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| - ❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅ 'Cause baby I'm a dark star... — Jaymes Young, Dark Star NOSTALGIA is a word I've heard others use countless times, usually to refer to a much-cherished memory that's dear to their heart. It's not a word I've ever understood or found applicable. Yet, as Everly and I stumble to our feet and look about us as the silvery mist fades, I feel it for the first time in my life. Nostalgia. Like I've been here before. "Here" is somewhere on Thorn Mountain, that much I can tell. The ground is flat; we're on a plateau on the less steep side of the mountain. SnowClan territory, I realize. But how can that be? "Lucifer?" says Everly. She sounds scared. I turn in time to see her tap a rock with her paw. Or she tries to. Her paw goes right through the rock, as though she's made of the same vapor that transported us here. "Are we ghosts? Are we dead?" she asks in a hushed voice. "Don't be stupid," I say. I reach out with my tail, and to my surprise, I can touch her. To me, she's solid and warm. But when I try myself to touch the rock, I go right through it too. A chill shoots up my spine. "I think we're in... another dimension. Like, we're not really here," she says. That doesn't completely make sense, but I nod anyway, too wary to bother about the technicalities of our situation. "What was that stuff?" I mumble. Everly doesn't respond, but I can see thoughtfulness in her hazel eyes as she ponders that question. Something moves behind us, and we turn to see a white she-cat staggering down the slope leading to the plateau. She's bleeding heavily, so much that I'm surprised she can still be on her paws. She manages to get to the plateau before collapsing, the snow around her rapidly turning red. For a reason I can't explain, I find myself drawn to her. Everly's eyes are wide, pitying and upset. My reaction doesn't mirror her emotional one, but I feel something shift uneasily inside me as I watch the white she-cat struggle for breath. "She's bleeding out," I say, my voice sounding like it comes from very far away. "She's going to die." Everly rushes forward. "Is there anything we can do?" she shouts, but the white she-cat doesn't seem to see her. She spasms in the snow, spittle flying from her mouth, her eyes rolling in their sockets. She's going into the last stages of her life. Letting out a shriek of helpless rage, Everly attempts to kick a clump of snow in frustration. Her legs go through it, and her momentum causes her to topple right over. She groans, silent tears coursing down her cheeks as she struggles back to her feet and watches the white she-cat again. Blood is pouring from her injuries still; I marvel at the fact that she can have that much blood in her to lose. She jerks her head up, and for a split second, as her agonized eyes find mine, I can swear she can see me. I swear she knows I'm there. Then her head snaps back, and she goes completely still. "She's dead," I announce monotonously. Shaking her head, Everly whispers, "Why did she bring us here?" I'm not sure if she means Greer or if she's implying that the dead white she-cat brought us here. Neither really make any sense. If Greer wanted us to be here, why would she hide that silvery stuff in a tree stump at the back of her private quarters? And why would the white she-cat want us to witness her death? More importantly, how would she make sure we would? I put on a brusque tone. "Maybe there's something we need to know about this death." I step forward, ready to investigate, but stop in my tracks. There's something holding me back so strongly that it almost feels like I've physically run into a wall. Maybe it's the way the she-cat had locked eyes with me in her final second, and the way I know she saw me. I wonder what she would've said to me, if she'd been able to. Then a darker thought comes to mind. I remember how so many cats in my own world have shied away from my eyes, uncomfortable and frightened. Did I make the she-cat's last glimpse of Earth one of horribleness? "How do we get back?" asks Everly. "We can't just climb the mountain and reenter the peak. We're in a different time." For a second, I stare at her in puzzlement. Then I realize she must be right. I don't recognize the white she-cat at all, which means she must have already died. So why- "Look!" Every says suddenly. A small shape has appeared on the horizon. It's a kit, so young that it can barely walk over the snow. It lets out a squeak of terror and runs to the white she-cat's side, mewling softly. Everly looks desperate to reach out and comfort the kit, though we both know it can't see us. She runs her eyes over its snowy, downy fur, and then bends down to look into this face. Disbelief sparks in her eyes. "Lucifer," she says. "I think it's you." "What?" I say stupidly. "That's impossible." Ignoring me, Everly continues, "Which makes this your mother-" I flinch, my body reacting to an invisible blow that my heart can't even feel. "It's not my mother!" I snarl, my voice raising without me even realizing. "My mother died of disease in SnowClan-" "This is SnowClan territory, isn't it? You told me they lived on a plateau," says Everly wisely. "And who told you your mother died of disease? Don't you remember this?" Greer. "No," I say softly. "I don't remember any of this." How can that be? I watch the little kit--is it really me when I was young?