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Takes place on Sessrumnir the evening of January 30th after: First Strike

When the light faded and the unicorns dissolved into moonlit dust, the chamber did not become quiet.

It became unstable.

The vines were gone. The youma gone. The oppressive weight of Chaos had been ripped clean from stone and air. But the force that had purged it had not been gentle. Hairline fractures webbed across the ceiling, sifting out fine debris. Somewhere deeper in the tunnels, something groaned. Maybe it was stone settling… or breaking.

And the Brigade —

They had nothing left.

The warmth that had filled their chests, that had lifted their arms and steadied their hands for the final strike, rushed out like a tide. What was left was nothingness. Exhaustion so deep that it hollowed them. Some sank where they stood, some remained upright only because someone else caught them. A few tried to speak and found their voices would not leave their throats.

Victory, yes.

But they didn’t obtain safety.

The adults who had been racing through the labyrinth converged, drawn by the echo of impossible magic and the sudden absence of Chaos.

Valhalla and Ganymede reached the first cluster of teens — hands reached for Yvoire, Lyon, Cynthus. Names were spoken, pulses confirmed.

Alastor, Sessrumnir, and Lucien emerged through fractured corridors to Amarynthos, Ephesus, and Rose. Dagon located Stirling. Lysithea gathered the twins, Halle and Lisse, making certain neither had slipped into the darkness. Michel cut through stone and debris to find Dering and Reims, Malus not far behind him, relief written plainly across his face even before words could form.

They counted. Then counted again. No one was left behind.

The underground was no longer viable. Not with cracks spreading across load-bearing stone and residual magic still humming through fractured walls. There was no argument, nor was there any time for debate.

Sessrumnir.

Those who could stand were supported. Those who could not were lifted. Magic was used sparingly now — enough to stabilize, but not enough to deplete anyone further.

Sessrumnir’s springs waited.

The cavern beyond was vast, carved by time but carefully crafted and refined with care. Waterfalls poured down high stone walls into tiered pools that spilled into a broad basin below. Steam rose softly around them, everything illuminated by pale crystals embedded in the rock.

There was no rot. No mildew. No decay. Only warmth and minerals and the quiet, endless sound of flowing water.

The large central pool had been lined in natural stone for secure footing. Beyond it, carved into the curving cavern walls, were private chambers, framed by simple doors and structural reinforcement, but still part of the living spring. Shallow therapeutic pools ran through each room, fed by narrow channels in the floor. Cots stood ready. Medical supplies had already been gathered into the nearest rooms. Towels waited in stacks that never seemed to grow unpleasantly damp.

Sessrumnir waved off formalities. If someone needed to step into the water in full uniform, so be it.

Triage began immediately.

Uniforms were eased off where necessary. Wounds were cleaned. Some required stitching. Some required binding. Some required only mineral water and patience. Healing magic settled gently throughout the cavern. It was nothing flashy or forceful, but it eased what it could without overtaxing those who cast it. The springs themselves seemed to welcome the effort, warmth seeping into bruised muscle and torn skin alike.

Names were checked again. Everyone was here. Everyone was breathing.

Reims was taken to one of the smaller chambers, Malus and Michel at his side, Dering following quietly. Yvoire was taken to another, followed by Cynthus who offered to use her healing magic on him. Others rotated through pools and rooms depending on need. Those who could sit upright did so. Those who could not were allowed to float and rest.

No one was pressed for explanations. No one was asked to recount what they had seen. Not yet.

Roughly half an hour later, the cavern stirred again as Ganymede and Valhalla joined them through a cavern that went deeper into the underground. They’d brought with them food and reinforcements. Poe had joined them, drawn by concern for his daughter. Soleiyu and Lucasta followed, prepared to run additional scans and assessments. The food that was offered were hastily assembled sandwiches and drinks to replenish what magic and adrenaline had burned away.

Soleiyu moved from Knight to Knight with careful efficiency. Additional scans confirmed what initial impressions suggested: the corruption that had once marked them was gone. The tracking residue Cahir had used to hunt them had been erased entirely. The underground site itself was saturated with magical aftermath, altered in ways that would require later investigation.

For now, that did not matter. The only priority was stabilization, hydration, and rest.

Steam curled upward, carrying away the last sharp edges of battle. The cavern’s light softened. The teens, battered and hollowed out, were finally allowed to settle.

Cahir was gone. His youma were gone. His plants were ash. The Brigade had survived.

Exhausted.

But victorious.

Now… they just had to figure out what was next.

Ephesus did not feel alive. He felt hollowed out. The light of the Brigade strike still lingered somewhere in his bones, but what remained now was the echo of it. His limbs trembled faintly when he moved. His head felt too light. His magic — what was left of it — responded slower than it should have.

But that didn’t matter. Someone needed him.

He powered down only long enough to clear away the blood and filth. The transformation dissolved into light and reformed again, clean and intact. It had nothing to do with vanity. If he looked put together, maybe he could keep everything else from falling apart too.

