Sorzo

Eggs on Toast

It's an epic breakfast-themed story. Think Chex Quest, but with hedgehogs.

The first part of Chapter 2 has been released! The rest of the chapter will be released in monthly installments. Chapter 2 has three distinct acts, the first of which is now posted in its entirety. The second act, which is already substantially longer than the first, is mostly finished. If it is not ready for the August update, I will post part of it then and the rest in September. The third act is still just in the planning stages, but I hope to have it finished by the end of the year.

With the exception of a few framing paragraphs at the beginning and end, Chapter 2 is a massive flashback set before Robotnik's Coup, so expect a bit of a temporary departure from the traditional SatAM feel.

Chapter II: Language and Purpose 

 

Darkness engulfed Sally the moment the entrance was resealed, the resounding clang heralding the arrival of an outstretched hand of midnight black that spirited her away from the surrounding desolation and depravity of Robotropolis and into a realm even more hostile and uninviting, a den of cold voices that issued whispers of deceit and fear. Effortlessly, they overwhelmed the eyes of the intruder, coercing them into betrayal before marching upon her spirit. The mind of the princess proved to be far more stalwart than her physical form, however, and the onslaught was quickly routed. As the writhing tendrils began to amass once more, Sally breathed deeply and shifted her mental gaze, looking into the world of memory as she searched for a means of quickly dispelling her assailants.

Her thoughts alighted upon a song, a time-worn ballad recounting the coming of dawn upon a chill winter’s day long since passed. She drew it forth, weaving its verses through her soul and into a protective ward. Thus, words of despair were met with words of hope. Sharpened daggers of uncertainty and helplessness were splintered by a growing light, a beacon tinted the softest shade of pink that swam through violet skies to wrap her shivering body up in its warm folds before spreading outward, transforming the landscape of her mind’s eye from an austere and unknowable wilderness into a tranquil place of serene beauty.

Sally allowed herself a soft laugh at the victory, small though it was. It was truly remarkable, that art should offer means by which a single, perfectly distilled moment might brave the cold journey across time and space, arriving in the here and now with enough vigor and potency to aid her in wars of the spirit. More amazing still was that this latest triumph had been secured with but a single song. How far more terrible and fair the full measure of her culture must be, the allied might of every novel and poem, song and symphony, painting and dance, all of them arrayed as one in their glittering splendor!

Bitterly, such wonder was but fleeting fancy, an impossible dream that could never be realized. Much had been lost to history; far more had been purged by the cowardly usurper. In a sickening testament to his depravity, he had come to know the power of culture, only to despise it for the threat it posed to his tyrannical dominion. Yet even in a virgin world not violated by his taint, one could not hope to experience more than an infinitesimal sliver of culture’s bounty. Even the most passionate and dedicated connoisseurs of the arts were still subject to mortality, the explorations of their thirsty souls doomed to be cut short by the decay of the frail vessels that bore them.

Life was finite, a passing thing that slowly yet inexorably ebbed away from the universe toward the all-consuming unknown that lay beyond, be it paradise, oblivion, or something else entirely. Every second of existence that passed by was lost for eternity, a grain of sand plummeting from the neck of a bottomless hourglass into an abyss beyond recovery. This was a constant, a law of existence as fundamental as any other. Despite its immutability, mortality had been the subject of countless philosophical discussions throughout history. Some individuals allowed themselves to become crippled by despair at the concept, to the point that they declared life devoid of meaning and purpose. Others saw life as nothing more than a barrier between themselves and a greater plane of existence, resulting in the occasional suicide cult whose members sought to hasten their own ascension. Most tried not to dwell on the matter and instead focus on life while it lasted.

For Sally, the question of life’s significance in the face of death had been answered at a very young age, though it was a revelation that she had not wholly understood at the time, the full extent of its implications and nuances being beyond the earnest yet limited reach of her youthful thoughts. Her world had seemed so much simpler then, a charmed existence alongside her father and best friend within a wondrous citadel atop a city unrivaled in splendor. She had been happily naive, sheltered from exposure to the grim and terrible happenings of the larger world. For the peace that had governed her life was both fragile and younger than even she, purchased in blood after years of her people fighting in a conflict so vicious and widespread that it had been known as the Great War long before its conclusion…

---

“Not so tight, Rosie! I can’t breathe!” Sally complained as her caretaker adjusted the straps of her new dress.

“Dearie, if you would just stand still instead of fidgeting constantly, this would be much easier for both of us…” the elderly woodchuck chided in return, her soft chuckle robbing her words of any harshness they might have held.

At the back of the ornate dressing room stood Tabitha, Mobotropolis’ finest seamstress and the architect of the infernal raiment currently trying to kill the young princess. “I apologize for any discomfort, my lady,” she said in a tone that rang of sincerity rather than the patronization Sally so often encountered when conversing with elders, her shifting hands betraying a nervousness that contrasted with her otherwise calm manner. “I don’t often do commissions for children, and I fear that I may have incorporated your measurements improperly.”

“Oh nonsense, madam,” Rosie grunted reassuringly in between tugs. “Your dress is superb…I…just…need to…finish this…knot, and…”

The last bit of cloth slid neatly into place, at which all three individuals present sighed in relief. This was followed by Sally loudly gasping for air for several seconds, her actions exaggerated more out of playful theatricality than genuine annoyance or need.

“There,” Rosie beamed, turning Sally to face the large mirror that comprised one of the dressing room’s walls. “Oh, Princess, you look marvelous! Your father will be so pleased…”

Sally gazed at her reflection, resisting the urge to pout at the doting. The skirt of her dress had a shamrock green base, with malachite gemstones evenly placed along the hem. Its lower half was embroidered with flowers of silver and deep blue, the upper half with intricate curves of white and sky blue. Her bodice was of the same deep blue as that in the lower skirt; though it was dotted with tiny white gemstones, it possessed no embroidering of its own, save for the region covering her chest, upon which was set in silver the crest of her house, a great tree rising from an acorn. Together, the ensemble gave the distinct impression of shifting from a field in spring to a cloudy, daylit sky, and from there to the vast, starry expanses of space.

It’s…alright, I suppose, Sally thought silently. Pretty, I guess, but that’s about it. A little scratchy too…

“Well? What do you think, my lady?” Tabitha asked, her voice tinged equally with eagerness and anxiety.

Among the virtues most instilled in the young princess since her birth were politeness and honesty. For a moment, the two conflicted as she struggled to determine how exactly to express her respect for the great deal of effort that had obviously been put into the gown’s creation without exaggerating what little enthusiasm she actually felt toward it.

“It…is very pretty. You did an excellent job, Miss Tabitha. I’m sure my father will be pleased,” Sally said at last, doing her utmost to sound regal. She looked up at the seamstress.

Tabitha was short for a feline, standing only a few inches taller than Rosie. Her fur was a striking pure white; given that she appeared no older than thirty, the color was doubtless not the mark of age but natural, something of a rarity amongst her people. She was not garbed in a gown of her own, as one might expect of a seamstress, but instead wore a simple sleeveless tunic notable only for its multitude of pockets, poking out of which could be seen needles, spools of thread, bits of cloth, and other odds and ends tied to her trade. Despite her modest attire, she carried an air of regality and sophistication about her, the source of which Sally found difficult to pin down. Perhaps it was her posture, which was upright yet somehow relaxed, with none of the stiffness seen in the palace guards. Perhaps it was her accent, smooth and precise, each syllable crisply enunciated in a manner that did not impart undue harshness or severity upon her tone. Or perhaps it was her sapphire eyes, bright with intelligence and purpose, that seemed to effortlessly take in even the most minute nuances of whatever lay before them.

Those eyes widened for a fraction of a second at Sally’s words, and the squirrel thought she glimpsed a frown begin to overtake the cat’s features before being suppressed in favor of a tight smile that, though polite, seemed none too genuine. Clearly, the implications of the delay in Sally’s response and the lack of excitement in her voice had not gone unnoticed by the dressmaker.

“Very good, my lady,” Tabitha curtly replied, bowing her head forward. “If there is nothing else, I will take my leave.”

As the feline turned to go, Sally frowned in thought. Her voice had sounded empty, as though deliberately drained of all emotion, lest it carry out into the open thoughts and feelings she desired to keep hidden but could not otherwise restrain with reasonable certainty. Of course, the lack of emotion was itself indicative that something was amiss, and it cemented her suspicions that Tabitha was upset with her. Not angry, but…sad. Disappointed. It had not been Sally’s intent to hurt the seamstress, and she resolved to correct the matter while there was still opportunity.

A balance of etiquette and honesty having failed, she decided to bank entirely on the latter.

“Miss Tabitha, please wait!” Sally implored, her façade of regality replaced by genuine earnestness. As the dressmaker turned once more, brow wrinkled in confusion, she gulped, took a deep breath, and pressed on. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful or hurt your feelings. I think it’s a very nice dress, honest! I just…well, I don’t get it. What’s the point of dresses, of your job? Sure, they can be pretty, but…that’s it, right? I don’t see anything else to them. Is that prettiness really worth the hassle of putting them on or all the time you spend making them? Other types of clothes are easier to wear and often do useful things, like protecting you from the cold or rain. I mean, right now you’re wearing something with tons of pockets so you can carry things that help you work. It’s not as pretty as the dress, but it’s more useful. Doesn’t that make it better? Come to think of it, unless you need pockets or warmth or something, it’s a whole lot easier not to wear anything at all!”

Tabitha’s eyes widened, her deliberately reserved features now radiating shock tinged with horror and indignation. She blinked twice, as if to ascertain the reality of her situation. Before she could verbally respond, however, another voice spoke up.

“Now see here, young lady! That’s quite enough out of you!” Rosie snapped, her arms crossed. “I won’t have you trying to question the career of this poor woman. And I certainly won’t tolerate you advocating prancing around stark naked like a…like a male!”

Sally rolled her eyes at her nanny’s histrionics. “Rosie, we’re covered in fur,” she replied, tugging on a tuft on one of her arms for emphasis. “We’re not humans like Minister Julian. There’s nothing wrong with not wearing anything. Mobian guys do it all the time…”

“And it’s barbaric,” Rosie interrupted. “Clothing is among the most basic marks of civility and decency. Where this ridiculous trend among men of going unclad started, I have no idea, but it isn’t going to spread to the fairer half of the population on my watch! Why, when I was a girl, men always wore clothing in public, just as we do!”

“That’s because you weren’t raised around here, Rosie,” Sally sighed. “Sir Charles says that when he was a boy…”

“Not another word! Such backtalk is most unbecoming of a lady, much less a princess. You’ve been hanging around that hedgehog boy far too much; I’ll bet he’s the one filling your head with such ridiculous notions. Hmph! The princess of the land, going about with no attire at all? Society will have truly collapsed if that ever happens!”

Sally did her best to tune out the prattling woodchuck. Rosie meant well, and was indeed a wonderful nanny overall, but when something set her off, there was no stopping her until she had spoken her piece.

A moment later, a soft knock at the door interrupted Rosie’s lecturing. I guess some things can stop her, Sally dryly corrected herself. I’m just not one of them. Aloud, she called out, “You may enter!”

The thick wooden door opened, revealing a sparrow clad in the uniform of a palace servant. “Pardon the intrusion, your highness,” she said, bowing before Sally, her voice distinguished by a lyrical, half-sung quality common in the normal speech of avian Mobians.

“It is no trouble at all,” Sally replied, trying to sound regal while still being warm and inviting. “How may I help you, Miss Aerolynne?”

“Actually, it’s Rosie whom I need,” the servant said before hastily adding, “with your permission, of course.” At Sally’s nod, she turned toward the woodchuck. “We’re a bit short-winged right now and could use some assistance setting up for the banquet in the main hall. Would you be so kind?”

Rosie did not respond immediately. Instead, her eyes narrowed for a moment, seeming stern and critical as they looked over Tabitha from head to toe, as if evaluating whether there was even the slightest possibility of the seamstress posing a threat to the princess. Then the moment passed, her eyes reverting to their usual wide, kindly appearance.

“Yes, of course,” she nodded toward Aerolynne. The sparrow took her leave, but before the woodchuck followed suit, she assured Sally that she would be just a few rooms away.

“There are guards posted just down the hall. Let them know if you need anything,” Rosie finished as she shut the door behind her, a comment that seemed as much a veiled threat toward Tabitha as it was an assurance toward Sally.

Sally rolled her eyes at her nanny’s overprotectiveness. By all means, take your time over there. Now, where were we? Oh right, the point of dresses.

Turning back to Tabitha, who had been worryingly quiet this whole time, she concluded her long-interrupted impromptu speech. “Anyway, Miss Tabitha, I don’t mean to sound rude. I’m just curious. Why do you make dresses?”

To her surprise and relief, Tabitha wore a warm expression, no longer seeming insulted or upset at having the purpose of the craft she had devoted her life to called into question. Rather, she was slowly shaking her head in astonishment, a small smile steadily spreading across her features.

“My dear princess,” she said softly, “you truly are a wonder. To pick up on my body language as you just did…well, either I am far less subtle than I consider myself to be or you are most perceptive for one so young. Given that it flatters us both, let us presume it is the latter case.” She chuckled briefly before continuing in a more serious tone. “But to begin considering the merits of utility versus aesthetics at your age, that is something special indeed.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and a small tear glimmered in the corner of her right eye. “Perhaps the dress I designed for you is more appropriate than I imagined…”

Sally had been beaming at the praise, a tad confusing though it was, but frowned in bewilderment at this last musing.

“What do you mean?”

“Sally…” Tabitha began before pausing with a look of uncertainty. “Do if you mind if I address you as such? While I typically prefer to maintain proper etiquette when conversing, particularly with individuals of social stature far higher than my own, I fear that recent tangential discussions of…uncladness…have rendered an atmosphere befitting propriety untenable and beyond immediate repair. Moreover, what I have to say might be conveyed more readily if spoken in a more relaxed and personal manner.”

“So…what you’re saying is that you feel goofy trying to stay formal right after Rosie and I were talking about the idea of running around naked?”

“Just so,” the seamstress responded in a deadpan tone.

Through valiant effort, Sally managed to compress the urge to burst out laughing into a soft snicker and wide grin. “Fine by me. I actually prefer to be called by my name rather than titles.”

“An admirable quality…or at least, often the sign of one,” Tabitha acknowledged before resuming. “But as I was saying, Sally, you just touched on an ages old debate, one that I suspect has been around in some form or another since close to the dawn of civilization. Life is rarely easy, and meeting its incessant demands often proves exhausting, even when focusing on utility and efficiency. To cross beyond that cold, sterile threshold and reach out into the nebulous realm of aesthetics, of beauty, is far more difficult still. Why, then, should we do so? Why strive for such things, when they have no immediate, tangible value, yet can only be achieved through additional, often considerable, effort that carries no certainty of bearing fruit?”

The seamstress paused and closed her eyes, her furred brow furrowing. It seemed to Sally that she was deep in thought, as though struggling to determine how best to coalesce colossal, abstract concepts into discrete, simple words suited for utterance.

