His was a quiet arrival, a soul of grey and silvery-white flashing into being in the fading light of day, the path he had walked one of starlight and foreign magic. At last he had come to the end of that path, and stood upon the bluffs of a new land, a foreign world, the portal-path he had paid for sealing behind him with a gentle hiss. The salt in the air fills his lungs, the wind teases his pale hair, and his proud visage stands tall against the sudden drop of the cliffs behind him.
So this was Novus, a land of stories yet told and a place his relations had not yet made a mark upon. He felt very much a pioneer, very much felt as if finally, finally he had stepped wholly and resolutely onto the path that would see his dream fulfilled. The wind smelled of destiny, calling to him in such dulcet tones that he yearned to explode into action, to toss up his heels and streak along the razor's edge of the cliff, a rapier of white and wild laughter to be snatched away by the wind and sea. He reigned in such childish temptations, of course, but allowed himself a brilliant grin. Finally... his hooves danced across the grass as he strolled along the cliffside, robust neck arched before he flung his head up and let loose a wild laugh. It was far from the cavorting he had wanted, but it eased that buildup of energetic excitement within him. Yet still he boiled with anticipation, a breathless sensation, one that yet another liberating laugh of triumph to the air could not dispel. He knew not where he would go, what he would do, what even the inhabitants of this land were like.
None of that mattered to the white knight as he surrendered to his desires and tossed his heels, bolting along the edge of the cliffs as if the hounds of hell were on him. None of it mattered in the face of a dream he could all but taste on the air(never you mind that all he could really taste was salt). He heard not the rush of waves in his ears, only the ominous words of a gypsy oracle proclaiming his destiny one of greatness and legend. Perhaps she had tricked the young stallion, those many days past, gave him falsehood for his payment, but to Arluin it was prophecy, and now that he raced along the shores of Novus, he felt as if that destiny lay like a visible mantle upon his shoulders. His hooves thundered on the grass, his mane whipped in the wind, his laughter vanished from his lips by the wake of his passing. He did not stop until the greying world passed fully into twilight; then he stood a ribbon of pale, tarnished silver, the ruby of his horn brilliant in the grey world of dusk, and he stood overlooking the sea in triumph, proud and eager.
The haunting coo of an owl called out in the distance, but Ki’irha couldn’t hear it. The night was dark, the towering trees silhouetted by the pallid glow of the forest’s neon light. Torrential rain soaked her to the bone, and the chill of the weather was barely able to permeate the heat she had worked up as she fled. She thundered through the trees, strides long, and she moved wildly. Behind her were three canine-reminiscent creatures, baying and barking and snapping at her heels. She couldn’t hear them though, over the sound of her ragged breath and racing thoughts. Her sides heaved, curves slicked with a film of sweat, and she wished she knew where to head.
But she didn’t.
This wasn’t home. This was a hellscape of dark magic, of evil forces, of manipulated light. She did’t know where she was, she didn’t know what sort of rabbit holes or twisted games awaited her beyond every turn. The creatures, much like wolves, were proficient where she was weak, and they worked hard to corral her. She reached deep down, pulled from her core an aura of glittering sparks, and from beside her exploded two wolves created of arching electricity and light. They themselves lunged and twisted, gaping jaws and gnashing teeth, and they fell upon the creatures flanking her. Then, there was one. Sheets of pounding rain blinded her, and she nearly sprinted right into thin air as the earth fell away into a steep cliffside. She pulled away, hooves slipping in the mud, but she was able to pull herself into a stop. Ears twisted, and her body followed. She spun upon dancer’s heels, and leapt towards the beast. They became a tangle of limbs, snapping jaws and swinging sword. The starlit warrior fought valiantly, and as she went against the predator, she barely noticed the shifting of the earth beneath them. The ground heaved, the soaking ground pulling against the intricate system of roots securing the earth to the mountain side. As the landslide stole them and their battle ring away, they continued to wage war - predator versus prey, wolf versus unicorn, warrior versus warrior. As they hurtled towards the sea below, everything seemed to slow, and through her mind her life rushed by. She saw it in clips, in snapshots, in feelings, in smells. It consumed her, overcame the desperate fight between life and death. It was easy, since the latter was what would win.
The girl had been born beneath the stars of a summer’s midnight. She had been raised with fire in her veins and violence in her heart, to have a gentle touch and maintain spellbinding curves. She had learned to hate, she had learned to love. She had slipped free from those binds, transitioning into adulthood, and at the same time arrived in a new place entirely. She had been escorted to the north, claimed those mountains for her own— oh god, those mountains went on for miles, the only thing separating her from her star studded sky— and within the sweeping valley she fought and she lead and she vowed to conquer. She was the leader of the warriors, their corporal, their general. She served the Lord and Lady loyally. She had served her Aurora Basin loyally.
