Sleep only came to Camille in small bouts, and when she wakes she doesn’t feel rested at all. Unable to remember if she dreamt at all, she’s wracked with an unsettling sensation of dread over where she is.

The night — or was it day? — prior, before attempting to submit to sleep, she walked from the mouth of the cul-de-sac to the end of the street with Laika in tow, a quiet companion.

“You should see it for yourself.” they had said, sadly.

As she walks, her steps seem heavier and heavier. Her gait slows to a shuffle, and it feels as though she’s been walking for days. Years? She wants to lay down and nap in a snowdrift. Laika seems sluggish too, when she finally remembers to look at them.

Towards the end of the street, there’s shadowy shapes; dark fog with writhing figures deep in the wispy depths. As she looks on over that fog, she starts to lighten. Yet in gravity’s heavyheavy stead there’s fear, and there’s hatred. She wants to snap and attack, even towards Laika, for bringing her here. The hatred blossoms inside her like a poisonous lotus.

Though she’s now able to move as freely as before, she has to shake her head hard, bringing her hands up to the sides of her head. She can’t hate like this, so blind and hard. What would her siblings say if they could see that written across her face, her countenance?

What would her parents say?

She feels like she swallowed glass.

The moon shines on and on.

Camille thinks of that strange and terrifying trek down a simple road, and grabs the pillow from behind her head on the couch, covers her face with it. Then she screams.

When she takes the pillow off after a couple moments, mind now empty of fear and anxiety, she notices that she’s not alone in that little room. Mikael sits on one of the wooden chairs, creaky. He has two mugs in his hands and a stiffened posture.

She couldn’t remember what his realm was when they were explaining things to her, but now she can recall. Reticence. Their realms are odd, she thinks, and no one has explained that to her. But she doesn’t have it in her to ask any more questions; at least not yet, while she’s this tired.

Will she ever get any less tired, though?

Mikael speaks, snapping her effectively out of her reverie, “I made you some tea. I think I remember you liking it sweetened to hell and back, but we only have the real cheap kind of tea. No earl grey.”

“That’s weird.” she sits up, and reaches out to take the mug from him. Warmth fills her grip, a sensation she’s grateful for. He’s right, either way. “I don’t know if I can get used to people knowing things about me even though I’ve never met them.”

He grins at that, idly tucking a stray loc behind his ear, “It creeped me out too. Namir, like, told me all about my smoking habits from before. Didn’t handle it well.”

She hums in assent before taking a sip. It’s a perfect cup.

“This is nicer than telling me about my vices.” she says, smiling at Mikael over the rim of the mug, “Thank you.”

“No problem.” he waves a hand, “You had a rough go of it last night, I figure some comfort might be good.”

She nods, taking another sip. Hell, it’s even got honey in it.

“You seem used to this. How long have you been around?” she asks.

“Mmm. Feels like eons. Just been days.” he goes, and the laugh that comes after is bitter; bitter and sharp compared to the softness of his kind gesture towards her, “Probably, I mean. It’s hard even for the settlers to figure, yeah? With the moon like that.”

“Has a lot happened since you’ve been up?”

“… Naw. Not sure which I’d prefer, either — action or none. There’s only so much fun you can make when you’re holed up in a fuckin’ bunker.”

Camille can relate to that from the deep, ancient, mourning part of her, as well as the present self. She skews a little more towards action now that she thinks about it; the image of her siblings’ faces appears in her mind yet again, and her grip tightens around the cup.

It’s agony, thinking about them when she doesn’t know where she is or where they are. If they’re safe or not.

She lowers her head, feeling that hollowed-out cold-wind sensation again. It takes the breath right out of her. There’s silence, tight and tenuous between them, like he wants to talk but can’t form the words. Like she’s too stuck in her own feelings and thoughts to be able to speak.

The curtain separating one room from the next parts, and Namir steps in.

“Oh. You’re awake.” he says. She looks him over; he really is pretty, and she remembers he always has been striking looking. The silver of his hair, stark against his dark skin was a constant; his height, skinny-sharp frame and features, too. But now he seems a little harder somehow, like the world they’re stuck in steeled him right up.

“I thought you went into a coma or something. You were out for a while.”

“Nope.” she says; the silence that follows is awkward, but thankfully brief. Mikael speaks up, completely at ease.

“Laika and Caleb are looking for you two, anyway. Called a Power Rangers meeting.” he gestures a bit animatedly with both hands to the room he just walked in from, “So c’mon, I wanna get this over with.”

Camille is not sure she likes him, but she wants to know more about him anyway. She might call him intimidating and cool in the way he speaks and carries himself, were she shaken by other people like that.

But she’s not. She drains her cup and sets it aside on the floor, standing up with Mikael. He stretches as he leads Camille into the next room, “Better be good.”

Everyone’s sitting around the room in the mismatched furniture, or on the floor in Zephyr’s case. He looks content there, at least, sitting next to Gideon in their rickety chair. She feels fond towards the both of them — siblings, always together, no matter what lifetime. Camille knows this immediately, too.

