#so...um.

It happens. Everything, anything, all at once.

Pongo doesn’t know when he starts running. He doesn’t know how long it takes for Nessa to follow. His feet carry him across betraying snow, slipping under his weight. His ears ring with the yggralith’s screams, the sound nestling itself inside his body, reverberating through his limbs. He shakes with its warning. 

Nessa passes him - good, she’d picked up speed - and she makes it back to the Desserta Caravan first, practically barrelling into Froyoyo. Cocytios’s Legendary Heropon glances quickly between them both, then at the darkening sky. Pongo musters enough courage to turn around. Syriahnydra is snaking its way further into the atmosphere, water dripping like ink off its scales. Though they’re far from Cocytios’s eastern coast, where the beast ascends, Pongo swears he can feel mist against his cheeks. 

Froyoyo’s saying something. Vanala’s next to him, and Pongo hears her voice, but he can’t make out the words past the ringing in his ears. Nessa’s comm device is out, and he sees Elma on the screen, and they’re exchanging panicked information, trying to update each other, trying to plot out what little resources they have. If anyone’s talking to Pongo, it’s falling on deaf ears, a consuming internal conflict.

It’s because he knows what needs to be done.

The parchment, sitting on that lone pedestal in the Noctilum caverns, past the secret door, The murals surrounding it, telling the story of what once was, what has yet to come to pass. There were two Telethia fighting Syriahnydra, in one of those murals. Aidoneus had been with them. Back then, he’d felt sick, knowing this was the knowledge the Ganglion sought: re-enacting the ritual, creating more Telethia. 

If Solstice is the first Telethia, and Aidoneus is with them…it leaves one more Telethia. One more volunteer.

Pongo has transformed into a Telethia before, when the Ganglion forced the ritual onto him. He’s willingly given his body to Mira to enact Aidoneus’s return. He remembers his skin ripping open, the mechanical bones in his body snapping and reforming, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he screamed and cried and felt his conscience slipping, falling, plummeting into the dark. 

As he stares at Nessa, he realizes what needs to happen. They can’t rely on Mira, not when it’s gone silent, so summoning Aidoneus isn’t likely even with the mural’s evidence. It leaves one transformation - one path forward. 

Solstice will need the help.

A small puff of white fur comes to sit on Pongo’s foot, heavy enough to bring him back to reality. Sprinkle Sprinkle gazes up at him, worry strewn across their little face. “What’s friend Pon thinking about?”

Pongo heaves a heavy sigh. He addresses Vanala first, because it’ll be easier than telling Sprinkle Sprinkle the truth. “Vanala, how much ether is needed to enact the Telethia creation ritual?”

“Meh meh?” Vanala’s eyes widen. “In theory, Vanala is made completely out of ether and regenerates it faster than friends can. Could spare enough to Pon for ritual and transformation, but could be messy since Vanala doesn’t know specifics of ritual.”

“Nessa and I will not be much help from the ground,” he explains. “If there is a way to utilize the ritual so I could become -”

“Absolutely fucking not, Pongo.” Nessa interjects, still on the comm with Elma. Elma’s image distorts as she spins, equally as distressed as Nessa. “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Nessa continues, “but the answer’s no. I’ll do it.”

“I have undergone the transformation before,” Pongo protests, “I can handle it. I have to handle it.”

“You don’t have to handle shit now that I’m here!!” She practically screams, scaring Sprinkle Sprinkle off of Pongo’s foot. They dart behind their parents, curling into themself. “Let me do this. Let me do this for you, for Mira, for everyone we love. You’ve been through enough pain - let me take the weight off, for fucking once!!”

Stunned into silence, Pongo’s mouth falls open, struggling to shut itself. He knows he’s capable of carrying the pain; he’s carried it for long enough that he’s used to its burden, its claws around his heart. He wants nothing more than to fortify his walls, stand his ground, and insist on doing what has to be done. 

But their promise rings true in his heart all the same. He can’t afford to spend his strength on fighting back, and he will never forgive himself if he breaks his vow with Nessa. Pongo must learn kindness, even in the midst of this tragedy.

The claws dig into his heart. He bleeds beneath the skin. Better his blood than anyone else’s. 