She had loved, then lost, then loved only one more time. She had danced with a stallion, danced and laid with him upon the icy tundra beneath the aurora lights. Within her had grown two galaxies, and they had been been born beneath the moon, beneath the Moon Goddess’ ever watchful eye. For she had joined with the Moon Goddess’ son, unknowingly. She raised her children, until she was stolen away by fate and brutality. She had lost her memories, but fought to reclaim them. She was healed after long months, given a touch of starlight and a vein of diamond pressed into her horn where it was once broken.
She had reunited with her family, they had crossed the world together, until gods and mortals alike were struck down in a fit of violence, in the cataclysmic battle between light and dark. Everyone who remained had been cast away, forced through a portal, thrown into a rift between worlds. After years of trying to be together, again her family was cast apart, like seeds sown, like stones into a smooth glassy lake. And here she was, forced to run, forced to fight, forced to die. But how else should a warrior die? She would go wielding her sword, wearing the blood of a deserving enemy, and she would be conquered by a deserving foe.
Suddenly, she felt every thread of her being pulled in different directions. The breath was sucked from her lungs, and she felt her heart race and skip a beat. She even heard the desperate cries of her adversary as it fell into oblivion with her. She fell from darkness and rain into blinding light. The feeling of free falling seemed to catch her, and for a brief moment she was floating.
Was this death?
Her body hit a hard surface, and it knocked the remainder of breath from her chest. A sharp yelp hit her ringing ears, and her stormy eyes rolled as she tried to orient herself. Every bone ached, her head pounded, and every muscle felt strained. The bright light played with the double vision obscuring her sight, and as she gasped for air, she saw beside her the shaking form of the wolf-being. Ki’irha rolled, trying to right herself, and she locked her eyes upon the hunter. She forced herself upright as the wolf staggered towards her, and she herself lurched, slicing the air with her horn haphazardly. The wolf snarled, leapt, and she reared to meet it, lashing out with sharpened fore-hooves, and her aim ran true. She felt her hooves hit muscle, and she pulled the creature down beneath her. A hoof flew past waiting jaws, and she felt teeth tear into her, but she didn’t stop. Hooves stomped against the creature’s writhing form, and with one last gurgling howl, a final swan song, the creature fell silent.
The fallen queen staggered forward drunkenly, swaying in the dying sunlight. She looked towards where she had fallen, noticed her once pristine wolf pelt cloak covered in blood and scorch marks, and beside it a pile of twisted metal and broken glass. The last few sparkles of moonlight and stardust rose up from the shattered lantern, several particles singing what was left of the pelt, the rest disappearing into the cool dusk air. She snorted, evaluating the destruction of the last of her earthly goods, and shifted unsteadily. Blood trickled freely, rust staining cobalt, her fresh wounds in dire need of healing. The wolf stirred, the last licks of life making the broken body of the creature tremble. She moved forward, evaluating the creature. It appeared unlike any wolf she had ever seen - four eyes, a set too many, open in narrow slits, long canines stained and bloody glinting in the fading sunlight, its long talons, finishing off its too long legs, flexed and contracted.
Too consumed with the delicate balance of life and death, she didn’t notice that she had intruded upon another warrior’s glorious arrival. For him, perhaps today would be a day of valor, of renewal, of calling a triumphant cry over a world of possibility. But for her, she had lost everything all over again. Helovia was gone, the Rift was gone, her family was gone. All she had to show for any of it was this thing, this barely-alive pile of wimpering abomination. She was here now, too, but instead of sharing the pride held by the stallion, she held grief, loss, festering disgust. She tipped her head, staring at the suffering beast, and she thought of how the creature, the monster, pulled her away from her family, forced her to abandon them yet again. “Fuck you,” she growled, the words harsh and forced. “Even in death, you still win.”
And so, Ki’irha, the starlit girl, the midnight warrior, was reincarnated in a new place, a new time, a new world.
His jubilation, his celebration of homecoming and ascension, was interrupted by the battlecry of creature so foul it may have very well been borne from the depths of hell. It rent the air with fury and wildness, insanity in the way a mindless beast rages, and it caused the silver-and-grey stag to drop his hindquarters and turn his gallop into a spinning charge of instinct, sharp ears flattened and a battlecry of his own bubbling in his throat. What his eyes caught sight of was a mare of liquid starlight and night skies, a horn of glimmering beauty upon her brow, beautiful and chaotic as she rose bloodied and came crashing down upon.... something. Arluin wasted no more time gazing, muscular hind legs bulging before they launched him forward, his cloven hooves tearing up the ground as he sped towards the combat. In an instant, a single heartbeat moment, he had gone from jubilant youth to a stallion born of war.
