until everything burns to ashes

the steady light still in her visor is the result of a statistic. a peculiar statistic being the lone survivor. it helps waft the smoke curling and choking her ribs, ebbs away the tremble that threatens her lower lip. glamoth has no place for guilt, for every death is a tribute to the glory of serving her majesty's empire.

stings and soliders lay intertwined in a grotesque weave, shell and silver smeared with splattered blood. numbers become difficult to tally when her olfactory sensors are clogged with pungent copper, curdling with the stench of a world burning to leave a burn simmering at the base of her lungs.

ar-26710 should have long left this planet. victory should seep pride into her veins and flare her propulsors to life, returning her to the neighbouring unit. instead, there is hair curled just like hers singed and stained with the innards of an endless foe at the toe of her boot. it leaves her restless and rooted to scorched ground.

the second article is broken as an alert flickers in her periphery, the warning a smudged light shrouded in fog. it’s only when her gaze is wrenched from what she repeats to herself are numbers to hone in on the woman she realises she’s not alone. 

more importantly, she’s not the only one who is alive.

more confusingly, she’s burning the corpses. ar-26710 only realised how far her addled mind had drifted from her body when witnessing the action sent her tumbling back into herself with the force of slammed breaks. a good knight would have their comms crackling to life with a succinct report of a face her sensors fail to identify. what she tells herself are the actions of a good knight with good intent and lets her mind wander, to the streams of silver she passed when she had broke through orbit. 

she's all hollowed out from empty triumph and itching for a reward. it's how she finds herself entertaining the fantasy that this woman is from glamoth, a member of some sort of clean up crew to make this wasteland of a world inhabitable once more. to make all of their numbers worth something.

“ ar-26710. “ the number would lend this woman no power in glamoth if she is not among their ranks. their numbers mean nothing in the grand scheme of the empire; it is an honour in itself to have a number they call their own. if she is among their ranks, selfishly she hopes that number sears itself into her memory and lingers there like a haunt. 

“ the target has been eliminated. “ as had her unit, “ but the area still remains hazardous. “

she pauses, then almost tentatively with curiosity bleeding into places where it did not belong, “ we had not been informed of a planetary recovery effort. “

scavenging cadavers is not particularly a past time of hers in the after strokes of the script, but scientists have this call about them she has never quite found it in herself to ignore. perhaps it was how her life could be claimed back to her by a single one of them. perhaps the way such brilliant minds could come to the self justified rationale that sacrificing a few would always be greater for the many. 

perhaps today was just a thinly veiled excuse to spread her wings for a little longer. it’d be a lie to say she took pleasure in the lives lost between rubble and ash, but it would be an even larger one to claim falling back into routine for the first time since penacony had not relieved something within her. against all odds, it’s dull reflection of the cinders around them caught her eye.

all things considered, it was a terribly straight forward mission. a planet torn asunder by a stellaron, and the great, twisted minds that were conducting research of dubious morality had to be left as scorch marks on crumbling bricks.

alas, fate did enjoy running it’s rings around her, as a nearby life form registered in her sensors and regret soon seeped in at the selfish wish to prolong her trip. 

the woman is beautiful and dangerous in equal measures, with her pale cascades of silken hair and a poise to her that had every nerve of firefly’s stood on edge. sam could still slip from her fingers if she threw caution to the wind. those days after she woke from the sweet dream and her suit remained beyond her grasp, one she never thought would be so desperate, still a fresh haunt in her mind.

“ your death was not written in the script. leave now and there will be no need to add a footnote. “

He didn't know what the data was for, in support of, whose it was, where it was housed, and at the end of the day didn't think that it mattered - it wasn't his place to know these finer points, he had never been a scientist or anything passing one, the closest he came to these intellectuals was when he was under the knife of one, begging for the power he knew they could grant him.

And he knew, too, that data had the potential to allow those to live forever, who had already slipped from their fingers. He knew that.

Perhaps it was for that reason that he had began the sniffing around that space station, the bloodhound following only his gut instincts and the nose he had for power to lead him in the direction he needed to go - that was what information was good for, was power, and no matter how many thought him stupid, he at least knew that, too.

They had no leads, at least none that they could give to him, or at least none that they would, and he didn't hold that against them, not really, just snarled that he would find the culprit and tear them limb from limb to return what was taken.

