Chapter Text
Sixteen years ago
Castaspella bit back a curse. She wasn’t the most gifted sorceress in the world, but she knew this tracking spell was drawn correctly. Which meant that the interference here was magical in nature.
“I’m sorry, Angella,” she said. “I’m being blocked. Whoever did this is a greater sorcerer than I will ever be.”
“Shadow Weaver.” Angella’s voice was straining under the pressure of her emotions. “It can only be her: who else would go to such lengths to steal away Micah’s heir?”
“She is the most likely culprit.” Blue light flared as Castaspella slammed a fist into the magic circle. “The Horde will pay dearly for this.”
“I’ll muster the troops,” said General Esmerelda, her eyes narrow. “We march for the Fright Zone-”
“No.”
Castaspella involuntarily flinched at Angella’s tone. “Angella-”
“We cannot, Castaspella.” Angella’s head was bowed, as though the weight of the kingdom had come to rest between her shoulder blades. “With the Alliance in disarray, we cannot defend Brightmoon and assault the Fright Zone simultaneously. I will not condemn others to this pain…no matter what I could achieve in so doing.” A single tear struck the floor of the nursery. “Double the guard. She cannot be allowed to return. Prepare evacuation routes to Plumeria and Seaworthy; if they demand my surrender for my daughter’s return, I will accept the offer, and those who wish to continue fighting will need a fair chance to flee the kingdom. And dispatch messengers to the other kingdoms with a warning; Shadow Weaver may attempt this crime again.”
“At once, your Majesty.” Esmerelda saluted and strode out, her black headscarf flaring as she turned. She usually wore green – Castaspella thought it suited her quite well – but this was her way of paying tribute to the lost king.
Angella held up a hand to silence Castaspella’s next words, and said, “You too, Castaspella. I need to be alone.”
The sorceress paused at the door. Was it really wise to leave Angella by herself right now, after such a shock?
She heard the creak of the balcony door, and Angella’s voice rang out, “Radiance of the moons!”
“Radiance of the moons” was a pretty common opening for a prayer in Brightmoon, as it was across much of Etheria…but not in this tone. Angella’s voice was a snarl, her wounds laid bare to the moonlight. This was the kind of prayer you made before you overturned the altar and set the temple on fire. This was a prayer with knuckles in it.
“Long ago, O moons, I pledged to give whatever it took to defend Brightmoon. And you took me up on that, didn’t you? You took my husband. My daughter. Even my self-respect. But I must protect Brightmoon…even as my daughter stays in the claws of the witch. I must protect Brightmoon…although every fibre of my being tells me to shatter the Fright Zone like glass for what they have done to me. What you have done to me.
“What else will you claim, O moons? Do I have anything left for you to take? If it is my destruction you seek, then I beg of you – hurry up. Bring my end swiftly. I cannot bear to lose any more parts of myself.”
Castaspella’s vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. This was hard enough for her – losing her niece so soon after her brother. But Angella was immortal, and no-one had seen another of her kind in at least a century.
How much worse could it be to lose your child if they were the only one like you in the world?
Now
In the Fright Zone, battle had been joined. Bolts of green light flew across the arena, striking metal – and occasionally flesh.
Kyle grunted as a bolt struck him in the midsection, hurling him to the ground. The rest of the squad – Adora, Lonnie and Rogelio – dashed past, taking up firing positions.
Adora darted around the holographic trees, looking for a way to close. She closed in on one of the flanks, scything her weapon down with all the force she could muster-
A beam of purple energy struck the target, shattering the fragile Fright Zone metal and hurling the robot back. The beam’s path through the air remained visible for a few seconds, like a line of thick indigo smoke.
Breath hissed between Adora’s clenched teeth, and she leaped towards a fresh target, only for another beam to pluck that one from its feet before she could strike. A third enemy, a third beam.
This was starting to get annoying.
The ground shook, and a smile spread over Adora’s features. The Queen. An ideal chance for a quick win.
