#oc: abet zephyr | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spotsupstuff · 4 months

Text

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Rage against the reflection - Boreas and Orion Words: 10 613 (woops) Warnings: war and horrors of it, murder, Boreas being shit at healthy sibling relationships

Boreas’ Blessing was supposed to be a correction of the mistake that was the true first Iterator of the Eo group, Abet Zephyr. Named after the strongest wind god, begging him to bless and reach through this Iterator in kindness. A great bio-machine that was a gift to both the world and a divinity.

Physically he was made larger than any other. Stronger, more durable, with the ability to fix any damage to him in record time by giving him the ability to command and produce the fixing microbes usually used in buildings beneath the clouds. That required him to be aware of every last piece of his facility grounds- anything that the Anemons would want to last. And so he is aware of every footstep that falls on the streets of his city, Desaevio. He knows what animals crawl through the pipes in the lowest reaches of his pillars, what feeds in his farm arrays, what his Houses say even in the tallest building. Omnipresent… Once his facilities are entered, he sees you.

Capable of rearranging molecules as he sees fit, the industrial miracle that he already was became an industrial hub. Almost any complex material anyone in the Eo group receives is basically conjured out of thin air by him.

Even in the weaving of his genes an exception was made within his taboos. As a determined capital city of the group, the Aeolus Council decided to grant him a little more freedom for the benefit of public safety. Or their own, the more cynical ones say.

Personality-wise he was programmed to be especially protective, of both himself and his citizens and with the taboo exception of being able to attack and kill an invader he’s well able to follow this personality urge. It is said that there are still leftovers of other strings of code that dictated him to be loving and kind, soft and considerate, patient, understanding. All that one would want from a protector.

But programming an Iterator personality is… a kind of a minute thing. Personalities (especially theirs) are able to develop and change as an individual learns about the world in order to adapt to it. And what is a bigger incentive for a need of adaptation than traumatization.

Orion’s Pathway still remembers his elder brother before the change.

Because things started changing once Orion’s construction was announced to the public and things *really* changed when he was finished being built, Abet Zephyr explained to him one day.

She continued clearing up his confusion by disclosing that Orion pretty much carries the same core aspects of personality like Boreas originally did. Basically the same is the case with the physical build of Orion’s superstructure.

Boreas just worked out for the engineers of the Eo group, so they took the success and copied it at a smaller scale without so many revolutionary technologies and built it all some distance away in the northeast, at the edge of Root Aeolus’ range.

For all purposes and reasons, Orion is just a humbler Boreas 2.0 with a different name, city and puppet.

“A brother!” She said, clumsily trying to sound comforting through the ever present static and glitches in her voice. “A… reflection of what he could have been, now. Perhaps what he *should* have been.” She continued, sadder than usual but still holding on to her characteristical solemnity.

“Why isn’t he that reflection himself, then? Find himself a reflective surface, stare at it, cut it at that. He scoffs at me now, levels me with glares and contempt. I know he’s been hurt, but I do not know how. He didn’t look at me that day, I didn’t call out for him.” Oh how frustrated Orion has been with this.

At first he did feel that brotherhood with Boreas’ Blessing. He felt close to the other and the other guided him as he caught his bearings. Suddenly existing, being alive, wielding such a giant and mighty body through multitudes of smaller bodies is no easy task. He was forever thankful when his Mechanics reported for duty and, wonderfully, Boreas reached out to him through a broadcast.

Who better to walk him through the art of gentleness than someone who politely closed doors behind his citizens, carefully played and joked with children thousands of times smaller than him, softly turned on each streetlamp as the sun slowly set in the west.

Though Orion has no such control over the city of Terminus, Boreas holding his hand through the familiarization process was… well, a blessing. Boreas was truly a blessing. But now…

“It isn’t my fault he got hurt.” He says to senior Abet Zephyr, frowning, pouting the best the limited face of his puppet can. “I refuse to take responsibility for it as he seems to wish for me to do or weather this treatment. I don’t want it. Let him stew in it and shrivel up.” He crosses his arms, letting the simple childish anger at it pool right out through his words.

“I do not blame nor fault you for that, Orion. But watch your tone.” She hisses, immediately righting a wrong he doesn’t see yet. It’s a bit too sharp for the barely one year old him and he flinches away. To that, she immediately softens. Gives him an apologetic nod of her head that makes her spine creak terribly.

He forgives- she already fretted, uncomfortable and worried about interacting with him, about how little experience she has with being gentle. Everything of her is sharp edges and rabid agony. She’s trying to learn despite *all that* and never means to cut either of her little brothers. That is all Orion really needs to know.

“Watch your tone, watch your tone…” shushed, she reiterates. “Not for Boreas’ s-sake, but yours. Arrogance and disinterest are a poison. Do your best to keep yourself clean of them as long as possible. As much as this damn world allows. Balance of loving yourself and lack of expansion over other’s presence is important, child. You do not have the right to spit and look down upon someone else, wish them wrong.”

Sigh. “We all are riddled with faults and only one that is without mistakes would have a right to do that. None exists- such as that.”

“Ah.” He nods, understanding. He files the lesson away to a different front of his mind to ponder it after the call. “I know my worth. And that value doesn’t agree with this treatment.”

“Mm. I agree-e with your evaluation.”

“What am I to do, then?”

Abet Zephyr considers. Maybe how much should she point him towards answers, after all he needs to learn. Including such a thing as thinking for himself. Or maybe she’s trying to parse how to navigate through the relationships. Between him and Boreas, but also herself and him.

…they’ve only had each other for so long. Each time Boreas spoke about her to him, before this conundrum, his face took on the softest expression. He has seen how much joy their banter brings the both of them. Orion wouldn’t blame her if she wouldn’t be able to give him a harsh option.

“You could completely cut him off.”

Blink blink. So maybe he’s wrong! “I could What???” In terrible confusion, he shrugs at her. “I thought you two are extremely close??”

Completely unfazed, Abet Zephyr waves a hand as if trying to sweep away the stupid question. “That we are, yes. Of course.” “Then? Isn’t that a bit cruel?”

“You are not me, child. Your situation-tion with him is very different from mine in many facets. He would never dare to dismiss *me* as a mirror or some spectre representing the potential of his past self, yet to be twisted. That is a serious thing, you need to act appropriately.”

