him just know what we're asking about!"

"Hey, it's okay," Rufioh said, holding up his hands. "The bubbles are kinda doing that for you, so don't worry."

"What do you mean?"

"I already heard you're on an ancestor quest," Rufioh said. "So, I think I can help you. And you don't have to explain much of anything else."

Karkat blinked. "Oh. That's... that's nice to hear, actually. Gossip serving a purpose for once."

"Yeah, gossip is bangarang."

"Is 'bangarang' an adjective, verb, or interjection?" Kanaya asked.

"Uh, all of the above?"

“Shut up, this is not grammar hour," Karkat said. "Rufioh, your ancestor is the Huntsman."

"Yeah?"

"What do you know about him."

"Mostly what the legends say," Rufioh said. "Brownblood like me, cool guy, served his empire and ended a war. Also, I didn’t know he was my ancestor until after the game started. It's kinda a lot to live up to, but I've had some talks with Tavros about it, and we're sorting out what that Nitram legacy is supposed to mean."

"Tavros is conferring with you on this matter?" Kanaya asked.

"Yeah. Sort of a bloodline thing? Like, kinda private. Sorry."

"Fine, we'll respect that," Karkat said. "Anything you can tell us about what the Huntsman was like, or what his history was? Who was close to him?"

"This is probably cr’zy disappointing." Rufioh dropped his voice in the vowel, slurring his own word to avoid saying 'crazy' too loud. "But I don't know much. He was sort of like, this knight errant of the olden days, no hive to call his own, but plenty of animal friends to help him help others. He had his trusty steed too, and a wicked crossbow."

"Those are not motifs I generally associated with Tavros," Kanaya added.

"I mean, yeah. I'm lancekind too, not xbowkind. And I like horses as much as the next animal, which is every animal. But I guess he was just working with what he had. Weapons existed on Beforus, but most people never owned them. They were kind of like, upper-class relics. About half of us didn't have strife specibi until we were in the game, and we just kinda had to make do with what we had lying around. Latula kicked a’s with sk8brdkind before she diversified her portfolio."

"Did you have lances around the hive?" Kanaya asked.

"Yeah, one or two. Toy ones until the alchemiter souped them up with Fiduspawn and mangas."

"So if you had access to weaponry in a place where armaments were traditionally restricted, even if they were merely fake replicas, then this probably means you were not traditionally raised."

"I mean, I had my lusus..." Rufioh said, scratching his ear.

"She means culling," Karkat said. "Apparently, on the weak-grubsauce planet of Beforus, children had adults looking out for their care. But you didn't."

"Oh right. Yeah, that was a no on the culling.”

"We've heard the story of the Betrayer and how he was famed for stealing children from their hives. Do you think there's a chance he prevented you from being traditionally culled?"

"The Betrayer? No, he's just a grub's tale," Rufioh said. But then he seemed to freeze. "I mean. I... Oh. Oh, fu—uh... I mean, oh, bangarang! But like the kind of bangarang you say when you're super surprised, not like when you're happy. Like, woah..."

"What?! What are you remembering?!" Karkat cried.

"It's something I thought was always the fairies," Rufioh started. "Y'know, because fairies are cool and really fun and I used to think they were completely real. But it’d make sense if it was the Betrayer, too, so if he's real, or maybe even someone's ancestor, then it was probably him."

"Can you tell us about when you met him?" Kanaya asked.

"It starts out as a downer story about when I was little. I don't remember too much of it, to be honest. I was tiny. But I know when I pupated and I got my wings, I wasn’t supposed to fly. I probably did have cullers when I was a really little wiggler, because I remember I used to have weights on my legs."

"Weights?" Karkat furrowed his brow.

"Like, shoes with metal in the bottom, or heavy straps around my ankles, and the straps had bags, and the bags had rocks. The people who put them there must have been cullers. Like, maybe they were scared I’d hurt myself if I used my fluttery little glitter-flappers to fly.”

“So you never tried flying?” Karkat put a hand on his chin.

“Oh, far from that. I was trying to fly pretty much all the time. I’d flap my wings hard as I could until I was hovering. But then I’d get new shoes with bigger rocks and I couldn't get liftoff again." Rufioh looked a little crestfallen. "That's like, all I remember of my life before I turned three. Learn to hover, legs get heavier. Over and over."