She jumped at a fourth robot, and as expected, a beam of purple energy struck it in the eye, pushing it back – but that worked for her. She grabbed the machine as it shot backwards, using its momentum to transition into a flying leap that took her past the next line of robots. Two of them, rotating to follow her movements, managed to shoot each other. Rolling as she landed, she dodged a blast from the massive war engine the Horde used to portray the rebel queen, then began to scale its legs, heading for its weak points: the turrets and the eye were both fairly fragile.
Another energy beam smacked into the machine, but while it dented the plating, it missed all the vital components. Adora’s strikes did not, and ringing to the sound of tearing metal and crackling electricity, the Queen slumped to the ground, its lights dimming.
On the other side of the battlefield, Adora’s best friend glared at her. Okay, stealing her kills had been a little mean, but all was fair in love and war, right? Besides, it was hard getting any respect in the Horde when your hair was this colour – even trimmed fairly short, pink was pink. A win here would have really helped, and probably gotten Shadow Weaver to calm down a bit as a bonus.
Glimmer slung her staff over her back, the bat-winged badge at its tip gleaming dully in the arena light. At least she was getting better at the force bolt spell.
The blue-skinned trainer checked his clipboard, his face twisted into a permanent scowl. “Final scores: Adora, thirteen points; Glimmer, eleven points; Lonnie, seven points; Rogelio, seven points; Kyle, no points. Again. Nice work out there, Adora, Glimmer. Shadow Weaver told me she wanted to speak with you two. All right, dismissed.”
The cadets saluted and headed for the lockers. Adora’s and Glimmer’s were right next to each other, as they had been for years, making it easy for them to talk.
“Kill-stealing, Glimmer? Really? You’re better than that.” Adora defused the barb with a gentle smile.
“It’s not like it worked,” said Glimmer sourly. “You still won.”
“Only by two points, though! And you left Lonnie and Rogelio in the dust. If Shadow Weaver isn’t satisfied with that, that’s her problem.”
“Shadow Weaver likes to make her problems my problems,” muttered Glimmer, but she was drowned out by the slamming of locker doors.
“Excellent work, Adora,” oozed Shadow Weaver. “Lord Hordak is most impressed with your accomplishments. He has awarded you a promotion to Force Captain.”
“Force Captain?” gasped Adora, and Glimmer’s eyes narrowed. Adora had always been surprisingly gifted in battle for someone who could be so clumsy and oblivious, but a command posting right out of basic training?
“Report to the quartermaster for your badge. While your comrades complete their training, you will lead a squadron in tomorrow’s assault on Thaymor.”
With Adora dispatched, Shadow Weaver turned her gaze on Glimmer, who backed away slightly.
“Glimmer, my child, you’re nearing the end of your training.” The elder sorceress’s voice was kindly, or as near to it as she got, but Glimmer knew – only too well – that rage hid underneath. “This project is important to me, and to Hordak as well. If you do well, you could be the first of the Horde’s war sorcerers…but that cannot happen if you will not achieve your potential!”
“I did half again as well as any of the others!” snapped Glimmer.
“A surprising feat in itself given how much effort you squandered on childish pranks!” The rage wasn’t hidden any more. “If you cannot outperform a single warrior with a simple blunt instrument, how do you intend to defeat the forces of Brightmoon?”
“Myamya myamya defeat the forces of Brightmoon,” finished Glimmer bitterly, staring out over the Fright Zone from her perch. From up here, you could almost ignore the perpetual scent of burning trash that hung over the Horde’s stronghold. “Maybe by leading the squads of sorcerers you keep telling me you intend to train, Shadow Weaver, instead of trying to fight the entire Rebellion myself in my underwear!”
“Calm down, Glimmer. Come on.” Adora awkwardly patted Glimmer on the arm. “It’s not just Shadow Weaver, is it? You seem…” She visibly struggled to find the right word, eventually settling on, “…uncomfortable.”
Glimmer’s eyes flickered down from the horizon. “I had the dream again last night. The voices, the lights, the big, glowing rock. I just wish I knew what it meant. And I know the answers aren’t here in the Fright Zone.”
