Squander Not Thy Joys

[Weapon]

"Legionnaires to flight deck, this is not a drill! Repeat, Legionnaires to flight deck, this is not a drill!"

Legionnaire Crowe looked to Kimiko and smiled gratefully. "Thank you, for everything."

As the dream collapsed, Kimiko smiled softly and nodded. Her porcelain skin cracked, black-and-blue ichor oozing out and pooling into eyes that gazed upon the world. Her dress transformed into a long white robe floating in the air, draped cloth moving as if suspended in water. Grand, deep blue morpho wings sprung out of her back, ethereal and misty. Her hair floated much the same as her robe, trailing behind and around her head.

That smiling face soon stilled, a serene porcelain funerary mask with those selfsame cracks that marked the entity's body, both eyes now those swirling galaxies from before. Hundreds upon hundreds of glowing blue morphos flew out from behind her, caressing her skin as they flew into the distance and faded into nothingness. A halo, wreathed in their wings, floated about the now-angelic being's back, glowing and potent and covered in glyphs of a long-dead language.

She was born from a sea beyond this dream, composed of countless, infinite souls that formed her, each a drop of gossamer morphoscale, each an eye within her cracks.

Somehow, this was still Kimiko. Or perhaps, Kimiko was part of her. But whoever she was, she was a goddess, a divinity that had hidden her nature as she visited Bellamy's dreams. Within those celestial eyes lay a great many emotions, yet chief among them directed at Bellamy was a profound and nearly-abyssal depth of compassion and love. A mother, a patron to those she looked over.

Her voice came as a whisper, tickling the ears of the formerly-dormant pilot, yet vibrating in their chest like distant rolling thunder, a chorus unending with Kimiko's song chief among them.

"Cherish thy Light, little one. Squander not thy joys."

The song faded, and Psyche's body transformed into a flock of blue morphos once more, flying into the aether and fading, save for one. It flew into Bellamy's chest, phasing inside and leaving a pleasing, delightful warmth. Intuitively, it was apparent that there was no harm nor ill intent. Merely the parting kiss of divinity.

---

Legionnaire Crowe touched their chest where the morpho had kissed them, then clenched their fist. With grim determination and clarity of purpose, they smiled, yanking the IVs and EKG leads from their arms and chest.

"Just hold on a little longer, Freud. I'm coming," Bellamy thought, racing down Valravn's strangely empty corridors to the flight deck, ripping off their gown and suiting up. Struggling with the zipper along the back of their flightsuit, they spotted a young Hispanian pilot about their age.

"Legionnaire, help me get this!" They ordered, quickly sealing their helmet once she zipped them up.

The pair rushed to their ships, and Bellamy's cockpit pressurized with a hiss. No time for a preflight check. Even without a brief, Bellamy somehow knew they had a friend to save.

"I won't let you down," they whispered, white-knuckling the throttle. "Valravn Control, this is Wind Rose, taking off!"

Before the hangar door was even fully open, Bellamy kicked the burners on the Falchion. As they braced themselves against the G's, they swore they could feel a single, otherworldly hand light on their shoulder.

"Not this time."

---

Recruitment | Task Force Prometheus | ICN FIRESTORM