"I'm so sorry," Kanaya said. "That sounds like an awful way to grow up."

"Eh, it wasn't so bad." Rufioh shrugged. "It did end up meaning that my wings were super strong when I took the weights off."

"Really? How strong were you?"

"I mean, if I had to put a numerical value to it, removing the weights showed that my power level was either excessively close or slightly exceeding a value kind of like nine thousand."

Karkat looked confused. "Why is nine thousand always the number people throw out when they're talking about how powerful something is?”

"Because it's funny, mostly," Rufioh said. "And because nine thousand is a big number."

"Yes, we are extremely interested in the exact calculations of power levels and why individuals possessing great power tend to exceed the specific value of nine thousand," Kanaya said dryly. "But maybe it would be more productive to discuss why Rufioh shed his weight and how the Betrayer was potentially involved."

"Got it, doll." Rufioh winked at her. Kanaya frowned a little at the endearment, but the moment passed too fast to be worth commenting on. Karkat chalked it up to lingering flirtatious sensitivity after her conversation with Cronus. That guy thought saying ‘hi’ was an invitation to pail.

Still, the Rogue continued. "This is a memory I kind of haven't thought about for a long time. My old respiteblock used to have a window that stayed a little bit open for my lusus to fly in and out when he wanted. I couldn't fit, obviously. So I was… doing something, probably playing, when I noticed a light outside my window. I looked out at this line of trees, and there was some shadow in the treetops, holding this little gold light. Looked really magic to me, so I sent my lusus to check it out. He came back with a note that told me to step back from the window. I did, and then a spell exploded it!"

"A spell?"

"Yeah, like... blue lightning. It was ins’ne, like terrifying, and cool at the same time!"

Kanaya looked to Karkat. "Or maybe it was the Crosshairs."

He nodded. "If this is the Betrayer, then it has to be."

"Uh, crosshairs?" Rufioh asked.

"It's a laser rifle a friend of ours used, and the Betrayer probably had too," Karkat said. "What did you do after he broke the window?"

"I pulled off my ankle weights," Rufioh said. "It kinda hurt, so I don't want to get into particulars, but I ditched them, and I flew out the open window. And I could fly like a bangarang!"

"Bangarang is now a noun as well?" Kanaya asked softly. Karkat hid a smile.

"At least right now it is. I just mean to say that when I first got out that window and into the open air, I completely forgot about any shadowy figures and their assistance getting me out of the hive. I was just so happy to get some altitude, and agility, so I started doing all sorts of rad aerial maneuvers with me and my lusus." He sighed, nostalgic. "That's definitely one of my big happy thoughts."

"So what happened when you were done flying?"

"I know I tried to go back to where I saw the fairy outside my window, but no one was there. It was just a gold lantern, and when I looked around I could see another lantern, and from there I could see another... You get it. There was a trail of lanterns and that led me to the first treehive cluster of the Lost Weeaboos. Lots of weird people there, but even though none of them were m’ntants like me, I didn't stand out so bad."

Karkat could see some motion behind Rufioh as another ghost approached. The curl of her horns and the smoke from her cigarette identified her before she got too near.

"I hope that helps with the stuff, and all," Rufioh said. "Was there anything else you wanted to know, about what we were talking about?"

"I think the last piece of information which would be crucial for our understanding of events is, do you know anything about how the Huntsman stopped the war?"

"Oh, uh... I think there was a duel? Like, I know he was a big warmblood hero and all but I kinda just told you, about my unconventional upbringing. Someone like Horuss would care about a big—”

"Anata wa nani ni tsuite hanashiteiru ka?" Damara finally spoke up from behind Rufioh, making his wings shiver in shock.

"Oh shi—doll, when did you get here?"

"Watashi wa ‘dikku’ o nozonde ita no de, watashi wa watashi ga shitte iru saidai no dikku o sagashi ni kita," Damara answered.

"That's cold..." Rufioh said, frowning a little. Karkat had no idea what she had said, but he had a feeling it was either slutty, or cruel, or both.

"Naze, karera wa koko ni iru ka?” Damara asked, looking from Karkat to Kanaya.

"They were asking about ancestors," Rufioh told her. "And the Betrayer. Apparently that's how I got to the forest, so that's cool."

