Work Text
When She-Ra fought, there was a kind of inspirational glory to it. The brilliant glow, the flowing hair, the radiating sense of strength and power and confidence—she fought with a kind of powerful cleanliness, wreaking destruction with fists and powerful blasts of magic that cleared the field without leaving behind the sort of distasteful, bloody wreckage that war necessitated. She may have carried a sword, but she never used its blade. At least, that’s how it usually went. A nameless Horde soldier charged forward with a raised blaster and desperate cry. She-Ra didn’t even try to dodge the green energy blast, absorbing it into her glowing skin without so much as a stumble backwards. Her blade swung and the blaster split in two. So did the soldier holding it. There was no trace of satisfaction on She-Ra’s face. No fear, no relief, no anger, no… anything. She no longer caused destruction. She was destruction. ***
Adora lifted a Horde tank with She-Ra’s strength and threw it into another, the force of the impact skidding the twisted hunks of metal into a weapons platform and tipping it over. It fired wildly into the ground and then exploded in a mass of green energy. Adora smiled, taking the advantage of the brief lull caused by the chaos of the explosion to support her hands on her knees and catch her breath.
A voice—not quite a voice, a feeling—thrummed in the back of her head. “You’re tired,” it told her. “You don’t need to be tired. You could be so much more. So much stronger.”
She shook her head in a futile effort to dispel the thoughts. “No,” she thought, forcefully. As her training had progressed, Adora reached a point where becoming She-Ra was almost… frightening. There was incredible power locked away in that form. She could sense it every time she transformed now: a deep, swirling pool of energy far beneath her feet. It offered invincibility, immortality, the total assurance of victory.
It terrified her.
She’d turned away from it the first time she stood at that precipice, and every time after. Somehow, some deep, unspoken fear within her knew that if she jumped, she could lose herself forever.
Still the voice whispered; coaxed, pleaded.
“Let go.” *** It took the concentrated firepower of five Horde tanks just to get She-Ra’s attention. They realized their mistake when She-Ra fell to one knee and the first, terrifying glimpse of emotion showed on her face: anger. With a scowl, she lifted her sword overhead and thrust it into the ground. Stone rippled outward like a pebble tossed into a pond. Tanks overturned, half-swallowed by the earth; the screams and shouts of soldiers suddenly cut off as the ground consumed them. She-Ra flickered, stumbled, blinked, and for the briefest of moments looked down at her hands in horror. Then her footing became sure again, all traces of emotion disappearing from her face. She marched forward. ***
The battle was going badly. Very badly.
Adora leaned on her sword, panting for breath. The Horde’s second assault on Bright Moon had clearly learned from the first: they had more armor, more troops, more firepower, more everything. Everywhere she looked the ground was either stained red or charred black, and littered with the fallen—some Horde, mostly rebellion; every so often one of those few untrained civilians so desperate to protect their home. And the smell—oh stars, the smell.
She scanned the field and felt desperation rise in her chest. The Horde was everywhere. Pockets of resistance still pushed forward, but the Horde’s advantage was clear. She was reminded of the python she’d seen once in the Whispering Woods, and how she watched in horror as it slowly, inexorably squeezed the life from its prey before swallowing it whole.
“You could stop this," the voice reminded her. "It would be easy. You don’t need to hold back anymore."
Adora groaned, bringing her fists to her head. Keeping the voice at bay was sapping away energy she didn’t have to spare, but it was necessary.
Wasn’t it?
The shimmering pool of energy appeared far below her again, beckoning. Turning away from the edge took more effort this time.
*** By the time their second battalion fell, the Horde was forced to acknowledge its defeat. Some companies kept fighting, unaware of or unwilling to acknowledge the call to retreat. Those closest to She-Ra showed no hesitation in following the order. Most of them had started running before the call came. She-Ra faltered for a moment, her glow dimming then returning to full, blinding strength. ***
When Adora spotted the sniper, it was already too late.
She-Ra’s strength let her cross the distance in practically a single leap, but he had already fired into the small knot of soldiers surrounding Glimmer and Bow. Glimmer looked up at her scream of warning too late. She teleported too late. Everything was too late.
The green bolt of energy rippled through Glimmer’s body just as she began to teleport. Her scream was cut off and she reappeared a short distance up in the air, her body limp as it hit the ground.
Adora’s mind blanked. She didn’t know what she had done to the sniper, but it was a long way down off the cliff face.
“She’s alive,” Bow said, as Adora skidded to her knees at their side, his voice choked with concern and anxious relief. Adora looked down at the way the bolt had left smoldering, stuttering marks in her friend’s back and similar marks at its exit on her chest. Somehow, the partial teleport had saved her life. For now.
Adora reached inside for her connection to Swift Wind and yanked. A startled whinny came from the edge of the battlefield, and Swift Wind arrived in a hasty flurry of wings seconds later.
“What’s wrong? What—” he stopped short as his eyes fell on Glimmer. “Take her to the castle. Now. Bow, make sure she gets there.”
As the three flew out of sight, Adora returned her attention to the battlefield, feeling a white-hot anger boil to the surface.
“You could have protected her,” the voice said. “How many more must fall?”
Adora’s fists clenched at her sides. “Shut up,” she hissed. “Shut up. I’ve already made my decision.”
In her mind, she stood at the precipice above the glowing pool of energy that both promised certain victory and filled her with a nameless dread.
And she jumped.
***
The battle had long passed the point where one person could turn its tide, no matter their strength, but She-Ra wasn’t one person.
She was an army.
