Prometheus Initiative

Ivette died that day.

During the battle for their beliefs and the world, they died. No matter how much they wanted to stop, no matter how much they wanted to cry and scream on a porch somewhere and live their life like their friends suggested. Whatever good the others still saw in this place Ivette couldn’t see it. All she could think of was her broken and loveless family, her brother’s abandonment, her seven years lost to darkness, the systematic abuse by rulers of the Children of the Primordial Dark. She couldn’t imagine going back to this world while she feels all this heavy pain in her chest. It was her victory or it was her death.

And so it was her death, as she was shown.

It’s almost gentle. It was so easy to just give in. Ivette was so tired deep inside. The sweet voice of Terminus pulled her in with the promise of a hopeful death, and so Ivette accepted. Her being of light once again was shrouded in darkness. In her final moments she thought she heard her friends’ voices screaming. Ivette will apologize to them properly, in her new world… Or at least in whatever afterlife awaits for her.

There was no body to be found. The wreckage was not Ivette’s tomb. By all means the angel of judgment and deliverance was dead and gone. Finally escaped the world she believed had no room for kindness.

But once more Ivette was wrong. Somewhere the survivors of the battle couldn’t reach, someone was giving her a kindness she wouldn’t have believed she deserved. Especially not from him.

“Ah. There you are.”

Eden's hand brushes against the pink and white flowers dangling from the arching vines. It’s quiet in the garden, but not so quiet that he couldn’t feel a thorn in his side amongst the rest. It had just taken a while to track it down.

“I knew you were somewhere in here.” He plucks a flower, holding the bleeding heart’s blossom in his palm as the color slowly fades, petals withering, crumpling, returning to the earth. He can hear the screams of a child. The suffocating darkness of a cupboard.

“I can’t have you stay here” He plucks another flower, then a third, taking his time with it as he chats to himself. He feels tired. Hungry. Scared. “And we both know you wouldn’t want to be stuck here with me, anyway.” The growing pile of dead blossoms collects at his feet one by one until the plant is bare. He sees betrayal. Judgment. Deliverance. Finally, the plant’s stems waste away into a brittle, brown husk, and that dies as well.

And though the last of the memories decay, and are finally forgotten, something new grows in their place. Something made from what came before, but no longer consumed by it. Ivette, but not Ivette.

They look like they could be sleeping, but he can feel the steady heartbeat thrumming in the air. They’ll live again. Eventually, they’ll die again. But that’s a problem for another day. Eden leans on his scythe, staring down at them for a long moment.

“You’re not going to remember anything. It’s probably better that you don’t, really. And I’d say you’re welcome, but you won’t really remember any of this either.” He lets out a small sigh, and a vine pokes up from the dirt, gingerly wrapping around the unconscious body to lift it up, out of the domain. Back to the surface.

“Maybe this way you can see why it was worth saving. Maybe you’ll get it.”

Eden watches from below, alone once again in his garden… but a hint of a mischievous little grin curls up one corner of his lips.

“Maybe you’ll suck less.”

These days you hear all sorts of rumors of monsters and magic, rumors that are getting harder and harder to ignore. Somewhere in America’s pacific northwest you can hear about the rumor of a mysterious lady who appeared out of nowhere on the outskirts of a tiny rural town.

It’s the early morning while the moon is still out. Some folk are awoken by the sounds of a guttural scream. Some feared it might be more of these strange beasts, cryptics they heard them be called, wandering closer to town. The braver of the people go to investigate the scream and find not a beast but a person. A strange person laying on the ground with their arms propping them up, wailing. It was a little unnerving but they watched.

The woman didn’t know where she was, how she got there, or who she was. There was nothing in her head, but in her heart? There was a pain so deep and bitter that all she could do was cry. Cry and scream and grieve for something she had no memory of. They may not remember anything before waking up here but they knew they were in a type of pain that had been bottled up for far too long. It all bubbled out the moment they woke, rage and despair that could only be eased by sobbing wildly. The townsfolk watching could only look at each other, unsure what to do in this situation. A gruff woman would push past the others and kneel besides the stranger, seeing she was not a danger. Still crying, they were lifted from the ground by the woman and taken back to her home.

It’s said she wept for two days and two nights before finally exhausting all the pain in her heart.

The story goes on, as months would go by and the person’s amnesia wouldn’t recover. The only clue being a French accent, she couldn’t recall a single thing about her past- Not even her name. The town, at first, was wary of her. With clawed fingers of dipped gold, bright sparkling freckles, and eyes that shifted and shined like Heaven’s light, they made everyone concerned that they might be one of those monsters that have been stalking the area. The woman that first sheltered them, Siavik, watched and cared for them regardless if she shared the town’s concern.

Months would go by and Celine, as she was now called, would set roots within the town. With time things got better, the people around her relaxed, they would be endeared by her kindness and maternal nature, and they would soon accept her. Celine found purpose caring for the children in the town, she would make friends, and she would find love with Siavik. Celine became a beloved member of their little town and later their strange savior.

You can hear rumors about a strange weeping woman of gold and light. You can hear rumors about how when a cryptic had attacked the town that Celine moved without thinking, summoned swords of pure light without a second thought, and killed the creature like it was natural. Muscle memory forcing her to attack, she would claim. Some of the town was grateful, and some scared. You can hear a rumor of an angel of light protecting a town somewhere in the pacific northwest of the US.

That angel came to the town on a blank slate with nothing but pain in her heart. Two years pass by and now that person is Celine Lykanos, living in a cozy home with her wife. She babysits for her neighbors, she hosts dinners, and makes sweet bread with a passion. Sometimes rabbits she spots in the wild make her heart stir. The night makes her uneasy. That strange weepy woman can be seen sitting on their porch feeding stray cats even though their wife tells them not to, though she won’t ever force them to stop- It makes them happy.

Sometimes Celine can be seen sitting among flowers, wiping tears away as she still mourns for something she can’t remember. Her memories might be forever missing but there are things she knows now.

A death is an end, is a change, is an inevitability. An exhale of the world's lungs so that they can be filled once again. 

You all come back, gasping for air as you break the surface of Summit Basin’s lake. The water is cold and cuts deep into your bones despite the mid-afternoon sun slowly warming its surface. As you drag yourselves to shore, you can see the rubble left of the tower, and the crumbling walls that once trapped you here being overtaken by the woods around you.