Then he went back to work.

He knelt beside one of his friends, hands steady even though tears clung stubbornly to his lashes. Honey-scented warmth flowed from his scepter in measured amounts — never too much at once. His magic stitched deeper wounds closed just enough that the springs could finish the job. He eased swelling. Slowed bleeding. Took the sharpest pain from fractures and burns.

He did not use much on himself. A little, yes. Enough that he could stand without swaying.

The rest he spent freely.

“Hold still,” he murmured, voice softer than the steam curling around them. “Just for a second. I’ve got you.”

He moved from friend to friend.

Cynthus. Yvoire. Rose. Halle — hovering near the cut at his brow until he was sure it wasn’t deeper than it looked.

When Sessrumnir’s voice carried through the cavern, Ephesus swallowed hard and nodded without trusting himself to answer. Pride was harder to accept than pain.

But it was Alastor who finally stopped him.

Not with force or command. Just by opening his arms.

Ephesus stepped into them like he had been waiting for permission. The breath left him in a trembling exhale as he pressed his face briefly into Alastor’s chest.

“I’m okay,” he said automatically, the words muffled. “I promise. I’m okay.”

His hands fisted fabric, just enough to ground himself. He stayed there longer than he meant to, just breathing.

Alastor’s arms were steady and solid. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red but determined.

“I can still help,” he insisted gently, wiping quickly at his face before anyone could comment on it.

He drifted back toward Amarynthos almost instinctively. He brushed his fingers briefly against his boyfriend’s wrist, brief and reassuring, then resumed where he left off. If Amarynthos needed anything, Ephesus would feel it before it was spoken.

He didn’t freeze this time.

When the last of his magic sputtered thin — not gone, but dangerously close — he shifted roles without argument. Towels were fetched. Water passed out. Sandwiches pressed into hands that hadn’t yet realized they were shaking from hunger.

He kept moving.

Princess wandered past and pressed her massive head into his side. Ephesus smiled faintly and scratched behind one ear before redirecting her gently toward someone who needed the comfort more.

“I’ll rest later,” he quietly promised her. For now, he stayed close to Amarynthos. Close to Rose. Close to anyone whose breathing sounded uneven. His magic might have been spent, but he was still there.

When Reims stepped out of the private chamber, it was on his own two feet. Slowly and deliberately. The springs’ humidity clung to his clean uniform, fur collar of his cape pristine, posture straighter than his body probably appreciated. Malus hovered half a step to his right. Michel to his left. Dering just behind, close enough to intervene but not crowd.

Reims did not lean. He did not limp. He did, however, move like someone very aware that his body would easily split in two if he wasn’t cautious.

He glanced across the cavern, counting faces the way he always did. He’d already peeked into the room where Ganymede was staying with Yvoire, and where Cynthus was being fussed over by the Mercury Page he could only assume was her father. Rose passed them on the way with food for the others, but paused for a brief hug for both Reims and Dering.

He let out a quiet breath. Dering drifted closer to his side, hat returned at some point and now resting properly on Reims’s head again. Reims didn’t look at him, but his elbow gently brushed Dering’s in acknowledgement.

Alastor had spent most of his time moving around; as usual, he showed up with more energy to spare. Being familiar with the Wonder made it easy for him to get around, so fetching supplies or checking in came naturally to him. He stayed close to Ephesus mostly, out of habit and concern, but he didn’t want to crowd him either. Not much, at least. He checked on him often.

Soleiyu, helpful as he intended to be, was still tired. Creating the energy dampening crystals required a great deal of energy, and his was spent. Long-furred as he was, the dampness of Sessrumnir was not to his liking. But, he was a gentleman and a scholar, and some of his favorite people were here so he sucked it up. Besides, there was work to do–and he wouldn’t have been able to rest if he didn’t know what was going on.

The important part was confirmation that they could no longer be tracked by Cahir–whether or not he lived–and all reports indicated normality.

Soleiyu himself had badgered a few of them to power up and down to make sure there were no traces left and–thankfully–all readings came back the same. There would be more work to do, more scans to run, but for tonight–this was a success.

Lyon and Amarynthos had been easily corralled into the springs. Both had spent time there before, so the calming water was welcome, and eased many of their aches and pains. Neither of them had any extreme damage that required significant healing.

Amarynthos helped where he could, but he was sore and aching. He needed some healing, and of course it was welcomed. He knew how to be responsible, after all. And he wasn’t dying so there was no need for bravado.

He helped. He rested. He stayed by Ephesus. He hogged Princess some. He ate.

Lyon had watched Lucien transform from a cat to a man, and more than once had he squinted at him like he wasn’t sure he believed his eyes. Except, everyone else acted like it was normal. The other cats hadn’t changed form but he kept an eye on them, too. And thought about all the times he’d hung out with Lucien in his lap.

Well, whatever.

He had enough on his mind. He didn’t need to waste brain cells trying to figure out if that was weird.