*** Even an army will lose strength, eventually. She-Ra strode toward one of the last pockets of fighting, but her steps had been slowly losing their surety; her powerful movements tinged with a lethargic slowness, her emotionless mask colored with a slight frown. She stumbled, regained her footing for a few steps, then clutched her fists to her head as if fighting against some unseen force. She-Ra stuttered and faded. Adora fell to her knees, panting like she had run a great distance or woken from a terrible nightmare. Slowly, she forced her eyes across the expanse of the battlefield, processing the death and destruction that lay before her. Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. The nightmare was real, then. She pitched forward and retched. A familiar snarl of anger rose up from the fighting below her and filtered through her muddled mind. She wiped her mouth with a shaking hand and shifted to peer over the edge of the rocky outcropping where She-Ra had led her. The figure below her jumped with a lithe grace from opponent to opponent, ducking under the swoop of bladed weapons, dodging, striking, and winning in a personal battle against multiple Rebellion soldiers. Catra. If She-Ra hadn’t faded when she did… From the corner of her eye, Adora saw movement. Another rebellion solider had crept up under the cover of fallen rock, only visible from Adora’s higher vantage point. She glanced to Catra. Only two of the soldiers she fought remained standing, but she hadn’t seen him. She couldn’t see him. The hidden rebel raised his spear in preparation to strike. No. No no no. Not again. No. It didn’t matter what Catra was to her now—she was a friend. Had been a friend. Was still a friend. Adora couldn’t risk losing more than one person she cared about in the same day. She pushed aside the roiling nausea at the thought of touching the sword again and forcibly pulled She-Ra back to her, ready to turn away from the pool of energy the moment it presented itself—but when she looked, it had faded to nothing more than the faintest glimmer of golden light at the bottom of a deep, black pit. She ran from it anyway. In an instant Adora was on the ground behind Catra, stone cracking from the force of her landing, the last ounces of She-Ra’s energy pouring into her body as she rolled up with her shield in place to block the thrust of the spear. It was almost perfect. Almost. Catra took advantage of the distraction to dispatch the last of her opponents and whirled to face the spear-wielding rebel, using her depleted blaster to strike him unconscious. She spun again, a snarl on her lips and her weapon raised to fight She-Ra—and found Adora instead. She was expecting to confront She-Ra; the real She-Ra, the glowing specter of death that had decimated her forces and destroyed people they once knew. She wasn’t expecting to see her former best friend looking like she was going to fall face-first into the dirt at any second, holding her side from a spear wound meant for her. She wasn’t expecting to see Adora crying. Adora’s eyes wandered up and down Catra’s body as if searching for injury, but from her unfocused gaze Catra doubted she could process anything she saw. “I… I’m sorry.” The words were little more than a broken whisper. With human ears, Catra might not have heard them at all. When Adora fell, she wasn’t quite sure why she caught her.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
She was being carried. Whoever had their arms around her was was muttering familiar words in a familiar tone. After several seconds, one of the more frequently repeated words managed to filter past the obscuring haze in Adora's mind: “Idiot.” She kind of wanted to complain at that, but all she could manage was a quiet groan. The volume of the words increased and sounded angrier. The anger didn’t bother her, for some reason. It was strangely comforting. Each step forward jostled her uncomfortably and she shifted her head, another soft sound of discomfort escaping her throat. Everything hurt. Her side hurt. She felt like she was forgetting something important, something horrible… she couldn’t remember. She didn’t want to remember. *** Being carried had hurt, but being dragged hurt more. The arms were under her shoulders now, pulling her upper body in one direction as her feet tried to drag her in the other; her wounded side caught painfully in the middle. A chill was spreading through her body, offset only by the unnerving wet warmth at her side. The dragging stopped. A blurry mass of tan and brown came into view. Words were being spoken again, but she could understand even less than before. The tone was vaguely apologetic and broken by times when the figure tried to catch its breath. A surprisingly gentle touch moved loose hair out of her hazy vision. She blinked. The figure was gone, replaced by another, smaller figure in shiny armor. No, not smaller… farther away. The new figure stopped short, then started to run toward her, shouting urgent commands over their shoulder. The voice was painfully loud in her head. She wanted to tell them to shut up, but she didn’t have the energy. *** The third time she woke was different. Everything was dull, distant, and hazy, but the surface on which she lay was soft and clean. No rocks dug into her back, and while there was still pain at her side, it was strangely muted. She managed to roll her aching head to one side and blinked blearily until she could barely discern the scene before her: Glimmer, unnaturally still and pale on the bed next to hers with Bow sitting at her side. His back was to Adora, and it looked like it was shaking slightly—like he was crying. Her vision blurred again, this time from her own tears. *** “Miss Adora, the head physician would really much prefer that you stay here—” “Then get him,” she demanded, then closed her eyes when the assistant flinched backward at her tone. “Please.” It was the second day of her confinement to the infirmary. The first day, she had only woken only briefly. She had finally remembered what happened when she woke in the middle of the night, mercifully alone. She'd managed to turn her face into the pillow to stifle her sobs. Bow and Angella both came early in the day to see Glimmer, who remained as still as she had been when Adora first woke. Her wounds had been treated, she still had not woken. The stress of it was evident in their faces. The guilt that washed over Adora whenever she looked toward her bed made her stomach churn. By the time they'd arrived, Adora had managed to wall off the fragmented memories she had recovered in the night until she could be truly alone to process them. They'd both spoken to her, happy to see her awake, any mention of the battle kept out of their conversation—whether as a mercy to Adora or themselves, she wasn't sure. The assistant poked her head apprehensively back into the room. “The head physician will be along shortly, Miss Adora,” she informed her. Miss Adora. The castle staff had some difficulty figuring out how to address her, and she latched onto the thought in an effort to distract herself. “Adora” seemed too informal a way to address a champion of the rebellion, but her history with the Horde had prevented her being granted an official military ranking. “Princess Adora” just wasn't accurate—although she'd never have let them call her that even if they tried. They had tried “Princess She-Ra” in the past. A chill ran through Adora at the thought of the name, and she quickly threw back up the crumbling mental wall that prevented her from thinking about what had so recently transpired. Not here. Not now. Not yet. The assistant returned, a few steps behind the head physician. “I am told you wish to leave,” he stated in a measured, patient tone. “Yes,” Adora said, tiredly. “And you're not going to stop me.” A refined, silver eyebrow raised. “I've been listening. I know that this,” she gestured to her bandaged side, “isn't a dangerous wound, and I was mainly brought here for exhaustion and blood loss. I know everything has been treated, which just leaves exhaustion—and I also know I will rest far better in my own room. So. Can I leave now?” The cool blue eyes of the physician narrowed, and Adora hoped for a moment that word of her preference for a slab-like mattress had not spread throughout the castle. Apparently, it had not. “Very well,” the physician sighed. “But you must rest.” He pressed a small bottle into her hand and white pills shifted inside the transparent casing. “Take one of these twice daily,” he instructed. “They’ll help with the pain.” She tucked the bottle in her pocket and got up from the bed, pressing years of Horde practice into service to masterfully suppress a wince at the motion. “Thank you.” When she passed Glimmer's bed on the way out, she felt a stab of pain that had nothing to do with her side. *** Perhaps there was a point in wanting to keep her in the infirmary, Adora thought when she finally reached her room, teeth gritted and sweat starting to form at her hairline. Walking... hurt. She started toward her bed, then froze when she saw what lay there: the sword. Someone must have returned it to her room after the battle. Gleaming, polished, sharp. Clean. It shouldn't be clean. It should be red. Black. Dripping. It's how she saw it in her dreams, despite how the stain of war had never lingered on its glowing blade. She wrapped her hand in a blanket and grasped the hilt with a barely contained shudder, dragging the weapon toward the furthest corner of the room. A whisper started to form at the back of her mind after only a few steps. Panic gripped her and she hurled the sword the remaining distance into the corner, heaping the blanket atop it to cover it from view. No. Not again. Never again. She turned her back and sat down heavily on her bed, blinking away the tears that sprang to her eyes. “Let me help you,” a voice whispered in her head, despite the hands she had clamped over her ears to block it out. “Let me heal you.” She forced her mind blank. *** It was hours later when she regained some awareness of her surroundings. Hours first spent hiding in her own mind from that horrible voice, then reliving the battle in flashes and spurts of terrifying memory that couldn't be hers, shouldn't be hers, but belonged to her all the same. She had expected to cry again, but instead just felt a deep... emptiness. Whatever sound had pulled her from her thoughts made her realize how much time had passed. The sun had long since set, and her room was only illuminated by the moon outside. An uncomfortable lump pressed against her hip from inside her pocket. She pulled out the pill bottle and stared at it. The physician's instructions rang in her head, and she mechanically dispensed a single pill into her hand before rising to place the bottle on a shelf above her wash basin. The pill tasted horrible, sticking in the back of her throat on the way down. She almost choked before finally washing it down with several large gulps of water. When the nausea induced by its chalky flavor didn’t fade in the next few minutes, but rather intensified, she read the back of the bottle.