--sob broken-heartedly into his mother's fur, inconsolable. "What happened to me?" "Your mother died-" "No. I mean... look at me. I'm sad. I'm crying. I'm heartbroken. Those things... they don't exist for me the way they do for you, Everly. I can't feel." She looks bewildered. "Well, that's absurd. Of course you can. Anyone would cry when their family dies," she adds, her eyes looking unnaturally bright, as if she's on the verge of crying herself. The last thing I need is for her to start bawling too. "That can't be me," I say, and I know how immensely cold my eyes are as I look at her. As if on cue, a wind picks up around us. It starts as a silvery gust of air, and then bright pink and blue and green lights begin dancing around it. The northern lights are back again. The air goes cold, and then I feel my paws lift off the ground. The kit and the white she-cat's body disappear, and SnowClan's home plateau dissolves in a burst of color. When I reopen my eyes, Everly and I are sprawled on the floor of Greer's den, back in present time. Inside the hollow tree stump, the silvery substance continues to shimmer quietly, looking for all the world innocent, not the portal to another time. I don't dare go near it. Instead, I grab Everly's neck-scruff and haul her to her paws. "Let's go, before Greer comes!" We bolt down the hallway in a mad dash, and don't stop till we've reached the other side of the tunnels, where Miko's den is. Breathless, Everly says, "Why is Greer hiding that? Why does she even have that? What is it?" I look at Everly and feel a snake of fury and spite rise up inside me. All of a sudden I want nothing more than to throw her to the ground and demand she give back what we've just experienced--why should she see me as a kit, why should she know how my mother might've died? And how dare she look at me with that expectant expression, as if we're in this together somehow? "I need to train," I say abruptly, and turn on the heel of my paw, marching away from her. I reach the high-ceilinged room where I've spent so much of my time practicing tucks and leaps and flips--under Greer's watchful eye--and begin a vigorous warm-up. I stretch out my muscles and sharpen my claws, and then do a lap around the room. Being in such a tense mood, my body is quick to respond and jump into action. I try the five-count move that I'd practiced yesterday: Jump, Tuck, Unfurl, Roll, Finish. This time, in a fashion that brings a rush of deja vu, Greer again steps out from the shadows as I land. Panting, I turn to face her, unsurprised. "Done talking to the Clans?" She nods. "They're preparing nests in the main cavern as we speak." She says no more about it, of course. Greer never bothers to share any more than she needs to. Giving me a short, somewhat approving nod, she says, "That move has improved since the last time I saw you practice it." "I look forward to implementing it on a living creature," I snarl, lashing my tail. She smirks. "Only the foolish look for a fight, Lucifer. The wise prepare for one." "What does that make me, if I've done both?" I can't look at her without seeing the dying white she-cat. Why didn't you tell me the truth about my mother? I want to yowl. "You have always been in a class apart from others," she says enigmatically, and flicks her tail. "Come here, follow me." A lifetime of being conditioned to obey her ensures that I immediately fall into step with her, in spite of the resentment bubbling within me. Greer leads me past the main cavern, and I look over my shoulder into it, surprised at seeing it filled with so many cats. Moonstar, Shadowstar and Blackstar are navigating through the crowd, shouting orders and overseeing the building of nests. Kits are crying for their queens, and apprentices are rough-housing in the middle of the cavern. The clamor is strange to my ears; we Snow Guard are a quiet, skulking bunch, and I doubt the tunnels have ever heard so much noise at once. Greer grows impatient with my staring and nips at my shoulder. "Come on," she urges. I join her just outside the entrance to our home. Sentries--Ruta and Jett--have been posted on either side of the cave, but they are out of