“Okay.” Pongo bows his head, admitting defeat.

“Seriously, it’s unhealthy how many times you’ve volunteered to - wait, what?” Pongo lifts his head, watching Nessa come to terms with his concession. “So you…you’ll let me do the ritual?”

“If there is a way to enact it and summon a second Telethia to fight along Solstice, yes.” 

“...I was expecting a bigger fight out of you,” she says softly.

“Saving the energy for the real fight,” he replies. “If you do this, then I can try and connect with Mira. The murals said there were two Telethia fighting Syriahnydra, and Aidoneus was with them. I…I do not know if Mira will answer, but I will try. I have to try.”

Nessa doesn’t respond right away. The space between them is filled with a violent roar, the reminder of what’s risen from the water. Elma’s image shifts again, affected by bad electrical signals and fraying at her edges. “Do what needs to be done. If you can come together and provide Syriahnydra with a suitable distraction, I should have BLADE mobilized and heading to your position in half an hour.”

“Thirty minutes,” Nessa scowls. “That’s a long ways off, but we’ll do our best.”

“And Nessa? Pongo?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“I need you both to be careful. This is going to be our most dangerous encounter yet, and if anything were to happen…”

Nessa rolls her eyes. “Not like you to be sentimental, Elma. It’s hot.”

“It’s been such a pleasure working with you both,” Elma continues, unfazed. If Pongo didn’t know any better, he could swear that there was a tear on her cheek. She could explain it away by the electrical interference, so he doesn’t bring it up. “No matter what happens, I hope you both know that I’m proud of how far you’ve come. You’ve grown into competent fighters, valuable allies, and my most trusted friends. My life was made better by knowing you.”

Pongo and Nessa look up at the same time, staring at each other. Kinder, Pongo thinks. Be kinder. This is affirmation that everything he’s done - everything he and Nessa have done up until this point - has made a positive impact. Their losses may weigh heavy, but their victories are proof of their endurance. It doesn’t matter what they’ve been through, be it alone or together, because they will always come back stronger for it. 

Pongo manages a smile, and it’s brimming with the strength he knows he has. “You are speaking like this is the end. We will make it out of this, Elma. Be careful. We will see you soon.”

“I hope so.” Elma disconnects the call, and Nessa puts her comm device away. As another roar pierces the skies, Vanala squeaks, her wing reflexively bending to encompass Sprinkle Sprinkle’s little body. Froyoyo draws his sword, a bloodstained blade twice his size. “Froyoyo can provide initial distraction if friends want to enact ritual. Will try and find Telly too.”

“Is this something you’ll be able to do?” Nessa asks Vanala.

Vanala nods, assured but unsettled. “Will ritual be for Pon, or for Nessa?”

“Me,” Nessa says quickly, even though Pongo won’t contest it. Old habits, he thinks. Stubborn habits. 

“I will go to the Grave,” Pongo tells them all. “Starr was able to find the core when he fell down there. I hope I can do the same. If Mira is down there - if being closer to it will help our communication - then I can ask it to use me to become Aidoneus.”

“Plan is settled,” Froyoyo concludes. “Froyoyo will tell caravan to hide in mountains and bring littlepon. Desserta Caravan has fighters, but none equipped enough to fight Syriahnydra. Froyoyo won’t risk their lives.”

Froyoyo beckons Sprinkle Sprinkle to follow him past the tents. They bow out from underneath Vanala’s wing, glancing between their parents and Pongo. Vanala catches them in a quick hug, kissing the top of their head and mumbling something too soft to hear. Once the hug breaks, Pongo gives in to the whims of his heart. He comes down on one knee and waits for Sprinkle Sprinkle to jump into his arms, nuzzling into his collarbone where his fur cloak is snapped shut. Vanala had used the charms Starr wore as a clasp. Pongo closes his eyes, wondering if there was a way Starr could hear his thoughts, feel this warmth. You deserved this, he thinks, and I am sorry Mira and I could not give it to you.

Sprinkle Sprinkle jumps off of his knee, wiping away tears with the back of their wing. “Pon better come back. Sprinkle Sprinkle can’t handle not seeing Pon again.”

“I will.” Pongo promises them, there and then. He’s never been one for lying, but this isn’t a lie, because it’s what Pongo believes. This won’t be the end. He won’t let it be the end. 

