Celeste

Not long ago, a dragon deity’s fate became entangled with that of a nomadic clan. A sorrowful twist it was; the people had been slaughtered for their precious items. How cruel for such thieves, so few in number, to take advantage of those who refused to fight. The deity discovered this only after the tragedy had taken place, and by the time they came across the scene, there was barely one life left. That life flickered like a flame in a storm. The small soul contained in a body just as small. A baby on the brink of death. The rags around it could not keep out the harsh cold with the unlit lanterns, and so the great dragon, taking pity on the poor infant, picked the bundle up with their teeth and carried it back to their sanctuary. 

This sanctuary protected thousands of dragons, and their god watched over them all. Here, the little one would be safe. Upon seeing the young, pale face of the dying child, the dragons questioned the deity relentlessly. 

Psysuak, this is a human child. What will happen should that child grow up to be a hunter strong enough to kill us all? 

Psysuak, why have you brought it here when it’s skin is already sickly and its eyes refuse to open? Do you wish to feed that miniscule creature to us?

None of us have any business caring after that human when its species is responsible for needing a sanctuary in the first place. What do you plan to do with it?

The questions evoked only a single answer from the Psysuak: “The little one’s people were slaughtered, and she was left to die. She is now my own responsibility. I will heal the child.”

Upon hearing the divinity’s response, the dragons began to gather furs from their previous hunts to surround the baby whose skin had begun to turn blue. They were hesitant and considerably skittish, but they respected their leader, and so they assisted without asking any more questions. 

Nearly an hour had passed, and the furs proved to be useless when the baby’s condition did not improve. Still, her skin was pale and blue, and her breathing was labored and slow. A smaller dragon brought the child into the cave, and called to the mighty god for help with lighting humble fires around the edges of the cavern. Delicately, hot breaths led to gleaming flames, careful so the fragile human would not burn. Its soft flesh and wispy hair and brittle bones were hardly any protection in the eyes of a dragon. This creature had no wings or horns or scales or claws to keep itself from harm. It could not spit fire or fly or kill. How, then, could such a creature survive all alone? Even if it heals from the brutal cold? This question echoed in the minds of the dragons who now watched over the still shivering infant; however, none of them dared to speak up. Instead, they watched their deity carefully remove a small pendant that locked the child’s rags in place. A single claw was all it took, and beneath the rags the baby’s body was blue and purple and red. Colors much different from the pinks and tans and browns that the humans from the nearby kingdom were. Colors much too dangerous for a human to be. Bruises and blood littered its skin, and, oh, how shallow its breaths were. Several moments would pass between each one, and the god could barely detect a heartbeat. 

“This child has already fallen prey to the merciless cold, Psysuak,” one of the dragons finally expressed, “I fear it may be too late to save it.”

For a brief second, the deity considered letting it die. Perhaps it would be better this way. Hunters regularly sought to kill the nearest dragon that made an appearance outside of the sanctuary, and adding another to the population would worsen the issue. But…

This human child’s life had barely started. Psysuak could not let this infant die, not after her family had met such a grim fate. And so they gently pressed their forehead upon the little one’s body, using their magic to detect even the tiniest sign of life. The child’s foot curled ever so slightly, and the godly dragon took this as an indication that the small soul in the small body was willing to fight for life.

So Psysuak inhaled deeply and allowed a wave of power to wash over their body. Snippets of what must have been the child’s memories flashed through their mind. A gentle hand cradling the child’s head, a brush of lips against her forehead, soft whispers of what must have been her human name. 

They exhaled, and the baby was bathed in a golden dust. If nothing else could save this child who was so new to the world, magic would have to do. 

Sure enough, the baby’s bruises faded away, and red began to return to her flesh. Her breaths returned to her, and her eyes opened for the first time since she had been rescued. They were golden, briefly reflecting the Psysuak’s own shimmering gaze. At this, they let out a breath of relief; they had not realized how tense they were for the sake of this infant. This god, Psysuak, accepted now that since the child had healed, and since her village had been killed, they had the responsibility of raising her. 