“It is a matter of language,” the feline said at last, smiling as she opened her eyes and looked once more at the young heiress before her. “Of expression. Each of our souls is awash with multitudes of thoughts. Most fade away into nothingness or are crystallized into memory, but…there are some that resonate with us, that stand out in stark clarity from their surroundings and demand our attention, refusing to be so easily swept from the forefront of our minds. And ah, it is those thoughts that are truly special. They can be cultivated, refined, grown and polished into something that holds deep and profound meaning, that touches the sublime. For many, to know such a thought is to love it, for it is these that serve as the windows through which we might experience beauty.

“Of course, beauty is something to be spread. That which captures the mind in loving bondage is itself a prisoner, confined to the soul that bore it into being. For a thought to be freed, and so free its creator from the burden of nourishing and sustaining it, it must find purchase beyond the soul, in the physical. Once immortalized as part of this realm, it can be perceived by others, who may well look upon it and find inspiration, a catalyst for their own thoughts laced with beauty and the sublime.

“Rendering the sublime manifest is rarely a straightforward undertaking, however. These words we speak, this everyday parlance…is limited. Basic conversation suffices for the conveying of general information, yes, but the soul’s deepest currents, our highest and most precious thoughts and passions? They require more to be properly elucidated: other languages, not of the tongue, but the soul. Music. Poetry. Painting. Literature. These are but a few of the mediums that comprise the arts, that allow one to speak with unmatched purity from the deepest, most intimate recesses of the heart. It is through the languages of our souls that we may find and understand our truest selves…and it is through them that we may best demonstrate who we are to others.”

Sally did not even attempt to keep herself from gaping as Tabitha at last grew silent. As the woman had spoken, whatever anxiety she may have been feeling had clearly melted away, leaving her seeming taller, prouder, almost aglow with whatever divine energy imbued her words with such eloquence and passion. The speech might not have been rehearsed, but the sentiments it conveyed obviously helped form the very foundation of her identity.

If her impassioned oration had left the seamstress swept up in her own world, the staring eyes of the young princess bore holes through which reality came surging in, sweeping away both her newfound glow and usual air of regality. The feline lowered her head, ears drooping as her cheeks ignited in a bright crimson visible even through her white fur.

“…Dressmaking happens to be my language,” Tabitha finished meekly before sighing. “My sincerest apologies, my lady. I suppose that made very little sense. Just the incoherent ramblings of a rather foolish woman who cannot so much as adhere to her own views and resist trying to explain the abstract in conversation. With your permission, I’ll take my leave in the hopes of sparing myself further embarrassment.”

“No!” Sally shouted, too shocked to act with restraint. When she was met with a raised eyebrow and forced frown twitching at its edges with what seemed like suppressed hope, she took a long, slow breath to compose herself. “Miss Tabitha, that speech was incredible. While I didn’t understand all of it, I think I got the main point. When you make dresses, it’s like…it’s like writing in a secret code! A code that lets you say things better than you can by talking!”

Whatever reservations had been holding up the dressmaker’s wavering frown dissolved in a heartbeat, leaving her positively beaming with pride and excitement. “In essence, yes! That’s actually a splendid metaphor! However, as with any code or language, one must learn how to interpret art in order to truly understand it. Such knowledge is not easily taught, but rather comes gradually through life experience as one encounters and reflects on various works.”

Sally frowned in disappointment, her shoulders slumping. “So I won’t be able to figure out what this dress is saying until I’m older?”

Tabitha’s grin turned sly, her voice adopting a playfully conspiratorial tone. “Not necessarily. Between you and I, there’s a certain fashion designer I know who might be willing to divulge her secrets. All that she asks in return is for you to try to figure it out yourself.”

“…Alright,” Sally said uncertainly. Though skeptical of her ability to decipher a language she essentially had no experience with, she nonetheless turned back toward the mirror and began diligently studying her reflection.

After a minute or two of silence, the dressmaker offered a bit of advice. “Try thinking associatively. What are you reminded of?”

“Well…” the princess began slowly, “The lower part of the skirt makes me think of a meadow; it’s green with flowers. The upper part’s colors remind me of cloudy skies, but…I’m not sure about these curvy patterns. They’re very pretty, but they don’t really remind me of anything.”

“Try to describe them,” Tabitha encouraged. “Are they simple?”

“No, the designs are complex. Very detailed. But at the same time…they’re still patterns. They’re orderly and structured.”

“And how does that compare to what you see in the lower skirt?”

“Well, flowers aren’t like that. They can be very detailed, but they’re usually uneven and not so pr-…  pre-…” Sally sighed in annoyance. “Oh, what was that word again?”

“Precise?” the dressmaker offered.

“Thank you. Yes, so precise. I mean, even if you find a bunch of flowers of the same type, they’re still not going to look exactly the same. I guess nature’s like that in general, really.”

“So if the patterns don’t represent something natural…” Tabitha gently pressed.

“…they must have to do with something Mobian-made!” Sally finished, starting to grow excited. “Or human made, I guess. You know what I mean. So…there’s a contrast between the two parts of the skirt. Natural things on the bottom, and things made by people on the top!”

“Excellent. Keep going! What about the bodice?”

“It looks like the night sky; the white gems are stars, and the rest is just a dark background…except for one thing. My family’s crest is there, which seems a little weird. I mean, the bodice is supposed to be outer space, right? If the lower skirt is the ground and the upper skirt is the sky, that would fit the pattern. But…my family doesn’t have anything to do with space. I know that’s where humans are supposed to have originally come from, but, as far as I know, no Mobian’s ever been up there.

“Come to think of it, if the upper skirt is supposed to be the sky, why are those patterns there? You just agreed that they meant things people make, but that doesn’t include many things in the sky. Sure, there are planes and shuttles, but that’s mainly it, right? I’ve heard of things like floating cities in made up stories, but Sir Charles says Mobian science isn’t that advanced yet…”

“Mobian space travel and an abundance of atmospheric technology? Strange things indeed. You are correct, Princess, that they are beyond our society’s ability at this time. But will they always be so?”

Sally’s eyes widened. “You’re talking about the future! This dress, it…it has to do with a time when we’re far more advanced than we are now. And my family crest…are you saying my family will have something to do with that?”

“You’ve nearly figured it out, but one crucial piece of the puzzle still needs to slide into place. Possibility and the future of our people are themes of this dress, yes, but what it is truly about at its core is a single, tangible thing you have yet to identify, obvious though it is.” The feline chuckled kindly. “You might say it’s staring you in the face.”

The princess frowned in confusion, looking around the room before facing the mirror once more. Then her jaw dropped.

“Me?!?”  

As Sally whipped around to face her, Tabitha knelt down so that the two were at eye level with one another.

“Yes, Sally,” she smiled softly, eyes starting to brim with tears as she placed a hand on both of the young squirrel’s shoulders. “Whenever I design a dress for a specific individual, I do my utmost to allow my understanding of who that person is to guide the design process, to ensure that the work is not only aesthetically pleasing but a reflection of the client’s inner being. As I’m sure you can imagine, doing so unfortunately tends to be rather difficult when the person in question is a stranger, as you were when I received this commission. I knew of you, of course; I’d be surprised if anyone in the whole kingdom of Theiapele, especially here within the capital, did not. Yet knowing of and genuinely knowing are worlds apart. In the case of most unfamiliar clients, I prefer to hold informal interviews over tea or lunch in order to foster a greater understanding of them, to gain insight into their careers, background, aspirations, and so on.  Though I feel now that I was mistaken, I did not think such an approach would bear fruit in your case, given your age. So instead of trying to rely on a wanting understanding of you based on observation and scraps of information, I based my design on what I hoped you would become, on the person I wanted you to be.

“I do not know to what extent you have been apprised of…recent history, and it is certainly not my place to be the one to inform you of such things. But know that our country, indeed, much of the whole world, has suffered deeply over the past few years. The source of this misery was recently ended, in no small part due to the leadership of your father and heroism of Minister Julian, but its aftereffects will be felt for years. The world is now catching its breath and stands at a critical point on the path of history. Behind it lie untold horrors and sadness. Before it is a crossroads. Each path leads to another crossroads, and then others still. The future is uncertain, a complex mire of interrelated decisions yet to be made. Some paths lead to anarchy and chaos, a ruin that could match or even eclipse that which has already transpired, unthinkable though it seems. Others lead to stagnation, civilization limping through the years, its wounds never healed, as decay and the rot of corruption gnaw away at its foundations.”

Sally found herself quietly crying, confused and terrified by the ominous words that the woman before her spoke with such grave intensity. The seamstress normally spoke in a lofty, sophisticated manner that was difficult to understand, but this was something else entirely. What she spoke of seemed alien and abstract, yet massive and dire, a thing of terrible and incalculable significance that threatened to overtake and consume her peaceful world as surely and utterly as a tsunami hurtling toward a tiny, unsuspecting island.

Then she found a hand gingerly wiping the tears from her face, accompanied by a voice that was now no longer weary and grim, but soft and gentle.

“Ssh. It’s alright, Sally. It’s alright,” Tabitha whispered, forming a small smile. “There’s no need to be afraid, because there’s another path still, and it’s the one that I genuinely believe we will travel. And do you know where it leads?”

“Where?” whispered the young girl, sniffling.

“To prosperity. To growth. To a future in which the wounds of the world are healed and the lessons of history learned from so that the sins of the past are not repeated. To an age of possibility in which a foundation of unity and humility gives birth to a host of discoveries and triumphs that shatters the cage of what we now consider to be our limits. To a cultural renaissance that drives people everywhere to cultivate beauty within their souls and then free it through great works of art that inspire and empower future generations for millennia.”

The seamstress closed her eyes and shook her head, still smiling. “Perhaps I am being foolish. Perhaps such a future is impossible, nothing more than the ravings of someone blinded by her own romanticism. But I think it’s a future worth believing in and striving for.”

Sally managed a giggle. “It certainly sounds a lot nicer than those other paths you mentioned.”

“That it does. However, successfully navigating that labyrinth of crossroads and reaching it will be no small task. As it happens, our country is in better shape than other nations, in some cases enormously so, and is thus poised to lead the rest of the world on this journey. The burden of choosing which paths to take thus lies on, more than anyone, our leader, your father and my king. Thankfully, in this regard we have been truly blessed, for he is a wise man with a good heart, a paragon of strength that has already carried us through dark times.

“However, the journey will be a long one. Eventually, the king, worn and tired from a lifetime of leadership, will step down from the throne. You are our princess, his only heir. When that day comes, the mantle of leadership and the burdens that come with it will pass to you. It shall be you, Sally Acorn, who must navigate the Crossroads of Fate and guide us toward the future, whatever it may be.”

Sally shut her eyes tightly, standing perfectly still as she tried to take in the enormity of what had just been said. She had known that she would one day rule, that she would be queen, but rarely gave the matter thought. It had seemed nothing more than a simple fact for the time being, an event so many years removed from her own present circumstances that it had might as well not even exist.

But it did exist. Impossibly far off though it seemed, the position of queen would one day be hers to fill, and for the first time she began to consider what that truly meant. Eventually, a burning in her lungs alerted her to her body’s needs, and she took a deep breath, slowly nodding as she did so.

“That is why I designed your dress this way,” Tabitha continued. I hoped that you would grow to become someone worthy of that mantle, that, when the time came, you would rule with wisdom and integrity. I wanted to believe in you, in a future queen who would not lead us astray but serve as a beacon of hope and inspiration to both her people and those of other nations.”

The princess moved to a chair at the edge of the room and sunk into it, arching her head upward. The movement of the ceiling fan caught her eye, and she tried to focus on it, seeking refuge in any distraction, however mundane, that could ease the pressure of the crushing weight just placed upon her mind.

It didn’t help.

The waters of her spirit were normally peaceful, their currents of emotion gentle and graceful as they ferried thoughts to and from consciousness. From time to time, some form of unpleasantness would find entry, disrupting the tranquility and causing the currents to become unstable. Yet, without fail, it was soon swept away, failing to sink deep within her and take poisonous root.

Now, the waters churned and rolled as they were buffeted by wild, surging currents of negative emotions. Fear of not living up to what was expected of her, of making mistakes that would harm more people than she could imagine, of just not being good enough. Self-pity at being forced to bear such a terrible burden, at not being master of her own fate, free to nurture and pursue her own dreams. Anger at Tabitha for placing this pressure upon her and upsetting her state of mind, at stealing away part of her innocence, creating a breach in the shield of youthful ignorance that sheltered her from the harsh realities of the world around her.

“No pressure…” she eventually snorted, eyes closed, not bothering to hide the bitterness or wavering in her voice.

There was no response, but Sally, content to sulk and not trusting herself to refrain from outbursts, remained still, thoughts writhing within her. What makes me so special? Why make me queen? I’m just a child! I don’t know the first thing about leadership! Sure, it’s a long way off, and I’ll learn in that time…but will it be enough? CAN it be enough? To have so much responsibility…over so many people…I don’t see myself ever being ready. I should be looking up to wise people like Miss Tabitha, not the other way around.

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

Sally looked up, surprised. The words had been Tabitha’s, but they sounded…strange. Her enunciation had been softer, less precise. The seamstress was kneeling opposite her across the room, crestfallen and eyes closed. The feline had shown signs of sadness before, yet this seemed deeper, more personal.

“…Miss Tabitha? Are you alright?” Sally whispered, her surprise enough to briefly subdue the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions she had been engulfed in.

Tabitha slowly met her gaze, and it seemed to Sally that her eyes were ridden with…guilt. Indeed, she seemed younger, somehow, less experienced and more vulnerable.

“No. No, I’m not. Unintentional though it was, I’ve clearly hurt you, callously dumping what must seem like the weight of the world on your shoulders without so much as a word of warning.” She strode across the room and knelt before Sally, bowing her head. “Princess…Sally…I beg you to forgive me, to believe me when I say that I would never wish pain upon you or knowingly bring you grief. I just wanted to let you know how important you are, how much you matter to me, to all of us. You are hope embodied, the promise of the coming dawn in a long and painful night that is at last drawing to an end.”

As the dressmaker spoke, Sally realized that her accent had indeed shifted. This was not the elegant, cultured tone of a noblewoman, but that of a commoner. Her words carried an earnestness and purity that spoke of a complete lack of reservation. Before Sally was a woman who had willingly set aside her carefully constructed affectations, the mannerisms she had adopted for herself to wear as a mask before the rest of the world. Underneath was a soul that, though stripped of regality and confidence, was remarkably gentle, a kind-hearted being who felt deep sorrow and regret for having done wrong in her own eyes, for having hurt another.

Whatever lingering anger and resentment Sally may have felt toward her vanished in an instant, her spirit beginning to calm as she leapt out of her chair and hugged the kneeling woman tightly. Tabitha gasped, clearly taken by surprise, but reciprocated the hug after a moment.

They stayed that way for perhaps a minute, after which the older woman rose to her feet, clearly embarrassed but nonetheless laughing softly as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Sally, I’m afraid all this talking has left me rather parched. Would you please excuse me to grab a drink from the other room?”