"Anata no sosen wa anata mitai na momonga datta ka?"

"Hey, woah, are you mad about something? And mine was the Huntsman, by the way."

Then Damara looked to Karkat, more directly. "Fueyarō-chan wa, kare ga dare datta ka shitte iru ka?"

"Do you want me to ask him?"

"Onegai.”

"Okay... Karkat, Damara wants to know if you know who you were. Or like, if you know about Kankri's ancestor."

Karkat took a moment to look at Kanaya. Vriska hadn't ordered them to interrogate Damara, and unless she had information she was going to freely volunteer about the subject, they had no idea what to ask her. But Karkat shrugged, and Kanaya nodded a little. For someone as angry as Damara, they had yet to see her act aggressively to anyone on their own team. Might as well tell her things most of the bubbles already knew.

"He was the Chimeric," Karkat said. "The blood-stained knight."

Damara's smile widened, deep red lipstick nearly shimmering. "Aa, anata wa shitte iru! Tanoshi-so~"

That was... apparently the right thing to do? Damara kept speaking as Karkat gaped at her.

"Anata wa totemo kashikoi to keiken shite iru ne. Anata wa watashi o manzoku saseru koto ga dekiru to omou. Anata ga anata no kuchi o tsukaeba, watashi wa zettai ni kuraimakkusu o suru."

"What's she saying?" Kanaya asked Rufioh, who tugged at his collar.

"Look, she's just trying to stir up some sh’t again. Don't listen to her."

"Watashi wa shinken na no! Watashi wa watashi no karada no naka ni Karkat o shitai. Watashi wa furīku de, chimamire no furīku to no sekkusu ga suki na no."

"Don't call him that!"

"Call me what?!" Karkat exclaimed.

"Ne, watashi wa kare ni nanika misetai mono ga aru. Dakedo, sore wa himitsu na no."

"Wait, really?"

"Hai. Kare ni setsumei shite."

Rufioh nodded, and then said, "So, uh... Damara had something she wants to give you."

Karkat raised his eyebrows. "Okay, sure. Let's go."

“Iie,” Damara raised her hand. "Kore wa rankō de wa nai. Kanojo wa kenbutsu dekinai."

"She doesn't want Kanaya to come with," Rufioh translated.

"What's wrong with Kanaya coming with?" Kanaya said, straightening her spine.

"Kore wa, akai chi no yatsura no tame na no. Hisui no bicchi wa dame."

"...Okay, she's being rude about it, and not giving an explanation. Maybe ask Karkat about it after?"

"Dekinai. Watashi wa kare no kotoba o kare kara fakku suru. Kare wa umekigoe wo ageru shika dekinaku naru."

"Yeah, you're not serious about that. You can't be serious about that."

"Sou suru.”

"I'll fill you in after," Karkat promised. "Okay?"

Kanaya still looked wary, but she nodded. "I'll see you back on the meteor, then?"

"Yeah. See you."

He waved goodbye to Rufioh and started off behind Damara, staring at the twist of her hair and the needles in her bun, wondering where he was going. 

Chapter Text

Never let anyone say that upswings are better than downswings. Sure, Sollux felt better prepared for social interaction on the upswing, he was more active and got more done, but since that came along with shaking hands, racing thoughts, and delusions that death was stalking him and those around him, he didn't find the trade exactly fair.

His room in the Elector's level of the central hivestem was arranged exactly as he wanted, full of his own personal mainframes and code schematics. The absolute ignorance of the bluebloods when it came to technology made Sollux want to laugh and cry. Why the hell would they hang on to old traditions when new innovations were superior in every single way, and only going to get better? Sollux could feel in his bones, in his very blood, that this was just the beginning. The internet would grow more and more powerful in the coming broods, and if he had his way, it would stay led by BOUYs. When you didn't have that long to live, an instant messenger, a web site, might be the only way for your voice to be heard. The icebloods had no place here.

Sollux had been awake for three days straight. The number three was starting to piss him off tremendously. He had a few crystals left for his pipe; should he sublimate them to try and take the edge off? No, he had to ration those, a drug habit—even a recreational one—could spell disaster for the API. Scandal, scorn, how dare one of the aurelian Delegates do what he pleased with his personal time? Unbelievable.