Take twice daily with a meal.
Oops. The nausea intensified again and her empty stomach heaved, the muscles in her abdomen clenching involuntarily. She gripped the sides of the sink as her stomach heaved again and the pill made an unwanted reappearance. Fiery pain lanced her side at the motion—she felt something tear, then a warm wetness. She closed her eyes in frustration. There went at least one of her stitches. She pulled up her shirt and slowly peeled away the bandage, hands shaking. The damage wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Her shield had managed to deflect the strike into a glancing blow, so while the cut was long, fairly deep, and had bled profusely, it had not severed the underlying muscle. Several stitches held the wound closed. One of them, however, was no longer doing its job: it had torn open, and a thin line of red ran down her skin. She held the freshly removed bandage back to her side before the drip could stain the waistband of her trousers. Adora screwed her eyes shut and cursed softly. She should probably go back to the infirmary, but there was no way they would let her back out after she tore a stitch within hours of her initial release. Besides, she thought, her heart twisting in guilt and pain as she thought of Glimmer, they had far more important things to worry about than a slipped stitch. She peeled back the bandage again and found the bleeding had already lessened to a sluggish trickle. Holding the old bandage in place, she reached underneath her mattress to pull the pads and strips of gauze she had slowly hidden away over weeks and months. Changing the bandage was easy enough, but by the time she finished she found herself strangely exhausted. Moving slowly, she swiveled her legs up onto her mattress and used one arm to gently lower herself toward her flat pillow, suppressing the whimper that formed in the back of her throat as the motion pulled her remaining stitches. When her head finally hit the pillow, she just lay there, one hand pressed against her wound to prevent it from bleeding further. Logically, she knew she should get up in a few minutes to eat – but nausea, pain, and exhaustion won in the end. Her eyes shut and she fell into a dreamless sleep.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
She was back on the battlefield, surrounded by the dead. She ran, stumbling, yelling herself hoarse, but nothing could hear her. Nothing was left alive.
Her stumbling feet caught and she fell forward onto a body, barely catching herself above the corpse's face. The uniform was Horde, but the face... the face was Glimmer's.
She fell backward with a cry.
-
She was standing on rock, surrounded by mist on all sides. Three figures stood in front of her: Glimmer, Bow, and Catra. Pale. Covered in red.
“You killed us,” Bow said, emotionless. “What? No! I would never—”
A steady dripping from her side claimed her attention—the sword was in her hand, bathed in red. How—it couldn't be—
Glimmer spoke next, her expression and voice as blank as Bow's. “Why did you do it?”
“I—I didn't! All I ever wanted was to protect you!”
Catra appeared next to her, her distorted voice so close that it felt like it was inside her head.
“You failed.” -
She was back at the first ones temple, climbing desperately to a small outcropping of rock as Catra taunted her from above. There was no black pit beneath her this time—instead, dozens, hundreds of copies of the sword waited far beneath her feet, hilts fixed to the ground, sharp points aimed upward. Catra's laugh echoed and faded, her image swirling and morphing into... herself? No... She-Ra. Cruel, dispassionate, alight with power. Her gaze dropped to Adora, and she wanted to crawl out of her skin.
“Let go.” *** She woke with a gasp. The soft pastel drapery that hung over her bed filled her vision, illuminated by early morning light that streamed in through her window. The familiar sight would normally begin to set her mind at ease, but the cold feeling of dread and horror was unshakable. Waking only brought her from one nightmare to another. Her gaze traveled across the room, sliding away from the blanket heaped in the corner and the sword that lay under it. Even covered, its presence pressed on her mind. What was once a shining, golden hope now loomed like a bleeding shadow; whispering, pleading. You need me.
No.