“Mh…”

“But yes, that is sort of the… worst case scenario solution,” she admits, squinting. Her bad eye flickers and the next words come hard, through a wall of white noise. “I would… recommend attemptin…g.. to talk about it. Warn twice, cut once- s-ssee how he will r…”

With a shudder, her puppet slumps forward against its knees. The speakers crackle into quiet and the few internal pieces of her still functioning whine behind the walls.

That is his cue to leave.

To the unresponsive empty puppet, to the trapped suffering Hivemind consciousness of his older sister, Orion gives a respectful bow and whispers a gentle thank you, tinted with mourning. He wishes her that this episode won’t stretch for too long.

The Overseer rejoins with the rest of Orion’s Pathway Hivemind safely. The Individuality marvels at the reconnection, the members drink in the little eye’s sensation of travel. The feeling washes over them- it’s like a breath of fresh air.

Riding the high of it, everyone comes together and they call Boreas, positive that it’s going to get better and they’ll have their brother Hivemind back again as it used to be.

…it doesn’t get better.

The moment Boreas sees him, hears Orion’s voice, his face twists into an ugly thing. He pretends to listen for a second and then tells him to go away without a single attempt to engage with the topic. Orion gets angry and puts a bit too much of an uncompromising tone for Boreas’ taste into his next sentence.

That apparently justifies growling, screaming, threats… he pulls out of the conversation scared.

And when the Mechanics ask him why the readings are telling them the whole Hivemind is having a panic attack, he refuses to disclose it. Only asks them to help him calm down artificially.

Things with Boreas get some worse each time Orion tries to reach out and talk (it's been more than twice. why isn't he cutting, why is he still taking this-) until they finally plateau at Shitty.

Orion’s Pathway learns how to work all by himself in record time, baffling the exchange Mechanics from the Wellspring continent. They say that it’s usual and healthy for Iterators to interact and bounce ideas and theories off of each other, even if loneliness may be a good tool within the spirituality. The Anemons can’t really keep up with them, day and night, so they need each other especially while they are still maturing. They whisper behind his back that they are worried he will be broken. He hears them by accident and they are sorry.

Still he doesn’t say that he’s unwilling to interact with the only Iterator whom’s existence they acknowledge in this group, because he is a terrifying and mean one- they know that anyway. And they don’t care that they are maintaining that rabid dog. Maybe if he told them, they would’ve tried connecting him to an Iterator from a different group, but well… he chooses the polite silence.

As for his only other choice, senior Abet Zephyr… she tries to be there for him. She teaches him the lessons that she can, mostly about morality and philosophy they are supposed to dedicate their function to. But she can’t do much more. Her own hardware is mangled beyond recognition. She doesn’t have any pointers or tips on how to wield the lab equipment reasonably. Even then, she’s often too tired to speak or is just left straight up unresponsive.

So the Iterator adorned with a star for a blazon clenches his metaphorical jaw and forces himself through the learning process. It feels like the entirety of him starts adopting some of the cold of the northern hemisphere directly into his chest. Too weak to handle loneliness by himself.

Then a new Iterator came online.

Inconvenient Sporadic Change has strange eyes. They are white and wide, with emotive pupils, usually filled with nervousness and panic. The Anemons say one of her main purposes will be researching medicine and other hospital-related things. Her city, Chlora, was even built in such a way so she could interact with the Anemons more directly. Even with the fragile infants!

And… She stays without help longer than he did.

Orion counted on Boreas making the first step, what with it being his job as the available senior. Calling her, explaining to her who and what they all are, how to work her comms and so on. But he didn’t.

When he realizes that this poor new person has been left alone far too long because of his (correct) assumptions, he reaches out immediately. He stays with her for three days and nights, showing her things, answering all questions she had… getting to know her.

Spore’s laughter is a shy pretty thing, her smile something to stay warm for. She often falls into the state without Individuality, says they find it comfortable to just exist with each other much to his intrigued surprise. She was given a mushroom cap hat for her puppet and they all love it! Pulled at the sides of it, framing her face, making him grin. She said, ‘I adore taking care of everyone, they are like miracles to us- wondrous just by living.’ and suddenly there was magic in the world, brought to him by her.

They grow close extremely quickly, upgrade to nicknames basically immediately even though the Anemon customs usually go against that, out of respect for strangers. But she’s his little sister Spore and he will protect and accompany her till the end of their lives. He’s her big brother Ori and she will make him smile, be his companion. They are each other’s, holding hands through radio waves.

And they will be alright.

The next Iterator created is Aftertaste of Disdain. She is a very strange one. She cuts without an issue, unlike him.

He waited for Boreas to make the first step again for a day, but of course he disappointed on that front. So he reached out to her. And what did Aftertaste of Disdain do???

She Declined The Damn Call.

Who the hell declines their first call. Who the hell knows HOW to decline their first call. One usually fumbles around trying to answer it before it automatically goes through. What is this.

She writes him a message (a message!!! he didn’t figure those out until they were shown to him!!) about five hours later.

AoD: Pardon me, I was negotiating with a ghost. What did you seek to converse about, sir?

Again. What the hell is this.

OP: You were What? AoD: Negotiating with a ghost. OP: Negotiating with a *ghost???* AoD: Yes, sir. OP: They are actually real? Wait- and- How. You are barely two cycles old. AoD: Well, the bloke sort of infiltrated my facilities out of nowhere while I was going through the list of my functions for orientation purposes. He was a bit upset about my existence I’ve gathered, something about throwing shade at his chosen place of haunting? And then he started spitting hard to discern rubbish. AoD: I tried to reason with the fellow at first, but he was so bloody mad he refused to listen. I concluded he was a few sandwiches short of a picnic and upon his next outburst- which happened approximately 2.451 seconds after my conclusion- I began to throw hands. OP: With a Ghost??? AoD: With a ghost. AoD: It was a battle of wits and mind! I’ve even managed to chaff him a tad here and there, too! Bloody radical. The mind more so as in he was only capable of mental attacks so I turned to my nature as a Hivemind and committed to ensnaring the fellow by the encircling method. Like predatory animals. AoD: You understand. To make another attempt at communication. Unlike predatory animals.

Oh he’s hooked now.