Malakai tore off his mask, gasping to take in any wind that the collapsed room would allow. He was met only with the taste of dust and concrete, bitter on his tongue. He could hear Psyke do the same, though her breaths were a lot shallower than his, and she was wheezing quite a bit. The pair were enclosed in a small space beneath what used to be a building. It was empty, thank goodness, but the damage was severe enough to leave them trapped.

“Can’t you move the debris?” he inquired. She was a telekinetic, and a decent one at that. She caused enough trouble for Malakai and his team that, on more than one occasion, Malakai had to carry his exhausted teammates (with the exception of Catbot) back to their base.

“I.. I can’t,” she replied in between pants. “I’m not at that… strength yet. What about you?”

Malakai shook his head before observing the thick sheet that separated the two of them. “No,” he admitted, “I’m not there either.” With his strength, he could lift a piano or a car, but he hadn’t attempted anything heavier.

“What about Phantom? Can’t she teleport and get us--you out?”

“Not in a tight space, and not when she doesn’t know the location.”

“Oh.”

The two sat in silence for a while, neither one of them making an effort to fight the other. It would be pointless, and too much movement could cause the rest of the building to topple on top of them. They were lucky they could even find a space to duck under.

Eventually, Malakai began to grow anxious. He didn’t like this silence. Especially not since the incident that had happened months ago. The other villain. The one that was skilled and strong enough to manipulate the minds of the heroes his friends often fought. Malakai couldn’t even remember how long it had lasted. He could only recall how confused and hurt the public had been at the sight of its beloved heroes suddenly causing chaos instead of dismantling it. He had needed to put Psyke to sleep, and he had used his own strength to do so. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.

“I know you saved me.” She finally spoke after what must have been at least half an hour. “I never had the opportunity to properly thank you.”

Malakai’s face contorted. “Saved you?”

“Yes, saved me. Back in October; the villain who… messed with my teammates’ minds. I saw the papers after that happened. You had to carry my body back to Stopwatch. Thank you.”

Malakai paused, and he played with the mask in his hands. “I didn’t save you. I hurt you.” He spoke just above a whisper, and he did so with bitterness in his voice.

“You did what you had to do.”

“Everyone keeps saying that, but I don’t--” he paused, letting out a breath, exasperated. “I didn’t want to do it.”

“I’m your enemy.” Psyke stated simply. “I’m having trouble understanding why you are distressed.”

“Yeah, technically we’re on opposing sides, but--” he cut himself off, trying to find the words. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t articulate what he wanted to say. 

“But?”

“But I didn’t want to hurt you,” he muttered. His gaze fell to his scarred arms. The same arms he had used to choke her until she passed out just a few months ago.

A couple moments of silence passed between them before Psyke’s voice broke it. “I don’t want to hurt you either,” she spoke softly. “And I’m sorry that you were put in a situation where you had to do something you didn’t want to.”

Malakai shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”

“I suppose that’s why you’ve been avoiding me in battle, then? You don’t want to hurt me again?”

Malakai was silent. She knew she was right. 

“I’m okay now. You know that, right?”

“I know nothing,” he breathed. “We know nothing about each other.” “You sound like that’s aggravating you.”

“It is, because--” He stopped himself, suddenly. Briefly glancing at Psyke’s silhouette through the sheet. “I want to know you.”

Psyke hesitantly reminded, “You know very well why we can’t do that.”

“I know the idea behind secret identities, I just don’t get why we can’t know each other’s. We’ve been through a lot together as it is. We fight for the same cause but in different ways. We battle each other at least once a week. I had to rescue you twice-- hell, we even danced at prom.”

“That wasn’t voluntary.”

“No, but you--we connected.”

“I had to stop you from panicking so that the villain wouldn’t accuse us of not playing their sick game. That’s all that was.”

“Am I imagining everything, then? I know I can be pretty dense, but I just thought…” He trailed off. Where was he going with this? What did he think would come out of it? Did he think they were going to date after his little emotional moment? That they’d stop being enemies and get to know each other? He didn’t even know who she was. Malakai’s hands began to fidget with the rubble that sat idly by his shoes, and he attempted to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat.

“Hey,” Psyke softly called, “Are you doing alright over there? You’re not asthmatic or anything are you?” 