With a groan, she pressed stiff, aching limbs into motion and stood from the bed, half-stumbling to the wash basin with one hand unconsciously pressed to her side. She turned the cold tap on full strength and splashed her face, making a conscious effort not to look in the mirror. Instead, she stared at her hands as the icy water ran over them, pooling and streaming, cascading through her fingers into the sink—clear and cool as it left the faucet, then turning warm as it touched her hands. Warm, and... red. She started violently backward, pulling her hands back as if scalded. No... no. She blinked once, twice, shook her head to clear her vision and tried to calm her panicked breaths. The water ran clear from the faucet and swirled clear down the drain. Her hands... it took a conscious effort to look at them, but... they were clean. Ironic. She plunged her hands back under the flow of water and stared, almost surprised when it continued to run clear. Much later, she clumsily turned off the tap with cold-numbed fingers, her skin rubbed red and raw from washing, washing, and re-washing. Her hands still felt filthy. She reached for a towel and almost doubled over. The dull, throbbing pain of her abdomen that she had pushed to the back of her mind reclaimed her attention with a sudden stab. She finally glanced down, noting with some dismay that several small spots of red stained her white shirt. She flexed her fingers in an attempt to regain some feeling and then pulled up her shirt, hissing at the pain and the sudden chill. The sweat of her nightmare still clung to her skin and made the air feel cooler than it was. Pulling away the old bandage was an even worse affair than it had been the night before, and she had to close her eyes multiple times just to work up the nerve to continue. Heat radiated from the wound, and the part of the bandage she could see had a yellowish tinge. Part of the healing process, she supposed, gritting her teeth as she peeled the old bandage a bit further back. Was it supposed to hurt this much? Oh, of course. The pills. The one she was supposed to take for the pain last night hadn't exactly... worked out. She reached tentatively for the bottle and then tilted it back and forth in her grasp, daylight playing across its label. One hand reached for the lid, then stopped. She stood, motionless. It was just pain, after all. She could handle pain. She'd had plenty of practice. And this pain... she shut her eyes in a futile attempt to block out the brutal images that played endlessly through her mind. This pain, she deserved. She set the bottle back on its shelf. *** Walking, also, was an even less enjoyable affair than it had been the day before. She moved slowly, close enough to the wall that she could stop and lean a hand against it when the hallways were clear. She had realized halfway through changing her bandage that it was midweek, and that meant time for the weekly strategy meeting—and anything was a welcome distraction from thoughts of the infirmary, or the sword that lay covered in her room. Her original plan had been to stop by the kitchens for a roll and some water before heading to the meeting, but she hadn't realized how slow she would actually move. No great loss. Her head was aching and her stomach had flipped at the thought of food, anyway. Even after canceling her trip to the kitchens, she arrived after the meeting had already begun. Several head swiveled in her direction as she entered, and her heated face flushed even more. “I—” her voice cracked, embarrassingly, and she cleared her throat. “I apologize for being late, ma'am,” she addressed the queen. She started to bow, then thought better of it. “Adora,” The queen's expression was surprised through her clear exhaustion. Every moment she could spare—and some she could not—had been spent next to her daughter, waiting for any change. “You were not expected to be here today.” Icy fear gripped her heart. So, the rebellion couldn't stand that much carnage either, even when it was unleashed in their favor. She waited for the next words, the ones that would condemn her as the monster she was. “You shouldn't even be out of the infirmary with those wounds, let alone attending meetings,” Angella continued. Oh. “I... wanted to be here, your majesty.” She suddenly felt unbearably tired, and managed to sink into her blessedly close chair with only a slight wince. An older man whose name she couldn't quite remember began to speak. “Your majesty, before we continue, I would like to express our collective happiness at the news that the princess's condition has improved.” It had? “Thank you, councilor,” Angella said with small, tired, but genuine smile. “It will be a difficult process, but the physicians anticipate a full recovery.” Pleased and congratulatory murmurs passed around the table, but Adora's overwhelming relief froze her, wordless, in place. Glimmer would recover. She would be all right. The voices slowly morphed to a more businesslike tone, and she tried to process the words being spoken. “Now, regarding the placement of our troops at the southern border,” came an authoritative voice, and Adora realized the meeting had begun in earnest. She did her best to listen, but after the rush of emotion from hearing the news about Glimmer wore off, she found herself struggling to make sense of the simplest sentences. Soon, she gave up even on that, pouring all her concentration into simply remaining upright in the chair. The heat of the jacket she'd worn to cover the small bloodstains on her shirt seemed oppressive. Her side licked tendrils of pain throughout her body, sending them up to meet the throbbing pain in her head until her body became a single, pulsing mass of pain at every heartbeat. It was fine. She was fine. Just breathe in, breath out. Keep your eyes open. They were dry now—don't forget to blink. Breathe. Sit up straight. Don't show your weakness. “Adora?” She blinked. The room was empty except for Angella, standing near the door and staring at her questioningly. Crap. How much time had passed? Enough for the meeting to end, clearly— “Adora?” the queen asked again, taking a step closer. “Are you all right?” “Fine!” Adora said, too loudly and too quickly. “I'm fine,” she repeated in what she hoped was a more normal tone. “Just... tired.” She wasn't exactly sure what she looked like, but from how she felt, she had a feeling that her imitation of 'person who doesn't need to be dragged to the infirmary' wouldn't hold up under closer inspection. Fortunately, the queen seemed distracted enough to take her words at face value. “Of course. You should be resting.” She turned to exit the room, then paused briefly. “If you feel up to it later, do come by the infirmary—Glimmer will be very pleased to see you. She asked after you when she woke this morning.” She managed to choke out something that sounded vaguely like “Of course,” and the queen nodded and left. Glimmer. The thought of seeing her was accompanied by another massive wave of guilt. What could she say? Hi, it's me, your friend, the mass murderer. Oh, and apparently I could have ended that battle long before you had a sniper bolt shot through your chest, but I guess you just weren't important enough. Bad idea. Terrible idea. She started to rise from her chair, then fell back with a cry as blinding pain shot up her side. She sat down hard, cracking her head against the hard, high back of the chair. For several moments, her world consisted only of pain and her gasping, halting breaths as she tried to contain it. Maybe she should go to the infirmary after all. The almost nauseating rush of guilt that came with that thought made the decision for her. Later, then. If at all. She grasped the table with a white-knuckled grip and slowly eased