“Of course. Bring me one too, please.”

The feline left and returned several minutes later, a glass of ice water in each hand. As she reentered the room, Sally surmised from her body language that she had again donned her usual mannerisms. Posture, expression, gait, and composure all spoke of class and regality. She was once more the cultured, sophisticated fashionista. Even so, her eyes bore a glint that betrayed the kindness behind them.

“Your drink, my lady,” Tabitha spoke in formal tones, offering a glass to Sally.

“Thank you kindly, Miss Tabitha,” the princess replied in kind as she accepted it. She slowly sipped at the water, savoring the cold relief it offered.

When the two had finished, the dressmaker gingerly asked, “Princess…with your permission, I wish to offer a final addendum to…our previous discussion.”

Sally sobered at this but nodded after a moment of thought. Whatever it is, I know she means well. Besides, it’s not like she’s responsible for the importance of the tasks before me. The truth was always there; she just made me see it. Unpleasant, but it had to happen sooner or later.

“After today, I see more than hope in you, Princess Sally. I see potential, the genuine makings of the leader I envisioned. You are an incredibly intelligent young lady, and I truly mean that. Why, I could never have imagined that my time at the palace today would include the two of us holding a philosophical discussion of art! You have also shown perceptiveness and compassion, and, though it hurt, the fact that you took the prospect of carrying the burdens of a leader seriously demonstrates that you value both responsibility and the welfare of your people. Continue working to cultivate these virtues, and I assure you that, when the time of your reign finally comes, your people will be most proud of you, as will your father.”

Sally gulped but nodded gravely. “It won’t be easy, but I’ll do my best.”

To Sally’s surprise, Tabitha winked, her voice losing some of its formality. “Of course, you mustn’t try too hard, at least for the near future. That time is many years hence, for your father is wise and still in his prime. Do not dwell on the future, but rejoice in your youth! Spend time with your friends; revel in activities you enjoy; embrace your freedom while you still can and live life to the fullest! Promise me that, when you think back on our discussion, you’ll try to see it as a source of encouragement, not stress.”

The young squirrel grinned widely, relaxing considerably. “Yes ma’am!” And with that, her spirit completed its return to peacefulness, its currents becoming tranquil once more. The fears and anxieties that had emerged were not destroyed, but they were diminished and kept at bay, sealed away by a newfound ward of hope that burned radiantly within her.

Tabitha set their glasses on a table and began collecting her things. “It’s truly been a delightful experience meeting you, Princess Sally, but I’m afraid I need to get going. I have many things to attend to before tomorrow night.”

“So you’ll be at the banquet, then?” Sally asked hopefully.

“Of course! I hope to see you there. You’ll get to meet my fiancé, whom I suspect you’ll get along with famously. I’ll also be wearing something more…expressive than these old things,” she added, gesturing to her work clothes.

A sly grin formed on the face of the seamstress, and she looked around the room conspicuously before leaning in. “Speaking of clothes,” she whispered in a mock conspiratorial tone, “I feel I must urge you not to carry out any royal decrees advocating the acceptability of public nudity. Think of what it would do to my business!”

Both of them were still laughing when Rosie finally returned.

And don't go around giving away our straitjackets, either!

We need them to fight off the vampire waffles emerging from the cheese igloo.

The following thread is for all discussion of The Princess and the Demon, a story that can be found here:

In addition, the opening post contains a series of appendices that I have written for the purpose of fleshing out my personal take on Mobius. These appendices are by no means final, and will be expanded on over time. Please note that, though the story and appendices are based on the SatAM continuity, they are not meant to be set in it. This is essentially an alternate universe story.

 

THE APPENDICES

A GUIDE TO THE WORLD OF THE PRINCESS AND THE DEMON

 

APPENDIX A:

LORE AND CULTURE

 

Section I: Aethyr

Aethyr is an invisible, omnipresent form of energy. It is metaphysical in nature, originating from a separate, parallel plane of existence, generally known as The Pure Aethyr. Dimipists generally agree that this plane is spiritual in nature and, like everything else, made by the Creator, while skeptics have sought to prove a purely natural explanation for the phenomenon. Whatever its origins, Aethyr is difficult to harness but capable of producing extremely powerful and versatile effects, many of which are otherwise impossible to achieve. Aethyr can be harnessed by two types of people, Ierokast and Mages, and certain crafted objects, known as Artifacts. In addition, though they cannot directly wield it, Anointed have a degree of Aethyr that passively flows through them.

An Ierokast (“Holy Judge”) is an individual with the innate ability to channel Aethyr into a supernatural power. Dimipists believe that this ability is a gift from the Creator, and that Ierokast are meant to help guide a city, nation, or even all of Mobius through times of crisis. Ierokast are very rare: no more than one has ever been known to exist at a time, and centuries may go by without one being born. Each Ierokast throughout history has had a different, unique power. Some have an enhanced attribute, such as strength or wisdom, while others are granted an entirely new ability, such as telekinesis or weather manipulation.

An Anointed is a member of a bloodline whose body carries a passive amount of Aethyr. According to Dimipism, these individuals have been blessed by the Creator and are meant to fulfill roles of leadership. The Ierokast Samuel, for example, reportedly caused Lenora Acorn to become an Anointed when he invoked the will of the Creator in declaring her to be the first monarch of Theiapele. While many non-Dimipists are skeptical of the story’s authenticity, there is no denying that each studied Acorn monarch has proven to have the physical properties of an Anointed. While Anointed status is passed genetically, it is strongest in firstborn offspring, becoming increasingly weaker in successive children. In the case of royal Anointed, such as the Acorn dynasty, this has the effect of the status remaining close to the throne as generations pass, rather than being widely distributed amongst nobility.

Anointed have generally been observed to demonstrate personality traits well-suited for leaders; they tend to be very intelligent, charismatic, and determined individuals, though it is possible, if rare, for non-Anointed to match or even exceed them in these respects. In addition, Anointed can wield Artifacts attuned to their lineage, and their blood can be used in the creation of Mages.

Aethyr Artifacts, commonly referred to as just Artifacts, are constructed devices capable of harnessing Aethyr in a specific manner. Creating even a ‘simple’ one is an exceedingly difficult process, one that requires a blend of expert craftsmanship, scientific genius, and deep spiritual understanding. Most Artifacts throughout recorded history have been created by the Jiahang, who, of all the nations of Mobius, have the culture most closely tied to Aethyr and its manipulation. In other parts of the world, Artifact creation has increasingly become a lost art, one viewed with fear and suspicion by many.

An individual crafting an Artifact must choose whether to make the device Bound or Unbound. Unbound Artifacts can be used by anyone, while Bound Artifacts cannot be activated unless wielded by the type of person they are attuned to during creation, a selection limited to Ierokast and Anointed. While Ierokast-attuned Artifacts can be used by all Ierokast, Artifacts attuned to Anointed discriminate based on bloodline. If an Artifact was attuned to the Acorn line, for example, someone from another Anointed lineage would not be able to wield it. Bound Artifacts are more secure and powerful than they would be if Unbound, while Unbound Artifacts are usable by far, far more people.

Normally, only Ierokast are capable of channeling Aethyr through their bodies, and even they are limited to a single or small set of abilities. However, through mysterious occult practices, reportedly including demonic pacts, normal individuals can be imbued with the ability to manipulate Aethyr. With enough study and discipline, these Mages can produce a wide variety of magical effects. However, because the Aethyr they use is forcibly ripped from its plane instead of flowing naturally, as with Ierokast, it becomes twisted and corrupted. The ‘spells’ of Mages thus tend to be violent and punitive in nature, and are generally agreed to be evil. Using such magic takes a toll on the user’s mind; the result, combined with the costs of becoming a Mage to begin with, is that actively practicing Mages are invariably wicked…and often insane.

Becoming a Mage requires the blood of an Ierokast or Anointed. While the ‘ascension’ ritual involved only requires a small quantity, the power of the Mage being ‘reborn’ is proportional to the amount of blood used. Tragically, this has resulted in the abduction and murder of many Ierokast and Anointed throughout history in the name of creating Mages. Ierokast and Anointed that become Mages themselves have the capacity to become exceptionally dangerous, though such cases are very rare.

‘Corrupt’ Artifacts can be made by combining techniques used in Mage ascension rituals with those used in more conventional Aethyr Artifact creation. Such devices are generally more versatile than other artifacts, but their construction requires Ierokast or Anointed blood, as with ascension rituals. Corrupt Artifacts possess an inherent degree of instability and cannot be Bound.

 

Section II: The Mobian Calendar

A year on Mobius consists of 404 days.

There are 8 months, each consisting of 40 days. The ordered months, and their translations, are as follows:

Vrokeri (“Waxing Rain”)

Vroparak (“Waning Rain”)

Iliokeri (“Waxing Sun”)

Ilioparak (“Waning Sun”)

Synkokeri (“Waxing Harvest”)

Synkoparak (“Waning Harvest”)

Chionikeri (“Waxing Snow”)

Chioniparak (“Waning Snow”)

In addition, the middle day of each season is considered separate from any month. These days, located between the ‘Waxing’ and ‘Waning’ months, are traditionally holidays observed through festivals and celebration. They are:

Vrofaltezza (“Height of Rain”)

Iliofaltezza (“Height of Sun”)

Synkofaltezza (“Height of Harvest”)

Chionifaltezza (“Height of Snow”)

 

Section III: Mobian Religion

Dimipism (“Belief in the Creator”) has, for most of recorded history, been the dominant religion in Theiapele, Jiahang, and parts of Trivarié. It is a monotheistic belief centered around the deity most commonly referred to as the Creator, a benevolent, all-powerful god responsible for the existence of the universe and everything ‘natural’ in it, life included. Dimipists worship the Creator, out of both reverence for His divinity and gratitude for providing in their daily lives. The religion draws a distinction between the bodies and souls of people, claiming that, though the former are made through biological processes, each is directly imbued with a unique soul specifically designed by the Creator for a purpose. Upon a person’s physical death, his or her soul is believed to be drawn into The Pure Aethyr and carried before the Creator, though what happens after this is the subject of frequent debate amongst various sects of Dimipism. Such conflicting beliefs include the soul entering paradise, being judged for its actions in life, becoming part of the Aethyr to guide future generations, and being absorbed by the Creator, thereby joining a massive collective intelligence.

While no other modern religions exist on such a large, organized scale, Mobius is home to a number of other beliefs. Worship of ancestors is common in Isenvalk and northern Trivarié, while various cults have risen and fallen throughout history, ranging from heretical spinoffs of Dimipism to the shadowy attempts to consort with ghosts and demons that gave birth to Mages and the Order of Ixis. The Mandara are thought to have practiced a polytheistic religion, though, as with most aspects of their culture, records of it are scarce at best. Atheism is dominant in the Elleteren Empire and was common amongst the humans of Fabrastrum. Other humans tended to practice beliefs passed down among their people from before they settled on Mobius, some of which are similar enough to Dimipism that attempts to reconcile the two practices have been made by certain theologians, both human and Mobian.

 

APPENDIX B:

HISTORY OF NATIONS

 

Section I: Theiapele (“Divine Liberation”)

The constitutional monarchy of Theiapele has its roots in the band of former slaves that, under the leadership of the Ierokast Abner, escaped the Mandara in the year 0 EL, just prior to Sidon’s destruction, and sailed to the main Mobian continent of Chora. The civilization that arose from their descendants was small and fragile, caught between Chora’s two rival superpowers, Jiahang and Trivarié. Through the strength and leadership of the Ierokast and a unifying faith in the Creator, they endured, eventually shifting from a nomadic lifestyle to living in small, agricultural towns in the southern portion of the continent. Allying themselves with Marecianti in the archipelago to the south, the Theiapelens were careful to remain neutral in the series of intermittent conflicts between Jiahang to the northeast and Trivarié to the northwest.

 In 1268, shortly after the mages of Jiahang went rogue and attempted to conquer both of the warring factions, the famed Ierokast Samuel, acting in the name of the Creator, anointed Lenora Acorn as the first monarch of Theiapele. Out of respect for Samuel and reverence for the Creator, the Theiapelens rallied to their new queen, who led them in battle against the mages. The sudden entrance of Lenora and her fresh troops into the conflict turned the tide and led to the mages’ defeat. The gratitude the people of both Jiahang and Trivarié held toward Theiapele allowed Lenora to serve as a neutral go-between and achieve the unthinkable by brokering a lasting peace between the two rival nations.

In 1322, several decades later, Lenora’s son, King Geoffrey I, oversaw the creation of a new capital city for Theiapele: Mobotropolis, so-named in celebration of the newly unified world. The establishment of the majestic city marked the dawn of a golden age for Theiapele, in which it rapidly grew into a respected world power. During this era, the Theiapelens were perhaps best known for their legendary diplomats. For centuries, whenever international tensions threatened to spark armed conflict, it was they who proved key to maintaining the peace, such as with the secession of Isenvalk from Trivarié.

By far the most renowned case of Theiapelen peacekeeping occurred in 2142, following the landing of the Dawnbreaker on Mobius. The human colony ship was, to the people of Mobius, the first confirmation of extraterrestrial life, and word of strange, alien creatures using incredibly advanced technology spread like wildfire, leading to mass panic and confusion. Some thought the humans to be gods or demons, leading to separate calls for their veneration and destruction. The latter were joined by groups fearing a planetary invasion or seeking to acquire mysterious, powerful new forms of technology. Violent confrontation with the ‘invaders’ seemed inevitable. Yet the Trivarié military was able to quarantine the territory surrounding the Dawnbreaker, keeping vigil while a small team of Theiapelen ambassadors, accompanied by a single representative from each of the other nations, attempted to communicate with the aliens. Courageously lead by Queen Esteri III, the diplomats painstakingly learned simple means of conversing with the ship’s own representatives. After three long, tense months, a fragile understanding was reached, and war averted.

Tragically, the Golden Age of Theiapele ended scarcely a century later in 2247, when King Isaac II was assassinated by members of the Order of Ixis, a secret cult of mages descended from survivors of Queen Lenora’s purge centuries prior. The assassination was long in the making, preceded by years of planning and infiltration, and coordinated with simultaneous attempts on the lives of political leaders throughout Chora. It is believed that the Ixis mages sought to create widespread chaos and mistrust between nations whilst harvesting Anointed blood to bolster their ranks. Notably, only the leaders of Jiahang, the nation that had given birth to mages to begin with and remained the world leader in arcane knowledge, were not targeted, creating an obvious suspect likely intended to bear international blame. Though most of the assassins found their marks and all of them managed to escape immediate reprisal, vanishing through magical means, the Order of Ixis ultimately failed to either ignite war or seize power in the wake of its attacks.

After saving the Theiapelen heir, Princess Amelia, from the assassin that murdered her father before her eyes, the Ierokast Cornelius called for international cooperation, directing anger away from Jiahang and toward the mysterious assailants themselves. Over the next decade, the Order of Ixis was uncovered, uprooted, and eradicated. Its teachings and artifacts were burned and its members put to the sword, though many mage-hunters were slain by their magic in the process. In the end, only Ixis Lazaar, the leader of the cult and murderer of King Isaac, remained, having retreated into his fortified lair deep beneath Mobotropolis. Only Cornelius himself dared pursue the wizard into those accursed catacombs.