They could not have known why it might have been so important to him. Kalpas couldn't account for it himself, not aloud, not when it swirled in his mind like a furious storm, gnashing teeth and spittle and rage as he stalked the halls, lunging at those who might have looked at him sideways.

His steps took him down a long dark hall, longer and darker than it had any need for, and smelt the reek of blood there - not the tang of oxidizing iron on the air, but the thrum of intravenous, untapped, miserable and -

"You."

He didn't know the huddled shape of the figure in the middle distance, not well, not from here, even if the face warped a bit in his mind. Kalpas squinted from behind the mask, the corner of his lip rising with disdain the longer he looked.

memories seep into her bloodstream, of wastelands soiled by the stench of rich copper with a lone soldier waiting for the crackle in her comms to confirm a recon point. it bobs across the waves of her mind and she lets it drift, a voyage she finds grateful she is no longer on today.

four to five. no confirmation of the bay she's to head to. curse the researcher who made her chase him to a space station only to give her answers she already knows. pride had oozed from his skin as he delivered information she had known for a lifetime. perhaps if he had not sent her on such a trek for a moment of his precious time, gratitude and praise may have formed more easily on her lips. she won't find herself seeking him again.

footsteps can tell firefly volumes of a person, those approaching tell her to run. only she knows that would be a fools errand with her limbs still wracked with the ache of recovery. as the figure came into sight, she knew there was only the fate of prey awaiting her if she were to choose to run.

she widens her eyes and eases the soldier's composure from her features, readjusting her limbs to spooked, mustering fright to bleed from her pores. weak enough to not be a target, not capable of what she has found herself tangled in.

“ ...i'm a...patient of sorts. for a researcher who could only schedule me an appointment between his work here on the station. ” firefly has never found a talent in lying, instead she offers shades of the truth. her voice pitches high and breathy in her learnt innocence. “ my condition makes it preferable to wait in...calmer spaces until i can leave. ”

had madam herta sent someone after her? no that hardly makes sense, her mind drawing a blank when it came to motive. her enjoyment in tormenting silver wolf comes from locking her accounts, not harming her friends.

the photo catches her eye first, and a quiet laugh spills from her lips.

[txt] miss firefly you have to focus the camera! [txt] if that's too hard you can always try going closer

when in space, there's not much else to do but look at the stars though, is there? it's not like march is doing much else either. she supposes she could sneak off to someone else's room for a chat, but it's too late for her to feel comfortable being a bother. after everything that's happened, the whole express crew could probably use a few days of sleep.

her head slumps sideways against the top of plushy pom-pom's head as she hums to herself, tapping one-handed against her phone's keyboard. she must be practiced at it by now—the messages all go through one shortly after the other.

[ txt ] the express sounds so full of life!

the second message is typed and deleted, unsent words hanging across her shoulders and breathing frigid breaths into her ear. march doesn't deserve to be crowded by the ghosts of caelus' past. firefly's messages trail through one after another, not quite possessing march's prowess over they keyboard.

[ txt ] well, silver wolf is usually happy to have a player two [ txt ] even if she always complains i have no strategy when i play games... [ txt ] she says i just go 'clank clank, bang bang' and it's over [ txt ] i like to bake! blade is willing to try them even when i'm sure they haven't turned out right... [ txt ] kafka keeps me company often, she has a really good eye for styling things! [ txt ] i model for her when she's in my room. she styles things in way i hadn't even thought of...

her fingers stall as her thoughts linger on march's expression. would it be too forward to ask? sifting through her thoughts leaves her unsure if march would even feel comfortable divulging her troubles. she might just want company, firefly can understand that feeling all too well. light taps drift to her ears as she continues.

even when she is not the prey, her hackles raised when she noticed a prowl.

too perfect, too steady. limbs posed casual, playing pretend at leisurely. it's a breath away from the perfect paced walk of the sting's hallucinations. hunger always gave them away. it too makes them blind, not noticing her path changing to trail that fixated stride.

firefly is sharp but she's no seer, with the crowds that roll into and through one another there is no saying who is being stalked. down stairs, round corners, until at last her persistence bore fruit as her target stalls before an alleyway. fingers busy themself with rustling the coins in her wallet as she walks past, a sideways glance snatched. something in her stomach curdles a little at the flutter of skirts rounding a corner at the mouth of the alley, turning putrid as her target brushes past her in pursuit.

fortunately, she is attuned to the alleyways of the sweet dream due to her own law evading escapades. what starts as a brisk walk soon evolves to a jog, mounting to a sprint as she darts down an alley. it brings her out a few paces behind those same skirts she glimpsed moments before and relief slips from her in the ghost of an exhale.