There’s nothing stopping you any longer. The way is open. This world that you’ve loved, hated, lived in, and died for—is yours. Every improbable existence, every little miracle swirling through eternity, every fragile creation that it holds is here for you, waiting to see what you do next.

Somewhere in a garden, Eden sighs. 

The story ends.

You can't find it in yourself to be afraid. What more could you possibly face at this point? 

The smell of moss and turned earth follows you through the groves of trees, up to the hill where a greenhouse once stood. Its panes of glass have long since shattered, leaving smooth, bleached bone to make up the frame. Inside, wrapped in pale wings and curled in on itself beneath a ghost apple tree, sits a figure, sobbing.

What happens when you kill Death itself?

What happens when you dismantle the framework that existence depends upon?

The world goes black.

It begins to unravel.

You find your consciousness slipping through your fingers like sand, and fleeting thoughts that feel solid as stone sinking down through the subconscious sea.

It’s a heavy, smothering dream. It’s an airy, dizzy reality. You can feel the last few fluttering breaths made within the crushing weight of your own ribs.

There is no edge to this cliff you tumble from. No finish line to cross. The last thing you feel is a final, smooth sigh, as easy as drifting off to sleep.

Death is often regarded as something quick. Something violent. A passing, instantaneous change of state. In truth, most people fail to realize that it's something that has always been there, turning in a cycle far too large for them to picture. Most people fail to accept that we are dying our entire lives.

Most people forget that death isn’t the end. 

You turn in your graves. You turn through a dream. You turn around, standing at an empty, barren crossroads as though it's the most natural thing in the world. The world around you is dark and still and dead. Dry, cracked earth beneath your feet, littered with crumpled leaves. Pale, twisted skeletons of trees tower up above, seeming to stretch into nothingness. It’s a place that is a time. It’s the briefest of infinities.

A breeze blows through the empty branches like chattering teeth, but it rests warm against your skin, comforting in its embrace. The rich smell of soil fills your nose, and the very space around you seems to gasp. 

Though you can’t see it, you can feel it. There’s a hum in the air, the slow but steady churning of earth beneath your feet. Like winter thawing into spring, the first points of green break to the surface, little sprouts of wildflowers and weeds like a frantic pulse, a momentary rush of life that lives and dies in a passing moment, no more than a blink. Grasses poke up, steady, sure, rooted in the soil that has been fed by what came before. Moss spreads across rotten trunks. Shrubs begin to branch, leaves on trees bud and then unfurl overhead. 

All around you, things are dying. All around you, things are growing.

Hinrik's shooting star is a flare that illuminates every feather, every curving bone, every hidden tooth in that angry dark that looms before you.

You see claws rake through the void, super heating the space between and threatening to send you spinning off.

Before you're able to feel overwhelmed, Kezia cracks open reality, and your feet land on the fractures.

Leylines spiderweb out from your feet, connecting you all.

Apocalypse begins to move, the black hole of its maw extending towards the two, but Tracy anchors it, desperately tethering himself to the heart that Hinrik laid bare.

He comes apart to hold her together.

She screams when Morph reminds her what it feels like to breath, to bleed, to feel hunger-- In its flesh, eyes emerge, each dark aperture obscured by the tears of light that immediately begin to ooze alongside them.

Apocalypse's newborn skin is soft and yielding to Emmeline's axe. Anything that lives can die. The green knight sweeps her sword through the protruding ribs like a proffering of branches.

It shudders away from the pain and turns as if to flee, chains beginning to snap, but Michiya rends the wings off of Apocalypse, his spark a lightning streak across the sky of the void.

And Ridley embraces for one final time-- Ivette's wounded heart. Light tears through light, all consuming. All purifying. All forgiving.

…

Death is a time that is a place. Death is a place that is a time. And there is a time, and a place, for even Apocalypse to die.

The End of the World heaves, energy bleeding from its wounds like an aurora of ultraviolet.

Please,

Kindness pierces it.

Please, Please, Please,

Understanding chains it.

Dependability cleaves it.

Loyalty burns it.

Please, Please, Please, Please, Please, Please,

Love cannot undo it.

But love can end its cycle.

Again.

Back then, the end didn’t have a face. 

It felt like something dangerous, maybe, in the same vein as what she was scolded for when fire enchanted her as a little girl.

Death didn’t have meaning yet. Cessation of existence was something she couldn’t comprehend; she’d asked her brother several times when the thrasher in his hands would wake up again and he told her the story of their father invoking the same lesson with a hare when he was her age. They could do that to creatures smaller than themselves… And forces greater than themselves could do the same to them.

That was when the unknown became known. Whatever existed outside of what she knew could be as small as it was large. Whatever moods their parents found themselves in each day had the same unpredictability. 

And that was when the fear started.

When people said there was nothing to worry about, couldn’t prove it to either of them, and actively did harm when they tried their best to prepare regardless.

So when Laben took her out each morning before the sun rose, Rivkah took his handgun without complaint and held it out exactly as instructed even as her tiny wrists stung and her elbows trembled, learning exactly how to utilize that fear of the unknown to give herself an advantage when it finally came. 

Again.

The weight in her hands grew heavier the older she got. Recoil from the butt of a rifle left bruises against her slim shoulders; calluses on her fingers drew mockery from her peers and suspicion from the ones meant to guard the entire compound. Spending time with her brother lost its charm, becoming a chore instead as she fired at glass jars positioned so far away in the dark she had to rely on the barely visible reflection of their campfire to break them. 

“Again.”

It was the year before they tore him up and left him to die when he said that. 

She’d thrown his rifle down at her feet in tearful frustration when he set out the next set of glass jars, begging to know why he made her hunt and practice and maintain the knives every day when they both knew she’d never be allowed to—when she wasn’t even supposed to—and Laben grabbed her with the same violence one day when she had been younger and oblivious to a rattlesnake coiled in plain sight.

There was no rattlesnake this time—just him subduing her with one arm and pressing the other into her neck as they dropped to their knees in the sand.

“This is how you die,” he hissed, leaving no room for her to move. “This is the moment they get you.” 

Aside from thinking her brother was the same level of bastard as their father in that moment, Rivkah didn’t understand it then.

But his voice didn’t carry anger—only terror.

That had been the difference to truly bring the gut feeling of something being wrong, that whatever he and Noah shared during their findings was more than just stories to keep her entertained. 

“And we die because we let it happen.”

So she listened when that coldness, shaped like her, sank into her impressionable mind:

“You’re going to find yourself facing someone bigger and stronger than you are who can push through the pain one second longer than you do. That’s all it takes.”