earshot. The sky has begun to let down flurries. They ghost along my pelt, invisible along my white fur, and dust Greer's muzzle and the tips of her ears. She twitches her whiskers impatiently and says, "Have a seat." I sit down on the cold stone, raising my eyebrows at her. "So formal. What's going on?" "Lucifer, have you ever had questions for me?" I stare at her in disbelief. The look on her face is open, and there is a measure of sincerity in her voice. I say nothing, eyeing her in suspicion. She has to be playing at something, and her attempt at frankness is almost scarier than her usual mask. "Questions about the things I've told you," she says. "Have you ever wondered more about... why you are the way you are? Surely you notice that you're different from the rest." I glance away, scanning the gray sky above our heads. Stormclouds are moving in, and their dark underbellies promise a lot more than these flurries is on its way. "I'm your soldier," I say. "Your weapon, the hope of the Snow Guard." "My special boy," she says, almost fondly. I look into her eyes and shiver at the manic look of pride in them. That's not for me. It's for my claws, for my fangs--but it's not for me. "I'm not your boy," I say without thinking. Greer raises her eyebrows, but she doesn't get angry. Instead she says, quite calmly, "No, no I suppose you're not. You're not anyone's boy, are you? You never will be. It's the blessing of your birth to walk through life unencumbered by emotions, by the silliness that drags others down. I've worked so hard to desensitize the rest of the Snow Guard, to bring them to the level of toughness they need to be at in order to do their job properly, but I never had to worry about you. You saw the higher calling, you saw what's beyond the stupidity of love and hate, and you've always been reaching into that realm. It's why you're my favorite." "What are you trying to say?" I say tensely. Despite her relaxed words, there's something hard in her posture that makes my hackles rise. "Relax, Lucifer." Greer gives me a small smile. "I'm not trying to anger you. I want to share something about you that you don't know about yourself. I've always told you how you were born to be an assassin, haven't I?" "Yes," I say. "Ah, but I never told you exactly why you are so skilled. In build and ability, of course, you have always superseded any standard set by previous Snow Guard cats. No one can deny your talent in that field. But what makes you an exceptional warrior is... lux." "Luck?" I repeat, confused. "Boreas lux. Spirit of the north, essence of the northern lights. You were born to be a special cat, Lucifer. A huge part of a cat's transformation into a higher calling is letting go of their old skin: their memories, their loves and hates, their petty, unneeded feelings. But you, you were such an important soldier... your transformation had to be accelerated." "How?" None of what she's saying makes sense. I was born on a new moon, a dark sky... I was born this way. This is all I ever was, cold and ruthless and- An image of a sobbing kit, unmistakable sorrow painted across his face, flashes across my mind unbidden. "Listen to what I'm saying, Lucifer. You cannot love. It is beneath you. Love is unnecessary, of course, yet it is a part of the common cats who are part of the Guard. They think that soldiarity and camaraderie is what holds them together, but that is just because they cannot see past that. They can't realize how much greater they would be without these hindrances. Not like you and I. You have been purified, and lost that soft vulnerability, that ability to love. And because of this, I can offer you what I have never been able to offer anyone else. I can offer you my mentorship. I have trained you for a long time, of course, trained you at such a high level that others cannot even imagine your capabilities. But now I will begin to train you to follow in my pawsteps. I will not pass for a long time, of course, but when I do... Thorn Mountain will be yours. I am building a legacy, Lucifer. This mountain was all but destroyed when I came to power. I rebuilt it. I restored the Snow Guard. I reformed it into what it needed to be to hold this mountain safe." Her eyes search my face. "Will you agree to it, Lucifer? Will you build this legacy with me?" The snow has finally started falling in earnest, and the wind is picking up. I look down the mountain, through the swirling masses of white. I imagine all of it in my grasp. No longer being the outcast, the strange-eyed weapon of Greer's, but being the respected, feared, supreme leader of all the Clans. "I will," I tell Greer. "Long live the legacy of the Snow Guard." Her eyes burn with fierce determination. "Long shine the dark stars."
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