He tried to close his eyes but could still see flashing bursts of psionics behind them, nearly microscopic explosions occurring inside of his eyes. As if it wasn't hard enough to care for thousands of trolls in the face of everyone insisting that he and his fellow goldbloods couldn't do it, he had to manage his broken brain, too? Couldn't he just have a rest?! Knock himself blissfully unconscious? But no, too much to do, too much to do, gotta move, gotta live, stop and you die—

His husktop pinged with an incoming chat message. He automatically opened his eyes and clicked the necessary windows to open it, his body taking action while his aching mind caught up.

crimsonGuerrilla is now contacting thaumaturgicAurelian
CG: I HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO SPEAK WITH YOU.
CG: ARE YOU THERE? PLEASE SAY YOU'RE THERE.

Sollux's fingers typed his response before his brain caught up to process what was happening.

TA: ye2, ii'm here. what the fuck, cg?

He leaned back and waited for the next message, rubbing his temples as he tried to play catchup. Last he had heard from all of this was the Chimeric disappeared, then Lawscale found him, then the Seafarer pursued and was captured. Lawscale was now on special assignment—code for probation, probably, since she didn't want to talk to Sollux about it—and no one had seen the Chimeric since. On autopilot, Sollux started a location trace to figure out where this message was coming from. Obviously his old account, cardinalGladiator, was frozen forever.

CG: HEY.
CG: ‘THE FUCK’ IS THAT A SUPERNATURAL CREATURE DECIDED TO ONCE AGAIN INTERVENE IN MY LIFE. REVOLUTION IS THE ONLY OPTION, AND REBELLION IS THE ONLY WAY.
CG: BUT I WANTED TO TELL YOU SOME OF WHAT WAS GOING ON BECAUSE YOU ARE MY FRIEND AND I'M STILL SUFFERING FROM GUILT OVER THE FACT YOU HAD TO WATCH ME LOSE MY SHIT AT A DISTANCE WITH NOTHING BUT IMPERIALLY BIASED MEDIA EXPLAINING MY ACTIONS TO YOU.
CG: THERE IS A SHORT LIST OF PEOPLE I SHOULD APOLOGIZE TO. YOU ARE ONE OF THEM.
CG: I'M SORRY.

Okay. Weird, but okay. Sollux put his fingers on the keys, pulled back, and then typed his reply.

TA: thank2 for cariing but none of that matter2 riight now.
TA: ii have two thou2and que2tiion2 and you only have four miinute2 and change left.
TA: what the fuck happened? what diid the chiimera tell you?
CG: EVERYTHING I DO NOW IS TO PREPARE FOR THE APOCALYPSE AND ITS SURVIVORS.
CG: I NEED SOME OBJECTS, AND SOME OF THOSE OBJECTS ARE IN PLACES WHERE I CAN ONLY GET THEM IF I HAVE AN ARMY.
CG: SO I ALSO NEED AN ARMY.
TA: fuck
TA: ii ju2t can't thiink of anythiing but fuck!
TA: thii2 ii2 fucked up!
CG: WOULD YOU FEEL BETTER IF I PROMISED TO LEAVE THE API ALONE?
CG: NO SIEGE, NO RECRUITMENT?
TA: no, ii don’t feel better.
TA: iit’2 not ju2t that ii diidn’t under2tand what wa2 goiing on.
TA: iin a 2iingle niight ii fiind out one of my mo2t tru2ted friiend2 ha2 taken a torch two everythiing he ever beliieved iin.
TA: everythiing we ever beliieved iin.
TA: and he’2 probably goiing two fiight the empre22 and turn hii2 back on the change we fought for.
TA: and your culler wa2 a pupa-piiliing freak and ii left you alone wiith hiim whiile you were drugged.
TA: drug2 that ii ba2iically bulliied you iintwo takiing and he let you take them becau2e he wa2 pale for you.
TA: and he could have done anythiing he wanted two you and he probably diid.
TA: and apparently he’2 2tiill wiith you becau2e he 2urviived hii2 excommuniicatiion.
CG: TWINHORN, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GIVE ME THIRTY SECONDS TO EXPLAIN MY PERSPECTIVE.

Sollux could barely make his fingers stop moving, but he tucked them under his own legs and counted to thirty while words appeared on the screen.