Neither ever emerged.

Legend has it that Cornelius successfully made it past the labyrinth’s myriad traps and arcane guardians, reaching the heart of the lair and engaging Lazaar in a final, terrible duel. The two nemeses mortally wounded one another, but the wizard placed himself in a magical slumber, allowing him to heal and await a disciple strong enough to find and awaken him. Cornelius had no such recourse and succumbed to his wounds; his death would seemingly herald the end of the Ierokast, for none were born for nearly a millennium afterward.

The Order of Ixis was vanquished, yet it left a terrible legacy. Amelia Acorn, now Queen, was so deeply traumatized by witnessing the death of her father that she became consumed by paranoia, convinced that the mages were not truly defeated, that countless more could be hiding in plain sight. It was a suspicion shared by many at first, and the public was encouraged to report anyone who might possibly be a mage. Accusations ran rampant as neighbor turned against neighbor, whether out of fear or hidden grudges. Homes were ransacked by guards looking for evidence; citizens were imprisoned without trial. For the first time in history, the Theiapelen monarchy violated the people’s rights established in the constitution, doing so in the name of peace and security. There was little protest at first, so widespread was fear of mage insurgents. But as years passed without so much as a single confirmed mage being found, unrest began to build, while Queen Amelia descended further and further into madness. Mobotropolis and other cities throughout the land were placed under martial law. Strict curfews were enacted, and anyone entering or leaving a city or the national border required extensive authorization papers. Protestors were arrested on sight, assumed to be mage sympathizers or even mages themselves.

“The Mad Queen”, as she came to be known, ruled with an iron fist and soon turned her fearful gaze beyond her own borders, to Jiahang and the human city-state of Fabrastrum. Amelia was not convinced that Jiahang had merely been a scapegoat during the Ixis Assassinations, while Lazaar himself had been a human. That Jiahang had contributed significant resources to the mage purge under Cornelius did not matter to her; nor did the fact that Lazaar was the only human mage on record. Neither nation was to be trusted, and all trade with them was suddenly banned by her edict. When the Archduke of Trivarié criticized her for such rash actions, she extended her ban to his nation as well. The economy of Theiapele quickly began to suffer, and with it her people. Soon, even Amelia’s most loyal supporters began to privately question her.

The final straw came when Amelia began ordering soldiers into the catacombs beneath the capital to search for Lazaar, whom she insisted was still alive. A full squad of troops reluctantly entered the tunnels that Cornelius had braved years prior. Only one returned, traumatized and wounded, frantically recounting the gruesome deaths of her comrades, all of them victims of the lair’s defenses. When Amelia ordered the survivor executed, claiming her to be Lazaar in a magical disguise, the military at last turned on the queen. Without so much as an objection from her guards, Amelia was arrested and thrown into an asylum, where she would spend the rest of her days cursing her ‘traitorous’ people. Her son, Geoffrey V, took the throne, while the entrance to the catacombs was walled up and quarantined, eventually falling into legend as the mysterious “Forbidden Zone.”

A decent man, Geoffrey V, having grown up in an atmosphere of fear, was nonetheless a cautious ruler. His mother’s trade bans were relaxed but not altogether removed; the same went for the tightened security in cities. Those unjustly imprisoned were quickly given fair trials and the specter of open revolt soon faded, but it ultimately took several generations for the domestic state of Theiapele to begin to resemble what it had been prior to the Ixis Assassinations. The nation’s reputation abroad did not heal so easily. The human colonists, already a tiny minority, had always been looked upon with suspicion and mistrust by much of Mobius. Theiapele had been their greatest ally and advocate since the days of Esteri III, yet Amelia had shattered that alliance in her demented fury. The already reserved humans drew in upon themselves even more, largely remaining within the walls of Fabrastrum and trading with Mobians only when necessary. To the other nations of Mobius, Theiapele lost its reputation of being the great peacemaker of the world, the famed Acorn dynasty forever tainted in the eyes of most.

The reign of Queen Amelia and the years immediately afterward became known as Theiapele’s Dark Age. Gradually, the scars it left began to heal, and the nation enjoyed centuries of peace and relative prosperity. Yet international tensions began to slowly rise once more. The Ixis Assassinations reignited animosity among the people of the Elleteren Republic toward Jiahang, from which they had seceded in 1461, out of protest of all arcane study once the danger posed by mages became known at the end of the Trivarié-Jiahang Wars. In 2401, the republic declared itself an empire, a restructuring done in the name of security. Many domestic policies similar to those of Queen Amelia were enacted, yet they were welcomed by the populace out of nationalistic fervor. As the centuries passed, the Elleteren Empire began increasing its militarization, ostensibly to support the colonization of remote islands, while investing heavily in local technological advancements. The nation courted Fabrastrum at every opportunity, seeking its technology, but this only caused the wary humans to further isolate themselves. Marecianti, which had increasingly become corrupt and greedy, developed strong ties with the Elleteren Empire, hoping to profit from its rapid growth. The shift hurt Theiapele and Trivarié, which began to rely more and more on one another for economic support.

Eventually, Marecianti and the Elleteren Empire entered into a formal alliance with one another, pledging support in times of peace…and war. In response, Theiapele and Trivarié created their own pact, promising the same to one another. Though few would admit it, most feared that war was inevitable. The Theiapelen Diplomatic Corps attempted to diffuse tensions between the Elleterens and Jiahang, but failed miserably, having seen the looming danger far too late to be of any use, particularly with their still-disgraced reputation. As the Theiapelen diplomats headed home in defeat, Jiahang, fearing for its safety, turned to Theiapele and Trivarié directly, and was soon admitted into their alliance. Meanwhile, the people of Isenvalk reluctantly joined the Marecianti-Elleteren alliance. Though traditionally isolationist and fiercely independent, they had long feared being reabsorbed by Trivarié. With the Trivarines now possessing two major allies, the Isenvalkans saw entering into an alliance of their own as the only means of ensuring independence.

The stage was set for a conflict unlike any Mobius had ever witnessed, one spanning the entire Choran continent and its surrounding islands. Three nations arrayed against three others, with only tiny Fabrastrum steadfastly remaining neutral. Then, in 3214, the second year of the reign of King Maximillian Acorn II, the dam finally burst as Elleteren troops invaded the Jiahang border.

The Great War had begun.

 

Section II: Sidon (“Chains”)

Coming Soon!

Section III: Marecianti (“Merchants of the Sea”)

Coming Soon!

Section IV: Jiahang (“Navigators of the Mists”)

Coming Soon!

Section V: Trivarié (“Varied Tribes”)

Coming Soon!

Section VI: Fabrastrum (“Forge from the Stars”)

Coming Soon!

Section VII: The Elleteren Republic/Empire (“Against Aethyr”)

Coming Soon!

Section VIII: Isenvalk (“People of the Frost”)

Coming Soon!

 

APPENDIX C:

TIMELINE OF HISTORY

 

The following chronology is based on the Theiapelen Reckoning of history, which is centered around the escape of Mobian slaves, the first Theiapelens, from Sidon under the Ierokast Abner. Years prior to this event are denoted as being part of the Era of Bondage (EB), while years after it are part of the Era of Liberation (EL).

Circa 2000 EB: The Mandara organize their continent into the empire of Sidon.

Circa 1900 EB: The Mandara establish their first outposts on the continent of Chora to the east. They also begin raiding Mobian villages in Western Chora and sending captives back to Sidon as slaves.

1517 EB: Jiahang is founded in Eastern Chora.

980 EB: The cities of Western Chora unite to fight off Mandaran raiders, becoming the nation of Trivarié.

212 EB: The existence of Aethyr is discovered in Jiahang.

42 EB: Birth of Abner, the first known Ierokast, into Mandaran captivity in Sidon.

1 EB: Abner receives a vision from the Creator in which he is instructed to free his fellow slaves and depart Sidon. Start of the Mandaran Civil War.

0: Aided by the Creator, the chaos of the Mandaran Civil War, and a small group of Mandara sympathetic to his cause, Abner leads a contingent of 3000 Mobian slaves out of Sidon on boats. Shortly afterward, all of Sidon is destroyed through unknown means, commonly thought to be either divine wrath or the unleashing of a terrible weapon as a result of the civil war.

1 EL: Abner and his fellow former slaves continue making their way east across the ocean, toward the main Mobian continent of Chora, relying on small, uninhabited islands for rest and food.

2: The former slaves at last reach the shores of Chora, where they declare themselves a new nation, Theiapele, in honor of their freedom provided by the Creator.

97: The nation of Marecianti is founded in the archipelago south of the Choran mainland.

525: Beginning of the Trivarié-Jiahang Wars.

 809: Theiapele establishes an alliance with Marecianti.

1064: The Ierokast Lucien rebels against the Creator and, through foul craft, becomes the first Mage.

1185: Birth of the Ierokast Samuel.

1239: Birth of Lenora Acorn.

1266: The Mages of Jiahang go rogue, declaring war on their homeland while continuing to fight against Trivarié. Beginning of the War of the Mages.

1267: Jiahang and Trivarié agree to a truce in order to focus on the Mage threat.

1268: Samuel anoints Lenora as Queen of Theiapele. The Theiapelen people pledge their allegiance to her.

1269: Queen Lenora leads Theiapelen troops against the Mages, turning the tide of the war.

1271: End of the War of the Mages. Theiapele, Trivarié, and Jiahang emerge triumphant. Surviving Mages go into hiding and eventually form the Order of Ixis.

1280: Lenora brokers a treaty between Trivarié and Jiahang, ending their many centuries of intermittent fighting.

1322: King Geoffrey Acorn I founds Mobotropolis.

1461: The Elleteren Republic secedes from Jiahang. Despite high tensions and widespread protests, the transition is a bloodless one.

1749: Isenvalk secedes from Trivarié. The parting is largely amicable, in part due to the efforts of Theiapelen diplomats.

2142: The human colony vessel Dawnbreaker lands on Mobius in Trivarié near the Elleteren border. Despite widespread panic, negotiations between the ship’s crew and Mobian ambassadors led by Queen Esteri Acorn III ultimately prove successful. The Trivarines cede a modest amount of land to the newcomers, where they establish the city-state of Fabrastrum.

2185: Birth of Lazaar.

2199: Birth of the Ierokast Cornelius.

2240: Members of the Order of Ixis begin putting plans in motion to assassinate key leaders in most nations.

2247: The Ixis Assassinations occur across Choran. Lazaar murders King Isaac Acorn II. Cornelius saves Isaac’s daughter, Amelia, and leads the nations of the world in uprooting the cult. Beginning of the Ixis Crisis.

2258: Lazaar, the last known surviving Ixis Mage, places himself in magical stasis deep beneath Mobotropolis after killing Cornelius. Official end of the Ixis Crisis.

2259: Queen Amelia begins enacting totalitarian policies throughout Theiapele out of a paranoid obsession with Mages.

2275: Amelia bans Theiapelens from all trade with Jiahang, Fabrastrum, and Trivarié.

2279: Amelia is arrested by her own military, ending the tyrannical reign of “The Mad Queen.” Her son, Geoffrey V, takes the Theiapelen throne and begins the process of undoing the harm she caused.

2401: The Elleteren Republic is reorganized into an empire.

3164: Birth of Charles Hedgehog.

3188: Birth of Maximilian Acorn II. Charles Hedgehog begins studying the creation of Aethyr Artifacts in Jiahang.

3197: The Elleteren Empire and Marecianti enter into a formal alliance, pledging to support one another in the event of war.

3201: Theiapele and Trivarié sign an alliance.

3204: Charles invents roboticization, but abandons the technology after discovering its mental effects on subjects.

3206: Theiapelen diplomatic attempts to decrease tensions between Jiahang and the Elleteren Empire fail. Jiahang joins the Theiapelen-Trivarine alliance.

3209: Isenvalk joins the Elleteren-Marecianti alliance.

3212: Maximillian II becomes king of Theiapele and marries the archaeologist Nicole.

3214: The Elleteren Empire invades Jiahang, beginning the Great War.

3219: Births of Princess Sally Acorn and Sonic Hedgehog. Queen Nicole dies in childbirth.

3222: Charles, suspecting his nephew to be an Ierokast, begins designing Power Rings for Sonic.

3223: End of the Great War. Charles creates an Artifact that functions as a Power Ring generator.

3224: Julian, now calling himself Robotnik, conducts a mechanized coup in Mobotropolis, quickly conquering and roboticizing most of the Theiapelen population and declaring war on the rest of the world. King Maximillian II is banished into the Void. Princess Sally, Sonic, and other refugees from Mobotropolis escape to the hidden sanctuary of Knothole, deep in the Great Forest.

3233: Princess Sally organizes a team of freedom fighters from volunteers in Knothole and begins a guerilla campaign against Robotnik.

3235: Events of The Princess and the Demon.

As the guerilla war against Robotnik and his mechanized legions drags on with no end in sight, the burdens of leadership begin to take their toll on Princess Sally. When an all-too-routine sabotage mission encounters an unexpected complication, she finds herself alone in Robotropolis, where she undertakes a harrowing journey that brings her face-to-face with her most terrifying adversary, a cunning and ruthless being that threatens her very soul.

Content Rating: T (Violence, mild language, and dark thematic elements)

Disclaimer: This thread is for story updates only. A discussion thread, which also features a set of appendices detailing this story's setting, can be found here:

 

The Princess and the Demon

 

Chapter I: Song in Shadow

 

Sunset.

 A decade ago, the sky would have been awash in a dazzling array of blues and violets, their cool hues intermingling with the fading orange and gold embers of Mobius’ sun in a dance that had inspired countless minds over the course of history. The dance was at once fragile and immortal, fading after only an hour or so yet always restored to life the next evening, each revival bringing with it subtle new movements that left the end of that day unique. It was a testament to the pure, elegant strength of nature that these daily occurrences remained moving, inviting those who witnessed them to lay down the duties and sophistications of society, if for only a moment, and enjoy simple beauty.

Even as a small child, Princess Sally had loved watching sunsets, had felt the brush of their power. On days when he was not burdened down with his duties, her father would often take her out to the palace balcony to watch the wondrous dance in the evening sky. He would set her on his shoulder as they looked out over the expanse of their kingdom, their home. Sometimes they talked; sometimes they remained silent, content to simply be with one another. On evenings when her father was busy, Sally would at times still go to the balcony alone to gaze out at the horizon. The sunsets were most comforting on bad days in particular. Whatever had happened, whether a scrape on the leg or an argument with Sonic or her father receiving upsetting news that she wished she could understand, Sally could take solace in the sunsets. They always appeared, no matter what. The events of the day could not change them. Nor could they change her life. Whatever happened, she would always be with Daddy, always live in a beautiful palace, always be best friends with Sonic, always be safe. These things were as sure as the setting of the sun appearing in the evening sky.