OP: Uh-huh, I do. AoD: At first I was a little worried. As you have pointed out, I happen to be barely two measly cycles old. The nerve! He tried to possess us! OP: Oh no- AoD: I had gone majorly unpossessed however. Worry not, good sir. OP: Oh, thank the void! AoD: Indeed. AoD: At some point we’ve collectively realized the ghost is more a nuisance than a serious threat. You see, we were too plentiful for him to effectively overtake, especially while divided, out of our state as an Individual.

Saints dammit, this literal baby has a better grip on her identity than him. She already weaponized it, someone has to be pulling his leg.

AoD: He jumped from multiple neuron flies, Inspectors, spider starfish, streak antiseptics, rest docks and, most notably, he somehow managed to possess the same Attendant five times. It was Attendant #3546. We dubbed it the unluckiest bloke present within our internal facilities. OP: That’s tough. AoD: Yes. It is currently sending in a very minor despondency. We are performing soothing procedures as we speak. AoD: Either way, with our acknowledgement that he is unable to seriously harm us, we’ve changed our approach to the situation to a more reckless one. AoD: It had proved to be an alright call. We ensnared the fellow within twenty minutes afterwards. The negotiating took up the largest amount of time. AoD: Turns out ghosts are susceptible to emotional outbursts they cannot control as a result of their manic clinging to the physical world (which is of emotional nature too) rather than passing onto the next incarnation. Maybe this is already a known fact, but given the circumstances, I did not have the chance to read up on them yet.

It is… not a known fact. Not as far as he can see in the entry on ghosts and spectres he absentmindedly looked up. These things aren’t researched too much. Ghosts are like the exact opposite of what Iterators are searching for- how to stop being a slave to the Great Cycle en masse. There *are* the Echoes which are actually the reason for the existence of the Iterators, but those can allegedly occur only when the Void Fluid is involved.

OP: That is very much understandable. You’ve handled the situation very well! AoD: Thank you, sir. This whole tale ultimately culminates in the fact that I now have a new Hivemind-mate. OP: You didn’t exorcise it-??! AoD: Sir, with all due respect, that is my buddy now. AoD: So. What did you wish to speak about?

Aftertaste of Disdain, to say the least, ends up being a great addition to their slowly growing group. At this point in time they are able to reach out to Iterators in other groups without much trouble, but having their own team grow is… nice. Especially considering the first two members are generally unavailable. Most of the time it’s just him, Spore and Disdain in all of their work-related discussions.

Spore and Abet Zephyr get along well, in retrospect. With how sensitive Spore is, Zephyr visibly acts like she’s walking on broken glass around her, but it’s endearing more than demeaning. Spore appreciates it. It’s all kind of adorable. Which is weird to call senior Abet Zephyr, but it sure is happening.

With Disdain it was another whiplash.

He was sort of worried at first. Both of them don’t like beating around the bush much. He found out Disdain’s story about her wrestling match with a ghost was so long only because he kept prompting it- she was ready to drop the topic first sentence in, in favor of getting to the point of him initially calling her.

This was either going to end in an argument or-

The two ended up getting along swimmingly.

They greeted each other (very shortly and directly), they locked lenses for a while… and then proceeded to have a conversation with the least amount of fucks given he’s ever attended. Compared to the rigidly polite culture of the higher circle of Anemons he is used to- it was just plain obscene. Almost had a heart attack. At the end, Zephyr said that Disdain might be her favorite. He was too flabbergasted to react in any other way than nod.

Introducing the girls to Boreas was… Horrible.

Orion already went in with spite boiling in him. They should already know him. He should’ve been the first to meet them, with Abet Zephyr’s inability to do so. *He* should be introducing them to Orion right now.

With Spore it was worse. Of course.

They group called and barely managed to get a greeting out and he was already glaring. With Boreas being new to Spore, alongside being glared at with such passion, she flinched away from the screen real bad. He took a note of this and worsened that glare to something so intimidating that poor Spore squawked, apologized profusely for intruding while trembling like a leaf and left.

That was the first time the Orion Hivemind felt hate bubbling in their consciousness.

But as they looked from the place Spore’s screen was a moment ago to Boreas to confront him, the hate fizzled out unceremoniously. The expression now fixated on him. His eyes were sharper than the fangs of red lizards, more terrifying than the pittering steps of an unseen giant spider.

For a second, he tries to stand his ground. Tries to frown back and get them on an equal ground, make the reflection match. But he gives up, too afraid of his senior. He turns his head away in submission, breaks the line of sight with his winged antenna and finally, retreats.

The reflection is inherent, yet he can’t seem to make it at least match. He can’t take the stare.

When it comes to Disdain’s turn, he thinks he will do better. He ends up doing worse.

Mainly because instead of focusing on the newbie like last time, Boreas immediately levels Orion.

Disdain doesn’t let that slide and starts a fight. She calls their placeholder senior names, matches his vile glare without an issue, stubbornly doesn’t back away until the introductions are over. Orion isn’t sure if this is just how she is or if her alleged ghost roommate is backing her up and so she isn’t terrifyingly alone in this like he is, but… he thinks his- as of right now- youngest sister might be his hero.

He better tell her, one day. The thank you he left her with that day didn’t feel like enough.

This has become the norm. A new Iterator is built, Orion’s Pathway reaches out to them first and guides and teaches them as much as they need. Then he introduces them to Boreas’ Blessing which is always terrifying and sometimes Abet Zephyr, if the newbie is considerate and kind enough and she’s able to handle introductions.

Orion knows everyone so well. He knows something went wrong with Gem in an Eye’s sympathy modules and he’s trying to figure out how to help her- or he considers her state of being from a philosophical angle. He admires Ideas of Scales’ sense of justice, he hums songs with the mellow Of Forgotten Hiraeth and asks her about Zephyr, since she’s built oh so close and visits her often. He knows that despite his best attempts at indifference, it bothers Purpose of Time that the plating of his puppet is matte translucent and that it lacks legs. Or that Fish Inside a Birdcage might exclaim all the time he’s in no way a part of any Iterator group, but gets all giddy whenever Orion calls to share some of his recent iterations with him.