CG: FIRST, YOU AREN’T A BAD FRIEND. YOU DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT OUR SITUATION, AND YOU WERE SHARING SOMETHING WITH ME THAT YOU THOUGHT WAS FUN. AND IT WAS. I HAD A BLAST THAT NIGHT, SO PUT TROLLCHELLA OUT OF YOUR MIND. I APOLOGIZE FOR EVERYTHING AND FORGIVE YOU FOR THE REST.
CG: SECOND, I’M SORRY MY CHANGE OF ALLEGIANCE SCARED YOU. I STILL THINK YOUR WORK IS VALUABLE AND IMPORTANT AND I WANT IT TO SUCCEED. THAT SAID, FOR THE SAKE OF THE FUTURE THERE IS SO MUCH MORE WORK WE NEED TO DO. I’M GOING TO TAKE CARE OF IT, SO YOU SHOULD FOCUS ON BUILDING THE API TO STAND THE TEST OF TIME.
CG: AND THIRD, DON’T WORRY ABOUT THE MIRTHFUL. WHAT HE ‘DID TO ME’ IS HE LISTENED TO ME, CARED FOR ME, AND SUPPORTED MY GOALS AND PASSIONS FOR MY ENTIRE LIFE. I CAN’T EVEN BEGIN TO DESCRIBE HOW IMPORTANT HE IS TO ME, AND HOW HE HAS NEVER HURT ME OR MADE ME FEEL UNSAFE.
CG: HE IS MY MOIRAIL AND I AM HIS.
CG: SATISFIED?

Sollux wasn’t sure that he was. ‘Satisfied’ didn’t feel right. He tried to think back on what was hurting him so badly when he heard the Chimeric had turned his back on the Compasse and the Guardians and the whole world. Sure, the Chimeric had addressed each of those hurts one by one, but addressing them didn’t heal them.

CG: YOU BETTER SAY SOMETHING SOON BECAUSE I’M RUNNING OUT OF TIME.
CG: KNOWING YOU, YOU’VE ALREADY TRACED WHERE I’M MESSAGING YOU FROM. IN ANOTHER THREE MINUTES, REINFORCEMENTERS WILL KNOW TOO.

He ran his hand through his hair, and looked around his room. The Chimeric had dedicated the three sweeps since he met Sollux to politics; Sollux had devoted that time to connected data. The API alone was wired with more server power than an entire hemisphere of the planet. Sollux had read everything ever written by the trolls who set up the internet and could rattle off three ways to bring it to its knees, just off the top of his head.

TA: no they won’t.
TA: niice job on the rudiimentary proxy addre22, but ii can get you 2omethiing better.
TA: iin another few 2econd2 your diigiital locatiion wiill be untraceable.
TA: and ii’m gonna wiipe any trace of fiindiing iit iin the fiir2t place.
TA: you’re pretty far 2outh of althelney, aren’t you? how’2 kenna?
CG: BEAUTIFUL. I’LL SEND YOU A TOURIST PHOTO RECTANGLE.
CG: AND THANKS FOR DOING THIS. I MEAN IT.
TA: nothiing two get 2entiimental about. iif reiinforcementer2 aren’t on theiir way, you have more tiime two explaiin two me what’2 goiing on. 2elf-2erviing.
CG: SELF-SERVICE IN THE SERVICE OF OTHERS MAKES THE WORLD GO AROUND.

Sollux couldn’t help but smile. This was almost like old times. Strategizing, sharing strengths, building something together. Even if right now, Sollux was hiding a fugitive and building a rebellion… well, no, he wasn’t doing that yet. He was asking questions and getting answers.