Now, no glimpse of the sun could be found. The last echoes of the multicolored dance had here been long since silenced, their eternal cycle of revival snuffed out. Across the rest of Mobius, the cycle continued unabated, the brilliant tapestry of the sky shifting and changing as it ever had. But here the reign of the sun had been usurped, the light of the great star overthrown and cast down. The sky had a new lord now, a thing of smoke and fumes, one that endlessly stretched the ghostly fingers of its black hand outward, so that with each passing hour more of the world was befouled by its taint. Again and again, the downcast starlight attempted to end its exile, to break through the fastness of its enemy and be reunited with the world below. Yet no ray could breach the dark veil that lay enshrouded above Robotropolis.

Though divorced from all heavenly light, the city was not beholden to absolute, perpetual night. Here and there, the dim, pale glows of lamps and spotlights could be seen, providing some small measure of sanctuary against the blackness threatening to engulf everything nearby. Yet they offered no warmth, no comfort, their hues sickly and cold. Far worse were the gouts of flame that tore through the air in mechanically precise intervals, bursting from towering smokestacks and open waste pits. The columns of fire rose roaring with tremendous force, the surrounding air trembling and distorting in their wake. Almost blinding in their intensity, the crimson torrents issued forth tsunamis of searing heat that lay waste to everything around them. Near the furnaces of Robotropolis, no life could endure. Yet as they rose in all their terrible might, the flames dared challenge the usurping lord of the sky, the veil of smog smothering the city. Against that impenetrable fastness, even they were as insignificant, stinging insects to be crushed under heel. The fires were swallowed up, their light quenched without as much as a shift in the fumes they strove to pierce.

The luminance cast forth by the fixtures and fires brought into dismaying clarity the state of their surroundings. Enormous steel structures stretched beyond the eye’s reach in every direction, some only a single story, others towering dozens of meters into the air. All were jagged and angular in their construction, products of geometrically precise designs that factored in not elegance and aesthetic, but efficiency and output. They ranged from power stations to factories, computer mainframes to waste disposal centers. Like organs in a body, each was crafted with a singular purpose, working in mechanical unison with the others to form the massive organism that was Robotropolis. Yet if the city bore any similarity to life, it was out of twisted mockery, of parody, for its streets harbored none of their own. Shuttles and surveillance drones flew through the empty air, weaving birdlike between buildings and bridges. Small mechanical creatures, failed experiments constructed and cast away over the years, scurried and clambered like rodents along walls and through crevices. A thin layer of dust and ash covered most surfaces like moss. To witness Robotropolis was to look upon something alien, a place so perverted and mechanized that it seemed otherworldly, as though some colossal giant had snatched the city from a planet equally metallic and lifeless and hurled it across the stars toward an unsuspecting Mobius.

Yet the city had not always been so. Once, it had been filled with verdant gardens and flowing fountains, whitewashed buildings that curved in gentle slopes. Great trees dotted the landscape, their soaring branches blooming with flower and shading the carefully crafted terraces and parks below. Arching wooden bridges spanned bubbling streams that meandered to and fro, their clear waters filled with fish dazzling in color. In orderly rows lay houses masterfully hewn from rough stone into intricate, unique shapes, their interiors lined with wooden panels and ceramic tiles. Above them towered the Ministry building, a monumental ziggurat of eight levels. Flights of stairs ascending to the peak lined each of its sides, flanked by gardens along the walls. Most magnificent of all was the royal palace, a pair of interwoven stone towers that gently curved ever upward, one culminating in a dome that housed the glittering throne room, the other in an arched bell tower used to signal the arrival of holidays and festivals. The palace was situated upon a network of bowl-shaped terraces, down which cascaded a series of shimmering waterfalls that merged with the river below. Mobotropolis, the city had been christened, The Jewel of Mobius. For Sally and millions of others, it had been far more.

It had been home.

Tattered remnants of this former glory could still be glimpsed in the outlying reaches of the city. Here, an old boarded up restaurant sitting between a pair of watch towers. There, the shattered stone walls of what was once someone’s house, lying in a crumbled heap amidst charred ashes that had perhaps been furniture. Shards of playground equipment covered in rust, strewn tangled about outside a weapons plant. A child’s toy, coated with dust, lying where it had been dropped years ago as the robotic police force suddenly turned on all that lived...

“Yo, Sal! Hedgehog to Sal! Ya read me?”

Sally snapped out of her reverie, annoyed at the interruption. “What?”

She looked over at Sonic, the source of her newfound frustration. The two were lying prone on the roof of a three story warehouse overlooking one of the city’s many computer hubs, a small squat cylindrical building surrounded by an electric fence.

“You were starin’ off inta space. Just two minutes ‘til Bunnie’s supposed ta give us the signal.”

Only two minutes? Sally frowned. That was absurd. She had been keeping track of time, despite her musings, and they still had nearly a quarter of an hour before the signal was due. She glanced down at the chronometer counting down on her wrist, its red digital digits shifting to indicate exactly one minute and forty-six seconds remained.

Oh.

The squirrel closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to regain focus. “Sorry. It’s just…this place. It still gets to me sometimes.”

Sonic offered a gentle smile, his tone softening as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I hear you. I miss home too. But ya gotta stay focused while we’re out here. You know that as well as I do.”

“Better, on most days.” Sally managed a grin and the two shared a soft laugh, their thoughts briefly turning toward past missions together, the scores of trials and triumphs, narrow escapes and bitter losses, that had come to define so much of their young lives. They remained quiet after that, Sonic watching the countdown silently approach zero, Sally turning her eyes once more toward their objective.

Between the hub below and the fence encompassing it was a courtyard; every few seconds, its dull metallic surface was broken by a faint blue shimmer that quickly moved from one end to the next, the only sign that the building was protected by an alarm grid. Supplementing the grid were two rotating security cameras, as well as half a dozen SWATbots patrolling outside the fence. All in all, the hub was lightly defended, as it did little more than help funnel data between two much larger facilities. If NICOLE’s analysis was correct, however, it held a critical weakness, one that made the building the target of the night’s raid.

The countdown reached its terminus. A moment later, the building beneath the two Freedom Fighters shook slightly. Perhaps a kilometer away, the night was torn asunder by an explosion, a luminous lance that soared above the surrounding cityscape. The brilliant beacon was a shimmering mixture of oranges and golds, its gradient tapestry interwoven with the blues and violets of chemical smoke. For a moment, the light was as a glimpse of the sunsets of old, the multicolored radiance a remnant of what once was that dared reach out and reclaim its home.

Yet within seconds the light faded to waning embers, replaced with the pale, cold glow of searchlights as blaring alarm klaxons filled the air. The SWATbots patrolling outside the hub turned and raced off toward the source of the anomaly.

“Man, Rote’s outdone himself with the ol’ firecrackers this time!” Sonic chuckled, the warmth in his voice coming through even amidst the screech of alarms. Sally nodded, wishing she could share her friend’s enthusiasm. Rotor’s craftsmanship was indeed impressive, the walrus at times seeming as much an artisan as he was an engineer. But even he could do only so much with their limited resources. These explosives generated a great deal of noise and light, but lacked enough heat or force to inflict any significant damage. This rendered them useful only as distractions. Nuisances, not genuine threats. If only-

Sally’s thoughts were cut off as the alarms were joined by a growing droning sound. Squirrel and hedgehog pressed themselves flat against the warehouse roof as a squadron of gunships thundered overhead, wheeling to circle the site of the blast like some hideous flock of carrion. They would find no prey, however. Bunnie was long gone, headed to the rendezvous point on the outskirts of the city.

Her task was complete. For Sonic and Sally, clambering to their feet after hours of waiting, the night’s endeavor was only just beginning. The couple turned to one another, each extending a hand that moved to touch and dance about the other in a series of quick gestures that bore the fluidity of years of practice. The handshake was an old one, created what seemed a lifetime ago by two small children who had not the slightest inkling of wars or coups. It was a bastion of familiarity in these terrible times, an artifact of lost innocence and an emblem of a friendship that had survived the fall of a world into ruin.

Equally old and meaningful were the words that followed, a simple phrase that had come to underscore so much of their struggle for freedom from the tyranny befouling their former home. Five small words that carried with them no small amount of courage, an unshakeable confidence shared by those who spoke them.

“Let’s do it to it!”

The actions performed next were nearly as familiar. She, unwinding the coil of rope and lowering it over the rooftop edge, her hands swift and sure. He, tying the rope’s end to a fixture, threading back and forth to weave a knot steadfast and strong. Then they descended, the champion going before his princess, gliding soundlessly into the murk below.

How many times before had they done this? Descended into the mouth of oblivion on some daring venture, some fool’s errand, hoping to thwart the tireless machinations of their great enemy, dreaming to purge that festering blight and bring healing to a dead land? Dozens? Hundreds? It was uncertain, the memories a blur of breathless tension and fearful adrenaline.

There were moments that stood etched out in stark clarity, tangible triumphs and dismal defeats. The destruction of a foundry punctuated by a narrow escape, her arms wrapped around his body as he outraced tongues of flame. The loss of a gentle mentor known for years, his arms wrapped around her body as she wept tears of grief.

Yet most of their raids, though dark and deadly, were strangely unremarkable. They had become routine. Routine! The thought struck Sally as both ludicrous and terrifying. How could such acts, journeys into a twisted, alien realm that had only moments before overwhelmed her with its very visage, bear any semblance to the mundane? The answer, sadly, was too clear for any hope of escape into the refuge of uncertainty.

They had changed. Years of enormous hardship had taken their toll on the people of Knothole, leaving scars deep and beyond healing. None had truly escaped the death of Mobotropolis, the hideous tide of mechanization that had consumed the city. The Freedom Fighters were themselves constructs, children tempered by the loss of all they had ever known, by years of hiding in evil’s shadow, until they were forged into combatants, colder, harder, capable of fighting to reclaim all that once was.

Such a goal could never be realized. Even if Mobotropolis was rebuilt, restored to all of its former beauty and glory, its people freed, its enemies utterly destroyed…the world would not, could not, return to the way it was. Memory would linger. Through it, the pains and hurts would endure, the taint of the usurper never truly cleansed until all who witnessed it returned to dust.

Even if…

She, Sonic, and the other Freedom Fighters would be hailed as saviors, the great heroes of the age, but what then? They, who had grown up orphaned, cut off from society, without so much as a formal education, would be expected to acclimate. Live by a set of norms that would never truly be their own, however much they yearned for them to be. It was a bitter irony, that they should be denied even in triumph that which they had fought so long for.

Worse still, she herself, sole heir to the throne, would be expected to lead, to rule. To govern a society she could never again truly be a part of, to be the protector of a peace she would never know.

A queen was a paragon of all that was good, the embodiment of what one should strive for. A queen was kind, not critical, governed by courage, not fear. A healer, not a fighter.

Young girls would look upon her with awe and wonder, at night whispering to their innermost selves, “I wish I was like Queen Sally.” And what would they be idolizing? A wall. A shell of smiles and hugs and waves surrounding a broken woman old before her years, a relic from another age unable to banish the fears haunting her mind. The real Sally would never be a queen, merely a dressed up imitation trying in vain to match her forbearers.

Even if…

Stop it, Sally ordered herself as she angrily clamped down on her thoughts. That was despair talking, a viperous nest of fears unallied with even the faintest whisper of reason, more poisonous than any of the sickly fumes eclipsing the sky above. It had become increasingly problematic as of late, a whisper of malice breathing ruin into the edges of her mind when she dropped her guard. She hated it.

Perhaps this raid would help. Another victory, another blow struck against the usurper. A reminder that their cause was not hopeless, that they were that much closer to winning this war. Yes, tonight’s triumph would help.

The two Freedom Fighters completed their descent and dropped to the ground. Perhaps a hundred open meters separated the fence ahead from the warehouse shadow in which they stood. A hundred meters without cover, of breathless vulnerability. A passing security drone would spot them in an instant, turning painstakingly planned actions into frantic attempts to survive the next few minutes. Stratagems would crumple into instinct, hope engulfed by terror. A mere hundred meters, yet so much hinged upon them…

Then a gloved hand wrapped itself around her shoulder, its warmth permeating through the fabric, evaporating the unease in her heart. She turned to her best friend and smiled, gratefully allowing him to sweep her up into his arms. She rested her head against his chest, heard the pace of his heart quicken as his body tensed. Her arms tightened across his back. An intake of breath.

Then he began to run.

A hundred meters of fear and vulnerability vanished in an instant.

The entire crossing took only two, perhaps three, seconds, but it was enough for Sally to savor. The world around her lost its focus, its potency, becoming a blur. The only visible constant was the one holding her, his cocky smile betraying the wellspring of confidence that resided at his very core.

It was during those moments, when he ran with her in his arms, when everything else ceased to be, that a rare peace came over Sally. The walls of her soul were lowered, allowing the exhausted, suffocating girl within to draw life-giving breath. She heard not even the faintest echo of the shadowy whispers that had beset her for so long, that she had built those horrible walls to withstand.

Fears spawned from seeing her world devoured by an unending mechanized night.

Loneliness gnawing at the void the loss of her father had left, the scars of time’s passage not quite covering the rawness underneath.

Doubts about her worthiness as a leader, her ability to truly be the unshakable pillar of strength so many needed and sought in her out of trust in blood.

All of them were silenced.

In their stead, a rising melody began to flow through the edges of her mind. Wordless, it was swift and erratic, seeming a barely controlled chaos ever on the verge of discord. Here, a note struck too soon by eagerness. There, a moment of hesitation and faltering, almost imperceptible as the sound shifted to shroud its shame. Yet beyond the roughness there lay power, a strength maintaining cohesion and ushering the music ever forward. It grew in volume, cascading deeper and deeper until all of Sally was awash in the melody. Its notes rippled through her thoughts, sifting out embedded anxieties and carrying them away like so much detritus, leaving behind calming reassurance.

But then the music was challenged. Beyond Sally’s mind, a besieged bastion at last receiving relief, there existed a world of flesh and metal. A fallen world, choked by smoke and shadow, in which drops of blood and sweat mixed with ashen dirt as the flesh was beset again and again in its struggle to check the metal’s spread. As the body holding her own came to a halt, that terrible world was suddenly brought back into focus. As she left his arms and stood on her own, the whispers begin to build again. Fears. Loneliness. Doubts. All of them threatened to renew their assault and ravage her mind, now naked before them.

Instinct, touched by traces of panic, demanded the walls be raised again immediately, that everything be shut out, that the mission could not afford her acting in a compromised state. Only cold, dispassionate logic could withstand the world around her.

Yet the melody remained, flowing around her and acting as a bulwark against the renewed torrent of bile. Bitterness lanced against it with a terrible fury, only to be deflected, leaving her unscathed. Reminders of countless failings were hurled with ruthless precision at her heart, yet all were splintered ere they reached their mark. With every blow the music weathered, however, it waned slightly. Slowly but surely, it was weakening, and Sally knew that Sonic was facing a similar assault of the soul as all the vile potency of Robotropolis renewed itself around them.