Adora thought for a moment. Her new badge brought with it a lot of authority. Such as the authority to requisition a vehicle.
“Why don’t we go see if we can find some?”
Later
Bow darted through the trees at the edge of the Whispering Woods, eyes narrowed, ears pricked for the slightest sound. Even without seeing or hearing his pursuer, he knew she was out there, watching, moving silently toward him. There was a rustle in the bushes to his left, so he turned right. No way his pursuer would be so sloppy as to give her position away-
“Hey, Bow!”
A warm smile forced its way onto Bow’s features as he turned around again. His pursuer was hanging upside-down from a tree branch, fangs on full display in a grin, her mismatched eyes twinkling in the moonlight. The only magicat in Brightmoon was wearing her usual dark purple, with a blue-grey jacket and her silver mask – designed to resemble a crescent moon.
“Hey, Catra. Out for a moonlit stroll, as usual?”
“Yeah, it’s just so romantic out here in the creepy forest.” She rolled her eyes. “So where’ve you been, anyway? It’s been a real snoozefest out here without you. Visiting your dads?”
Catra had learned Bow’s little secret after following him all the way from Brightmoon about six months ago. There was currently something of an uneasy peace between Catra and George, but she was still only allowed in the library if she was on her best behaviour.
“Testing out my new tracker pad. I’m picking up some really powerful First Ones tech in the Whispering Woods. The kind of thing that might give the Rebellion an edge.”
“Well, then.” Catra dropped from the branch with an acrobat’s grace, landing on her feet, her ponytail trailing behind. “What are we waiting for?”
“I thought I’d tell someone in the palace, make sure that someone knew where we were in case anything went wrong-”
“Bow, Bow, Bow.” Catra shook her head theatrically. “You know that getting anything done in Brightmoon takes hours, and who knows what could happen to it in the meantime? I say we just go. Grab your thing, haul it back, dump it on the breakfast table and wait for the applause.”
“Wouldn’t the queen be mad if you took off like that again?”
Bow could have kicked himself. Even in the darkness, he could see the flash of anger in Catra’s eyes at the mention of Angella. Catra’s emotions were volatile at best – even Bow, her closest, possibly only friend, could expect the occasional dose of hostility – and Angella, the focal point of all Catra’s most desperate hopes and fears, only aggravated that.
Catra’s voice thrummed with barely suppressed emotion as she said, “We’re going. Now.”
That had not gone to plan.
Finding the sword, that had been fine. Capturing a Horde soldier, that had been fine – awesome, even. Bow trying to buddy up to her, that was annoying, but trying to get Bow to not try to make friends with everyone in a fifty-foot radius would take a hammer and a length of chain, so she was going to have to live with it.
Being attacked by a giant bug, and the Horde soldier getting the sword, yelling something about ‘the honour of Grayskull’ and starting to glow, that was new and unexpected, and Catra didn’t like it one bit.
“Uh, Catra? Do you see that too, or-”
Catra made a sound like a furious animal and slashed at a convenient tree, her claws cutting through the bark. That was just typical. Of course the Horde girl would be a princess. Why wouldn’t she be? So sorry, Catra, we put the wrong address on your dream and someone else got it. Best we can offer you is a friend with questionable dress sense; would that be acceptable?
“I’ll…take that as a yes,” said Bow, and Catra came back to reality as envy’s iron grip on her heart relaxed. She could use this. Turning up to Angella with First One technology and a completely unknown princess should earn her some kind of attention, at least.
As the giant bug settled into a seemingly catatonic state, the light died and the Horde girl dropped the sword in shock. Catra snatched it out of the air, making sure it didn’t even touch the ground.
“What did you do?!” The Horde girl’s expression was a mixture of surprise and fury.
Catra’s own gorge rose in response, and she snapped back, “What did we do? I don’t know if you noticed, but we were over here! What did you do?”
The girl pulled back. “You’re a princess, aren’t you? You…infected me somehow!”