Easing herself down onto the couch beside Hye, she feels herself flush just a bit. Was Hye privy to her memory, when they were so close and intimate? What does Hye remember of them, and do her memories carry the same fond feelings?

Hye offers her a smile, but there’s no flush in her face, no nervous or tense posture.

For this, she’s grateful, yet she also feels a pang of jealousy at it. The rest of these Godshards seem to be used to this, to be navigating the battlefield after a victory gone wrong. They seem to skirt around the swords and skulls, and she’s stumbling like a newborn deer.

When will it get easier … ? It’s only been a day, sure, but Camille feels an aching need to be more like them, to be graceful and practiced.

Before anyone can speak, she feels herself bubble over.

“How can you guys be so nonchalant about this?” she blurts out, voice wavering and then breaking, “It’s like you remember more than I do, and you don’t even seem to care as much as—”

“Hey.” Namir’s voice cuts in sharply, “You think this is easy for me? You think you’re the only one with missing family?”

Then he laughs, a derisive and cold sort of noise, “Fuck, Camille. I hate this as much as you do. I can’t speak for anyone else here, but I haven’t seen anyone jump for joy about dead family yet!”

“They’re not dead.” Gideon’s voice is just as sharp, but lower in tone, more like a broadsword to the arm instead of a rapier between the ribs. They continue, “They’re not, so don’t put ideas in her head. You know firsthand what this place does about that kind of thing.”

“Gideon, don’t go there.” he warns, and if looks could kill, Gideon would never reincarnate again.

“You know you have to stay on your toes in a place like this. Especially if we’re heading out.”

“Gideon. Namir. Enough. The last thing we need is in-fighting.” Zephyr says, reaching up to grab their hand. They huff and sit back in their chair, taking their hand from Zephyr’s grip to cross their arms over their chest.

Namir breathes in deep; after a couple moments, he takes out a soft pack and lights a smoke.

Caleb, next to Laika, seems to be both quiet and just taking things in. Camille feels her own blood begin to boil again; he’s pretty passive, for such a leader-type. She breathes just as Namir had — deep in and deep out. Once, twice, thrice.

“If we’re all calm now, I’d like to begin.”

“Please.” Mikael groans, passing a hand over his face. “The bad vibes are just gettin’ worse with y’all fighting like that.”

“Caleb.” Laika clears their throat, a welcome invitation to get him to finally speak.

“All right.” he bows his head a little, “The fact of the matter is that we need answers as much as we need action, and you all are better equipped than the rest of us to find both. The priority should be finding … Demyan, as he’s clearly the key to all this.

“There are settlements dotted all around the country, as there always have been when the Ink takes over. You’ll find more Scribes in those settlements, and therefore you should find more answers.”

“So … If that’s the case, what are we waiting for?” Camille asks, quietly, “And how exactly are we better equipped?”

“We were waiting for you, Camille.” Caleb turns to her.

Laika speaks up then themselves, “When Grief rises, so do the others in consciousness and power. … Or … that’s how I remember talking about it ages ago, anyway.”

Mikael snorts.

“I’m like … I’m the leader?”

Great.

“You were the first, is all, so you get special powers. But if you’d like to lead this merry band of misfits, y’know … Feel free to herd those cats.” Laika says cheerfully.

“Okay, okay, can you explain the power thing?”

“Since you’re all together now you should feel your powers waken up. Like a leg that fell asleep. Pins an’ needles. But …” they pause, mouth twisting down a little, “They’ve never been … The strongest. It’s stuff like healing and memory sharing and the powers that would be useful in a fight are unreliable and unwieldy.

“Or that’s how I remember it. Might be different this time.”

They make a show of crossing their fingers, in a hopeful gesture. Camille appreciates their attempts to lighten the mood, at least, but it works only a little. She shifts some, looks to Hye. She’s been silent and near-still this whole time; Camille wonders what’s going on in her head.

“What kinda stuff are we dealing with exactly?” Namir asks.

“Your powers, you mean? I don’t know.” Laika shrugs, “Not this time around. Normally I’m the person in charge of that, but there’s a big blank here.”

“Oh, cool. We get to figure this Sailor Moon bullshit ourselves.”

“Seems to be the case. I’ll wrack my brain for something, but until you figure it out enough, you’re gonna have to stick around here.”

“Says who?”

“Me.” Caleb says, “You’ll die a horrible death out there, at best, if you don’t figure them out at least a little.”

“Right. Don’t know where to begin at all.” Mikael groans again and leans back in his chair, “This is fine.”

“Gonna have to be.” Hye says quietly, “What else can we do?”

Camille wants to sleep for a hundred years. Or maybe she wants to get out there to look, or she wants this to never have happened at all. A normal life for her and James, Artina, and Ophelia is all she could have wanted even before the grey of the sky came about.

It’s all so much — too much for her to bear. She wraps her arms around herself, feelings welling up and brimming over.

But with a deep breath in and the closing of her eyes … The boil of emotions slows to stillness.

Soldier on, she tells herself, it’s all you can do now.