Froyoyo and Sprinkle Sprinkle head further into the caravan, leaving Vanala and his sister alone. “Clearing nearby,” Vanala says hurriedly, marching past them and to the southern plains. “Nessa and Vanala enact ritual there.”

Nessa starts to follow her, but Pongo catches her hand. As she turns to meet his eyes, Pongo discovers she’s on the verge of tears. His heart twists, ugly and wild, and for a moment he considers trading places with her. If these tears are a result of her fear, Pongo won’t stand for it. 

Before Pongo can ask for this clarification, Nessa tells him, “I’ll be right behind you. For Mira. For us.”

Pongo squeezes her hand, keeping up his smile. He won’t let it fade. He won’t say goodbye. 

“For us,” Pongo says. 

~

The southern clearing’s the best place to do this, Nessa realizes. They won’t be next to the caravan, or next to anything remotely dangerous. She’s not even sure the latter detail is a concern, considering there’s no sign of indigen activity anywhere. Had they all gone to hide? Are they running from the serpentine monster, large enough to swallow the sky? It doesn’t matter in the end. 

As Vanala sets her sights on the snowy floor, she begins to etch deep markings with her wings and arms, mimicking ancient F’lenla A’slegn symbols. “Vanala familiar enough with concept of ritual,” she explains, “even if Vanala doesn’t know exact runes. All Vanala needs is way to concentrate blessings of planet and Vanala’s ether into Nessa.”

“I don’t care about the process, just the results,” Nessa tells her. “Whatever works.”

Her attention is suddenly pulled by Syriahnydra’s form, tall as it’s ever been, arching its long neck. It roars in pain as white light blasts into its skin, stripping it of some of its inky scales. Something flies past its face, barely bright enough to stand out - Telethia. Golden fragments of feather-like ether trail after the Telethia, who spins and fires another beam of light ether at Syriahnydra’s eyes. It’s only as Telethia glides past it that Nessa discovers just how many eyes Syriahnydra really has. Too many, all clumped together like combs in a beehive, all void, all consumed by an eternity of famine and rage. 

“Vanala,” Nessa begs, “Solstice is fighting by herself, I have to go help them -”

“Vanala almost done,” the Nopon replies, her movements quick but scrambled. “Need to make runes serviceable or Nessa will get hurt!!”

Another blast of radiant light strikes the side of Syriahnydra’s face, and it snaps at the Telethia in retaliation. Telethia barely makes it out of its reach, creating more distance between them to recuperate. Light and fire build in Telethia’s maw just as Syriahnydra’s jaw unhinges, showcasing razor sharp teeth. Deeper down its throat, ether builds - not radiant, like Telethia’s, but a blaze of darkened sludge, curling around its lips like smoke. 

“SOLSTICE!!” Nessa screams, even though she knows Telethia can’t hear her from so far away. Just as Syriahnydra prepares to release its built-up energy, Solstice fires its ether into its open mouth, igniting the ether already inside. Syriahnydra’s head whips back, screeching with pain. The ground quivers as its body collides with one of the bordering mountains, and it shatters instantly, raining rubble and debris across all parts of the continent. Pieces of the mountain’s corpse even land close to Nessa, all the way from the other side of Cocytios. 

“Circle complete!!” Vanala shouts. “Nessa, stand in center, and Vanala will grant you power!!”

Nessa does as she’s told. Vanala begins to chant something, and Nessa can’t tell if it’s quiet because her ears are ringing, or because Syriahnydra is truly that loud, or because she must build to her true strength. The runes in the ritual circle come alive with blue ether, sending copies into the air that swirl and collide and smack into Nessa’s body like stones. She winces at first, believing she could manage the pain. But they keep slamming into her, keep burning away her skin, keep giving rise to something new beneath the flesh, warping her senses, her bones, she is expanding and contracting and surging and becoming something outside her mortal shell and by the gods does it hurt more than anything she’s ever done before and when will it end when will she end and where will she begin and -

~

Pongo runs as fast as he can towards the Grave. Earlier, he’d stared at it across the open expanse, wondering why Mira had included it in its designs. Such a terrible drop, a path into hell itself that only gods could claw their way out of. 