“ excuse me! keep walking, please. ” a glance into a window's reflection confirmed the assailant was still on their tail, but this stolen time would have to be enough. for the first time, she glances at the figure's face and recognition flitters across her eyes as lines are drawn and connected. pieces fall into place.

“ miss robin... ” the brief mellow in her expression steels itself in a flicker, “ you're being followed. that figure with the beige fur collared coat...you can catch them in the reflection, over there. ”

from behind, firefly almost looks friendly, her arm extending to a viewing window displaying dresses bathing in their own glamour across the street. either the stalker hadn't found her suspicious or her stature doesn't constitute as a threat, as their pace stays that same stride. she's not confident that will last.

“ that coffee shop at the end of the street...there's an alleyway before it. they threw out some old promotional stands that have made a sort of ramp. i can boost you over the fence. ”

if firefly lets herself drift, she's in a different time with different voices crackling through her comms. snow turns to silver carcasses, mountains turns to charred shells. where before she plummeted into a planets atmosphere to be a soldier to replace the fallen, this time she descends as a friend and her caller will not meet that same fate. she fails to find much solace in that fact.

blade does not need her coddling, but worry worms itself under her skin regardless. she's seen him lose himself, watch him slip to depths she can't reach him. part of her wants to hear kafka's ever steady voice affirming her near arrival but that had not been her call to make. yet. for now all she can do is trust all blade needs is a weapon and not a chant.

condensations clouds to a fog at her arrival on the surface as her heels skid into slush, sloshing the wings of a fragmentum beast that became her target landing. belebog's chill cannot reach her through sam's combustion, a feature of the armour she has never found a gripe with. after all it's fyreflies to a flame, not fyreflies to a freeze.

the rhythm of battle is one she knows well, but finding the side of one of her partners as her first priority is a change she will never stop welcoming. if her plummeting from the sky had somehow missed his notice, the shadow cast over him ought to signify her presence.

“ blade. ” whilst she will respect his judgement, in turn he will accept her assistance. “ take a moment. i'll provide cover. ”

and then, at the end of the day, she stands before the door to her room in the passenger cabin and steels herself.

her room has always been her most treasured place. it's the very first place she has ever had to call her own and the last place she happily retires to at the end of the day. but, as she has every time since they returned, her hand lingers by the door, hesitant.

the place that had marked her beginning was never meant to return her there. but when she'd returned back to reality in her bed, amidst the shattered remains of six-phased ice, fear had clawed its way up her throat for a brief, blinding moment.

obviously, she hasn't forgotten anything. ( but how do you know you've forgotten something if it's forgotten? ) obviously, march 7th knows where she is, knows who she is. obviously, but—what if...?

she should've stayed behind to bother pom-pom a little longer. anything is better than being alone.

but it's embarrassing to return like this when she'd so cheerily bid them good night just minutes earlier. and she'd hate to make the conductor worry. they've worried enough over all of them recently. passenger march 7th is just fine, nothing to worry about here!

and so she slides the door open with all the severity of a soldier marching to war, striding up to the window to perch at it, drawing her knees up to her chest. one arm gathers her pom-pom plush close against her side, the other drawing her phone out from a pocket.

[txt] are you busy, miss firefly? [txt] a picture of the view from the window of march 7th's room. the girl herself is faintly visibly in the reflection, her expression strangely contemplative. [txt] look! the view from my room tonight is really pretty!

it's the same view as always: stars as far as the eye can see. but when she's gone without for so long, march can't help but stare out the window in search of the same wonder and longing she had the very first time.

when she returns to herself, it's with sluggish limbs dragged through every movement and aches so deep she feels they'll never truly leave her. this heavy wakefulness is brief but she finds the strength to force her body into slow, easy movements. filling her fleeting moments of freedom with stretches is not what she wants, but she will be thankful for it in her next waking. she will endure. she has to.