“No, it’s just stress…” He responded to her question, but he was trying his very best to focus on anything other than the stupidly loud drumming that his heart was doing. Like an hammer to an anvil, it was relentless, and so he shook his head and attempted to listen for any sign that his teammates were still out there.

“Okay… Please take deep breaths,” she murmured. He didn’t even realize that his breathing had quickened, but she did, and she waited for the rhythm to return to normal before continuing. “Look...It’s not that I don’t care about you. I do. Probably more than I should,” she admitted with a slight laugh. Malakai felt a flutter in his chest. “I want what is best for you and I want you to be safe and I hate that you are stuck here with me purely because it means you are in just as much danger as I am of being crushed to death,” Psyke explained. “But it would complicate things beyond belief if we continued this way. I wish it didn’t. I don’t care as much about the rules as you think I do. I just know that if someone found out I knew your identity, they’d try to arrest you. And it would be so easy to find you. And, like you said, I am fighting for the same cause you are, so I don’t want that to happen to you.”

Malakai was unsure about what he could say. “I want to know you..” He repeated.

“I want to know you, too,” she replied hesitantly. “But I can’t have you know who I am yet. Perhaps sometime in the future, but…” her voice trailed off.

Malakai’s heart leapt at the thought of one day knowing the girl beneath the mask. He played with the fabric of his mask, heartbeat drumming in his ears. His hand briefly twitched toward the sheet, and he wondered if…

“If I can’t know you, maybe you can know me…” He spoke softly. His eyes fluttered shut, and his fingers gently grasped the edge of the sheet.

“Shredder, what are you doing?”

“I’m closing my eyes.”

He slowly began to lift the sheet back. 

Psyke began to panic, and her eyes widened as she slowly saw more and more of his scarred arms. Just as the lifted sheet uncovered Malakai’s chin, Psyke’s hands flew to his wrist, and she objected, “Don’t!” Her voice was quavering, but he stopped. She gently brought his hand down and gave a shaky sigh of relief. “I’m sorry,” she expressed, her brows furrowing. “I just… I can’t… Not without putting you in danger.”

     The little knight could not recall the last time he felt a sense of pride swell in his chest so large he swore his heart would burst. Only now did he understand that this feeling was among the first to truly make a smile spread wide across his face as Her Majesty pulled the little knight for an embrace.

     The youngest knight (19 among knights in their early 30s) was assigned as a guard to protect his queen. Initially, he had been shocked. He had looked around at the faces of his peers, all much older than he was. They were not exactly pleased. An array of different Empirians who had trained longer than he had been alive, and he was chosen. This was no accident. The little knight possessed abilities like no other.

     One moment he could soar with wings as large as the clouds that would come in a storm. Wild and with gray scales glimmering beneath the light of two suns, he could feel the cool Empirian breeze lift him through the sky without a care in the world. The next moment he could curl up in the linen folds of a shirt pocket with large eyes and even larger ears with short brown fur brushing against the skin of his tiny paws. These full-body transformations were limitless and they came easy to him.

     He adored his job. He adored the peace that came when being a knight. There was hardly ever anything life-threatening that would come to them. It was mostly physical training and saving the Empirians that had gotten themselves into unlucky situations. Most of the little knight’s days were spent wielding a sword or hurdling a spear through the air. If he woke up early enough, he would get the chance to practice with a bow and arrow. Nothing much else happened. Any and all more important issues were solved by sending out the older and more experienced knights-- even if they could only transform into one other animal (two if they were lucky). 

     Then came a day where he had been summoned to the castle. He did not know why; the little knight wasn’t anything particularly special save for the ability he possessed. 

     Whispers of a new queen made their way around the palace grounds five years ago. The Living Empire had not seen a monarch for approximately fifteen years, and here was this small girl with short, round ears and young eyes. She was not yet grown, but she was due for a coronation.

     The little knight had not seen her until now. The first thing he had noticed was that she was trembling. Dark bags marked the skin underneath her eyes, and her gaze was trained on him despite her figure being far smaller than his own. The High Council explained to him that he was assigned to be her personal guard, and he would accompany her across the multiverse from then on. She was no longer safe by herself regardless of how safe her destination was, and his ability that no other Empirian possessed.