He’s not a god. He fears too many things, like mortal men are want to do. 

Yet still, the chasm calls. 

Pongo’s legs burn, pulling up loose snow behind him. He’s witness to the fight in the skies above and counts his lucky stars that Syriahnydra is no longer focused on him or Nessa. Telethia’s lithe form keeps the massive serpent on its toes, unable to react quickly enough to counter their attacks. But what it lacks in speed, it makes up for in its sheer size, its power, its ability to cleave worlds in two. Pongo forces himself to look away, to focus on the task at hand.

Mira, he calls out in his mind. I am coming, Mira, can you hear me?!

He’s met with Syriahnydra’s roar, enough to make Cocytios shiver. He nearly loses his balance, but stabilizes after a moment, staying true to his mission. It doesn’t matter if Mira’s too weak to answer him. He’s coming, he’s coming, he’ll meet Mira at the planet’s core and offer his body up, give it the strength he needs. 

Pongo descends down many hills, finally arriving at the stretch of flat plains before the Grave’s closest cliffside. A few more strides, and the skies behind him erupt in a cacophony of violets and blues. It’s not the color of Syriahnydra or Telethia’s ether, but it’s nearly the same shade as Vanala’s. He doesn’t need to think long about what implications this has. 

Seconds later, a shadow flutters over his head. In the darkness of the night, a white-scaled Telethia beats its wings, trailing strands of cosmic-colored ether. 

Whatever Vanala had done, whatever she’d been able to pull off - it worked.

Pongo can’t hold back his smile, cheering as Nessa soars across the sky, on the warpath to Syriahnydra. Flames trickle from the sides of her open jaw, and she fires electric blue ether into Syriahnydra’s body, scorching the scales along its spine. Syriahnydra recoils, and in the moment of reprieve, Nessa twirls around Telethia - Solstice - and together, they continue their assault. Two Telethia, just as the murals had depicted. It ignites every fiber in Pongo’s body, knowing he’s the last step. As long as he can reach Mira and host Aidoneus, they’ll survive. Mira will survive.

The Grave isn’t much farther. With a renewed energy, Pongo surges forward, knowing that every step he takes gets him closer to the end. He’d had his doubts, before. It’s an easy thing to acknowledge how deep his fear had settled, how tight its grip had been on his heart and mind and soul. But there’s a difference. That fear held him back. The fear that pushes him towards the chasm is explosive, demanding his action, demanding that he plays a part in this terrible fight. He teeters on the verge of loss, of losing everything he holds dear. He will not let the yggralith take his home. 

At long last, Pongo arrives on the edge of the cliff. He overlooks the void, darker than the night that claims the skies. He hasn’t checked on the fight in a while, too intent on reaching his destination. He allows himself a final moment to look over his shoulder, to bid Telethia and Nessa goodbye for a while. 

The second that he does, he witnesses Syriahnydra’s neck craned almost all the way back into its body. When it snaps forward again, it flings something from its mouth, hurtling straight towards Pongo. It isn’t ether, no, not one of its routine attacks. This is something smaller. Heavier. 

Pongo flings himself to the left, knocking himself off of his own two feet. The projectile lands with a heavy thud far away from him, but it bounces, ricochets with the ground, until it finds a final resting place mere inches from him. All hope leaves his body as he discovers what this is. 

This is a body.

Green scales, yellow strands of ether in the shapes of feathers. Dark blood upon the snow, from where Syriahnydra has taken a bite - large enough to cave out Telethia’s stomach, large enough that there are no guts left to spill.

Syriahnydra roars in delight, drowned out by Pongo’s heartbeat in his neck.

“WHAT SUCCULENT ETHER,” the yggralith snarls. “LIGHT AND DESPERATION. WILL I TASTE IT UPON YOUR FLESH, TOO?”

~

Nessa is no longer in control.

The second that Syriahnydra snaps at Solstice’s body, the second it bites into their flesh and tosses their corpse aside like a ragdoll, the second that the light leaves their eyes -

Human or Telethia, it doesn’t matter. Nessa screams, a guttural and terrible beast. Her anger clouds her sight, then makes it sharper, and everything comes into focus as she hones her rage in on Syriahnydra. She’ll kill it. She’s going to tear it apart. She’s going to scatter its remains in the ocean, where Mira’s sealife can feast upon its rotting carcass and no one will ever lay eyes on it again. 