When it made sense, Rivkah went slack and her brother let go. Their parents and the Elder Brotherhood were supposed to be the ones to worry about those things. Supposed to. A connection formed in her mind and the unknown began to creep in again. Their father was as tall as he was strong and did nothing with that strength even when there were times he could have. He did do what he was told, though. There was never any hesitation there.

“So when does it stop?! Why do I have to be the one to—”

“Listen. Rivvy, listen to me.” 

Without thinking, she struck Laben as hard as she could just to see how he would react—and when he did nothing but nod in approval, she did it again, smashing fists against his palms and shoulders, kicking heavy boots into each leg until the last of her strength left her and the sun finally came up. Her brother waited the entire time without raising a hand or saying a word until she was truly finished, packing their things to return home and cradling her against him every step back.

“You have to stand up and carry it with you, even when you can’t. You have to embrace the suffering to survive. All of it.” 

It felt like a year of her life expelled from her lungs when she sighed, staring hatefully into the rising sun. When he put the rifle in her hands and asked her to do it again the next day, she did it without complaint. She did it every time thereafter even after they defied what they were born to do and escaped. 

Again.

...

The abyss is perfectly silent as they fall; Ridley finds herself staring only at Apocalypse, wondering if they’ll all fall forever in this perpetual state of terror, waiting for the end as it looms over them, the final unknown that awaits the rest of them.

What brought them all here, anyway? Fear of the unknown? The world as they knew it—even if they barely knew it at all—changed irreparably, with none of them having any remote idea what would be left or how long it would remain. Nobody knew what became of the future that had been on its way in before everything stopped; maybe it’s another point in time for Jules to find and navigate in search of a better scenario for one more person, even if it’s nobody they know by name. 

There was as much of the unknown awaiting them here as there was out there, spurred on by the promise of something that probably sounded too good to be true in the eyes of most people. And yet… Their collective survival of one thing set the wheels in motion for everything else. Why survive at all, if only to die from something else strong enough to push through whatever hindered it for one second longer?

Jules, Tracy, 16, Oz, Emmeline… They’re stronger than anyone here, if they’re still here to do more than just escape Death. They outright confronted it.

44. 45. 46. 47…

No. 46. There won't be a 47.

It’s not the clarity of her own fear that brings the revelation, but everyone else’s. To be on the opposite end of what she endured, to watch from afar as it happens, powerless, a single change to intervene and be the person who lasts one second longer than the rest of whatever snaps and snarls at what remains—

This is just the latest instance of why it happens again and again and again. Ridley’s been prepared for this despite every tantrum she threw as a child or traumatic recollection endured as an adult, clinging to life even when there’s nothing, willed into existence by the combined spite of herself and her brother for a world that wanted them dead to begin with. In the end, Royce had the right idea, fulfilling whatever purpose he felt entitled to and instilling that same insane will to live in someone else.

God help anyone else who tries to take it away from the ones that remain.

Her turn.

“IVETTE!!!”

The Dolorosa doesn’t struggle in defiance as it howls, eye sockets going dark again as the collective fear of unfulfilled confessions, hopes, dreams, experiences, and reunions seep into each vein and bone. Ridley’s own fear is an easily discarded afterthought, focused on everyone else’s exclusively as memories from the cohort flood her mind from childhood to the present, every instance that’s brought them here and everything they fear even from timelines beyond their respective existence.

Don't give up. It's not over. Some of the smartest people I know are in this tower right here with us busting their asses to find a solution to this. You're one of them. We're gonna figure it out, and... And you're going to get home, and you're going to do everything you're still waiting to do. And it’s going to be good.

She remembers idly playing with Ivette's hand, palms flat against each other, fingertips tracing along their wrist as their fingers interlaced and separated again. 

You've made it this far. You're doing this because you want to help others, too... You care about so many people. So many things. You're kind. Curious. You're looking danger in the face and you haven't given up yet.

The sheep skull cracks again to free the wolf’s head, jaws already unhinged as fire brighter than the sun blooms somewhere deep inside her. It won’t happen. She won’t let it happen. 

"FIGHT!!!"

Michiya never wanted to let go of Kezia. In their earthy cocoon, they were safe. But they both knew this battle was far from over. They part, and Michiya can't help but admire the love of his life as she fractures cognition itself in her rampage against Apocalypse. She was strong in so many ways, and that strength offered a platform for others to find their footing. Seeing such ferocity reminds Michiya of his own...

Should he really be spending these moments free falling into the void reminiscing? Who said he couldn't?! Hinrik's escape rang through his bright pink veins, reminding him of everything he has been. A scared child, biting back at the world that chewed him up. A bitter teenager, unsure of his place in the big world. A mad scientist with all the freedom in the big, scary, wide wide world, but at the cost of any meaningful connection. Kezia truly was the beginning to all of that, wasn't she?

But it wasn't just her. There was Hinrik, who was soft and loving and kind, despite the pain they've inherited by bitter blood. There was Ridley, whose gentle heart threatened to tear her in twain when she finally lost what she loved most. Royce who offered a guiding hand; he was a man that Michiya wanted to hold on tightly to, just to let him go.

Emmeline showed Michiya what strength and family meant, that no matter what happened, she had loved ones she would never stop fighting for. Jules sought the truth, and always had their feet on the ground. Tracy has messed up, sure, but Michiya couldn't help but see himself in the other. Would Michiya had been in Tracy's shoes if given the chance? Would he have been in Wren's, who fought so hard to keep connections severed for the future, only to fall under the weight of his own past?

Michiya never understood that when he gave into the world's demands, he was allowing himself to be prey, devoured and disposed of...  but Morph showed him there was no shame in that. You persevere, and you overcome. Pet was a dominating power, but underneath it all Michiya could see a fracture of himself: someone so tired of being alone... Someone who searched for meaning, and freedom. Oz scared him, and he felt he never could quite close the gap between the two of them, but he knew everyone cared for him, and that was enough.

They all were more than enough. Michiya had to be strong enough to fight back because they all gave him the strength to. He feels at peace, almost, falling free into the void. Energy begins to peel away at him as his body splits in two, but the person who's at the other end of Michiya's arm is not quite himself. Completely human in image, a man who looks nearly identical stares back at him. Michiya can't speak, lips moving but no words coming out. Kisuke looks down towards Apocalypse, then back at Michiya, who began to spark with overwhelming emotion.