herself out of the chair. It wasn't so bad, now. Sitting motionless for... however long the meeting had been... must have made her muscles go stiff. She was fine now. She was always fine. She had to be. *** Her hand rested on a doorknob. She wasn't quite sure how she got here. In fact, she wasn't quite sure where “here” was. A room, clearly, somewhere in the castle. From the dust, it hadn't seen use in quite some time. She dimly recalled moving slowly through the castle halls, keeping to lesser-used pathways so that no one would notice how she had to stop and lean heavily against the wall every few steps to keep from falling down. Eventually she had graduating to keeping one hand against the wall at all times in a slow sort of shuffle—but she hadn't fallen, she thought with a muddled sense of pride. (Frankly, she wasn't sure if she would have been able to get up if she had.) She'd considered returning to her room, as the queen expected, but then people would know where she was and she just...she wanted—no, needed—to be alone. Without stopping to think about whether it was a good idea, she shut the door behind her and turned the lock with a click. The room was small, but held a tall pair of windows across from the door that let light spill across the floor and illuminated motes of dust that hung in the air. The windows were the kind that hinged open to let in air on pleasant days, and it looked like the lock was broken. Someone should probably do something about that, she thought distantly. Someone who wasn't her. She managed to reach a small alcove near the window and pressed her back against the wall, slowly sliding down as a quiet, pained sound escaped her throat at the motion. Her eyes closed in relief as she came to rest on the floor. Well, the queen had asked her to rest, she thought to herself. Here seemed like as good a place as any. *** She was sweating a lot, she realized, slowly blinking to awareness. Strands of hair stuck to her face and neck, and she shivered at the chill of her damp shirt. And shivered again. And kept shivering. Her entire side felt like it was on fire, yet she was freezing. A feeling slowly filtered through her hazy mind that this... probably wasn't good. “Wow. You look awful.” Shock startled her to brief clarity as Adora jumped at the voice—then screwed her eyes shut, drawing in a hissing breath as she curled slightly inward. “Really awful,” the familiar voice amended. The pain subsided and Adora opened her eyes again, waiting for the wavering image in front of her to stabilize. The room was dark now, illuminated only by moonlight and the glowing, mismatched eyes stared thoughtfully into her own. This was painful in a different way: achingly familiar, yet unattainable. Catra’s lips were curled in that perpetual faint smirk, and her eyes betrayed almost none of the anger they always held these days—just concern, hidden away behind a deep exhaustion Adora couldn’t recall having seen on her friend’s face before. Adora had to hand it to whatever was left of her brain; this was some pretty great detail for a hallucination. Not-Catra sniffed, glancing down at Adora’s side. “You smell bad, too.” “Shut up,” Adora groaned. “Go away.” A tsk of disapproval. “Is that any way to treat your oldest friend?” “You’re not real,” Adora mumbled. “Besides,” she said, wondering why she was justifying herself to a figment of her imagination, “I don’t know if we’re friends anymore. You keep... trying to kill me.” Not-Catra leaned back against the opposite wall, stretching her leg out so it nearly touched Adora’s. If she’d actually been there, Adora would’ve been able to feel the warmth coming off her skin. For a moment she almost thought she could. “I don’t know,” Catra observed dispassionately, raising a hand to examine it in the moonlight. “I feel pretty real. As for the other part—don’t be ridiculous. If I actually wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.” Canines flashed in the low light. A weak laugh, and Adora found a teasing retort rising to her lips almost automatically. “You could try.” Adora wasn’t expecting the long pause, or the quiet sincerity in the tone that followed. “I don’t think I want to anymore.” “Besides,” Not-Catra continued at a higher volume with a critical glance in her direction, “You seem to be doing a decent job of getting yourself killed on your own.” Adora gave a shallow sigh. It was the best she could do; breathing hurt. “Why are you here, Catra?” “I’m not, remember?” Catra said, tapping a finger to her temple. “It’s all up here.” “Humor me.” The answer eventually came. “You got hurt for me,” the tone was begrudging, almost sulky. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you were all right.” Ah, so her subconscious was hoping Catra was grateful. Real Catra might have a point about her hero complex. She suppressed the urge for another sigh. “Why? Don’t you hate me?” “Well yeah, duh, obviously. That’s why if anything kills you, it’s gonna be me—not some stupid rebel, or you being an idiot.” Adora’s eyes closed. Not even the fond warmth generated by Catra’s familiar insults could chase away the gaping emptiness in her chest whenever her mind drifted back to the battle. “You should.” “... kill you?” Catra’s voice pitched so high in surprise that it almost squeaked, but Adora couldn't find it in herself to be amused. “Hate me,” Adora whispered. “She-Ra. The Horde wasn’t right about all the princesses, but they were right about me. She-Ra is a monster. I’m a monster.” Catra leaned her head back against the wall, sighing as the exhaustion Adora had seen earlier deepened in her face. “It’s war, Adora. People die.” “Not that many people. Not because of me. Catra, I—” she faltered for a moment, voice wavering. “I only left because I wanted to protect people.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Now I’ve killed so, so many...” Catra’s gaze shifted away, staring at nothing. “Sometimes you have to kill to protect.” Adora shook her head, stopping when the motion made her dizzy. “No. It's not right. Nothing can be good about that much death.” The now-familiar anger flickered in Catra's eyes. “How do you think I feel?” she asked, her voice taking a hard edge. “I'm Hordak's second. I ordered them to fight. I didn’t tell them to retreat. I’m as responsible for their deaths as She-Ra—except it’s worse, because it’s for a cause I don’t even belie—” Her mouth snapped shut. She folded her arms, gaze dropping to the floor. Adora's head was swimming. Had she really...? “Catra, is that… is that true?” A dry laugh. “I’m you’re hallucination, aren’t I? Maybe I’m just saying what you want to hear.” Adora was certain she had something she wanted to say to that, but simply forming a coherent thought was starting to feel like an insurmountable task. The room dimmed as clouds passed over the moon—or perhaps that was just her vision beginning to darken at the edges. Not-Catra stood. “Get some help, Adora.” It was hard to tell through her unfocused vision, but Catra seemed reluctant, almost... sad. More words came, but Adora couldn't discern them. It was only her imagination that a hand gently ran through her hair, lingering for a moment to rest on her head, but she let herself be comforted by it anyway. The pull of darkness was too strong for her to resist any longer, and as final thoughts went—well. You could do worse.