He shares stories with Reclusive Reed about the darkness of night and what it does to swamps, what fireflies up north look like once they dig themselves out of soil in summer. With Torched Beacon, they spin tall tales in free time about the seas that wash against their structures’ legs, make up fairies and gods to explain the waves rather than to turn to logic. Blunt End of an Arrowhead tells him all about wildlife and the hunting of it, her voice strong with authority that reminds him of seniors all across the globe, even though she is a Generation 2. And he admires her for that. Even though he is the Third, he doesn’t believe he’d make a good senior.

At this point, he’s been sort of forced into working with Boreas’ Blessing a few times. He still dodges eye contact, keeps the interactions as short as he can. But he doesn’t fear him like death itself anymore. The terror became old, familiar (and isn’t that even scarier). For the minutes of extreme discomfort born of direct long interaction when he has to introduce the newbies to Boreas because of protocol, he is willing to pay.

Because in these new people he found home and purpose, identity beyond being a scared reflection, trapped in a mirror not of his own making nor choice. These fellow communities of creatures, his family, expanded his world beyond the bounds of his superstructure, beyond his relationship with Boreas.

They *freed* him. Without them even knowing about it.

But everything comes apart at some point during the middle ages of the Generation 2 era.

There hasn’t been an actual war in the world in ages. With everyone focusing on the soft aspects of the world- the feelings, emotions, morality, mind, heart, predominantly the matters of the soul- nobody was exactly eager to start something that would end with mass bloodshed. It’d go right with the very first sin, the most basic one to get over. Wars were things of the past. Before the Void Fluid was found and the Global Religion blessedly took strong hold over the whole planet.

Anemons are people of introspection. Not of ammunition and blades.

Yet here one came. With him damn near right in the middle of it, unable to run away, being rooted in the earth as he is. There was no other choice than to become a military base. To iterate war tactics, to let his retaining walls be rebuilt into impossibly tall borders. To kill his identity as a holy, pure object- murder himself as a manmade god in favor of turning into a scout.

Well, first the reason for it-

One day, the group above the Children of Eo, called Frost’s Promise, just declared war on them. Later he would learn that their reason for it was a collapse of one of their own Iterators. It was a city bearer… So many lives lost in such a horrible way, so many left without work, shelter and safety.

The Iterator, Inner Compass, allegedly collapsed by purposeful bombing. Frost’s Promise blamed Children of Eo, considering they are the closest and some past political skirmishes.

*Purposeful bombing,* Void below. Orion doesn’t believe it. They are definitely lying. It had to be an inside job- bloody self-sabotage for the sake of a reason to go to war with the better developed and cultivated Eo.

Apparently there were explosives strapped to Compass’ legs, nestled within as well, and then someone pushed the button. If the bombs were only outside, he’s sure an Iterator would’ve survived it, even though reports on Compass say he was a very precarious mix of Generation 1 and 2. The real destruction was brought down by the explosives from within.

From attempts at reconstruction of the attack or at least finding a logical explanation, it was determined those damn things were nestled right next to his powerlines. So there was a chain reaction in enough of the legs that he started tipping over. There was nothing Compass, his admin or anyone else in the entire universe could’ve done to prevent the crash.

He went up in flames, taking a good length of the train tracks connecting him with other Iterators down, permanently killing all children and elderly housed in his facilities- the tragedy of it left in the world for the adults coming back the next morning to grieve over. Void Fluid spilled out from his gravity generators and hearts, making the whole place of crash beyond dangerous. The citizens couldn’t even stick around to search the ruins for anything that might’ve been left of their old lives. Unless they wanted to risk involuntary Ascension and potential fates as trapped Echoes, that is.

Inner Compass is still technically alive. Around and around it goes, but also the virtual immortality of Iterators. He survived all thanks to one singular Streak Antiseptic miraculously making it out. Last Orion heard, the little guy is ferried around in the chest pocket of his Admin. That one is going through immense guilt and trying hard to figure out what to do with Compass (and himself) next.

Orion himself isn’t so sure what would be kinder: give Compass another shot at existing even though he’ll have to start with everything (except traits of consciousness) from zero, or just finish the job and let the last soul of the Hivemind move on to the next incarnation as something else. Or a piece of a different Iterator.

And at the time, he couldn’t have given less of shit.

The war began and beneath him the Eo army gathered before they marched on northwards. His Houses voted and changed his wardrobe to be more fitting, inspiring, patriotic- this included searing a war helmet to his puppet’s head. Evidently without the consultation with a Mechanic or consent of his Admin- oh, Five Innovations behind Cedar Doors first had a heart attack about it and then verbally kicked the Houses’ asses. Or so she told him through a call after she came back, crossed arms and pouting like a child.

He attempted to comfort her, after all the two of them are close enough to fall on nicknames, damn right he’s going to try and help, but well… Orion himself was at his wit’s end with it.

Almost three thousand years alive. Three thousand years of the same thing. And even though the puppet often disappointed him with its limits in expression making, having it changed now feels… wrong. He feels different. He doesn’t look *too* bad with it, even Ceda reluctantly agreed through her pissery he’s at least absolutely rocking it, but this was a permanent change.

This helmet is a scar, sealing his head shut when it should not be. And it had yet to show what pain it would carry.

The soldiers hated him for wearing the mark of their torment.

In this world, wars cannot be fought with the idea of killing at forefront. That will not stop the waves, no. Only delay them ‘till the morning.

These people went out there to the battlefield to specifically get crippled. To be taken hostage. And if the enemy was as worried about losing as the comparably smaller Frost’s Promise army, they wouldn’t hesitate much to torture. Anemons can regenerate limbs, fix broken chitin bones incredibly fast. But the mind? The mind can be destroyed beyond repair and there will be nothing to save them from the nightmares, from the shaking hands and manic episodes, being permanently broken.

‘And there he is!’ They used to say, ‘Somewhere safe south from us, giant and untouchable by the suffering, yet still wearing our uniform as if he is one of us and dealing with the same pain.’

The guilt he felt from that managed to rival anything from his long long life. He admitted to Ceda, that he didn’t know how to bear those bitter hateful looks the poor troops shot his Overseers each time he came to the camps for the sake of battle tactic exchanges and new information regarding positioning of the enemy.

Ceda told him, her words heavy as they fell from behind her beak: “Don’t look towards them, then. None of this is your fault. You didn’t don the armor… Someone else shoved you into it, just like someone shoved them into a war.”