"... This could be a figment of your imagination."

The voice similar to Michiya's says in his recognizable monotone.

"Your mind may be fracturing to the point of no return."

Tears welled up in Michiya's eyes as he gripped tightly onto his other half.

"... Maybe Death gave you the opportunity to say goodbye. Whatever happened, don't squander this moment."

Kisuke(?)'s voice raised as the field around the two of them began to spark, whipping around them as they fell closer towards Kezia's position. Kisuke gives his brother a soft smile. One of understanding. 

"I never took you for someone to get obsessed with the past! You've always looked towards the future because you knew the future has everything you've ever dreamed of! So stop worrying about your mistakes and learn from them! Protect the future you have right before you!"

Michiya pulls the other into his arms as his body quickly tears away into the large robotic fox cryptic form. Kisuke's voice continues as he begins to glow the same purple as Michiya.

"Just because I'm not by your side, doesn't mean I'm gone! Royce isn't gone! Wren isn't gone! Eden won't be gone, and neither will Ivette! You'll always carry them with you, no matter what happens! So live your life the way they would have wanted you to!"

The ghostly twin explodes into a wave of energy, splitting and crackling into a lupine shape. Michiya grins a wide toothy grin, using Kezia's fractures as a launchpad to throw himself in an arc over their enemy. Once Michiya and the fox that dances around him have a better angle, he shoots robotic arms to grab onto the dangerous cryptic in any way he can. He finds a grip on the grotesque wings of Apocalypse, he splits himself again, two large rabid foxes now slingshotting themselves towards the indomitable force. If enough of the others are focused on Ivette, Michiya will go on the offensive.

Like missiles, Michiya and his split hurl themselves, razor sharp claws extended, energy surging like an atom bomb about to drop. Whether that man was Kisuke, or just Michiya's mind seeking escape after all this time, he takes his words to heart. Once contact is made, Michiya explodes in a wide burst, electricity crackling, heat coming off in waves as from the smoke leaves the humanoid form of the scientist, exhaling, exhausted. 

He'll fight for a future with Kezia. To visit Ridley, and Jules. To make amends with all those he's hurt. To have movie nights, and barbeques, and see a happier world he never thought possible for him. For words no one else gets to hear, he finally says it.

Emmeline never liked the water.

It was too much of a silent, cold, unknowing killer. Water didn’t care if it filled you up and writhed into lungs it should never know. 

The void is the same in a way, and so Emmeline decides she doesn’t like it either.

It fills everything with such dread and hopelessness. How do you stop a fall? The only way leads to broken bones and shattered organs.

Unless.

Someone catches you.

Are you there Zib?

She remembers the screen flickering on and off, Ithika concerned at it and Kezia holding her hand. A flash. An image, like a camera filming them from behind. Ithika’s words: Zibelline is in the tower.

Were you always there Zib?

The nights she shed more tears that could possibly be contained into her body before finally drifting off to sleep, the hours she locked herself in the laboratory just so her hands could stop shaking from fear, so that they could hold a vial instead. A little death just for her. She could decide it was over anytime.

I’m sorry…

Only now, after drowning and falling and crying and dying, she sees everyone deciding to keep living.

And she wants that too. Despite all the horrible things that could happen. Flashes of colours surround her, of people who keep living. Hinrik’s glimmering pelt and a sweeping motion of Tracy’s mighty wings dying down. Shimmering leylines enveloping Kezia’s rising shape, the sparks from Michiya. Phosphorescent eyes, opening more and more, Jules infinite gaze and Ridley’s gleaming fangs bared. Translucent blue hands, climbing and grabbing, 16 never giving up. Morph becoming nerve and flesh and bone and sinew and life. And Ozséb, Oz and the beautiful fire he housed in his chest, that could never be doused completely.

Fear fills her like water. But so does hope.

A waterfall rushes up, catching her feet and propelling her. Rushing water like thousands of wild horses.

She holds her axe high, prepares for the impact, and prepares to second Morph in attacking the ribs.

The leathery wings of the devil expand and catch themselves in the air in an attempt to slow their rapid descent, Tracy cursing under their breath as he sees the Hertz siblings fall - 

But Hinrik catches them, they are safe, breathing. 

There will be no more loss. Not here, not now. 

Tracy looks to their friend, now in the very grasp of Death. Of the Apocalypse. But there is still a glimpse of hope - he can feel them yearn to be saved, just like he had in the pits of Hell. 

“Ivette – I’ve got you, okay? We’ve got you…!” 

Crimson chains fly out from Tracy’s hands, snaking towards the little glimmer of Deliverance's heart to reach out to it along with Hinrik.

“This ain’t the end, it can’t be. Not for me, not for us, not for you–”

Crack. 

A piece of Tracy’s mask falls away, bone crumbling to dust. 

His chains try desperately to latch onto the heart, so he may try and pull it from the clutches of the end of the world itself.

“You’ve tried so hard to distance yourself from us, to make yourself the enemy–”

Rip. 

The demonic armour of Tracy’s form starts to disintegrate. 

“Playin’ the villain doesn’t stop people from lovin’ you, I know that all too well…!” 

Snap.

One of Tracy’s arms is torn off and falls forever into the void below. Gritting their teeth through the pain, they hold on.

“Even me. Even you. Deserve love! So let us love you! Take our hand!” 

The chains strain as Tracy tries their best to pull Deliverance - Ivette, free from the terrible end they’ve decided they deserved. But Tracy, and everyone else, have other ideas in mind. 

Tracy’s wings flake away. His horns fracture and dissolve into dust along with his mask. He visibly shrinks, back to his all too vulnerable human form that has suffered so much. 

But thanks to everyone here, Tracy can be human. It is not a weakness amongst his fellow cryptics. He didn’t submit to the miserable end that he sentenced himself to. By taking the hands that reached out to him, he was able to be saved.

Now, it was his turn to extend the hand out and save Ivette. No more fighting, no more betrayal. Tracy no longer thinks of just himself, or the selfish goals of others. Tracy wants to save everyone, together. All or nothing, together.

Morph can't help but feel as if

They've all failed her, somehow.

To let Ivette come to this. To have her feeling so hopeless. Life was not worth living, when one felt there was no way out. He had spent his whole life running, and he knew this.

It made you think like prey.