For a single, agonizing moment, it seemed that his melody, flawed and rough as it was, would fail entirely, that both of them would be swept asunder by the noxious tide. Doubt would cripple them. Fear would poison their innermost hopes. Years old scars would burst, sending the dammed up pains of the past forth to drown them.

Then Sally added her own voice to the melody. It was small and soft, lacking the raw passion and intensity that so defined the music of her dearest and oldest friend. Yet it held an equal strength. Where he bordered on chaos, she was careful precision. As he soared in crescendo, she was a soft backdrop, subtle and complex, ever shifting in her nuance. Her carefully calculated dance of notes touched where his faltered, seamlessly healing the gaps in the melody. Where she hesitated, his chorus held true. They were in absolute harmony, perfect counterpoints to one another. The music surged outward, overtaking the vicious onslaught. Even with all the terrible might of the surrounding world fueling them, the whispers of fear and doubt were as nothing before the melodious union. They were instantly purged from both minds, leaving only a calm as each healed the damage the other had suffered.

Gradually, the melody faded in volume as Sally and Sonic, for now freed from the wars of the spirit, turned to the outward task they faced. Yet the music did not cease, instead forming the rhythm through which their bodies flowed from one motion to another.

Running parallel to the fence just outside its base was a thick insulated cord fastened to the ground every two meters by metallic bolts. A few seconds of following the cord revealed that it was connected to a metallic box perhaps a third of a meter tall; save for an unlabeled panel screwed in at the top, it appeared featureless.

“This what we’re after?” Sonic whispered uncertainly.

The squirrel nodded, setting her backpack down before reaching into it and withdrawing a makeshift screwdriver. “It may not look like much, but this device regulates power to both the fence and the alarm grid behind it, making it my ticket in.”

As Sally began deftly removing the screws holding the panel in place, Sonic gave a theatric sigh. “Alas, that to smash it would be of no avail, for the alarms would hinder any chance to prevail,” he bemoaned, his voice nearly compromised by the tremors of laughter threatening to escape his longsuffering tone.

The princess looked up from her handiwork with a raised eyebrow. “Trying our hand at poetry again, are we?” she asked with a mix of mock suspicion and genuine curiosity.

Sonic’s face tinged slightly at the question, his right hand nervously rubbing the spines behind his head. “Well…I ah...ya seemed ta like it back when we were in Lower Mobius a couple months ago. The idea of it, anyway. Did a bit of practice here and there since then. Just trying to…”

His words drifted into silence, and Sally quickly returned her gaze to the panel, both to look away from Sonic’s blushing, sparing him further embarrassment, and to hide the warmth that could now be glimpsed on her own face.

“I’m not sure any of the great Mobian bards ever used the word ‘smash’ in their works, though I must say that’s quite the improvement over last time,” she replied after a moment. She hesitated again, the humor in her voice shifting to sincere warmth. “…and it’s quite thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

A quiet tinged with awkwardness filled the air as the last of the screws was removed and Sally detached the metal plate. Beneath it was a complex array of wires and circuitry, all of it so tangled and densely compacted that making sense of the components would take hours…for an organic. Reaching into an inner pocket of her vest, the princess withdrew her most valuable possession and flipped it open.

“NICOLE,” Sally whispered, “Please scan for input slot. Maintain response volume at ten percent.”

“Acknowledged, Sally,” the computer replied in a feminine tone equally soft, a green glow emitting from one of its sensors as it analyzed the device below. Only a few seconds passed before the sensor’s light narrowed into a tight beam aimed at a grooved cylindrical opening, an image of which was displayed on NICOLE’s screen.

As the computer reported its success, Sally reached into her backpack and withdrew a bundle of adapter cables, all of them identical on one end. Using the display as a reference, she quickly located the appropriate one and connected NICOLE to the input slot. The image vanished as data began to stream across the computer’s screen.

“Uplink…complete,” the computer dutifully reported. “No security measures in place. However, overt interference with power distribution will trigger an alert. Awaiting command, Sally.”

“Figured as much,” the squirrel sighed before pausing in thought. “…you said overt interference. Could you trick the system? Mitigate the current of electricity so that it flows at a slower rate, then project a phantom current masquerading as the rest of the wattage? That would give the fence and alarm grid sufficient power to avoid setting off the contingency alarms, but not enough to actually function. Run simulation and report.”

NICOLE made no reply, its lights dimming as every bit of the machine’s considerable processing power was delegated to analyzing yet another of the unorthodox stratagems conceived by its owner. As the device in her hand warmed a few degrees from the strain, Sally gazed up at the fence looming before her. Standing perhaps half a dozen meters tall, the obstruction’s height more than quintupled her own, quashing any hopes of being vaulted over.

 She would have to climb.

Yet even without searing streams of lethal energy writhing over every shard of the metallic fastness, the act would be dangerous. The metal links comprising the barrier were tightly interwoven, scarcely leaving room for purchase. Footholds were impossible altogether, leaving only her hands to support the full weight of her body and pack. To the untrained eye, the fence held no further defenses, for its summit lay bare, bereft of any tangled mass of barbed wire or rows of spikes jutting upward like sabers. Yet these omissions were predatory illusions, designed to lure intruders into hapless complacency. Each of the metallic links was honed to a fine edge, forming a tower of tiny blades. Any attempt to grasp them would result in the piercing of flesh and tendon, blood raining onto the ground below and cries of anguish filling the air above.

“Never boring out here, is it?” Sonic murmured wryly, his eyes on the same structure.

“Rarely so,” Sally whispered, her anxiety again abating at the sound of her friend’s voice. As she turned toward him, his admission moments earlier rose to the surface of her mind, casting ripples that refracted into shifting thoughts dyed with a myriad of emotions.

It was true that she had long held an appreciation for poetry, that most subtle and nuanced manner of the arts. Among the handful of texts she owned was a volume of such works, a compilation spanning centuries, its yellowed leaflets preserving the distilled currents of a hundred souls long departed. Each poem was a gateway painstakingly carved with the instrument of language, through which the currents freely flowed into her own mind, bringing with them memories and emotions, images and musings, all of them as vibrant and real as they had been when first wrought into strokes of ink set upon a page. Together, they formed a shimmering tapestry heralding in joyous adulation the very spirit of her world.

Yet that world had been rent asunder by unspeakable atrocity, and as the passage of years bestowed upon the young exile ever more understanding, the comfort offered by these glimpses into the past waned. For her wondrous culture, proud and fair, regal and beautiful, was no more. That which had over countless years been crafted was crushed under heel in a terrible instant. To the glories of old, no monument was left save a few tattered books salvaged from a mutilated ruin.

How could such fragile assemblages of parchment possibly be enough to save what was on the verge of being lost forever to the mire of time? By themselves, they were woefully inadequate, for it was only through the touching of souls that their strength was made manifest. But through this coupling, culture was passed on. Through the gateways of art, the lifeblood of past generations flowed into new minds still alive and vibrant. Through the lives of those so touched, a world could be reborn.

Sally felt the gentle stirrings of hope at the thought, yet as she studied Sonic they were met with uncertainty. Poetry was among the last things she would normally associate the hedgehog with. It was not that he was unintelligent; her friend was far more cunning than she suspected he gave himself credit for. Rather, his heart lacked patience. He was a being of action, ever in the moment, his mind seeming to analyze the world around him at a speed no less astonishing than that of his body. Matters of subtlety and introspection were something else entirely, and he appeared loath to dwell on them.

Whatever interest he held in poetry was clearly for her sake. That he should so pursue a subject far beyond the realm of comfort and familiarity spoke greatly of his commitment to their budding relationship. It was a humbling thought, one answered by warm assurance, a certainty that the hedgehog’s venture could nonetheless awaken him to a new facet, unseen yet resplendent, of the cause they had long risked so much for. Assurance gave way to determination as an idea began to coalesce within her mind.

“Uh, Sal?”

“Mmm-hmm?” the princess murmured distractedly, her focus lingering on how to best approach the matter.

“You’ve been starin’ at my face for over a minute,” Sonic noted, an inimitable grin spreading across his face. “See anything you like?”

That got her attention.

“I’m afraid not,” Sally replied dryly as she rummaged through the collection of playful jabs one invariably accumulated over a lifetime of knowing the wisecracking hedgehog. “I was just looking in vain once again for some shred of humility. I seem to suffer from this nagging delusion that I’ll see it one day.”

“Maybe you should get that checked out. Poor eyesight is a terrible thing to live with,” Sonic shot back.

“Oh, I agree. Hearing, on the other hand, I could manage without. At least then I could get a decent stretch of sleep without being subjected to that cacophony always coming from down by the bridge.”

“Hey, don’t be slammin’ the beauty of rock, Sal.”

“Is that what it is? My mistake. I had assumed it was two animals clawing one another to death…again and again and again.”

“Some people just can’t appreciate the classics,” Sonic sighed, “Though I don’t see how you can’t sleep with all that poetry ya read. Whadda ya see in that stuff?”

The flash of hurt that skimmed across Sally’s mind must have been betrayed in her expression, as Sonic’s smile vanished. “Whoa, sorry, Sal. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

He closed his eyes in frustration before softly muttering, “Probably shouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place.”

Taking a deep breath, Sally took one of Sonic’s hands in her own. “No, I’m glad you did. Sonic, I…I’d like us to start reading poetry together. It wouldn’t have to be very often, just here and there. I’m already familiar with the poems in my book, and I think if I could help you understand them more, you’d start to enjoy it...” She trailed off, nervousness finally staying her tongue.

Sonic said nothing, but the doubt in his eyes was clearly visible, leaving Sally to berate herself in silence. That approach had been foolish. Too blunt, too forward. Now her idea was on the verge of failing entirely. It would be best to lower the tension before trying again.

“Oh come on, Sonic,” she continued after several moments of careful consideration, adopting a playful tone tinged with coquettishness. “How can a girl possibly resist someone versed in the fine arts? You could become a man of culture. We’ll start with poetry, then move on to ballads as we make our way to classical music. Perhaps some formal dancing lessons after that, maybe with a suit…”

With each passing statement, Sonic’s expression became more pained, his skin blanching and eyes widening in horror, until at last he could stand no more and stuck his tongue out, a mock retching noise escaping his lips with great fervor.

“If all that stuff was so important, you’d have fallen for Ant ages ago,” he glowered.

At that, Sally found herself making a face mirroring Sonic’s, her confidence returning as both of them laughed quietly. With another glance at the fence before her, she reached into her pack and withdrew two long strips of thick white cloth of a soft texture that belied the durability of the fabric. Several layers of the material would, when properly wrapped, prove sufficient to protect her hands from the razor edges of the fence’s links, making the climb before her possible, if still difficult. She held her arms out as Sonic took the cloth and began gently wrapping it around each hand.

As he carefully wove his shield around her, a stalwart barrier against which the daggers of the surrounding world could not avail, their shared melody began to build once more. The filth and corruption around them faded into insignificance, and as the seconds seemed to slow even time was made powerless. The harmonious song freed their minds from the shackles of the present, from the incessant demands of the now, and Sally found her awareness gently drifting into the then, the realm of memory in which emotions and events were crystallized, immortal and unchanging though they be shrouded ever more by time’s passing.

The scene upon which her focus settled was yet to be so marred, its nuances remaining illuminated in perfect clarity. She sat on a bedside holding a book, its cover worn and pages yellowed with age. Beside her lay Tails, carefully tucked in yet still awake, his attentive face illuminated only by the pale shafts of moonlight gleaming through the hut window. The eyes of the young kit were wide as she continued the story, a lengthy tale that they had been reading for nearly a week. It was one of daring adventure and fantastic deeds, of fearless heroes facing vile monsters. The recounting was brought to life as she read it with dramatic intensity, her voice shifting to assume the roles of knights and nobles, witches and warlocks. Standing beside her was Sonic, who acted out the events of the story with equal enthusiasm, his silent movements punctuated at times by the roar of a creature or the sound of clashing steel. Sincerity amply compensated for any lack of realism in their performances, and Tails remained enthralled for over an hour. At last, however, his eyes gradually drifted shut as the needs of the body gently set the pleasures of the heart aside for another evening.

Sally smiled lovingly at the recollection before narrowing her thought further, turning her intent toward the story she had been reading, poring over what she knew of its history and meaning. Parallels began to emerge with her earlier musings; she drew upon these, carefully weaving together the threads of two disparate matters into a unified whole. Satisfied with the conclusion she had crafted, the princess withdrew from the world of memory, bringing with her the fruit of her journey so that it might be presented in triumph to the one before her.

“Sonic, what do you think of the story we’ve been reading to Tails the past few nights?” she asked softly.

“Ya mean Sir Samuel and the Seven Seals?” he frowned in confusion. “Mondo cool, as far as books go. Plenty of excitement and all, but there’s more to it than that. I’ve probably heard the story a dozen times now, but it still moves the ol’ feelings.” His tone became wistful as he continued, expression turning upward in a sad smile. “I remember Uncle Chuck getting choked up at certain parts back when he read it to me, even though he said he’d been reading it since he was a kid. Guess it’s a classic.”

“Exactly. Sonic, that story was first written over five hundred years ago, yet the passage of time has claimed none of its potency. It remains powerful because it was deeply rooted in a culture dating back even further, a wonderful assemblage of traditions and ideals passed from one generation to the next that shaped countless aspects of life. Our culture. It’s such an important part of who we are. But now...” She gestured to their surroundings, the lifeless steel husks jutting in cold mockery from the ruins of their former home. “…that culture is on the verge of being lost forever. We’re the only ones left that can change that, that can pass things on until...” Words choked in her throat. “…until this can be undone.”

As she spoke, her words enkindled a glittering light in Sonic’s eyes. “But to pass that culture on, we have to learn as much of it as we can, right? Including poetry. I hear ya Sal. Although…music’s a part of culture too, ya know. Seems to me that rock’s just as important as poetry. Just ‘cuz it’s newer doesn’t make it any worse.”

At the comparison, Sally felt the emergence of a tendril of distaste, spawn of a shadow of arrogance that had long lain bound within the darker recesses of her heart, locked away in a vain attempt at confinement. From this suppressed prison, disdain sprung up with terrible speed, penetrating consciousness and discoloring her mind with its venom.

Music? What he referred to was nothing of the sort. Music was elegant, a harmonious family of layers dancing around one another with grace and precision, intertwining to form arms that gently embraced the mind, freeing it from the mire of the surrounding world. Resting in this soft touch of notes and rhythms, the soul was carried into realms sublime and fantastic, some rich with history and ancient wonder, others flowing with powerful currents of emotion. All were glimpses into that evanescent, incomparable paradise that was beauty. ‘Rock’ was far removed from this tranquility, as barren desert from life-giving streams. No gentle embrace, it threatened to smother the mind with its chaotic discord, drowning efforts at even rudimentary thought.