whilst stretching does little to truly relieve her, it would be a lie to say sinking into kafka's chair doesn't feel like release. she lacks even a smidge of kafka's elegance, with a water bottle clutched between tensed fingers in place of wine and her limbs folded and pressed against one another, as if she curls deep enough in the chair that drowning slumber will not find her once more.

beyond the astragal bars that run the expanse of the window, stars glow against the endless depths. they can almost seem eternal fixtures, lights found no matter the galaxy. firefly knows how stars can fall, have fallen under her own heel. even the brightest stars can be extinguished with a heavy enough hand.

her ruminating is caught before it can run too far from her by a chime from her phone, curiosity finding it's way through the grey of her mood at the sender's name. firefly picks apart the pieces of people even when she doesn't mean to, the shift of their weight, the wandering of their eyes, the grip of their hands. it's impossible for her to not notice the out of place expression on march's face.

✰ LANTERN RITE 2025 ! – reblog & send to earn Peace Talismans.

[XINYUE KIOSK] - Back again, Xinyue Kiosk’s keeping up the competition, offering sweet treats, savory dishes, and even refreshing veggies for all those looking to share a snack.

[TEA TASTING] - Third-Round Knockout is once again bringing the new year on with plenty of new tea options for all those caffeinated connoisseurs that want to branch out. Including, for the first time in quite a while, specialty imports all the way from Natlan!

[DRAGON DANCE] - Uh-oh! It seems like the main crew that would lead the dragon dance are two members short, and need two sets of hands NOW! Grab someone and help keep this dance from falling through.

[KAMERA BOOTH] - Liyue is as scenic as it is busy. Several Kamera’s are set up on the docks, surrounding mountains, and some of the best balconies in the area. Make a memory with someone important to you, or keep the lens' attention for yourself!

[LANTERNS] - Like a sea, lanterns float up and flood the night sky. Meaning often dictated by color, they contain our hopes for the new year. Gather with those most cherished and wish for blessings.

[FIREWORK SHOW] - While noisy, fireworks are an incredible display of beauty and color. Make your mark on the new year with a bang!

[JADE HEARTS] - A popular shape for a popular stone in the land of Geo, these Jade Talismans sold quite well. Now, they’re made as a profession of love and desire to ring the New Year in with the company of another.

[BURNING INCENSE] - Even with all the raucous celebration, it is always important to find a quiet moment and remember those who now belong among the stars.

[TOUR GUIDE] - With as many sights to see as Liyue has, join up with a group of strangers to garner the best sights across the city and countryside!

[GIANT JENGA] - While not necessarily a Liyue classic, a recent uptick amongst the younger generation has brought this classic game to the port, and with blocks bigger than ever! Will you best your friend, or will all the pieces come crumbling down? 

[RED ENVELOPES] - Customize your own envelope as a gift to those most cherished. Whether you slip in some mora or a confession of love, even the smallest of envelopes can be life-changing!

[SNAKE PETTING] - As the mascot animal of the year, an exhibit has been set up with several non-venomous and super friendly snakes, if you’re not afraid of these scaly babies.

[JADE MYSTERY] - Shitou is running a special promotion! Guess the correct Noctilucous Jades to find out what it is, just don't gamble all of your mora away...

To which of the girl's questions she provides an answer, Kiana doesn't exactly make an effort to clarify. Sure, St. Freya had been a school, but she's just about the last person to ask about what it was like. Normal students-- good ones-- might actually say yes. For her, though, school was a series meetings with the principal between scaling the outermost walls and hiding in bushes when a professor caught her skipping.

She's a better student now, except her schooling is arguably way less normal. And despite that, with all the work in front of her, she's starting to remember why she had ever been such a delinquent in the first place.

A huff of a sigh as she reclines, sending the wheels of her chair rolling from the mess of a desk they're sharing. In a flurry of motion too fluid to be anything less than rehearsed, uniform shoes are shimmied off and socked feet are kicked up onto the tabletop. The rubber grips on the bottom of her keyboard squeak as they're pushed backwards, and an absentminded hand tugs her uniform skirt down from where it has inevitibly ridden up in the commotion. 

"I slept through every class that wasn't combat training," she supplies, glancing towards her company from the corner of her eye. She's cute, gentle-looking, and speaks in a way that teeters on crestfallen. Kiana Kaslana has never claimed a good judge of character, at least not so soon into knowing a person, but it's easy enough to surmise that the other had expected something different than what she got.