Prey was something weak for the stronger to consume and benefit from. Prey was something small to be devoured and then forgotten. Lassitude was the privilege of the strong. Comfort was the lifestyle of the powerful. Love, for prey, was a comfort but also a vulnerability-- it was something you bled for. Something you died for. Or something that, when ripped away, left a gaping wound from which you could not recover.

Just look at Wren. Wren didn't know it, but he had been prey. Stepped on by the criminal underground, coerced into violence, and suffering a fatal, purulent wound from that thing called love. And then he had been consumed.

And so Ivette had been consumed.

And so they all would be consumed.

But isn't it amazing, how the rest of them fight, anyways?

Kezia is not prey. Her love makes her strong. She is knocked down and she stands up, every single time.

Emmeline is not prey. She remembers so strong as to make it an act of defiance. She will not let the ones she loves be forgotten.

Hinrik is not prey. It is an easy mistake to make to think so, but prey does not find the spark of kindness from bared fangs and claws through even a tremulous voice. Prey does not speak at all.

Jules is not prey. They are too diligent, too sharp, too unending. They will never give in to such an idea.

Michiya is not prey. He laughs too bright and loves too hard. He gives himself away, but it is not a loss, it is a gain.

Ozséb is not prey. He is a survivor. All the forces in the world may try to sand away his humanity-- his looks, his luck, his life-- but he smolders beneath the ash. Warm to his friends, scalding to his enemies.

16 is not prey. She is perhaps the most human out of all of them, because she knows what it means not to be-- even in her despairing. It is her blessing and her curse to be the last one left.

Ridley is not prey. The world may have tried to devour her, but it choked her back up every time. And somehow still she maintained a core of humanity-- that spark of wonder at something new.

Tracy is not prey. He clawed and fought his way above it all, chasing and cherishing the opportunities that they found to be more than one that eats and one that is eaten.

If you love the world and the people in it so much, if you want to make real change, then you should live for it rather than die for it!

The words burn in his throat as an incomprehensible feeling-- his hurt, his loss, his love. Words he wishes he could have found to spit in a time that was only hours ago but feels like years already. Words he doesn't know how to voice, but hopes to one day maybe find.

Morph is not prey. Not anymore. He hopes.

And he'll live.

The mouse that lands on the fractured void that Kezia breaks into existence tumbles and bounces harmlessly-- then something under its skin seems to explode. Iron sprays into the air as it grows towards death, a column of primordial flesh that collides with its ribs and then seems to suck and pull at the dry bone. Sinew binds it, arteries reach into the pitted and hollow place that once held marrow, and it reaches nerve endings deep down into places that nerve endings were never meant to be.

Everyone. Was. Brilliant—Kezia’s heart soared as she felt their powers combine to piercing through the entity that was no longer Ivette. Deliverance staggers and falls… This was their chance, they could change this outcome!…And then, Death. 

Apocalypse dawns the event horizon, and they are trapped in its pull.

The stone chrysalis that protectively engulfed Kezia and Michiya as they forged souls to power the group crumbles under the intense pressure, the nexus of infused leylines breaks away and falls like a dying golden-violet meteor.

They descend.

Amongst the rubble that tumbles and floats past them, Kezia clings to Michiya, face buried in his shoulder as she feels the weight of their choices fall with them. There is no up from down, no right from wrong here—only the resolution of the massive cryptic’s presence immersing them. Her gut drops as the emptiness burns into her nerves—the lingering doom of a high-stakes mistake caused by stubbornness, the cusp of existence forever changed.

Was this it? Would this be one of the paths that Jules had foretold? They die and become matter in another place and time, memories scattered to the dust, rejoining the endless drift that other particles continued on since the beginning of time. 

No...

Or would she lose nearly everything again, battling eternally for breath until her heart gave out? It wasn’t fair—that future. She would have Michiya, but they both would suffer from their continued losses, fighting to mend what little scraps of life remained—damned to blame themselves for everyone's suffering against the wraiths.

I refuse.

Encke and Ithika fell past as she gasps, reaching out helplessly over Michiya’s shoulder as tears blur her vision. Her eyes now dart, from the twin’s falling figures to the rest of the cohort, slowly plummeting into the void—further sealing the pounding earthquake that ripped at the walls of her chest. It hurt so much.

So why are you still holding back?

A star of feathers and light flares past, colorful tears finding their way to touch her outstretched hand. The escape once offered returns again with a new, stronger vibrance. The bells chime, and ring strength to the defiant tune of her heart.

‘i don’t know that things will work out’ …Neither do I… ‘I‘ve got nothing to prove it’ …I’ve tried so hard to find a solution… ‘but–!’ …but?... ‘i just feel it deep down, so don’t–!’

Don’t hold back.

Kezia’s eyes steady once more on the face of her love as she slows her breathing. Everything that bound them together, cosmic opposites that gravitated and found harmony in the pull—a balance. His strength creates an unstoppable echo of potential in her, and she won’t let go of that, not ever.

“Michiya…” It won’t be the end. Not if you’re here by my side. “I love you.”

She won’t let go of Emmeline's hand as they wade through waters, a promise to remember Zibelline resounds. She won’t let go of Ridley holding her tight as they listen to the lost walkman late at night. She won’t let go of Royce’s voice and endless guidance, protectively wrapped in her heart with love. She won’t let go of the genuine, gentle smile that Morph gave to her, a moment of calm amongst the jittering fear. Nor the beautiful imagery Hinrik wove into her mind of the northern lights. Nor how Encke stared with pride and wonder as she walked away, a budding friendship slowly opening connections once again. Nor Ithika’s hidden smile as they spoke for hours into the night of the resonance. No, not even the hours of theory crafting with Jules as they giggled over coffee. The gentle touch of Oz and his comfort despite how the world continued to mar his hands and heart. The tittering voice of a happy child in a field of flowers by Sixteen. The laughter that erupted amongst the Lithic block as Tracy and Kezia threw pillows at one another. The only time she ever saw a flicker of Wren looking genuinely enthralled with life as he sped through the garage at breakneck speeds.

‘I don't think you have to apologize for wanting to live.’ She won't let go.

‘I don't need hope. I will.’ She won’t let go. ‘You really shouldn't expect much from me. It'll be easier that way.’ She won’t let go.

Despite it all, they persisted. Time and time again, through battered heart and torn flesh, she would stand above the rubble again. This was not the end of that tale, this was just the beginning of the song.

Kezia exhales.