Catra laughed bitterly. “Me? A princess? I wish. Come on, spy. We’re going to get you to Brightmoon. And I’m going to make sure you never do that again.”
As she began to walk, Catra whispered the sword’s…activation code, or magic words, or whatever that was. No use. Oh, well, it was worth a shot.
The giant bug made a noise like six lions fighting in a very large sack as it woke up, and Catra swore under her breath.
“What is it with tonight and giant bugs?!” snarled Catra as the group fled through the crumbling ruin. The corridor echoed to the sound of the spiders’ pursuit, their metal claws scrabbling against the ancient floor.
“At least…we’re getting…plenty of exercise,” said Bow, breathing heavily. “Here!”
A moment of confusion later, Catra realised he had shoved them down a side corridor, too narrow for the larger spiders to follow them. A few vicious strikes from Catra’s claws at the smaller ones, and there was enough of a barricade to buy them a moment to breathe.
“Give – her – the – sword!” said Bow, gasping for air.
“She’s Horde, Bow! She can’t be trusted! Come on, there’s gotta be a way out somewhere around here…”
They emerged into a room with what did, in fact, look like an exit. Closed, but it still looked useable if they could get it open. Unfortunately, as well as an exit, it had a large opening, which appeared to be full of spiders.
Catra turned to the others. “Horde girl, do…I dunno, First One stuff. Get the door open. Bow and I will hold them off, then we bail when you get the door open.”
“I thought you didn’t trust me?”
A low growl escaped from Catra’s throat. “I’m willing to trust that you don’t want to die in here!”
Catra wasn’t an expert on swordsmanship, but she was pretty sure she could figure out the basics: swing the pointy bit at the opponent’s face. A bit like her usual fighting style, only with an extra few feet of reach.
“Here they come!” yelled Bow, nocking an arrow.
Catra blinked in the early dawn half-light. Bow and their captive were looking down at her, her head hurt, and her side felt like it had been tenderised with a meat mallet. She’d had worse mornings, but not many.
“You should see the other two guys,” she said woozily, before her brain loaded up the last minute or so before she got knocked out. “Did I really pick a fight with a spider that big?”
“Yes, actually,” said Bow. “Getting both you and the sword out of there wasn’t easy, let me tell you.” As her eyes adjusted, she noticed that he had a couple of deep scratches, and his clothes were torn.
She focused on the Horde girl. “What are you even still doing here?”
“What?”
“Look, if it had been two Horde soldiers capturing me, and one was laid out unconscious, I would have been at least a mile away before they noticed I’d moved. You’re still here. What gives?”
The girl looked down. “I want to know what’s happening to me, and I’m not going to find out in the Fright Zone. I was told I was nothing before Hordak took me in…but I’ve been told a lot of things I’m not sure are true any more. I want answers.”
“I can’t promise any,” said Catra bluntly. “I’ve never gotten answers myself.”
“The chance is all I want.” The girl’s voice was soft, but Catra could sense a quiet resolve underlying it.
She nodded. “Okay then. A chance, we can do.”
It was the morning, and Catra stretched out as she woke from her…she hated to use the word…catnap. They had finally reached Thaymor, and Bow had immediately conscripted her into this mad plan to introduce their prisoner, who Catra had learned was named Adora, to things like parties and fresh air. The girl seemed willing to play along with them, at least, so Catra had taken the opportunity to recharge a bit, coming up into consciousness only for brief moments: the ridiculously dorky display of the girl meeting her first horse, for example. She had no idea how Bow was still so fresh; did he just not need sleep? (Or at least not, like, ten hours a day?)
As she blinked the fog from her eyes, Bow appeared in her line of sight, his face drawn. “The Horde’s coming.”
Suddenly, Catra was fully awake. “Adora?”
“She’s gone to try and talk to them – apparently they told her Thaymor was a fortress, and she wants to tell them their intel was wrong.”
A bitter chuckle clawed its way free of Catra’s chest, and she said, “She’s ditched us and gone back to them.”