She doesn’t think about how naturally flight has come to her. She knows already that the flames she spews are born of her heart, holstered in her jaw until the time comes to unleash them. Nessa flies circles around Syriahnydra, finding weak points in its mess of ink black scales, scorching whatever flesh it presents for her. It screams and writhes in pain, trying in vain to snap at her when she comes in close. Ascending towards the stratosphere, Nessa gains a momentary height advantage, using it to fling fireball after fireball into Syriahnydra’s mouth. It doesn’t mix well with the ether already collected on its serpentine tongue, and it flinches, roaring as its body collides with one of Cocytios’s mountains. The snow-capped tip withers away under its pressure, crumbling down, down. 

Nessa spares a quick thought for the Desserta Caravan. She hopes they’re all safe. 

“FOOLISH INSECT,” Syriahnydra threatens, righting itself and eyeing Nessa above it. “YOU ARE NOT MY ONLY TARGET. IT WILL BE EASIER TO DIGEST YOU ALL IF I CUT YOU UP.”

It turns its back on Nessa, preparing another large blast of ether. Nessa doesn’t understand what it could be aiming at, but still, she dives for it, taking this as a needed distraction. When Syriahnydra releases its ether, it comes in a line, shooting straight through Cocytios, parting the ocean on the opposite side. The land crumbles, shatters - splits. All at once, Cocytios is halved, land falling into the new pit Syriahnydra’s created. 

Nessa’s heart plummets down to her stomach. She couldn’t have stopped that, an attack so utterly unplanned and so easily executed. 

It suddenly dawns on her that this fight is impossible.

Her one chance at being Mira’s hero, her one chance to be in the spotlight. There’s so much on the line, and she knows now that she’ll fail.

But she can’t. 

Nessa follows through with her first idea. Take advantage of Syriahnydra’s back being turned. Light it up. Watch it burn.

If she falls? So be it. She’s died before. This isn’t what she’s scared of.

So Nessa fires, again and again, dodging every last one of Syriahnydra’s attacks, praying to every god she can think of to just survive, kill it, kill it kill it KILL IT -

For just a moment, Nessa loses focus.

And when she does, Syriahnydra’s jaws close around her.

~

Pongo watches Nessa die.

Syriahnydra swallows her whole. It licks its lips clean of blue ether as it turns and locks eyes with him.

“LITTLE GOOODLIIIING,” it coos, “IT’S YOUR TURN.”

Cocytios, carved in half before him. The ground trembling beneath his knees, afraid of what’s to come. Telethia’s blood, tendrils of failure, inching ever closer to him in the snow. He is frozen in this moment, unable to bring himself to fall over the edge. 

Syriahnydra charges, descending so quickly that there will be no time to dodge.

Tears stream down Pongo’s face as he accepts his fate.

“May the sun and the moons above grant us the power of the star,” he whispers. “Let us, the humble servants, protect -”

The last thing he sees are Syriahnydra’s teeth, the insides of its mouth - and a blue hooded figure hovering above its tongue, reaching for him, waiting for him to die.

~

It was always going to end in this fashion. 

In this timeline, Syriahnydra consumes the planet, and becomes one of the universe’s most infamous yggraliths. It starves only after a millenia of hunting. It is a lifetime no one on this planet is destined to witness.

But it is not the lifetime I wish for. Nor you, I imagine. 

…No. Not at all. 

It’s okay. I know their souls. They will be here soon. And then…then, I will let them choose.

There will only be one option for them.

One? 

Everything they have been through, everything they have overcome…if they choose to die here, then I really fucked up, somewhere along the line.

To live is to choose life. To live is to choose inevitable death. To live and to be alive permits an endless abundance of choices. 

They are going to blame themselves for how things ended. They will think they failed.

Choice, once more, to decide if they wish for a timeline where they succeed. You do not believe this?

…I did not like you, the first time we met. I still have my doubts. Is it bad that I just want my avatars to have a good life? One where they do not need to fear this pain and regret? Why can you not grant them a second chance right now? Why wait for their answer?