- B  - R  -  E  -  A  -  K  -

A click of boots contact an unknown floor as the void fractures. With each of its shards reveal a piece of Kezia: human, half beast, wyrm—and as the shards rotate to their mirroring side, the woman no longer stands before you, but the full presence of the dragon-like cryptic. Leylines once again trace the outlines as a familiar sight peeks through golden sands and teal energy drifting upwards. Above, the heart of the end, and below, home. Kezia takes another breath, and the pieces form a foundation to stand upon—grounding the reality. Any step they might need to take, she will forge their path. There’s no turning back now.

The shocks send a threat and the void shifts. It bristled with a raw, untamed wildness as did the Tremors. It is not words that she speaks—it is a feeling amongst the trembling void that reverberates in your chest and promises to break you apart piece, by piece, by piece. 

I too have sensed the break of the cognitive as it soaks into reality, the bleeding wound of this earth. It continues to lash out, and I feel all. I have endured each and every aching heart, trembling terrors, screaming fear, insufferable affliction of action and dread, imprisoning torment, the drowning gravity of guilt and agony—As have I also felt each and every one of your burning determinations, energetic and cheerful hopes, endless unbound love… the spark of stars glimmering against the infinite end to make its presence known, the strings that weave to make you whole.

A hiss of sand on stone as a large front claw slams onto the foundation in defiance, sending further particles engulfed in her energy spiraling with a pressurized force at Apocalypse's heart—She’s pushing back with the weight of every emotion she’s felt, every sense, every fiber of her being.

But with each step ripples experience. To each pain is a love that is worth fighting for, deserving a chance to change, to heal and grow from this, too. I will continue to fight for a better world, I will fight for those memories and experiences, for those hearts not given a choice, for the Earth’s soul itself. Mistakes will still be made, but that is the essence of our existence to give breath to grow. We are human, and we are cryptic.

The beast opens her maw as sand shifts into a warcry, a thundering roar of stone clashing, punctuated with an shimmering echo of energy. She launches herself upwards as the foundation of reality crashes into Apocalypse with her.

May the weight of passion from each of our souls crush your very essence in its defiance to exist.

Between the fractures is where she controls, her heart remains tethered to everyone as she urges them forward. One more time, together. She was given another chance to do right and to keep just one promise... and this was it.

Bells cry out in a pained echo as Hinrik reaps what they sow, light sent searing across their face. The contact sends them reeling backwards, whipping their head to and fro violently and caught up in the pain when all starts to shift once more. 

The dark pitch of the end fills all inbetweens, and Hinrik plummets along with the rest. Along with the two little bodies they had not seen when Deliverance had first raised her swords high. 

NO!

Hinrik’s pale form ripples like a ribbon in the wind as they twist through the endless nothing. Their wings extend to catch their fall and suddenly they’re flying instead, as if running through the air. Every step off of a platform that does not exist leaves little plumes of color in their wake. Hinrik bounds away from their friends in a desperate blink to catch two others within their multitude of arms. 

And so they do, the impact of the catch sending Hinrik’s long form into a spiraling plummet once more. They twist until their belly faces up-- if anything can be determined to be up in this void, and their opaline wings rise to fold over the two diminished bodies they hide in a cover of escape.

Ithika and Encke feel so small like this. Hinrik nuzzles in close for a breath, their heart in their throat and a trail of glittering tears rising up from their starry irises as they take in Resonance’s and Interference’s torn and limp forms. 

p-please-- please--! no more--

A breath. Another. Only unconscious then, for now. Hinrik hiccups out a sob of relief and holds tighter as they fall. 

rest, rest, i have you, thank you. The tears carry on. stay. all that matters is you stay, no matter the weight it, so i still have the chance to hold you. 

No more. Hinrik’s head draws heavy and high back towards Apocalypse, their eyes burning with enough grief to last them into the next life, and then the one after that. As they hide their precious cargo away from the end, their chiming voice grows fuller, deeper, and reverberates through the darkness like great bells in a grand cathedral. no more! it’s not time! you aren’t meant to steal in like a thief in the n--! …?

A thief. 

That’s right-- the thought had been drafting itself in the background of their mind ever since Infinity cast their gaze wide and returned with possibilities. While it had only been a fleeting stroke of ‘maybe’ in its initial spark, the potential of its truth had been nearly struck hard over Hinrik’s head when Ivette had made the declarations of her elysian new world.

“...so when it comes it could be… a friend…”

“Nothing will hurt more than what you already did…. That's all I wanted. To know that you know what it actually meant.”

“But I hope when you do that it's like meeting a friend. Like you said you wanted.”

“…I hope it is too. A friend. Gentle.”

“I'm not sorry for what I said or what I did."

…

“Do you still want to be friends?”

ggghgahh!

Hinrik’s thoughts churn like the tide of an oncoming storm with time they do not have, and a cacophonous clatter erupts from them for it. 

i know what Jules said! but i think it’s alright! They call over the chaos of their own mind to everyone else made laid to rest in this eternal basin. Their long face contorts in fear, in frustration, in fatigue, and their glittering tears continue to flee from the stars in their eyes as a wind whips wildly about. Can they really risk it all, and ask it of others, for just some seed in their gut? 

i don’t know that things will work out-- i‘ve got nothing to prove it, but--!

It shouldn’t be like this. They want it to be a friend. They don’t know if they are. 

i think it will! if we do this here and now! i just feel it deep down, so don’t--! don’t hold back! not against Death! i know what Jules said, i do but-- it’s okay, it’s okay! let’s do what we have to!

A brilliant star builds at the tip of Hinrik’s horn, any color you can imagine gathered in its growing radiance. They arch their head towards the exposed heart. 

and you!

To whom do they speak now? Escape cries out even if there’s no one to listen. Even if they’re terribly wrong. 

Deliverance has no eyes. It cannot see.

It is blind to the determination that surrounds it, in the people who strike at it with not just hope but with love. It cannot see the lines that connect them all, and Kezia and Michiya cannot feel Ivette either as her light burns any bridge that tries to come near.

They call out to it, but...

Deliverance has no ears. It cannot hear.

It cannot hear Tracy and Hinrik, but only feel. The force of its swords striking Tracy's claws ring out in pure tones that shake the very atoms of your core.

The light that spills out as Hinrik pierces her is blinding, burning, purifying. The light has consumed it from inside out, and falls from it in molten splatters of glowing light. The spray marks across the bridge of Hinrik's face, a slanted freckled stain of glowing white.

Deliverance has no face. It cannot cry.