“I don’t think she has, Catra. I know you don’t like her, but I think she wants to do what’s right – the Horde just lied to her about what that was.”
Catra’s scowl warred with Bow’s look of deep sincerity for a few seconds, before she sighed heavily. “All right. Let’s assume that she’s on the level. I still don’t think talking it out is going to work.”
“Me neither,” said Bow grimly. “Looks like it’s just us against an entire company of tanks.”
“I’ll take half, you take half?” said Catra, her tone light, her grin wicked, both completely forced. This was bad. This was really bad. Thaymor was worryingly close to Brightmoon, Bow’s quiver was half-empty after the night’s misadventures, and a company was actually quite a lot of tanks. Probably too many tanks.
Catra’s heart hammered in her chest as she half-carried, half-dragged Adora out of the line of fire. When she’d seen the Horde officer with the inexplicable pink buzzcut standing over Adora’s unconscious form, she’d reacted instinctively: a fistful of sand in the soldier’s eyes, a claw slash at her face, and then Catra had grabbed the slumped form of Adora and hurried her away from the battle lines. She’d given away her presence without accomplishing much, and she’d probably only mildly annoyed the Horde officer, even given that Bow had caught her with a net arrow, so not the best use of her time.
Worse than that, she supposed that impulsively dashing out to save Adora meant she was beginning to like her. Catra didn’t begin to like people, especially not after one night. Even Bow, one of the friendliest and most patient people alive (honestly, being her friend, he kind of had to be), had needed to spend several weeks at Brightmoon before his name had stopped being “dork.”
She patted Adora gently on the cheek. “Hey. Hey! Snap out of it!” As the girl’s eyes fluttered open, Catra continued, “Look. I know I’ve been a jerk to you all night. I was jealous, okay? I spent six years praying, every night, that a messenger would arrive and I’d turn out to have secretly been a princess all along or something. It never happened. Obviously. So I’m sorry I took that out on you.” She pressed the sword into the other girl’s hands. “If I’d given this to you earlier, it could’ve saved us a ton of time and hassle. If you do that thing now and help us save Thaymor, I promise I’ll be a lot less of a jerk to you in future. Deal?”
It was only Catra’s keen ears that let her hear Adora over the din of gunfire. She was saying, “Deal.”
Another dawn flared in the heart of the village.
Glimmer scowled and rubbed the scratches on her cheek as the scraps of the Horde forces withdrew. Shadow Weaver was going to be furious. A full tank company against a small town – the fortress had apparently been an exaggeration – and they’d lost. Badly. She was lucky to still have tanks.
And at the end there…
She couldn’t have seen the eight-foot goddess of war that had routed them turn into Adora, because that was absurd. Adora was just confused. She hadn’t turned into a princess or anything. She’d just…decided not to come back to the Horde. Or to her.
Should she have taken that offer? Adora was a skilled warrior, but…well, she needed someone to look out for her. She couldn’t read a room, she couldn’t deal with a change in routine, she could get suckered by anything – as today had proved. She was definitely going to have a rough few days, put it that way…
No. Taking the offer would have been the wrong call. If she’d gone along, she would have reinforced whatever manipulation these rebels had pulled. She’d need to wait, let Adora see the truth for herself. She could try and help her find it next time they met, but just tagging along? Bad idea.
Besides, said a little voice inside her, without Adora, Shadow Weaver might shut up for a few minutes about how you need to do better than her.
The Brightmoon throne room hadn’t lived up to the kingdom’s name in more than a decade and a half. While the large windows definitely allowed in plenty of light, it was hung with mourning banners, the black fabric faded to a dark grey. It had originally been a tribute to the lost king, but the banners remained aloft as a gesture of solidarity with all those who had lost loved ones to the Horde’s depredations, and other banners had been added over the years – those paying tribute to the king, adorned in silver thread with the Brightmoon crescent and Guild starburst, had been joined by the symbols of Dryl, Plumeria, Salineas, and Elberon, and the largest of the banners, looming over the throne like vast grey-black swords, bore the crests of the devastated kingdom of Riluth and the long-conquered kingdom of the scorpions.