TA: 2o what are you doiing iin kenna?
CG: RUNNING ERRANDS. NEXT QUESTION.
TA: oh bull2hiit.
TA: don’t talk liike you’re 2ome amaziing 2ecret agent on a cla22iifiied mii22iion.
TA: you are on the lam from everyone who ever tru2ted you before you fliipped your 2hiit.
TA: don’t thiink ii forgot that comment you ju2t made about raii2iing an army.
TA: kiilliing never 2olve2 anythiing.
CG: SORRY TO SAY YOU’RE WRONG.
CG: THE PROBLEMS PEOPLE USUALLY TRY TO SOLVE WITH BLOODSHED BECOME UNSOLVABLE ONCE VIOLENCE IS INVOLVED.
CG: BUT WHAT I NEED TO DO IS PRECISELY SOMETHING I CAN ACCOMPLISH WITH VIOLENCE.
TA: what are you doiing?
CG: I TOLD YOU. RUNNING ERRANDS.
TA: …for the chiimera?
CG: ESSENTIALLY.
TA: what kiind of errand2 doe2 a mythiic creature need a troll two run? diid iit forget two buy miilk?
CG: I’M NOT SURE WHAT TO TELL YOU HERE. BECAUSE EVEN THE THINGS I KNOW ABOUT WHAT THE CHIMERA WANTS ME TO DO ARE STILL ALMOST TOTALLY UNFATHOMABLE.
CG: BUT MY METHODS ARE THE FASTEST WAY TO GET WHAT I NEED TO DO DONE
CG: AND TO LEAVE BEHIND SOMETHING THAT WILL MAKE THINGS JUST A LITTLE BIT EASIER FOR THOSE WHO WILL SUFFER TRIALS A THOUSAND TIMES HARDER THAN ANYTHING EITHER OF US WILL FACE.
TA: the2e my2teriiou2 2urviivor2?
CG: EXACTLY.
TA: what are you tryiing two leave for them?
CG: WEAPONS, ARMOR. LITERAL AND FIGURATIVE. OTHER RESOURCES. AND TIME. IF I CAN BUY THEM TIME, THAT MIGHT MATTER MOST IN THE WORLD.
TA: why doe2 tiime matter?
CG: THEY’RE GOING TO BE CHILDREN, TWINHORN.
CG: FIGHTING A WAR.
TA: 2hiit.
TA: are you 2ure about thii2?
CG: ABOUT THE WIGGLERS, OR THEIR IMPENDING WAR, OR WHAT I’M WILLING TO DO TO GIVE THEM ANY ADVANTAGE POSSIBLE?
CG: BECAUSE I AM COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY CERTAIN ABOUT ALL THREE COUNTS.

Sollux sat back for a second and rapped his fingers against the side of his skull. It was a habit Lawscale always nagged him about. Don’t punish your pan for having thoughts, she would say. Those thoughts make you who you are. And she was half right about why he was doing that, to punish his brain for being so stupid and loud all the fucking time and never calming down for half a goddamn second, but the other half was because he needed help deciding what to do. He could never play coin games to help make up his mind. He’d make a decision and then want to make the opposite one a few hours later.

But he needed to be stable for the Chimeric now. He needed to make one choice and stick with it. His friend couldn’t afford for Sollux to be flighty or indecisive. He had to ask himself, what did he stand for? What did he want? What could he do?

TA: are you certaiin that you’re not completely out of your fliippiing 2ponge?
CG: I’M QUESTIONING IF I WAS *EVER* IN MY SPONGE. THE ANSWER IS LIKELY NO. BUT THIS FEELS LIKE A FAR MORE PRODUCTIVE WAY TO BE COMPLETELY INSANE.
CG: THOUGH I SENSE YOU MIGHT NOT AGREE WITH ME.
TA: ii agree more than ii’d liike two.
TA: you’re goiing two need help out there, aren’t you?
CG: OBVIOUSLY. ARE YOU OFFERING ANYTHING?
TA: anythiing that doe2n’t iinvolve en2laviing the apii two your bat2hiit whiim2 or outriight kiilliing anyone.
TA: look, ii ju2t hiid all cyber-trace2 of you from the empiire. thiink of thiing2 along tho2e liine2.
CG: THAT’S INCREDIBLY VALUABLE. PROBABLY MORE VALUABLE THAN I DESERVE, OR YOU REALIZE.
CG: I’LL BE SURE TO ABSTAIN FROM EXPLOITING YOUR GENEROSITY UNTIL IT’S ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY, BUT I THINK I CAN GIVE YOU A GIST OF WHAT I’LL NEED AND WHEN I’LL NEED IT.
TA: fan fuckiing ta2tiic.
CG: I’M GOING TO NEED YOU TO HACK THE UNHACKABLE. GIVE ME CLEARANCE TO A PLACE WHERE NONE OF MY BLOOD HAVE EVER GONE.
TA: your blood ii2 fuckiing 2carlet, none of your blood have ever exii2ted.
CG: THE LESS YOU KNOW THE LESS YOU CAN FUCK UP. JUST TRUST ME ON THIS ONE.
CG: I’LL NEED ACCESS TO THE MOST SECURE PLACE ON THE PLANET. AND THEN

Sollux sat up in his chair. The Chimeric’s sentence ended mid-phrase.