It cannot weep for its friends, and the flood waters that rise up to catch it off guard are an unwelcome, unnerving thing.

But Deliverance still has a heart.

Pet carries those feelings across the barrier, slamming into the cryptic and sending it reeling. Its swords drop into the murky water, while the light blood continues to bubble out of the star shaped pierce wound of their chest.

It cannot even turn or run, because the tar that bubbles up beneath the water, sucking at their feet and rendering their wings useless. She grows still as the flames rear high and Jules bombards her with visions of the future-- of failure-- of regret.

Then two figures plummet from above, splashing into the water not far from where you stand. Ithika and Encke--? The flash of white and black resembles their diminished forms.

“You are so near… Justt a little further… Then…”

The voice is the sound of hissing steam, of cracking porcelain, of a small girl's crying.

A bird's bone-white talons descend from the sky, encircling the broken angel.

Terminus' faceless hood descends, obscuring ivette from view.

"... Then, Deliverance will be the final, hopeful death of this world. There is nothing for you to fear, Ivette. Nothing to hold back. All come to death, in the end. All will return to you."

"Let me show you."

The chaos and destruction around you spins away into nothing as Terminus embraces Deliverance. Hundreds of black wings fold around the light like a cocoon, and as that light vanishes, your world plunges into the dark.

You fall through space.

A star falls beside you, pulsing steadily. It shines through the ribs of death, surrounded by bone and ancient fluttering cloth and black feathers.

"Rejoice at the transformation of our Being."

The cryptic of Apocalypse approaches, ready to devour you and transform the world.

The surrounding flames and destruction don't send Ridley into a fit of terror. She faces down Ivette with the same resolute fearlessness even as the world around them smolders. 

To be called friends at a time like this has her blood boiling. Even if Ivette did accomplish what they set out to do... This isn't what a friend does. Friendship is what they should have had, but each rejection and dismissal of attempts of reunion, forgiveness, understanding... 

Royce wouldn't let Ivette do this.

He wouldn't let her do this no matter how she pleaded and screamed to let it all end. 

One by one, the cohort takes action, leaving Ridley fumbling for a moment wondering how to get started with this incredible power so new to her – but a start's a start and she waits to see what direction everyone else goes in, watching Emmeline unleash the primordial flood, Kezia and Michiya sharing a tender moment, 16 find her strength and fight for them all, Hinrik taking off into the air with Tracy –

As soon as she's sure Ivette's looking in her direction, Ridley gives a defiant spit, remembering Ivette kissed her and each subtle act of manipulation that followed from a fundamentalist only a degree of separation away from her.

“Jules!” Ridley calls, hesitation gone as she finally figures out where to start, tearing through the broken landscape to find them, green looking for green, the barely noticeable weight of her friendship bracelet still missing.

But she misses it. She wants it to feel as noticeable as a prison shackle. 

“Jules, wait – !!”

“Ridley.”

Jules, standing stalwart in their crater, turns away from Ivette and towards Ridley. They start at a walk, then a jog, and a run until they crash into her, holding on tight and burying their face in her shoulder. The impact of Jules's frame against her own actually surprises Ridley, the weight unexpected but welcome. Jules squeezes her like coils, inhaling the smell of her shirt and sweat and skin.

“Will you help me?” They ask, voice muffled against her.

Ridley's strong arms find their way around Jules, holding them as tight as she ever will, practically lifting them from the ground as she nods furiously against the tickle of their hair.

“Of course I'll help!” She insists, and the sound is bright and fiery with determination. “Just tell me what to do and I'll…" But she trails off for a moment, catching herself on her own obedient tendencies.

She pulls away from their embrace, hands still on Jules's shoulders, practically barking when she fixes her way of expression.

"I won't let her win! I won't let her take anyone! I won't let her take you!"

“That’s the spirit.” Jules grins.

Their touch is gentle when they reach up to brush Ridley’s hair behind her ear, fingers cool as they trail down her cheek. Ridley's intensity relaxes a little. Half-dangling in her arms, half standing on the tips of their toes, Jules’ smile softens.

“Ready?”

Ridley doesn't even think about it before she closes the distance between them and presses her lips against Jules's, clumsy and poorly aimed, forcibly correcting herself when she tries a second time. 

Deja vu rushes over Jules like Emmeline’s flood as Ridley kisses them. It can’t be right – the two hadn’t kissed before, not yet – but the feeling is comfortable, is familiar. It’s new and frightening and exciting and safe. It feels like home and it feels unknown. They’ve never kissed before, but they’ve kissed in innumerable futures infinite times. Each time they hold one another is the first and the thousandth.

Exhilaration rushes through Ridley’s mind as she finally pulls away, hands practically vibrating against their shoulders as words tumble heavily from her mouth before she can think about them –

“I love you," she mumbles, tearing up. “Just... Just wanted you to know... If…”

Jules has loved her. Jules will love her. They kiss her and hold her face in their hands.

“Yeah, Rivvy. I love you, too.”

There. It's been said. Everything that Ridley's ever needed to happen has happened. 

She looks down at Jules with a shred of ferocity reserved entirely for Ivette, and the next time they blink, the Dolorosa towers there in her place with the spiraling, prehensile vines winding out of its rose-filled heart, pushing the jaws of the sheep skull back into place like a closed helmet.

  I won't let anything hurt you.

  As it waits, it turns back toward the Angel beckoning them forward, growl rumbling through the earth.

“I know you won’t,” Jules says admiringly.

They turn away and unfold, a writhing den of snakes pouring out from the source and surging forwards. Mouths and fangs and scales and eyes ride the flood towards the angel and the Ouroboros coils around them, twisting and constricting limbs and wings.

One of its many heads slithers to where an ear might usually be, flickering their tongue out and whispering,

would you like to know your future?

Fear creeps slowly behind the Ouroboros, cloying dread that runs black from the eyes of the horned skull encasing the Dolorosa's head and the blinding solar eclipse burning deep in each eye socket.

The feeling of something wrong sets in when detected in the corner of one's vision, a seed of doubt, a dangerous threat – 

The Dolorosa doesn't wait, emerging from a shroud of smoke in front of the Angel, head lowered and ears flat as it inches forward. Tar begins to pool around its form, holding the faceless visage in place as the fire draws closer.

When the Ouroboros looks into potential timelines they’re guided by the heat of fear. A seeking missile, the Ouroboros finds the outcomes Ivette fears most and squeezes her tighter, each eye opened to a different world like Encke’s television screens. Every channel tuned to something terrifying, catered just to the Angel, with not a remote control to be found.