“I cannot accept that.” With disbelief he replied, distress within the Hivemind making her watch ping. “I can’t just *leave* it at that.”

“I’m sorry, Ori.” She said weakly, as if the entire war was her fault in the first place. So much pain, even in the relative safety far away from the fights, above the clouds, in his care.

How can one handle this…

Senior Abet Zephyr is of no help when he asks for it. She is angry at all of the Anemons, unjustly- her face pulls into a hateful scowl as she growls out “Good. Let them beat each other to insanity.” through her broken speakers. He feels sick, knowing that someone he looks up to and loves so much could ever say that.

Spore is in this mess with him. She’s more appreciated by the soldiers though, much more. She is their head medic. Her Overseers zip through the medical tents, anxiously taking notes of the supplies on-site and if those things will allow her to save another life, spare it any more suffering. Often, she stretches those things as thin as possible to help everyone. The soldiers know. They don’t fault her for it, when mournfully she says anyone badly injured and with a safe place to wake up in will have to be killed to rather treat the ones capable of faster recovery.

Killing her own patients, when she cares so deeply for each little life… He cannot imagine it.

Asking Disdain is off the table right away. Alongside most of the older Eo Iterators, all that stand in the north. They are too busy with balancing their own issues- shortages of food and resources in particular. The rich demand that their normal life is maintained, the soldiers need the support, prisoners of war are transported to their facilities and they have to be kept alive as well- the working class of the lower circles as a result suffers from exhaustion and famine.

Disdain told him how hellish that is. She wants to lower the resource tax on the lower circle so they could be stronger, able, not be tormented as much, but the high circle refuses to lose its comfort and lower its demand. Or the religious persuasion of the Great Problem. Without the okay from her one lone House, she cannot help them.

“It is like hacking away at my own legs. Incisus needs them to keep standing. I need them to keep functioning to my fullest potential. But my hands are tied, my mouth taped shut.”

Not to mention that apparently her ghost friend has gotten worse with the emotional outbursts because of the overall stress. It’s near constant screaming of rage and plain raw agony, from deep inside of her as if it was her own. Orion wishes there could be anything for him to do to help.

The last drop for him is when one of his Overseers comes back from a routine patrol of Terminus full of grief.

It reconnects with the Hivemind, sharing with all of him what it has seen. Little girl with shaking hands, handling a pearl with a message to a letter carrier, asking to please please make sure to deliver it. She hasn’t heard from dad in too long. She is worried sick he had been taken and won’t ever come back the same.

…what an absolute failure Orion is.

He doesn’t know the child personally. Never probably will. But she is his responsibility, in his care. He is her protector and he’s just standing there, hiding her behind his back as if that is going to keep her safe from fear. He’s a guardian and he isn’t doing *shit* to fulfill that role.

He can’t take it. So he decides to change it.

Without telling Ceda, he sends an Overseer on the journey back to the military camps. He can’t tell her, even though he adores the young small one- her orders are pleas that he cannot deny. He cannot afford her forbidding him from speaking his mind even though she'd meant well.

The general of the Eo army, named A Dagger, Sharpened by a Hook who's tinted with grey thanks to age already, isn’t too happy to see him at first. The soldiers try to chase him away.

But he *begs* them. Tells them he saw the grief, found a worried child’s ID in his files, identified her father as a scout. Orion has sired so many of his own kind- too many to ignore her sad eyes. She was too similar to his own small ones. And scouting is such a dangerous thing to do- please please let him replace the scouts or at least assist. He needs to help. He can’t take it anymore. He is incapable.

The soldiers step away in shock, the general hums in surprised intrigue. His eyes narrow in healthy suspicion- after all, he is the guardian of this army just as much as Orion is the guardian of Terminus. He asks Orion if he’s willing to follow his lead, listen. If such a holy endless thing like an Iterator will submit to one lone fool commanding sin.

And Orion’s Pathway says yes. Promises it on all of his hearts.

The whole Hivemind comes together in unanimous agreement to kneel before the mortal little lone creature, exclaiming that they are willing to be massacred in the name of becoming a single sinning man for this cause. That as the angel that they are seen as, they’d cut their wings for it, tear out their feathers for them to stuff their pillowcases with. They’ll snap their halo, cannibalize their identity until they are reborn more useful.

If it will be needed. If it will be required. Ordered. And not because of code and woven genes, but honest loyalty, every single piece will listen.

From a shell obtaining the potential of a little god to a simple soldier standing in a deathrow. They would fall for the army.

Some step away even further back, horrified at the length his promises reach. He doesn’t blame them- those are dreadful, reckless things he’s said and generally he wouldn’t speak such. Someone of his importance should be too high to be able to fall like this. Someone of his age should know better- and that he does! And yet…

The general takes on a pensive look. Something incredibly serious and blessedly free of a joke or a power trip that an organic could reasonably experience; having a biomechanical divinity bowing at his feet all for a chance at its own suffering. Orion knows some of the soldiers that stood still wouldn’t be quite as honourable. He recognizes the glints in their eyes.

With a nod of his head, the general accepts him. “With your Overseers you shall substitute our scouts. But remember that though you hold this venerable title, it does not carry the respect with it for you. You will have to earn that, strange thing.”

“I understand. Thank you.” A bow and the deal is sealed. He’s one of them now. He’ll earn the respect and the right to wear this damned armor.

In the morning, Orion hails Ceda to his chamber with urgency. She comes in stumbling, hardly fully awake, unused to the antigravity unlike a Mechanic would be. She complains that he didn’t even let her fix herself a morning cup of tea. With a little smile, he apologizes and to make up for the early waking call, he gets to fixing her bed hair.

Ceda lets him, grumbling all along, leaning into his hands far too sleepy to put effort into standing straight.

Orion doesn’t like pulling the “relationship” card- relationships are binding things, no matter their nature. It’s all chains. They carry terms, obligations, expectations when the requested goodness should come naturally- he iterates these things often and came to the conclusion he’d rather purge himself of that. But he does acknowledge the phenomenon of two people simply… harmonizing together. Getting along without the need of the choking idea of a relation, society’s definitions. Letting both participants breathe- just *be.*

Some days Ceda is a friend, some days a pupil. Some days *he’s* the pupil, looking up to her for help. Sometimes she throws an arm over his puppet’s shoulders, as if he was a brother- he replies by pulling her down into a noogie. Sometimes when she visits, she hides into his side like a daughter would with her father and each time he accepts it, sliding into the role seamlessly and holding her gently. He rocked her through her hard times, shushed her softly, let her fall asleep in his arms- no one will ever be too old for the ancient him to ask for these things, he told Ceda when she woke up with her cheek squished against his chassis, embarrassed.