Expecting anything would have been her first mistake, but Kiana's not going to say that. She knows the feeling, in any case, and would probably be right there with her if she wasn't presently just content to be anywhere but the moon base for a few hours. An opportunity to further her experience in relevant fields, as she had pitched the excursion to Aunt Theresa, who had promptly smacked a tracker on her wrist and declared that her late return would be punished with a 20 page essay on astrophysics. 

And Kiana is pretty sure she'd run out of words to write by the fourth.

"Anyway, I'm pretty sure this is just considered torture." Did labor laws really not exist beyond her branch of the Imaginary Tree? "Schoolwork is a little lower on the scale." Emphasis on a little. Eyes flit back to her own screen, which is pinging mercilessly in time with Firefly's. It's one thing after another-- input this bit of data from that device, report the subject's condition ( which hasn't changed ), adjust the thermostat by one tenth of a degree-- and it's all menial nothingness.

“ The chance never presented itself to attend. ” Confirmation, a little longing. Whilst there is not a muscle in her body capable of achieving the languid glide akin to Kiana's lean, comfort is sought in the shift of her arms to rest atop the back of the chair. “ It sounds like you've gotten...unlucky, ending up with work like this. Madam Herta often requires volunteers for when the Simulated Universe undergoes an update. ”

Not all of the updates would involve doppelganger's with eyes two shades wrong, surely. Either way, Firefly would take the smouldering ashes of a body just close enough to hers to prick her senses sharp in memory of metal plates not quite right to have a propulsor flare before mandibles can find her throat over this. This was, as Kiana so aptly put it, torture. Her idealised daydream was cruelly shattered and now she follows the scent of wafting gunpowder, to search for a story a little like hers.

“ What were you training for? ” Asked in the same vein as what are you studying for, a normalcy in a voice ever petals on a late night breeze all too used to violence. Firefly does not think it that odd, not really. Many worlds are plagued and ravaged. Many have fallen, just like hers. Many fall, because of her.

Habits lurk deep within her bones. Nestled in her marrow, cosying up to her immunocytes, as if both do not play a role in fraying the life she wishes to have. Kiana, from no fault of her own, had been scrutinised and sized up the second she stepped through that door. To learn she has no combat experience is no revelation but it is the formality of which she recalls it that peaks her interest.

And it is, for the other may overthink every frame of her motion, Ego follows each with a gaze nothing short of enamored. A fawn on its legs for the first time, this one, and such a sight to behold. She begins her explanation, and Elysia hums her understanding immediately.

"I see," resolute, she dips her chin in a nod, "then my hands are yours!"

Without waiting for Firefly's guidance, Elysia sets off in the direction from which she had seen her come. Her eyes are turned towards the ceiling, slipping over each and every ornate detail they can. The other will stop her and redirect her as is needed, she trusts, perhaps with that cute, flustered expression of hers. And so there is nothing to be lost in a wrong turn or a step too far past their destination.

"These Pepeshi, do they often require such help?" She thinks aloud. "I can't imagine it's easy, being their size in a world built for people." Her mind wanders to a particular head of green hair, Infinity's futile attempt at emulating her once beloved assistant. "Creation missed an opportunity to give them wings, I'd say. How much simpler their lives might be!"

At least Klein, in her second coming, could float. Ah, that precious little thing!

A little enamoured does the fyrefly find herself, following ego's words. Easy is an understatement for how lulled she is by eloquence. Content she is with her own quiet gaze and the occasional hum from closed lips, the simple act of absorbing till she clicks onto the ebb in the flow of the conversation her voice ought to fill.

“ I...do not think creation concerns itself with care for those left by it's hands. But that is where the best of people can shine, in the face of adversary. ” That had not quite been what Elysia had asked, in a flutter of widened eyes her next words rush out with a little haste. “ Today's circumstance was caused by the workforce being spread thin, I think. The Pepeshi are known for their diligence. ”

Radiant as Elysia is, Firefly is not the type to find herself blinded. Instinct it is to dissect a person down with a flicker of her eyes all doe eyed and innocent, instinct it is also to find pieces that don't quite slide into the puzzle. Querying after the Pepeshi's name would be odd for a native, not so much a guest. It's there she starts, feelings with streams of thought logical.