One soul split in two

Neither piece incomplete

Both possessors in different realms

Sharing synchronized heartbeats

Born at the same moment in time they were

Forced to share a destiny

One must claim the Empirian throne

And the other fall prey to devilry

A soul of light and one of dark

Balanced will the multiverse be

And after a love that conquers hate

     Psyke was not Psyke. Well, she was still physically herself, yes, but she was different now. At this moment, she was frantically trying to piece herself together. Again, not physically. 

     One new thing she had just learned is that it is very difficult to stealthily compose yourself when you live with the people you are trying to maintain a facade for. This is because while you feel alone-- while the whole world seems to isolate you-- you still do not have a moment to yourself. Not if you believe your sole purpose is to love and help others.

     She was doing this to herself, of course. Frantically trying to slow her breaths and to calm her drumming heart in the safety of her room, she sat all alone. A light softly glowed from her nightstand miles and miles away. Ah. It was Wes.

     “are you coming over soon? My moms are trying to make enchiladas but uh. you know how good mama cara is at cooking :CRINGE:”

     Psyke mused at the text notification that popped up on her watch. For a brief moment she felt a flutter of happiness as though she were back to who she was before, but that feeling quickly dissipated as she remembered why she was sitting alone, basking in the darkness of her room in the first place.

     A pit was growing in the back of her mind. You see, before Psyke was who she is now, she was a considerably happier young teenage girl. She was one who fought crime alongside her closest companions. A hero who did charity work and ran fundraisers for nonprofit organizations purely to make up for the damage her telekinetic abilities caused whenever a battle occurred. She’d be able to naturally talk for hours about whatever interested her with whoever who would listen. Banter with villains. Picnics with friends. Talk shows and interviews. That person was gone now.

     Then, prior to that Psyke, she was nothing other than average. Average in quite literally every way. Her days were only filled with what school would offer (mostly homework and sleepless nights) and the occasional event with a few friends every so often. Psyke’s biggest problem during that era (prior to receiving her powers) was how she was going to cram study for both math and history on the same night.

     Then came a thoughtless action. A simple swig of an unknown substance was all it took for her to develop the telekinetic abilities she utilized to become a successful hero. The abilities she used to fight alongside her four best friends. Of course, now, things were different.

     A couple of deaths and an argument later, the team separated. Psyke did her best to limit herself from taking a side, but she was ultimately devastated by the entire situation. Oh, she loved her friends dearly. Luminary was off the map, both Redacted and Havoc were distant in their rooms, and Unassailant was… somewhere. They were somewhere. Where was Unassailant?

     Psyke’s head began to pound just as a hammer would on an anvil. Constant. Relentless. Where was her friend?

     Somewhere along the way, she must have lost track. Not a very Psyke thing to do. Then again, spiraling wasn’t a very Psyke thing to do. Not this badly, at least. 

     You see, Psyke liked to take burdens and put them in boxes. Her mind was nothing more than a storage bunker. Rows upon rows of boxes sitting in the cold, dark space, all collecting dust. She organized these boxes mostly by importance. How long would it take to solve this issue? How much of an obstacle is it? Who is this issue affecting? These questions made her life easier. She would not touch the boxes when she was busy. 

     But she has not been busy. Not involuntarily. Before, she had school, the team, crime fighting-- the stuff she could not say no to. Now she was sat in her room, trying to peel herself away from her bedsheets. If she is not busy, she has to look into the boxes, and she did not want to do that. Even if the boxes were beginning to spill open.

     A box for the fight. A box for her skin being torn through. A box for the separation. A box for the isolation. A box for the growing anxiety. A box for her lack of motivation. It would all be washed away as soon as she walked out the door to her room.

     ‘Slip notes for Redacted. Send a good night text to Luminary-- let her know you hope she is okay. Bake for Delly. Grab a meal for Havoc. Clean the living room and bathrooms so your friends don’t have to. Send something funny to Unassailant so they know you’re thinking of them. Bring your dishes to Wes. Exchange everything for a couple of smiles. Give your love out the best you can so that you will be busy. They have to know you love them.’

     The boxes were cracking, unraveling. She could not stop shivering. Her chest ached. Psyke stared into the void, lost. A shaky hand reached out to the phone miles and miles away. She pulled it close, and her fingers tapped against the screen. A text to Wes.