They harmonize well. Which is why he refuses to be dishonest with her.

He shows her all that transpired during the night, explains that he isn’t willing to break this loyalty. That he did this as a person with power over his own life and choices. Don’t take this autonomy away from him.

Ceda stares at the projection of his memory conflicted. “But I’m… responsible for you. This is dangerous- if not physically then definitely for your mental wellbeing!”

“I came to the conclusion that leaving it would not be doing me much good either.” He says, matter of fact, arms hidden behind his back. He looks all business, a sign between them that he’s in the process of outfoxing rules set in by the Houses, the society or even his own blueprints. He tops it all off with the best cheeky expression he can give her. “As my Admin, you certainly have to find this foresight beneficial to your role! This, combined with the idea agreed upon by multiple Iterators that cites Stagnation is just another means of perpetuating a form of the cycle, results in the most obvious conclusion that this is the best case scenario we could have followed.”

She stares at him astounded.

“Don’t worry, shrimp.” He adds with a wink, reverting back to a more fitting tone of voice for who they are with each other. Deeper, with a slight rasp and most importantly: comforting and warm. “I’m not letting anyone take you away from me except if you decided it yourself. I made sure I could get you out of my decision unscathed.”

She breathes a sigh of relief, but worry doesn’t completely leave her face. “I still don’t like this. You’re in danger.”

“There is no path out of this that wouldn’t be dangerous. Either I’d stay passive and hurting, or I’d choose to be active about this in the least. I’d rather take the latter option, Ceda. I am not a particular fan of the concept of getting beaten while comatose.”

“I guess that’s a good point… Just be careful with what you take on out there? I don't know how many heart attacks I can take, man…”

“Says the one with a red lizard for a pet. I’ll try, but I’m no coward!”

And he proves himself as such. Overseers are fast little things, pesky too if their Hivemind tells them to be. With his already dark coloration they even manage to be stealthy and not glow that much.

Ceda joins in with him, too- bypassing his taboos with high importance orders that they discussed together, stuff to let him actually do damage to the enemy Anemons. Another thing she did was upgrading a few of his Overseers specifically for the scouting job. She worked to give them bigger data storage, tendrils that could pierce skin and administer potentially crippling shocks. The low blue light of his eyes became a guiding star for the Eo soldiers if they ever got lost.

Soon enough, his allies found appreciation for him too. Soon enough, Frost’s Promise took note of an Iterator's involvement and persuaded their own Iterators to come into the fights as well. Orion has zapped so many foreign Overseers to an offline state… Racing against his own kind felt different than dodging bullets of an Anemon soldier.

And soon enough, he was forced to face the ugliness of war.

He saw such brutality. So much blood, so many prolonged deaths, heard so many cries for mercy in the shape of a blade. The torture of not knowing if people were going to make it back from a battle. Sometimes, before he explained it, his own begged him to just short circuit their brains to escape the suffering. But he couldn’t. His taboos forbade him from harming his own. He could only watch.

At some point EMP weapons came into the mix. Losing an Overseer in the field kind of hurt because of how much presence he put into them, but it was manageable, not to mention how rare he made the losses. But the gods damned EMPs- one of the biggest attacks with them happened when an enemy snuck into the camp in the night and planted the things around, detonating them all at once.

One moment he’s conversing with his closest comrades by a bonfire, the other he’s fully forced back into his chamber screaming. He was *blinded.* He still could see through Overseers within Terminus, through his puppet, but the panic at being blinded out of nowhere in such a large capacity clouded those other visions.

He’s not even entirely sure when Ceda barged into his software and started artificially calming the Hivemind down. She soothes them, tells him that her watch pinged and then the lights in the city started flickering, some even blew up. His hearts raced, put out too much energy.

Orion apologizes for getting hurt. She rolls her eyes at him and starts giving him shit for it in her native tongue. Her idle salty chatter finally brings him his peace fully and naturally back.

When he gets back to the camp it’s all burned and torn apart. Spore is already there, frantically searching the ruins for anyone still alive or returning from death. He helps her look.

They accumulate quite a few confused souls that were mauled during the whole thing. It was a sneak attack, they told them, some saw the enemy specifically stealing their Overseer eyes along with taking prisoners where they could.

That… didn’t bode well at all. The both of them knew just about everything in the plans of the Eo army, had a lot of it stored in the banks of the Overseers that hadn't managed to return back home to empty them yet. With the enemy having Iterators who ought to be pissed enough at this rate to go against the moral code and do autopsies on their eyes, Frost’s Promise might as well already have large chunks of the plans too.

Spore and Orion share a nervous glance. The Anemons with them indulge themselves in worried silence and fear. Some kick the ground in guilt, muttering something about how they should’ve been awake and done anything to help out.

Who knows what difficulties will await them now?

After an hour, general Dagger marches to the ruins along with still a good sized chunk of the army following behind him. ‘Ordered out a strategic retreat,’ he was saying to an Anemon they sent out to be a look out as he was making his way to them, ‘collected the survivors before coming back to pick up the returnees.’

“General!” “Sir!!!! SIR!!!!!!” Orion and Spore call out, racing to him.

Orion tries to project his puppet in a call as always and report, but Spore beats him to it. “SIR!” Her voice is shrill in panic, eyes unbelievably wide, face pressed against the camera. “Sir they took our eeeeeeeeeEYES…….!!! They carried SENSITIVE information, they know everything, their Iterators have to be prying into us as we SPEAK, I’m so sorryyyyyhhhhhh… we didn't mean to betray youuuuhuhuhhhhh….” If she had tears, he does not doubt at all they’d be streaming down her cheeks in rivulets.

The general considers her, then firmly says: “Hey.”

It snaps Spore out of her fit. She pulls away from the camera into a more proper distance and looks at the general from beneath the brim of her hat. It’s as if she’s expecting to be scolded.