Yet as Sally stood before the event horizon of dismissal, on the verge of casting the suggestion into that chasm from whence no ray of thought could reemerge into the light of consideration, she gave pause. These words had been spoken by her dearest friend in sincerity. What right had she to so quickly toss them aside? After all, there clearly existed some basis for his belief, obscured from her though it was. Seeing but one recourse, she turned aside, clutching Sonic’s words tightly as she ventured once again into the world of memory. A far cry from her reminiscence of Tails’ bedside, the recollections she now touched were harsh and grating, a dozen instances of coarse noise flitting around her like a swarm of stinging insects. Steeling herself, she pressed forward, studying the noise for any deeper meaning, any semblance of cohesion.

There it was. A faint shimmer of harmony glinting for a moment as it breached the surface of the turbulent sea of erratic beats. Before it could vanish beneath the currents, Sally seized it, scrambling atop the coherence and using it as a vantage point from which to gauge the surrounding noise. Gradually, parts of it began to coalesce, forming small islands of motif and melody. They remained isolated, with most of the sounds still seeming shrill and chaotic by her reckoning, but their very existence was enough.

This was indeed music, borne of deliberate craftsmanship, questionable though it might seem. It was not some arbitrary array of arrangements, conjured up with no thought beyond the desire to satisfy the spontaneous caprices of the moment. There was design underlying the sounds. With such thought came intent, purpose. Meaning, the will to convey something more. Culture, then, could still be communicated through something as unlikely as rock, for the minds of those who wrought such music were as pervasively shaped by it as any.

As Sally gradually uncovered the wisdom of Sonic’s words, the conceit that had spread through her mind was finally checked, its inky black tendrils pierced by radiant lances of understanding cast downward from her higher consciousness. These lances, refined and focused, were joined by a wellspring of unfettered love rising up from the utmost core of her soul. Where they met, brilliant beacons lit up, their rays refracting this way and that as they tore through veils of condescension and interwove with one another, forming a wall of light that suffered no ill thought. As the network of lights expanded, the arrogance within her mind was forced ever backward, until at last it was confined once more to its prison deep within her subconscious. Though not utterly purged from existence, it was at least subdued…for the time being.

“You’re right, Sonic,” Sally finally replied after several long seconds of contemplation and conflict. “I may not understand your preferred forms of music, but that doesn’t make them any less a part of our culture.”

“Yeah…about you not understandin’…” Sonic’s words were at first unusually uncertain but found their footing as he continued. “I agree ‘bout our culture needin’ to be saved ‘n’ all. An’ if me learnin’ poetry’s an important step toward that, couldn’t the same be said for you learnin’ rock? We could teach each other.”

As Sally’s newfound understanding of rock as a legitimate and meaningful form of art had yet to blossom into full-blown, eager acceptance, the suggestion was met with an arched eyebrow. Yet after a moment she found herself nodding in agreement. Such a pursuit would, at one time, have doubtless been deemed far too lacking in dignity for one of her station, yet the notion of social propriety had long seemed increasingly irrelevant and absurd in the face of the dire circumstances she and her fellows had to contend with on a daily basis, despite Antoine’s insistences to the contrary. Moreover, it was only fair that, having asked of him, she give in return, especially if it helped achieve the same end. And if it meant that she simply had to spend more time alone with her now-more-than-best friend in situations that did not involve them being pursued or shot at, well…

With the final tug of a knot, the hedgehog finished tying the strips of cloth around the princess’ hands, his handiwork leaving each with a fair degree of dexterity and surprising but welcome amount of comfort alongside the considerable protection afforded by the carefully layered white wrappings. Rather than withdrawing, Sonic shifted his own hands so that they were clasped in hers, their fingers intertwining as much as the fabric would allow. The two drew close to one another, silent, their shared melody washing through them as they basked in the contentment each found in the other. Though on the doorstep of a separation that would leave each alone and threatened by unnamable horrors, they allowed no cloud of fear to plague their minds, no tempest of anxiety to trouble their spirits. Theirs was the tranquility that can be found in the hearts of even the fiercest storms.

Closing her eyes, Sally allowed herself to be wholly submersed in the moment, trusting in Sonic for protection as she savored its nuances, carefully distilling them into memories that she could draw strength from during the trials ahead.

The feel of his hands beneath his textured gloves. The subtle, nigh imperceptible rhythm of his heartbeat. The soft, warm current of his breath, tinged ever so slightly with the fragrance of his last meal. A current that seemed to draw closer…and closer…with every passing moment…

She smiled in anticipation.

“Simulations complete, Sally,” NICOLE’s monotone, emotionless voice announced, intruding upon the silence as the sudden clap of thunder on a calm summer’s day, heralding the inexorable approach of forces unwelcomed. In that moment of tranquility’s breach, the melody faltered as all ‘round them the cold and gloomy structures of lifeless metal, wretched monuments to the depravity of the usurper, whose soulless treason and foul craft twisted and perverted the jewel of a world into a barren husk, a festering mockery of life, were unveiled once more with terrible intensity.

Rolling her eyes, Sally leaned forward and planted a kiss on Sonic’s lips anyway, the soft touch, though brief, providing enough measure of comfort to calm her startled nerves as she steeled herself yet again against the alien but all too familiar surroundings. “Right. Back to business at hand,” she muttered, glancing down at the small computer. “Report, NICOLE.”

“Analysis indicates that your hypothesis was valid, Sally. Decreasing the electrical current flow of the device in question by ninety-eight point seven zero two four percent will render nearby security measures effectively inoperable without triggering any contingency alarms,” the machine tonelessly droned. “However, to maintain a reduced current, this unit will need to remain connected to the port it is currently attached to.”

The princess resisted the urge to slap her palm against her forehead as she inwardly cursed her shortsightedness. How could she have been so foolish? Of course NICOLE would have to be left behind for such a plan to work! Without the small computer, her task in the building before her would be far more difficult. Perhaps…no, it would not be impossible, she reassured herself as she hurriedly flew through the world of memory, quickly reviewing her experiences of hacking various computers throughout the fallen city.

“Think you can pull this one off without NICOLE?” whispered Sonic, who, though not well versed in technical matters, clearly held similar reservations.

“I…I think so,” Sally breathed, “It won’t be easy, though, and will doubtless take far longer than originally anticipated. Instead of a few minutes, we’re talking hours. Maybe even a day or two.”

“Days?! Ya can’t stay in there that long!”

Her smile bore a reassurance that she did not feel as she closed her pack and hefted it onto her shoulders. “I’ve got enough water and provisions in here to last for a few days. As for the increased risk of detection, security inside the building is pretty minimal according to the readouts we sliced last week. Once I gain access I should be fine.”

“But what about getting out? Ya know I’m more than happy to play the ol’ distraction card, but even I can’t keep it up forever. And then there’s NICOLE. We can’t just leave her-”

“It,” Sally automatically corrected.

“Whatever. We can’t just leave it out here. But if I take it, those security measures go back up.”

“Meaning I won’t be able to get out the same way I got in,” Sally nodded grimly. “I know. It just means I’ll have to get a little…creative. When we were staked out on top of that warehouse, I noticed a hatch on the roof of the hub. If I can get up there, I should be able to escape using that zipline launcher Rotor worked up.”  

Sonic crossed his arms and began tapping his foot, an absentminded gesture he often performed that betrayed his anxiety. It was usually brought upon by impatience, but the worry in his eyes suggested that was not the case this time. “I still don’t like it, Sal. Maybe we should just call this one off. Hit the hub some other time or just find another target.”

The possibility was tempting, she had to admit. Journeying through Robotropolis was all the more miserable and terrifying when alone, and the prospect of spending days holed up by herself within the wretched city lay heavy on her heart. That alone was far from sufficient cause to abandon the mission, of course. They were at war, and certain actions had to be undertaken, however unpleasant. The chances of victory were poor enough without personal fears complicating things. But though she was no coward, neither was she foolhardy. The parameters of the raid had changed, rendering her carefully crafted plan useless. To proceed now was to cross the threshold of uncertainty, to burden herself with unnecessary risks atop the staggering weight of dangers already present. And for what? Success here would not win the war. At best, it would be only a minor triumph, an infinitesimal step on the impossibly long and arduous road to the ever waning flicker of hope that was true victory.

But that was her path. Though it seemed to diminish day by day, hope of victory was not lost altogether. It could not be lost, not while she pressed forward. Not while she pushed herself beyond the meaningless illusions that were her limits. Not while she held the courage to give everything of herself so that others would not have to.

“No. I have to do this,” Sally firmly stated, the fiery determination fueling her heart seeping into her words more than she intended, leaving them hard enough to cause Sonic to flinch and cease his tapping. Seeing his reaction, she softened her tone, taking one of his gloved hands in her own and managing a wry smile. “Hey, I thought I was supposed to be the voice of caution and restraint. You’re always taking risks like this.”

Rather than giving a witty retort as she had expected, Sonic simply closed his eyes and sagged in resignation. “It…it’s not the same. When I go out there and take all those chances you’re always callin’ ‘crazy’, I’m by myself. I’m not puttin’ anyone else in harm’s way, so I can afford to push myself a little further. ‘Cause every bot that I toast or at least draw away is one that…that’s not aiming at…”

His voice faltered into nothingness, leaving a somber silence lingering in the air. Sally made no attempt to hide the moisture welling up in her eyes as she saw mirrored in Sonic the same agonizing helplessness that had beset her so many times before. It was a feeling that Sonic himself engendered more often than not as his reckless heroics left him hurtling headlong into great peril far beyond her control. Beyond her aid.

Beyond her reach.

To knowingly inflict that very feeling upon her closest friend was heart-wrenching, and for the briefest of moments the temptation to simply give up and return home resurfaced. Yet it was stilled as quickly as it arose. For in war there could be no security, no comforting assurance that those who fought at one’s side were safe. What recourse was there? To force those one cared for to stay behind, to prevent them from joining in the conflict? None of the Freedom Fighters would settle for such a thing, least of all she and Sonic. To abandon the war entirely, to remain in hidden sanctuary and hope to wait out the storm? Sanctuary could not endure forever, not in the face of the tide of evil spreading ever outward from Robotropolis, a tide that would soon engulf all the world unless checked by those possessing the courage to strike at its festering heart.

No. There was no recourse. Painful though it was, the helplessness that came with allowing others to put themselves at risk was a necessary evil, one that even Sonic must accept.

Sally felt the coolness of tears running down her cheek fur and suddenly found herself locked in a tight embrace, desperately wishing that the logic coursing through her mind didn’t have to make such terrible sense, that she could just run away with Sonic and be free from this awful, awful war, that she would wake up and escape the nightmare that had been the last eleven years.

As they held one another, her breathing gradually steadied, the despair threatening to overtake her replaced with calmness and conviction. Peace found her, covering her heart with a gentle touch as pure as newfallen snow.

Even the sudden tramp of mechanized feet in the distance, heralding the return of the contingent of deadly SWATbots guarding the hub, could not threaten the peace filling Sally as she turned and ordered NICOLE to begin regulating power to the security emplacements surrounding the structure.

It simply meant that it was now or never.

As the shimmer of the alarm grid faded from the courtyard, Sally flashed a sincere grin. “I’ll be headed back home before you know it. We can start our lessons as soon as I return.”

With that, she turned to the looming fence and began the climb.

Scanning the jagged bulwark for chinks in its razor mail, she found a gap of suitable size and carefully placed a hand inside the deadly maw. Ridge upon ridge of cold metal, each as sharp and potent as any cruel instrument of bloodletting forged in the days of old by barbarous warmongers in open furnaces beneath the moonlit winter sky, set against her fingers in predatory earnest, seeking to pierce and rend flesh and inflict upon her mind a blinding, all-consuming agony that would devour her every thought and forever eclipse any hope of comfort. Yet their ravenous fangs were blunted, their vicious onslaught splintered, for their malice could not avail against the anointment of protection encircling her hand, the steadfast ward of care covering her fingers. Guarded by her gifted shield, she found purchase even within that den of evil, binding it to her will so that it might betray its murderous architect and serve her by supporting her body in its pressing time of need.

Then she did it again. And again. Higher and higher she clambered, with each new handhold weathering a fresh assault, the cloths protecting her suffering flurry after flurry of scars yet never yielding an opening to the enemy. But though uninjured, she was not wholly spared from the bitterness of pain. Unable to utilize footholds, she had to rely entirely on the strength of her arms to carry her weight. Chiseled by long years of labor and toil, her body was a capable instrument, one well-maintained and kept in fit condition. Yet the strain, worsened by the burden of her laden pack, was still considerable, squeezing out of her pores beads of sweat that matted the fur of her forehead and covered her fingers, threatening to loosen her grip and send her plunging to the ground below.

Though only halfway through the ascent, she found herself drawing breath in short, ragged gasps. In each of her arms, there ignited an aching fire that burned more fiercely with every movement. The insistent pain demanded her full attention, leaving each passing thought blurrier and more difficult to muster. Concentration waned as higher mental faculties seemed to abandon her until she was overtaken by a mindless numbness as she inched forward, a humiliating baseness that mockingly scoffed at the intellect she so prided herself upon, at the foolish delusion that Princess Sally Acorn was anything more than a worthless mound of flesh being pushed to its very real limits.

All the while, her senses were unimpaired, senses that continually sent urgent messages past the fires of immolating pain surrounding her mind. These dark tidings warned of marching footsteps growing ever louder, of the coming arrival of evil’s agents, bringers of death armed with terrible devices capable of annihilating her exposed form. Within moments they would be upon her, and all hope would be lost.

She would perish. Leaderless, the Freedom Fighters would inevitably be crushed. All that she had ever loved, ever fought for, would be purged into nothingness as her world fell into eternal shadow.

Not on my watch.

Icy determination filled her veins, quelling the fires of pain as her mind reasserted its dominion over the rebellious shell that housed it. Her pain held no true meaning; it was merely a message, a signal that her body was strained at the moment. That was of no significance, for she had made it through far worse in the past and could therefore endure the current trial. She was uninjured, thus the pain was not indicative of any danger. Just…just a lack of comfort, one that would soon pass. Yes…the pain was meaningless.

As she swung an arm upward toward the next opening, her eyes alighted on the tattered yet still resolute fabric guarding her hand. At the reminder of he who had wrapped it, still faithfully watching below, her fears of the oncoming foes were assuaged. They could not threaten her, not while the greatest champion Mobius had borne witness to in a thousand years stood before them undaunted.

The peace she had felt earlier, driven to a deep recess within her heart as the climb intensified, reemerged, its warmth filling her once more and melting frozen resolve into life-giving waters that washed away the last vestiges of fear and pain.

There occurred at that moment a curious thing. Though evil held sway over so much of the surrounding world, Sally felt a sense of rightness welling up inside her, as though being where she was just then was in accordance with some great plan ordained in the unfathomable reaches beyond the realm of time and space. She realized it was probably nothing, merely an inexplicable errant thought. But still…to think that she, bearer of great responsibility in tumultuous times, was despite all her failings and faults ultimately doing what she should do was comforting. She often wondered what her father would think of what she had become, but as she reached the top of that fence, exhausted, a tiny beacon of defiance in a twisted city of unending night, she knew beyond any shadow of doubt that he would have been proud of her.