Yet, the final cry of a defeated beast filled the air as the mare's hooves crushed the beast to the earth, and with a toss of his head (frothing that he had not witnessed the event sooner, to lend his aid), the grey stallion slowed his furious charge to a loping canter, those ears still flattened to his skull as he approached, boiling adrenaline and battle-lust ebbing to be replaced with concern for the mysterious mare. She moved strangely, as if intoxicated, her coat marred with vivid red, and his concern only mounted. His gaze flickered to the wretched beast struggling to breathe through a crushed throat, and alarm raised the hairs along his spine.
It was foul, unnatural and twisted. There were too many eyes, it's teeth too many and too long, legs jointed in more places than what was natural. It was so alien, so foreign, the only thing he could call it was 'wolf', for that was the closest thing he could come to, that his mind could grasp. It was dying, the stench of fear, blood and feces ripe on the air, a sickeningly intoxicating mix that he knew all too well, and without a further thought the young knight rose, slate hooves flashing once in the dying sunlight before they slammed home onto the abomination's skull, sweet swift mercy for the damned. He stepped away from it, dropping his head to clean off his hooves with the flat of his horn, blue eyes rolling to gaze upon the bloodied mare as she spoke, a satin ear flicking in interest.
He had remained silent out of courtesy, giving her a chance to become less disorientated, to come down from the high of battle so that he wouldn't be perceived as a threat, and when he raised his crowned skull again it was to dip into a gentle bow, chin brushing his chest, the tip of his horn pointed to the ground harmlessly. "Apologies for barging in, I had thought you perhaps needed aid." His gaze slid to the carcass, eyes crinkling in friendly amusement. "It appears I was incorrect." His gaze returned to her, absorbing her appearance once more, before his head stretched out, muzzle hovering gently over one of her wounds without touching, his concern growing. "You are injured... would you like for me to attempt to find a healer, my lady? If not, I know the basics." He withdrew, inclining his head for her choice, keeping his expression amiable, those brilliant eyes gentle, lacking the fire of war they had held but scant moments before.
Hooves created thunder as the stallion charged towards her, and her head twisted, taking him in, and her ears flattened against her skull as she danced to the side, clearing a path towards the abomination. She dragged a cloven hoof across the ground, and a snort burst through flared nares as she prepared to take him on as well. He slowed and she braced, standing precariously upon shaking legs, the strength ebbing from her as the remaining stores of adrenaline tried to take hold. But he seemed to avoid her give her space, and her ears lifted from their flattened state as the knight in shining armor that she so desperately didn’t need right now made his glorious entrance. He saw her opponent, looked at it with eyes the same tone as a calm sea, and she watched him rise up upon muscled haunches and he completed her work.
The starlit woman remained silent, shifting her weight from side to side as she allowed the battle-lust to release her from its claws. Breathe, a voice within her whispered, and she allowed herself to do that much. Though she remained alert and prepared, she found herself allowing her weary muscles to relax, and she stepped forward.
A scowl drew the corners of her mouth downwards as she looked upon the carcass. “Indeed you were. I could have handled it,” she spared him, affect cold and unwavering. That much was sure. She had done all of the hard work, and though he was simply coming to the aide of a fellow soldier, she nearly resented him for delivering the final blow. She looked back to him, finally evaluating his sculpted form, the muscles carved beneath his grey-hued pelt, and normally would have been impressed by the ruby sword that crowned him.
He reached towards her, nearly brushing against a wound on her shoulder. She shied, and though she would have blamed it on the pain that blossomed around the injury, she easily would have reacted the same way had she been fully intact. “It’s fine, don’t worry yourself. It’s all superficial.” She reached her own muzzle towards it, and noticed that it was much deeper than her adrenaline allowed her to feel, and her expression softened. “Well, maybe this one not so much.” Stormy eyes found his clear blue skies, and contemplated his words. He seemed kind, but she knew that words were not nearly a good enough indicator to judge a stranger on. Still, she had arrived in the heat of battle, and wasn’t in perfect form, so if he was planning on striking, he had already missed the most glaring opportunity to do so.
As the air fell silent and her heart slowed its racing, she began to fully notice her surroundings. It was tranquil here, and the soft smell of salt filled her nose. Perhaps they were near a sea? The wound upon her shoulder had begun to throb, and her leg ached where teeth had torn into her. The stench of death still lingered, trying to overcome the sweetness of air, and suddenly she was filled with the desire to leave the scene of carnage. “Is there water around here? I’d like to get all of this thing’s blood off of me. It’ll be easier to tell you whether or not I need healing if I know what blood belongs to me.”
She turned carefully, ready to follow, but ready as always to bite. She would be cautious with what she offered, but she wanted to know more about where she was, and would be willing to share bits of her own past if required. “Where are we? And who are you?” Still guarded, still weary, the warrior waited to see if her counterpart remained knightly, or would turn into darkness as all that remained behind her had.