“Calm down, doctor. We will be alright yet.” Recognizing the firm tone was there out of determination and not offense, Spore relaxes, breathes a heavy sigh of both relief and stress. “Things aren’t completely lost, but they will be harder. We will prevail, we will fight on.”

There is not a single tremble in his voice. Orion’s eyes twinkle as he recognizes this steadfastness- finding it so similar to what he knows of Abet Zephyr.

The strength that lies behind the fight for the sake of better days. The fight backed up by truth. Lacking any selfish gains, just seeking the safety of tomorrow. He didn’t really… think Anemons had that in them.

Seeking an escape route by effortlessness. The jellyfish in a net analogy, the Iterators' very existence and all. Their lives are like candles- they burn bright and then run out of wax, having not moved anywhere “in the name of spiritual "progress"”. He considers, if he has just been looking at the wrong group all this time and not the whole. If maybe the jellyfish leaves things too much up to chance, if maybe a skilled little minnow that fights and finds a hole in the net is not safer.

The Anemons are small, finite. Yet seeing the soldiers gather around the general, hands clenched in tight fists, jaws set, unspeakable will to *try* inherent to fully organic things flickering even in the scared eyes… it moves him. It makes him understand. Develop a connection, comprehend their strength.

It fills him with *trust.* And casting a glance to her, the same it does for Spore.

The two of them list things they think their Overseers held when they were taken, general Dagger thanks them as if the plans weren’t leaked because of their mechanical natures in the first place. He works with them to develop new plans, takes suggestions from officers and soldiers alike.

They’ll get through this.

The next few months are a mix of ridiculously hard operations and suspiciously easy ones. Then the enemy somehow managed to get into the Eo group, directly into Spore’s facilities. Apparently a lot of prisoners they caught were sent there to be held. Which is… kind of strange, considering Spore’s place is infested with dangerous mushroom overgrowth that even caused her to be eventually rid of her title as a city bearer. But the strangeness of that didn’t register in anyone’s mind, even his own. They were too preoccupied with readying themselves for stronger waves of attacks. With so many prisoners freed, they would be feeling it on the battlefield.

But nothing came… For almost a month, complete silence.

And then…

The Siege and Capture of Orion’s Pathway takes up a whole chapter in history books all across the Eo group, all the way until the Anemons kept treasuring history. It is written about as a great tragedy, as it should be. Shows passages from diaries of Terminus’ citizens during it to communicate the dread they’ve felt as they were enslaved and hunted.

To Orion himself, the event is a marker. It is when he lost a dearness of his.

He never quite fully understood it before, why Abet Zephyr couldn’t just *be* gentle. Factually he may have, but with his spirits he couldn’t grasp it. Isn’t it easy? Isn’t it natural?

He started understanding when his systems seized in the middle of the night. The hardware mechanics of him simply wouldn’t listen to his will. Someone had to get past his firewalls, he immediately concluded, trying to find the intruder and purge them out. His software came to a halting stop next- it was like being frozen alive.

Still he could somewhat think, through the organic pieces of him. The Hivemind held together strong as an Individuality. They couldn’t move, couldn’t really do much, but they were still whole. They still could’ve alerted Ceda through her watch monitoring their biological functions. …then the hacker decided they won’t allow the Orion’s Pathway Hivemind even that.

Whoever it was knew how to turn an Iterator’s own hardware against it. The tubes, metal, speakers and all, the horrible frequency that came out of them tore all of them apart for the first time in centuries. Just like that, Orion simply couldn’t exist anymore.

The days of the Siege and Capture are all saved within his memory arrays only as muffled matted short videos taken by the lesser eyes of the Hivemind members that succumbed to more animalistic behaviours without the ability to come weave together a superior Individuality. From reports he knows his hearts still beated, but his antigravity generators were out. That meant neuron flies couldn’t do their job at all. Without them, they had no chance to come back together. His flesh started rotting, while his machinery ticked on to someone else’s whim.

They remember a vague sensation of someone prying at their puppet’s chassis, popping it open with brute force. All they knew was the pain of it, of someone sticking dirty hands right in between their organs-

It takes five weeks for a change to happen. So he finds out from outside sources later.

In the fog that is his nonexistence, a Polaris comes alight. It calls out to his components, urges them to come together, gives them a Somewhere they’ll be able to unify. The antigravity came on at some point they couldn’t have noticed.

“Please. Hurry.” The guiding star calls out to them. “Help-,” it begs.

They stitch themselves together with gurgling rage. Reach the light, clumsily take the control they’ve lost from her.

With a start, the consciousness returns into a sore and open puppet. Orion doesn’t have time to really process even that he exists again, much less that he’s apparently airing out his innards and his lenses are covered in fingerprints. There’s sounds of gunshots and sharp blades colliding. In his chamber.

Instinctively he yanks the puppet away from the ground, makes everything in here *stop*.

He traps everyone that is within the room in his grasp, while he attempts to collect his bearings.

There’s silence, a while. He’s sliding between being whole and breaking apart out of stress. It’s giving him a killer headache. His systems ping him that there’s fighting elsewhere in his structure as well, but he can’t give it any piece of his broken mind.

Then there’s the sound of futile struggling. They, he, force their eyes to focus and take in the scene through the fingerprints.

The whole chamber is a mess. It looks like a hastily put together camp with blood stains and damage here and there. Some of the panels are pried off of the walls- he can see his components thrown about, some in the middle of being recycled into different objects. He was being taken apart while still alive, that's- There’s… far too many people in here. Who- Five of them aren’t trying to fight against him, that means- ugh…

“Hey, Ori…” The one unarmored not-struggling one gently calls, waving to him. He feels like he should know her. She’s familiar and registers as crucially important in his systems, but- he can’t comprehend her disheveled hair, bleeding and dirty face. It’s far too complicated. His memory arrays aren’t responding properly- He can’t-

“Kid.” A male, gruff voice speaks up instead. Orion doesn’t have the will to look towards it, blankly staring at a hand that waved to him. “Kid, you did good. Just calm down. Take a moment to gather yourself.”

He’s *trying,* but this damn noise- his speakers spit out too many words at once as he’s unable to collect his mind. It’s even louder than the breathing, sharper and more offensive than clincking of armor. A broken hiss comes out next, he grips his head in agony.