It had been three hours since Adora had been left unattended in the guest room and vanished, and it felt like two of those hours had been spent listening to Angella’s diatribe about how irresponsible it was for them to have brought a Horde soldier into the area. Catra’s foot was beginning to fall asleep.
As Angella was getting started on Why That Was Dumb, Chapter 7, Subsection IV, Part C-2, the door to the throne room burst open, and a golden light flooded the hall. Catra flinched as her eyes adjusted to the light. Then the corners of her mouth quirked upwards; there was only one likely source for that light.
“She-Ra,” murmured Angella, her expression dazed.
“Your Majesty,” said Adora, kneeling, “I've come to pledge myself to the Rebellion. But first, there's something you should know.” The glow died, leaving her in the middle of the room, her Horde uniform on full display. A murmur ran through the crowd.
“I know you have no reason to trust me,” continued Adora, “but I've seen the atrocities the Horde has committed against the people of Etheria, and I'm ready to stop them. I know I can help the Rebellion turn the tide of the war.”
Quietly, Angella said, “I know the legend of the warrior the First Ones called She-Ra. They said she would return in the hour of our greatest need to bring balance. I never thought she was anything more than a myth. Yet you're here now. And in the uniform of a Horde soldier.” Her eyes narrowed. “You would stand with us against those you once served?”
“Yes,” said Adora, her expression firm, unyielding.
“Catra, you would take responsibility for her?”
“Sure, I guess,” Catra said with a smirk. “As long as I don’t have to take responsibility for me.”
Angella shot her a disapproving look, then turned back to Adora. “Then rise. The Rebellion accepts your allegiance, She-Ra, Princess of Power.”
As Adora stood, facing the queen, her eyes shifted upwards, flicking past Angella’s shoulder and wing to the view outside the window – the opalescent shape of the Moonstone, shimmering atop its lonely pillar. Her sword and her jaw dropped simultaneously; the blade rang as it struck the ground. “Wait…what’s that?”
“That is the Moonstone,” said Angella, her voice cold. “You may consider yourself under orders not to go near it until such time as I deem it acceptable.”
“I’m sorry, your Majesty. It’s just…” Adora sighed. “My best friend in the Horde…she used to have dreams about a glowing stone. I was only in the Whispering Woods to begin with because Glimmer wanted to figure out-”
Even Catra, whose speed was a legend among the guards, didn’t see Angella move. The queen’s hands closed on Adora’s shoulders, their faces mere inches apart, and Catra could tell from Adora’s flinch that the grip wasn’t particularly gentle.
“What did you say her name was?”
“G-Glimmer, your Majesty-”
Angella seemingly realised what she was doing, and released her grip, visibly struggling to recover her composure. “If you see her again, you are to bring her to me. Alive and unharmed. Do you understand?”
“Of course, your Majesty.”
Angella sat at the desk in her chambers, the door locked. Her face was icily calm, but her ragged breathing and clenched fists betrayed the emotions spiralling underneath.
“So,” said Catra from behind her, “who is this Glimmer person?”
In a tone that could have cut glass, Angella said, “That’s not your concern, Catra.”
“If I’m going to be looking after Adora on missions? It sure as heck is my concern.” Catra stuck out her jaw pugnaciously. “Abducting a specific Horde officer isn’t going to be easy. We only got away with Adora because she was out in the woods alone at night. Why this particular one?”
The two locked eyes, and after a few moments, Angella sighed and bowed her head. “My daughter.” Not seeing Catra’s expression, she continued, “She’s my daughter.”
All Catra could manage was an, “…Oh.”
When Angella raised her head again, Catra was gone.
Outside, on a lonely rooftop, Catra seethed, her fists clenched so tightly that her claws dug into her palms.
So that was it. Why Angella had never truly seen her as family, instead keeping her distance. It wasn’t the space between them she’d never known how to bridge; it’s that there was already someone standing in that space.
Someone who still wore the uniform of a Horde officer.