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Waking up in the infirmary twice in one week was two times too many, Adora thought to herself blearily on the long swim toward consciousness. This time, she was aware of her surroundings well before she could manage to pry her eyes open. The smell; the smooth sheets—rough by Bright Moon standards; decadent by her own—the soft bed; all factors that led her to the all-too familiar conclusion. With great effort she cracked an eye open, noting in the hazy, brief view before it slipped shut again that it was still dark. At least not much time had passed. The last thing she remembered had been moonlight. Moonlight, and... talking to someone. She struggled to recall. A soft rustling sound came from her left, and Adora managed to flutter both eyes open. The result was not particularly helpful; all she could discern was a faint shape. She tried to force a question out of her mouth, but her throat twisted the words into some quiet, pathetic, sound instead. More rustling. She swallowed and tried again. “Bow?” she croaked, furrowing her brow and blinkingas her swimming vision began to clear. “Adora?” The voice was higher than she had been expecting, and held a slight accent. Definitely not Bow. She blinked again, and Queen Angella's face slowly came into focus. She looked even more exhausted than she had at the morning's strategy meeting—and, from the unfamiliar air of slight dishevelment, it seemed she had been occupying the chair beside Adora's bed for quite some time. The queen blinked as if clearing her own vision, and Adora realized belatedly that she had probably sleeping there. Adora screwed her eyes shut and pressed her head backward into the the pillow, a soft, frustrated groan escaping her. When was she gong to stop being such a burden— “Adora?” the voice came again, this time with a tinge of concern. “Are you in pain?” Adora blinked. “No,” she said, realizing with some surprise that it was mostly true. There was a muted ache in her side, but it no longer felt like a consuming fire. Her head was—well, it was fuzzy and hard to think, a now-familiar side effect of the medicines used to dull pain, but—much clearer than it had been before. “Good.” Slowly, almost reluctantly, Adora let her eyes slide past the queen to where Glimmer's bed lay. The sheets were pulled taught and neat and it was thoroughly, unmistakably empty. Panic gripped her and she shot up halfway to a sitting position—then fell backward with a cry at the stabbing pain in her side. She struggled to breathe for a moment, then became aware of a hand pressing firmly on her shoulder, anchoring her to the bed. She opened her eyes again to see Angella standing over her with a stern expression. “Lie still.” Her uneven breaths made speaking a challenge, but she managed to force out her question: “Where.... what happened to Glimmer?” The queen sighed and pinched her brow. “Glimmer is fine, Adora.” The fist that had clenched around Adora's heart loosened, and breathing suddenly became easier. “Or, at least, she will be. She was simply moved to another room. In fact, she has spent far more time awake in the past two days than you have.” Oh, good. That was good. Glimmer was going to get better, and— Wait. “Two days?” Adora repeated, her voice pitched high in shock. The queen gave her an unreadable look. “Yes.” Two days—how could it have been so long? “You were extremely unwell when you were found, Adora,” the queen explained, as if reading her thoughts. “Had you not left the door to that storage room ajar, we... may have been too late.” Too late? Too late for what? Her mind worked slowly. She could have sworn she remembered locking the door to that room—a fact that, given the queen's expression, she decided was best kept to herself. “I have had to grossly misrepresent your condition to my daughter for the past days to reduce stress during her recovery.” Angella's brow knit together. “It is not something I appreciate doing.” Adora winced guiltily, wondering if she should apologize. Angella reached into one pocket and pulled out a small, familiar bottle. She set it on the bedside table with a soft clink. “Do you know what these are, Adora?” she asked in a measured voice. “Yes,” came the miserable reply as Adora round sudden interest in the floor. “Tell me.” “Painkillers.” Adora was unable to look up from her inspection of the stone tiles to see the queen's expression, but she heard her sigh. “These are not just for pain, Adora. They are antibiotics.” Adora's gaze lifted in surprise. Anti...? “They prevent infection,” the queen continued. “Because you didn't take them, your wound became infected, and”—her jaw set in the dim light—“you nearly died.” Her mind struggled to process the queen's words. Died? ...It didn't seem real. “Oh,” she managed, her voice small. “I'm... sorry.” “Don't apologize, Adora, just please—never do it again.” A moment passed, and a small smile lifted the corner of the queen's mouth. “Not that you'll have the chance. I doubt the head physician will ever let you leave here again until you're healthy enough to perform feats of acrobatics in the hallways.” Oh boy. Without the sword to accelerate her healing, that was going to take... a while. Adora tried not to let her heart sink at the thought. “Adora.” The queen's tone had changed to something quiet; serious. “Why didn't you take the medication?” Adora's eyes closed. “I forgot?” she offered, her justification pitching upward against her will. “No, you didn't.” She turned her head away from Angella. “After... what I did at the battle... it—it didn't seem right. Not to feel the pain.” Tears began to prick at her eyes, and she rapidly blinked them away. “You feel that much guilt over what happened?” the queen sounded uncertain, almost confused. What, did the rebellion think that Adora could unleash such atrocities without a hint of remorse? Their opinion of her must be even lower than she thought. The violent Horde soldier who could kill without a second thought, perhaps. “Of course I feel—I—I killed so many,” she stammered, defensively. “I don't... I suppose I must have before, but it wasn't... it was never like that.” Flashes of memory returned to her, unbidden, the sword in her hand cutting through flesh and metal with equal ease. “Never so... much.” She shut her eyes hard against the memories. “And in the end, I couldn't even protect the people I care about.” There was silence as the queen absorbed her words. Eventually, it stretched so long that Adora ventured a glance upward. The queen's expression was an unexpected mixture of surprise and sorrow. “I sometimes forget...” she said, so softly that Adora wondered if she was supposed to hear. She began again, her expression betraying an exhaustion that went beyond the physical. “War is a terrible thing, Adora. Sometimes we must do terrible things to protect those we love.” There was something familiar about those words, but Adora couldn't quite place it. “This conflict has stretched for so long, and we have lost so much—loved ones, homes, innocence. To be She-Ra, a symbol of protection for all Etheria... I sometimes forget how young you are to bear such a burden.” Her gaze dropped. “I should not.” “I'm not,” Adora whispered. Confusion crossed the queen's face. “Not what?” “I'm not... She-Ra.” She blinked. “I beg your pardon?” Adora sighed, starting to push herself up to a sitting position. Her arms shook and gave way before the queen's hand even reached her shoulder. “I told you to—” “Please,” Adora interrupted. “Let me sit up. I feel so helpless laying here.” The queen's brow furrowed, but she relented. It took longer and hurt more than Adora had anticipated, but eventually Angella managed to help her into a semi-upright position leaning heavily against several large pillows. She took a moment to just breath, noting with some displeasure how the activity had left her disoriented and with a thin layer of sweat on her forehead. “What do you mean, you're not She-Ra?” Angella repeated after Adora's expression lost some of its tightness. Adora took a deep breath—or, at least, as deep as she could manage. It was long past time she told someone. '”She-Ra