*“Silence!”* The gruff voice snarls out quietly into the room. Some of the struggling ones listen to him and cease, the other three that weren’t putting up a fight against him hum quiet encouragement. He knows those voices, but where from-

And one growls back in challenge loudly. “Why should I, you old hag.”

“Sir, maybe you should- listen- You don’t want a dazed enemy Iterator on your case!”

“You lot have a ton of nerve to speak now.” The first gentle voice speaks again, but shaking terribly this time. Orion doesn’t know who she is, but she is the only confirmed vulnerable thing here. That means she is safe. And if she’s afraid of something, he should be taking note of it.

He barely manages to spot her, as she makes her accusation, glaring at a particularly well clothed one: “You are the one who did this to him. Bastard!”

It’s like flipping a switch…

His head snaps towards this offender, the chamber turns impossibly dark worryingly quickly, as the Hivemind all spills into the puppet in a rush. They bubble with rage and horrible hatred, and now they know who to point it all at.

The halo comes back online, it grows large in intimidation, arcs of electricity bouncing from it to the walls. His hold on all of them tightens.

“Ugh- Admin, what-!”

“Hush! The taboos won’t let him seriously harm us, just be quiet!”

The offender is brought closer. To him, the Iterator only treats him to an ugly hateful glare. But he doesn’t know what goes on inside. The Hivemind simply… can’t decide what to do with him.

‘Let’s skin him,’ some parts say. ‘Make his veins explode, so he may drown his organs with his own blood,’ suggests another.

‘Shove him out of the chamber,’ another purrs. ‘We will take him deep inside of us. Let him get lost within our wires, trap him in our tissues, starve, so he’ll remember how much of a vermin he is compared to us once he awakens again.’

‘Parasite. Parasite!’ ‘Let us all tear him apart… Like vultures…’ ‘What about eating him from the inside?’ ‘Push his face under acid, we say! Make sure he’ll live through it.’ ‘We should digest him. As slowly as we can make it be. He chose to belong to our body the moment he stepped inside.’

“So are you going to do anything or just gawk at me, toaster?” The villain attempts to kick Orion in his open chassis, but thankfully doesn’t manage to reach.

Oh, but the audacity. It angers them enough to stop their ponderings.

With bare hands Orion grabs that man’s head. With the most disgusting twist he can come up with in the moment, he snaps the bastard’s neck. With the crack, a sensation of tension lifts off his shoulders. The head falls limp at an unnatural angle and he feels lost.

“Orion’s Pathway.” The Admin’s voice rings in the silence left after the murder a beat later. “Cease.”

His grip loosens on them and all fall. Nobody starts another ruckus, the enemies left in here surrender and go quietly when the allies bind their hands.

She walks up to him with a visible limp. “Bring your puppet down to me.” He does so, and gladly. The orders feel like a breath of air as he’s fighting against drowning in his own Hivemind, still painfully restless.

Gently she closes their aching chassis. “I’ll treat you after the coast is clear. And…” She looks into his unfocused eyes. “And you’ll be more mentally stable.”

“Will he be alright?” The gruff voice asks. Heavy hand settles on his puppet’s shoulder. He manages to recognize the squeeze as comforting.

“Yes, he should be- it’s just. Going to take a while. I’ll have to call Mechanics to help out, but with the current state of Terminus…” sigh. “It will take a bit until they’ll be able to arrive.”

“Mm. You look after him good ‘till then, in that case.”

“...of course…” her voice is tight.

“I’ll go help out the rest out there. Take the body with me, too.”

“Thank you, General. May the Winds be kind to you.”

“...of course. May they be kind to you as well.”

The general leaves his chamber with a farewell and the body thrown over his shoulder like a bag of fish. The Admin waits for a second, then she pulls him into a hug.

It takes them a few minutes to remember what a hug is and that these are generally reciprocated. Shaking three fingered hands settle on the small of her back and he buries his face into her shoulder as he mourns the death of his hateless life. She embraces him dearly tighter.

Like a son and his mother would.

…

It takes two months for Orion to be able to access all of his functions again, including his Overseers. Though, he still feels… crippled. Something isn’t right with him. There’s poison somewhere within and he can’t rid himself of it.

Ceda loses hours of sleep looking for anything amiss with him that she could fix to make things better. Sometimes she tells him that all that’s left is probably only the emotional trauma of the whole experience, changing him. She even admits he feels colder now. More detached even from her. That makes him feel… not exactly guilty, but definitely like shit. He doesn’t want to be those things.

So she brings into his chamber her blue pet lizard, Procyon, in retaliation against those feelings every time she visits. Even before the war Orion adored the little goof. Getting to hold and caress it now calms him. Procyon was always supposed to be a service lizard, but its trainers most likely never expected that it would one day be supporting the emotional state of a whole ancient Iterator.

The thought makes him let out a little desperate chuckle.

Though he can use his Overseers again and the war is still raging in the north, general Dagger refuses to take him back into the scout service for now.

At least he was allowed to say hi to the soldiers and let them know that yes, he’s still alive and no, he wasn’t completely wiped like an old computer. Don’t worry people, it’s a little more complicated to do that with a whole Iterator than with the desktop back in your home.

His favorite reaction to spotting one of his Overseers up and about came from the group he hung out with the most before the Siege. The same group of three that were in his chamber that day, he found out. They all pointed at him and yelled, one started full on bawling before he booked it to the Overseer waving his arms and screaming at the top of his lungs: “NYURHG VOID BELOW!!! You laggy son of a fridge, you are alive!!!! You looked like a fucking corpse, brother!!”

In retrospect, it’s kind of funny that it is his favorite. Calling upon the Void for naught, being insulted like three times, the explicit implication of a relationship, being praised for being alive even though his primary function is finding a way to inflict permanent mass death upon the whole world. All goes against what he was made to be. The war really did change him, with scars and trust and he can’t deny it.

And when he next calls Boreas’ Blessing to request more weaponry and armor be made for his organic brothers-in-arms, he doesn’t back away from the angry eyes and threatening voice. He’s over it now. Over fear. Doesn’t have time nor patience for it.

Boreas rages against his reflection. And the reflection finally matches him with an equal rabid glare of its own.

#rw #rain world #oc: orion's pathway #oc: boreas' blessing #oc: abet zephyr #oc: filler iterators #oc: cedalion #oc tag #philosophy sessions au #my writing

21 notes · View notes