TA: cm?
TA: hello??
CG: I JUST DON’T KNOW HOW TO PHRASE THIS.
CG: I NEED YOU TO WATCH THE NEWS.
CG: I’M GOING TO DO A LOT OF THINGS THAT WILL HURT PEOPLE.
CG: I’M GOING TO HURT A LOT OF PEOPLE YOU CARE ABOUT.
CG: PEOPLE I ONCE CARED ABOUT.
CG: I NEED YOU TO PROMISE THAT YOU’RE GOING TO THINK VERY CAREFULLY ABOUT HOW MUCH HURT YOU CAN STOMACH WATCHING ME INFLICT UPON THE WORLD.
CG: AND THEN WHEN YOU CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE
CG: END ME.
TA: end you!?
TA: what the hell are you talkiing about?!
TA: ii2 thii2 more 2hiitty prophecy agaiin?
CG: PROPHECY IS A BITCH, BUT YOU GET USED TO IT.
CG: YOU’LL KNOW WHEN I CROSS THE ONE LINE YOU CAN’T LET ME CROSS.
CG: AND BY THE TIME THAT HAPPENS, YOU’LL HAVE THE POWER TO STOP ME ONCE AND FOR ALL.
CG: USE IT.
CG: I WON’T HOLD IT AGAINST YOU.

Chills ran down his spine. He was pretty sure his horns were sparking, angry and useless as Sollux stuck behind the screen. End him. End his friend. End his friend who had just told Sollux that he was planning to raise an army and kill people. The Chimeric had worked for ten sweeps to be the voice of the revolution that would win equality for the warmbloods. Now he was about to go down in history as a warmonger. He started rapping on his skull again.

“Don’t punish your pan for having thoughts, cull-bee.”

Of course.

TA: ii have the power two end you now, don’t ii?
TA: ii can tell law2cale you’re iin kenna.
TA: then you’ll be caught for 2ure.
CG: I BESTED THE SEAFARER. WHAT ELSE CAN THE TRADITIONAL ESTABLISHMENT THROW AT ME?
CG: AND IF YOU CALL THE VIGILANTS, I CAN ANNOUNCE THAT LAWSCALE IS BLIND. TURN HER INTO A CULLING CASE JUST LIKE WE WERE. YOU NEED A DIFFERENT TRUMP CARD.
CG: SOMETHING IS COMING YOUR WAY THAT I CAN’T COUNTER. YOU’LL KNOW WHAT IT IS WHEN IT ARRIVES.
TA: whatever you 2ay next wiill eiither be cryptiic or iin2ane. any chance you’ll 2urprii2e me wiith 2omethiing new?
CG: LOOK, THERE’S A PLAN I’M PUTTING IN MOTION. YOU CAN EITHER PARTICIPATE IN THE PLAN OR IGNORANTLY BUMBLE ABOUT IT.
TA: wow, you managed two be both. congrat2.
CG: I’M GOING TO MISS TELLING YOU TO GO FUCK YOURSELF ALL THE TIME.
TA: how 2entiimental.
CG: LOOK, JUST DO WHATEVER YOU’RE GOING TO DECIDE TO DO ANYWAY. IT’LL BE THE RIGHT THING.
CG: BUT DON’T GO BACK ON YOUR DECISION TO HELP ME HACK INTO THAT PLACE.
CG: THAT IS ONE THING I LITERALLY CANNOT FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO DO FOR ME.
CG: AND I’LL DO RIGHT BY YOU FOR IT. NO RECRUITING FROM THE API, NO COMBAT IN THE REGION.
CG: YOU AND YOURS DESERVE TO LIVE IN PEACE.
TA: what about everythiing el2e?
CG: EVERYTHING ELSE WILL HAVE TO FEND FOR ITSELF.