is... something else. Someone else. When I first used the sword, it was like someone else took control of my body in order to save me—save us—but after I spoke the words, I was in control. For a while, at least.” She took a breath, explaining the voice in the sword, the pressure and cajoling and her fear of it all, hoping she didn't sound as crazy to Angella's ears as she did to her own. How she finally gave in after Glimmer was injured, and the horrifying result. “I... can't... I can't do it. I can't use the sword again.” Her eyes welled up at the admission, the failure. She was nothing now. Useless. Worse than useless, to have raised the rebellion's hopes so high only to dash them. But the thought of picking up the sword again, becoming that thing again—she couldn't. Words spilled out of her, panicked and desperate. “I can't. I'm sorry. I can't.... I'm so sorry, I can't, I can't—” Thin, warm arms suddenly enveloped her, and she stiffened at the contact. The embrace was gentle but strong, one hand coming up to stroke her hair in a calming motion. It felt... protective. Warm. Caring. At the back of her mind, she finally formed an association with the empty word that spelled “mother.” She couldn't stop whispering her apologies, words blurring together into a near-unintelligible mantra of misery and guilt, but the hand simply kept its steady, gentle motion over her hair. Eventually, almost against her will, she began to relax. As soon as she did, the dam broke. A strangled sob burst its way out of her, then another, and she found herself crying into the queen's shoulder like a broken, helpless child. “Shhh,” Angella said. “It's all right. I'm sorry. I should have seen this sooner.” she bowed her head, pressing her lips briefly to the top of Adora's head where it was buried in her shoulder, and her voice wavered when she spoke again. “I'm so sorry.” *** It was two weeks before Adora left the infirmary, and another two before she went near the pile of blankets in the corner that covered the sword. Glimmer had been released not long after Adora, her healing now accelerated by sessions spent recharging with the Moonstone. Mercifully, the Horde had been quiet during that time. There were rumors of an internal power struggle, the quashing of a rebellious faction, or simple difficulties replacing troops and armor after their heavy losses. It was unclear, as rumors always were. Whatever the cause, the reprieve was welcome. Adora paced the floor, her steps hitching only occasionally when she turned too quickly. She had told Angella that she would never use the sword again. Angella had told her it was all right. The rebellion had survived without She-Ra before; they would continue to do so again. And Adora was loved, and valued, and always welcome to stay—with or without the sword. With or without She-Ra. Adora heard all of it. Whether she could force herself to believe it was... a work in progress. The Horde's inaction would end eventually, and when it did—what would she do? She couldn't use the sword. She couldn't. And she could never let She-Ra take control again—the very thought sent a roiling nausea through her stomach. But... she couldn't give up, either. She had sworn to protect. How could she do that with the strength of a common soldier, when she knew she could do so much more? Certainty settled in her stomach, along with a cold sense of dread. When she finally ripped away the blanket, the sword gleamed and beckoned, welcoming her like an old friend. She suppressed a revolted shudder as her hand closed around the cool metal of the hilt. A welcoming whisper tried to form in the back of her mind, but she stomped it out; focusing only on forcing the sword into the shape of a shield. It was... reluctant. She fought harder. She won. “You will never use me again,” she spoke to it, her voice low and dangerous. “You will serve me.” *** Adora wiped her forehead with her sleeve, reveling in the tired but loose feeling in her muscles that came after a good workout. Sure, maybe the training session had lasted about one third of its usual length, but—it was a start. It would take time for her side to stop aching, but it would also take time for her to adapt her combat style to only fighting with a shield. Might as well get started as soon as possible. She hefted the golden shield in her off hand, noting with a hint of satisfaction that the voice had not tried to speak to her once in the past few days. Whether it had finally given in or was simply biding its time, she wasn't sure. Either way, she'd gladly take the silence. Voices caught her attention as she passed by the half-open door of a meeting room. “—can't be sure it isn't a trap,” came Glimmer's voice. “But they've been attacking Horde supply lines. Wouldn't sabotaging themselves be kind of stupid way to get our attention?” A sigh. “I don't know, Bow—” Adora pushed the door open to see Glimmer seated at a table while Bow paced the floor in a strange reversal of their usual roles. Glimmer's face lit up when Adora entered the room. “Adora!” A puff of pink sparkles appeared in her chair and then by her side, and Glimmer wrapped her in a hug that was strong enough to make them both wince—which, in their current condition, was not particularly strong at all. “Ooh,” Glimmer breathed regretfully, bringing a hand up to her still-healing chest. “Need to remember to cool it on the hugs for a while.” “Might be a good idea,” Adora reluctantly agreed. Her side throbbed from the unexpected squeeze. “You've gotta talk some sense into her, Adora,” Bow said desperately. “Now that she can't go on missions for a while, she's being all cautious.” Adora laughed. “That's a new one,” she said, nudging Glimmer's arm teasingly. “Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. “Going on missions is a lot different from sending your best friends on them. Without you.” Bow's face softened, and he came over to rest a comforting hand on Glimmer's shoulder. “Hey, don't worry,” he reassured her. “You'll be back to one hundred percent and throwing glitter punches at the Horde in no time.” He mimed an enthusiastic one-two punch to punctuate his words. “But in the meantime, let us take care of things, okay?” Glimmer sighed reluctantly. “Yeah, okay.” She glanced to Adora. “As long as you've been cleared for missions?” Well, not technically, but— “Of course!” Adora said, brightly. “It's just reconnaissance. We'll take Swift Wind, probably won't even have to land.” Glimmer nodded, then adopted a serious expression. “Don't you dare have fun without me.” “Wouldn't dream of it!” *** Bow had filled her in on the details while they waited for Swift Wind to arrive: strange activity in Dryl; lightning filling the sky on clear days like it used when Entrapta was still... Adora muscled past the old guilt—was still there; reports of shadowy figures attacking Horde supply lines whenever they ventured too close to the mountain. At the very least, it merited checking out. Swift Wind gave a startled whinny as lightning appeared in front of them with a deafening crack, close enough to make every one of the fine hairs on Adora's arm stand on end and the smell of ozone fill her nostrils. “Nope!” Swift Wind said, definitively, angling downward in a steep spiral. “Not doing that!” Well. Time to take it on foot. *** Taking it on foot, apparently, had not been the best option. They barely made it two minutes down the trail leading to the castle before two figures in dark hoods and covered faces had jumped out from behind the rocks, the largest of them simply picking up Adora from behind in an immobilizing grip. She struggled briefly before a blinding stab in her side reminded her why she hadn't yet been cleared for combat missions. After that, all it took was a threatening squeeze