Dering managed to disappear despite always being nearby someone. He didn’t take up much space, and when he sat down it was near enough to be part of the group, but not so close that he was crowding anyone. He sat with his lute on the ground by his ankles, and the neck between his eyes. He hunched forward a little, elbows to knees and cupping the lower part of his chin in his hands while he surveyed the group. His uniform was clean; he’d powered down and back up again. He had some healing to his arm, which was bandaged, but unnoticeable despite a slightly bulky sleeve.

They’d collected around Sessrumnir, each settled in and resting as much as possible. Some were there to be there, and others were interested in closure, or were still trying to come to terms with the fact that it was time to relax. Most of them were exhausted–the teenagers from the energy required to do–whatever they did in the tunnels. Soleiyu, because his efforts had drained him.

Amarynthos, never shy, stretched out a little and asked, “What was that thing we did? I know you weren’t there for it to see, but could you feel it? It was a big, bright light. Everything got burned up. I mean, not us, but.” He shrugged tiredly but pushed through exhaustion like it was just one final obstacle.

“I don’t know if I wanted to do it or just let it happen. But it was pretty useful. I want to know if we can do it again. Or if there’s any repercussions to doing it.”

…Like did they just take ten years off their life or something.

Sessrumnir pressed his lips together as he considered Amarynthos's question for a moment. "I'm not certain," he admitted, although he didn't seem embarrassed about not knowing. "What you're describing… I know of things adjacent to it, but not this exactly. Not in a group so small."

He paused for a moment, going over the things he'd experienced, before looking up once more.

"Over a decade ago, at a place called the Surrounding, things became pretty dire. Senshi and Knights joined their energy together to eliminate a threat none of us could have managed alone. But that was on a much larger scale. Nothing I've seen repeated, unless you could when the Moon collected our energy to launch an attack at that space serpent," he frowned.

He glanced over at Alastor, then back to the group.

"I also remember hearing that Malus and the others with him did something similar while Alastor and I were elsewhere. When we were working towards clearing the Chaos from his world," he shared, his eyes landing on Malus now. "Smaller than what happened at the Surrounding, but perhaps closer to what you all experienced tonight."

There was a faint, proud softness that crossed his expression as he looked at the young Knights trying to rest after their ordeal.

"So no, I don't know exactly what it was, but I know this much… it was real, it was powerful, and it answered all of you at once. That's not something to take lightly," he said as he looked from teenager to teenager. "As for repercussions, I'm guessing exhaustion… the rest, we'll figure out together."

Reims lowered himself into a seat more carefully than he wanted anyone to notice, and then shifted just enough to place himself in front of Dering as casually as possible. Not blocking him completely, just there enough so that Dering could disappear into his shadow if he wanted.

He glanced to the side, first toward Dering, then toward Lyon, and gave a little tilt of his head toward the open space nearby.

"Sit down before you fall over," he muttered, trying not to be obvious in his concern. He looked back toward Sessrumnir then, brows furrowed slightly in thought.

"It didn't feel like something I could've forced," he said. "Or something I'd know how to do on purpose. It was like…" He paused, trying to figure out the words for it. "Kinda like the universe decided it was done with letting Cahir win. Or something. Anyway, if it happens again, good. If it doesn't…" He let out a quiet breath. "It still got us out."

Dagon did not bother to pretend that she wasn’t fascinated by what she was hearing. She leaned forward, taking in everything—new experiences felt rare after such a long life, but apparently, there would always be something that could surprise her.

Perhaps that was the beauty of living; there was always something new.

“‘Draining, but not dangerous to the users’ would make sense,” she said. “And given that these powers seem to be accessible in moments of great crisis…I am not surprised I heard only rumors of such things.” The galaxy she had known had been very different, its conflicts taking different shapes than the ones these modern Senshi and Knights found themselves embroiled in.

She did not have answers about Cahir; she was loathe to assume that an enemy was defeated without proof, but to say so seemed as if it would be a damper on what was otherwise a victory. If he returned, she was certain they would find a way to deal with him again.

Sessrumnir let the question of Cahir settle for only a moment before answering, his expression thoughtful instead of evasive.

"We'll keep looking," he said simply. "Whether he learned anything from tonight remains to be seen. I would certainly prefer that he did. But if he hasn't… then we'll deal with him when the time comes."

There was no bravado in it. Just calm certainty. They would decisively deal with Cahir if he dared show his face again. And Sessrumnir had no intention of ignoring any whispers in the shadows.

He glanced over the group again, taking in the drooping shoulders, half finished food, the way some of them were staying upright out of sheer stubbornness rather than actual strength.

"But not tonight," he added, voice softening. "Tonight you rest. Use the springs. Eat. Sleep, if you can. You've done more than enough."

A faint smile touched his mouth, tired but sincere.

"And if you ever need somewhere to go — other than your clubhouse, or instead of it — Sessrumnir is open to you. You do not need a reason."