The pooling tar beneath the Angel ignites in a fiery explosion.

In one vision, the world ends before history ever has a chance to be documented.

The world resets.

In another, the first natural loss of life spurs the first feelings of intense grief long before they're ever meant to be felt, and humankind becomes acquainted with pain and suffering. 

Rewind.

A different vision shows the world turning on its benevolent leader, forsaking the angel for failing to intervene during an incomprehensible event, vowing to end her existence. 

No, this isn't right either.

Compromise is reached in a different scenario to allow for broader supervision, a pragmatic approach just to see what will happen this time. The coldness grows.

It blinks out of existence. 

Something more personal shows in one of the fading visions, a familiar face that stands behind Ivette with a similar sword of light drawn, blood on his hands. The status quo must be kept. They'll see it through to the end. But no – this isn't right, either. He impales himself on his own sword in an act of defiance. He will not allow this to continue. 

That's fine. Ivette knew he would leave in this timeline, too.

It's lonely. Trillions of faces come and go of forgotten names and lives, of gratitude that can only be imagined, of a collection that will never know her and never know how truly insignificant they are. 

But the Angel loves and cares for them all, each and every person, every child, every cat; each heartbreak, each loss, each unpredictable moment for them and for Them...

The world bargains, begs, denies, hates, forgives. It's exhausting. It will be worth it. 

Thy will be done, say Ivette's unseen, perfectly crafted allies – now betrayers – seconds away from ending this once and for all in yet another timeline before their rabbit masks flutter to the ground and they too blink out of existence, as easily as a candle's flame is extinguished between slender fingertips. They were supposed to understand. They were all supposed to understand.

Utopia is finally achieved in the final vision of fear. Humankind reveres the universe that created it; life progresses naturally until the end of time... 

And then a legion of creatures from a place beyond knowledge swarm the sky, blocking out the sun as they descend upon the earth.

Reset. 

Reset. 

’Fight. One last time. Fight for yourself, and let this be the end of it, Seksten.’>

It had been so long since she’d imagined her brother’s voice in her head. His spirit as she remembered it was the kindling and the flame and the purpose setting her heart ablaze, reducing her misery of being nothing more than a tool to wield, her terrible fear of being hurt, and her confusion on how to live on her own terms into nothing more than light ash that washed away into Emmeline’s cool waters.

’You can do this. Everyone’s working so hard together,’

Against the terrible, divine majesty that was Ivette’s intent, 16 pressed her hands against her closed eyes, clutching at her head and curling into herself. She saw— Michiya and Kezia holding hands, conductive currents lighting up their path, Hinrik curled about Tracy’s shoulders, a divine lance, and felt a sharp pain pierce her heart. 16– Petronella— Pet. Every single fiber of her being refused to leave them to fight Ivette alone.

‘Join them!’

Her mind splintered; her body, not unlike an egg, cracked open. She remembered the despair she felt when she died, against Encke, how her body gave out when she impressed upon it her memories. A piece of glass shattering under too much force.

It would not happen again to her without a body.

From the remains of her human form, emerged a tangle of two dimensional arms, electric blue and not entirely opaque, amounting to roughly 20 in total, stretching to shoot towards everyone assembled to oppose Ivette. She aimed to press a palm at the back of their heads, a painless sensation akin to feeling nothing more than a cold gust of wind ruffling their hair, fur, beings. The hands would absorb into everyone there, only to reform right before their eyes, and continue to race directly towards Ivette.

”Ivette.”

16 spoke directly to them now, with a quiet voice that echoed with the memories of everyone who passed. Recognizable in the din: Eden. Wren. Royce. Unrecognizable: her siblings, her brother. She refused to let them go.

“You’re not going to get world that you want, Ivette.”

The first hand reached Ivette, and it rammed directly into them, aiming for the inside of their mind with a strong psychic blast meant to incapacitate. The rest followed suit, each bearing more force than the one before it. It was the weight of everyone’s memories, feelings that she was bearing. It was the weight of their shared purpose, the endeavor to triumph that she impressed onto Ivette.

The feeling of inevitability of the crash fills Emmeline’s mind. The awe-striking sight of Ivette, unrecognizable if not for the nobility and poise they exude, is almost too much for her. 

So when unlocking of everyone’s true cryptic powers pierces Emmeline to her very core, it is the final drop of water that makes the damn crack.

Everything becomes too much for her.

Flood fills her up, every ounce of being: it is not a familiar shape that takes her place, it is new, terrible, always reforming. A dark murky water that flows constantly as she screams, changing to the rippling leaves of a weeping willow. The smell she emanates is sweet and that calls for anyone that smells it, but in the back of your mind, you know it is violent poison. Do not touch her. Never touch her.

  (art and design by Rin)

It is only anger that fills her, and jealousy and loneliness and pain and the desperation from the very real possibility that the memory of Zibelline will die that engulf Emmeline.

It runs to the Doll, the smooth-faced guardian of the cataclysm, with agony in its teeth.

But then, the Weeping Willow sees Kezia and Michiya in the corner of its eye, and their determination and smiles in the midst of the chaos and apocalypse. It sees Hinrik and Tracy, a being of light and a being of hell in harmony, trying to give this world hope. It sees Ridley and Jules and the infinite possibilities of futures together, it sees Encke and Ithika that have gone through a cycle again and again, it sees Morph in the mouth of the Beast, it sees 16 who has never seen the world and Oz that has seen too much…

It sees Royce and Wren and Eden that are not there.

It remembers that it has a choice.

The Weeping Willow’s chest bubbles and bursts, fissures and it falls slowly as its torso breaks open to a rushing horse, a kelpie, green and sleek, beautiful with algae in its hair and wild eyes like emeralds. No bridle or saddle, for its only goal is to protect itself and be wary, and bite if needed.

But despite its tempestuous nature, someone is on its back.

A Green Knight, a Frog Princess clad in armour of soft decay, of water that loved too much. Her hair grows suddenly, lilypads and flowers and droplets of water like pearls adorning the now green and red mane. She rips off her head willingly and holds it high; this is what she is now, and she is mighty. In her other hand, her axe pointed straight at the angel.

''I Will Return What Was Given To Me, And Then, In Trust And Friendship, We Shall Part'' she whispers. It is louder than rushing water. Now I'm ready, I'm ready now she thinks only to herself.