Really not the time for this, Sally-girl, she reminded herself as, blinking back tears, she swung her lower body up and over the wonderfully smooth top of the fence, rotating so that she was now poised to drop down to the other side. Taking a deep breath, she let go, curling into a ball as best she could and rolling to minimize the impact. It still knocked the wind out of her, and it was all she could do to press herself flat to the ground as she gulped lungfuls of air.

She had made it.

Not a moment too soon, it seemed. Even as she struggled to steady her breathing, the sound of her gasps, though seeming far too loud as to possess anything so much as remotely resembling the degree of subtlety befitting a covert situation involving the rapid approach of enemies, was suddenly dwarfed by a declaration as lifeless and metallic as the amalgamation of transistors it issued from.

“Alert! Target Priority One has been sighted in Robotropolis Sector 7, Quadrant 3! All security units within adjacent sectors are required to assist in capture of tar-GZZZT!”

The SWATbot’s words were interrupted by the sound of breaking glass and a burst of static that made Sally’s ears ring and spine tingle. Looking up from where she lay, she saw that the machine was convulsing uncontrollably, a glowing golden band jutting out from its shattered red visor.

“Sheesh. You metalheads talk too much,” Sonic quipped as he gracefully danced around the crimson beams of searing lethal energy the five remaining machines began firing toward him from their wrist-mounted cannons. “After all, all talk and no play makes for a dull bot!” A second torrent hurtled at the hedgehog with equally unsuccessful results. “And dull is right. You guys are seriously boring tonight. Let’s fix that.”

Weaving through the hail of fiery darts with an ease that Sally still found astonishing even after all these years, Sonic jumped atop one of the steel sentries even as he asked, “How about a game of tag?” Leaning forward, he began mockingly rapping with his fist on the visor of his unwilling mount. “I’ll let you guys figure out who’s ‘It’.”

Without hesitation, the four machines not being ridden by a supernaturally agile Freedom Fighter opened fire once more on the hedgehog, only for their target to leap out of the way, leaving the guard he had been atop exposed to the assault. Though most of the bolts sailed harmlessly over the SWATbot’s head, one punched through its visor and clean through the back of its head, leaving a perfectly round hole from which smoke began to pour as the machine toppled to the ground.

“Well whadda ya know, that’s correct! Now you’re getting into the spirit!” Sonic cheered, clearly enjoying himself despite the gravity of the situation.

 As usual.

His reckless enthusiasm had often irked Sally, but now it caused her mouth to twinge upward in a small smile. She was still worried, of course. Watching one’s dearest friend come under fire had a tendency of instilling at least some minute degree of anxiety in most individuals, and she was no exception. Yet that fear was kept at bay, confined to a small part of her mind by confidence in his ability and the assurance that he was still following the plan. For all the chaos of Sonic’s actions, they remained within parameters that Sally, having set them herself, understood. Understanding did not quite equate to comfort, but in such situations it was the closest approximation she could reasonably expect to have.

Moreover, she had to admit, if only to herself and not anyone else, least of all Sonic himself, that there was something inherently enjoyable about watching him in such moments. Witnessing the destruction of machines that were foremost among the instruments used to overthrow her civilization from within was rather cathartic, naturally, but it seemed that there was more to the sensation welling up within her than grim satisfaction. Joy? Pride? Hope? Perhaps it was a blend of all three that she felt, lying prone and motionless, watching the boundless confidence and exuberance that dwelt within Sonic’s spirit boldly proclaiming themselves in a fallen city that for more than ten long years had been starved of the laughter now flowing from his lips.

“But what’s up with this ‘Target Priority One’ stuff?” he was saying, running headlong toward a SWATbot and delivering a jumping kick that, strengthened by the force of his momentum, sent it careening into another. “You guys used to call me ‘Hedgehog Priority One.’ You’re so impersonal these days! After all we’ve been through, I was sure our relationship was better than this.”

He was answered by a salvo of bolts stemming from a new direction, where over two dozen recently arrived SWATbots, flanked by a pair of hovercraft, were marching toward him. “Hedgehog, Priority One!” the machines droned as they realigned their aim.

“Now that’s more like it!” Sonic grinned. If he was put off in the slightest by the arrival of enemy reinforcements, he did an admirable job of concealing it. Darting through the now far more intense maelstrom, he reached the still convulsing form of the first SWATbot he had neutralized and withdrew the Power Ring lodged in its head. As he did so, the cannon beneath one of the two gunships began to glow with an almost blinding intensity. An instinctual cry of warning welled up in Sally’s throat, yet through sheer agonizing willpower she stayed her tongue. He knows what he’s doing, she tried to reassure herself. Taking action would in all probability accomplish naught save their own deaths.

Her trust was rewarded as Sonic darted away an instant before the gunship’s charged blast struck the ground where he had been standing, creating a brilliant explosion that thundered in Sally’s ears and forced her to squeeze her eyes shut. For a split second, the surrounding air rose sharply in temperature and even behind closed lids her eyes began to water.

When she opened her eyes a moment later, she found that the paralyzed SWATbot was gone, completely vaporized, while the ground within a two meter radius of the impact had been reduced to a smoldering crater. Sonic himself had been thrown to the ground perilously close to the fence, the Power Ring still clutched in his hand. Though he was on his feet once more in an instant, for the first time since the skirmish had begun the hedgehog looked worse for the wear. His body was caked with soot and sweat, his posture tense and his breathing heavy.

Glancing behind him, Sonic must have seen the concern in Sally’s eyes. He winked and offered a grin that still bore the confidence his entire body had been brimming with seconds before. Raising the Power Ring high above his head, he whispered “Love ya, Sal.”

I love you. He had spoken those beautiful words to her before, yet each time he breathed them they were welcomed by an opened heart that treasured each precious syllable with the tender care a mother gives her newborn. An observer somehow privy to the innermost chambers of her spirit might have found it odd that she would treat these three words, each worn to the point of being mundane after centuries of frequent use in common parlance, with such emotion. But Sally knew far better than to think them as being within the same spectrum as the ordinary. Individually their radiance was hidden, but together?

Together they outshone the stars.

Together they formed a discovery of incomparable worth, an epiphany that cast into perfect clarity the answers to innumerable questions she had long been asking in vain without even knowing. Together they made her spirit soar upward in a glowing dance toward the heavens that grew until it seemed to touch everything that was good that had ever existed and ever would exist in all of Creation. Joy, laughter, compassion, and so much more swirled around her as they joined in the resplendent celebration, and with her in the center of it all was love.

She yearned for nothing more than to rush toward him, wrapping him in her arms and speaking those same wondrous words to him, at once whispering them in his ear with gentle grace and shouting them from atop the highest mountaintop in the world with utter abandon.

And yet she could not.

It seemed, in that moment, the most severe transgression ever committed in history that she should be barred from doing so. But, just or not, she was. She had a job to do, and as always duty came before her own desires, however deep they ran. And so she remained silent. She remained silent as the golden glow of the Power Ring Sonic held spread across his entire body, steadying his breathing and easing his posture as it filled his being with strength. She remained silent as the group of mechanized terrors before him opened fire once more, only to find him tearing through their ranks as he hurtled forward, the air behind him thundering with the clap of a sonic boom. And she remained silent as he sped out of sight, leading the entire contingent of foes away so that she might succeed at the task before her.

When Sally was certain that the last of the SWATbots were gone, she clambered to her feet, undoing the cloth around her hands as she eyed the structure before her. There was still the matter of the pair of security cameras guarding the door, one on either side of the entrance, but experience had refined her ability to deal with such things down to an art. Mass production may have rendered the cameras all equally efficient, but it also left them all equally predictable.

The emplacements in question were of a model that was entirely automated; due to the sheer number of cameras installed throughout the city, only those in high security areas were designed with separate monitoring SWATbots in mind, a setup that, though more thorough, was far more costly. Automated cameras such as these signaled an alarm if tampered with or if heat signatures were detected, the latter feature preventing the various forms of robots from setting off alarms themselves. However, the hardware for the thermal sensor package was rather heavy, limiting the speed at which the cameras could rotate. Though the presence of a second camera with a field of coverage overlapping that of the first helped compensate for this slow rotation rate, it ultimately left brief but very real blind windows that could be exploited. Doing so required preparation, of course, a combination of time, a hidden observation point, and technology that could triangulate the cameras’ fields of vision, but Sally had possessed access to all three whilst waiting atop the adjacent warehouse with Sonic.

It was only a matter of pulling it off.

She waited until the left camera had completed two-thirds of its outward arc, then, taking a deep breath, sprinted forward, crossing the span of the courtyard in a carefully memorized pattern that left her directly beneath the right camera, a permanent blind spot that allowed her to catch her breath. Once the camera was in the appropriate position, the squirrel quickly shuffled against the wall of the building and reached the door itself. With a full three seconds to spare, Sally deftly entered the keycode she had spied one of the maintenance robots using to gain access and dove into the doorway as the hatch hissed open.

Safe for the moment, she turned around and gazed out at the distant surroundings beyond the fence, where she could just make out the flashes of light and echoes of yelled taunts that signified Sonic was still joyously eluding his pursuers, still surviving an assault that would have killed anyone else and doing so while laughing.

A single tear drifted slowly down the cheek of the princess as she smiled sadly and whispered, “I love you too, Sonic Hedgehog.”

For the thousandth time, Sally wondered how she could possibly ever be worthy of him. He was Sonic Hedgehog. Living legend. Champion of the free peoples of Mobius. Hero entrusted by fate with power that defied comprehension.

And she...she was Sally. Leader by right of blood, not of merit. Prisoner to a host of fears and doubts. Tactician whose foolishness had already cost eight courageous men and women everything.

With that, the walls around her heart arose once more as doubt set in again, the shared melody keeping it at bay for now nothing but a memory. Still, memory held some measure of power, and after a moment of concentration she was able to rekindle part of the peace she had felt earlier. She was alone in Robotropolis, cut off for the time being from all aid, yet the breath she had drawn while protected by the melody had been a deep one, enough to replenish her spirit for some time. As the entrance hatch slid shut, entombing her in darkness, Sally assured herself that the love she clung to, for Sonic, for Tails, and for her people, would grant her the strength to see this through to the end.

It would have to.

As a heads up, I'll be reading and reviewing this in a week or so. I want to wrap up some other content I'm working on first, so I can give my full attention to providing feedback.

The following is a Maintenance Test of the local Networking Underground Database Encryption. If you experience power fluctuations, please do not panic. Citizens are also encouraged to submit suggestions for better database acronyms to NICOLE.

Thank you, and have a nice day.

Long live the Queen.

1 hour ago, Rick Tyger said:

I don't get out much, and I'm not very PC.

While I can't necessarily speak for the rest of the community, it sounds like you'll get along just fine with the staff here.

Anyway, nice to see another person I recognize, even if we didn't interact much on FUS.

Attempting to blow up moderators is against this community's Terms of Use. In the interest of promoting a safe and secure society, you will be placed under surveillance by Her Imperial Majesty Queen Sally's Royal Guard until further notice. Subsequent offenses against the populace are punishable by imprisonment. You have been warned.

Long live the Queen.

 

Test edit.

could history repeat itself? Could we get another Sonic Show afterwards that has some real stakes to it and characters we can relate and care about?

That's extremely unlikely, and an invalid comparison to begin with. SatAM made its debut less than two weeks after AOSTH did, a difference that likely came down to nothing more than network scheduling. For all intents and purposes, neither show came before the other. They were concurrently developed by separate teams, with very little overlap beyond Sonic's voice actor. The two series were made at the onset, and ultimately height, of the franchise's popularity. Sonic was a sensation, the only video game icon capable of going toe-to-toe with Mario. It had the sales and popularity to encourage rapid transmedia expansion, but lacked a clear tonal or narrative identity. The show teams were given a great deal of room to creatively interpret and expand on a handful of basic core concepts, thus resulting in two wildly different approaches taking place simultaneously.

Flash forward to today, and the state of the franchise could not be more different. The Sonic IP is dying a slow, slow death. Far from being the juggernaut at the top of the world it once was, it has for over a decade been critically panned far more often than not. Sales remained robust for a time, but the last two major entries sold poorly, and as game development costs continue to increase, SEGA seems to be turning to other properties in pursuit of revenue. Sonic, both the character and franchise, now suffers from extremely poor word of mouth; rather than being 'cool' as it was originally meant to be, Sonic is usually treated as the butt of jokes or a poster child for ruined series by adults outside of its fanbase, itself notoriously controversial and the recipient of many an insult. Children, the series' main source of income, meanwhile, seem to be switching away from mascot-based platformers and toward mobile and toy-based games, a shift that extends beyond Sonic and can perhaps be best seen in the abysmal failure of Nintendo's Wii U.

The Boom sub-series was a desperate attempt to make Sonic relevant again by reenvisioning the series and giving it a fresh start. It failed spectacularly. Even if the franchise gets by on life support for a few more years, I can all but guarantee that, outside of the upcoming film, which itself is a disaster in the making, such an experiment will never be attempted again without a dramatic revival of the series' popularity. Even should such a thing happen, SEGA currently seems bent on pushing for a lighthearted tone, doubtless a result of the universal panning of the stories of Shadow the Hedgehog and Sonic 06. To a large extent, the blame is on them, assuming the poor reception to be due to tone rather than poor writing. But from a financial perspective, the decision is understandable. The mainstream public very rarely embraces serious stories involving 'furry' characters, generally welcoming them only as conduits for basic, light-hearted comedy.

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Long live the Queen.

XBL: Cpt Sorzo Again

I don't regularly subscribe to Gold anymore and only have a 360 with no mic. Still, if someone wants to play any of the Halo games or Mass Effect 3, I could probably be persuaded into springing for a month's subscription.

Steam: Captain Sorzo

Honestly, I don't play a lot of multiplayer Steam games, but feel free to look at my library and see if there's anything we have in common.

Also, I have a variety of Star Wars: The Old Republic characters on the Ebon Hawk server. I could blather on about faction and role preferences, guild and raid experience, etc., but if anyone's actually familiar enough with the game to care, toss me a PM so we can talk nerdy details. The Red Stranger is planning on giving the game a whirl sometime this summer, and all others are welcome.

Unlike with the 360, I do have a gaming mic for PC.

As a Freedom Planet nut, I'll gladly give it a read at some point. The game's actually my favorite platformer, and I eagerly look forward to the sequel.

Hey, a Bionicle fan! While I gradually lost interest in the series shortly after the first year of the Metru Nui storyline, I was quite the fanatic for awhile, largely thanks to the comics and especially the Mata Nui Online Game, which will forever hold a special place in my heart as being one of the first truly great things I found on the Internet. Heck, BZPower was the first forum I ever joined. Kopaka and Takua/Takanuva were my favorites.

Though I've read my share of issues, I'm not as familiar with Archie Sonic as most of the others here are. So while I'll try to offer feedback on your stories at some point, it's likely that some of the nuances involving certain events or characters will be lost on me if you draw more from that continuity than SatAM.