from the enormous figure that held her in its grip for Bow to lay down his weapon. “This isn't exactly what I had in mind for a recon mission,” Bow deadpanned, lifting his bound hands as their silent captors prodded them toward the castle. “Look on the bright side,” Adora offered. “At least we'll know for sure what's going on around here.” The larger figure grunted disapprovingly and gave Adora another push forward. “All right, all right. I get the hint.” The rest of the trip the castle passed in silence. Adora was beginning to think this might not have been such a hot idea, gritting her teeth as her side throbbed with each step forward. The involuntary, if brief, struggle she'd put up upon being lifted in the air had elevated the normal ache to something that demanded more of her attention. She was concentrating so hard on putting one foot in front of the other that she wasn't aware they had reached the castle until she noticed the rock under her feet had turned to metal. She looked up as a door closed behind them. Bow was staring at her worriedly. You okay? he mouthed. She gave a reassuring nod. Fine. The shorter of their captors sighed. “You can talk now, if you must.” Adora started. That voice— The two figures reached up, pushing back their hoods and pulling down the cloth that covered their faces. Their very familiar faces. Adora stumbled backward in shock. “Lonnie? Rogelio??” She sputtered. “What is the Horde doing here?” Lonnie fixed her with an icy stare. “The Horde isn't doing anything here,” Lonnie informed her, acidly. “'cept maybe getting its ass kicked if it gets too close.” Adora glanced rapidly over their plain clothing, searching for a Horde insignia and coming up empty. She never thought any of her old squadmates would... “Then—you deserted?” Lonnie smirked. “Now you're gettin' it, Princess.” Lonnie freed their hands, then walked calmly past, clearly expecting them to follow. “C'mon. The boss'll want to see you." Adora and Bow shared a glance, then started after her. The sounds of animated conversation filtered through an open doorway several paces away. Animated monologue, Adora amended as she realized the excited voice belonged to only one person. They rounded the corner. “Scorpia?” She asked, shocked. Blond hair and a skinny frame stepped into view, holding a socket wrench. “Kyle??” He gave an awkward smile and a tentative wave. Just how many Horde—no, ex-Horde—soldiers were here? A flash of purple moved from behind the hulk of a half-disassembled machine, and Adora felt her world upending. “Entrapta??” “Well, I guess that takes care of introductions,” came an amused voice. “Although we might have to put 'brain damage' back on the table.”
Catra.
Adora whirled to face the voice, locking eyes with Catra. Her arms were folded, one shoulder leaning lazily against the entryway as she regarded Adora and Bow with a smirk and half-lidded eyes. “Hey Adora,” came the familiar greeting. Adora's stomach flipped. All of them here—not with the Horde—Entrapta alive— “Took you long enough.” *** Catra was looking at her like she expected her to fall off the ledge at any moment, which was, quite frankly, insulting. And not at all accurate. A tan arm twitched again like she was preventing herself from reaching a steadying hand in her direction, and Adora frowned as she realized she had been leaning a bit far forward. She straightened her posture—or, at least,hoped she did. There may still have been a slight list involved. So the whole experience had been a bit shocking. So the long walk to the castle had been a little more tiring than she anticipated. So climb up to the roof, which Catra had mockingly suggested as “a more private place to discuss things” had been a little harder and hurt a little more than she thought. Whatever. She'd deal. “I told we shouldn't have climbed up here,” Catra said, dryly. She was facing forward, but her eyes kept sliding to the side to check on Adora. “Shut up.” Catra feigned an offended gasp. “Are you going to tell me that every time we meet, now?” “Only when you need to shut up,” Adora said, feeling a warmth in her chest at how easy it was to fall into their familiar jibes. There was a comfort to it, but also a fragility that had never been there before. Well, she thought, acknowledging the ache at her side that pulsed with every heartbeat. Healing took time. Catra's words replayed in her mind, and something belatedly clicked. “Wait... every time? I didn't tell you to shut up last time I saw you.” Catra's eyebrow twitched upward. “Well, technically I did, but when I say 'I saw you' you weren't... you know... actually there.” Catra said nothing, staring out at the rocks with an almost bored expression. “... were you?” Catra turned to look at her, expression perfectly blank. Too blank. “I don't know what you're talking about.” Oh. Well. “Thank you,” Adora said, quietly. “For what?” For dragging me to safety, Adora thought. For saving my life, twice, even when we were still enemies. For finally leaving the Horde. For not looking at me like a monster after... For... For being my friend. “...nothing.” Catra gave her a sidelong glance, amusement dancing faintly in her eyes. “You really need to work on your recruitment speeches,” she said. “'Thanks for nothing' isn't exactly a strong pull.” Adora elbowed her lightly, a smile on her lips. “You know what I mean.” From the smile that Catra fought to keep down, she knew it was true. “You could come back with us, you know,” she offered. Catra laughed—a short, humorless thing. “Dryl is one thing,” she said. “Bright Moon is another. Entrapta's kingdom, Entrapta's rules. Do you really think Queen Angella would be so forgiving?” Adora opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. “...well, no,” she admitted. “At least, not right away.” “Then I'll be staying right here,” Catra said. “I imagine life in a jail cell would tend to limit my productivity.” Adora's protest that Catra would probably be confined to a nice room instead of a jail cell didn't seem like much of an improvement, so she let it die on her tongue. She leaned back, looking across the jagged rocks marched far into the distance. Daylight was slowly fading into brilliant hues of orange and red. “So... does this mean you're with the rebellion?” Catra stared into the reddening horizon. “I'm not with the Horde,” she said. “Aside from that, I'm not interested in labels. I just want the war to end. The killing to end.” She looked down at her claws. “I've seen enough death.” Adora's gaze dropped, and her unspoken agreement rang loudly in the silence. Slowly, Adora brought her hand to rest on Catra's. She stiffened at the contact, then slowly relaxed. “We'll end it,” Adora agreed. “Together.” *** It was over.
Finally.
She stumbled in her exhaustion, putting a hand against a fallen tank for support. She couldn’t hold onto She-Ra's power any longer, and she flickered and faded—leaving Adora in her place, overused muscles screaming in protest, ribs (cracked, she guessed) making every breath an agony.There was blood in her mouth—from a split lip, she thought. (Hoped.) Her sword was... not in her hand. The makeshift shield she had scooped up in the heat of battle fell from her fingers and clattered to the ground, and she slid down the side of the tank beside it. But the battle was over. The war was over. Hordak's corpse lay a short distance away, the sword planted through his chest like a flag of victory. (In a terrible, morbid way, she supposed it was.) Catra still stood over the body, staring as though it might disappear if she took her eyes off it. The victory was as much hers as Adora’s—if Catra hadn’t been by her side, Adora was almost certain she couldn't have defeated Hordak. Either way, she certainly wouldn't have survived the battle. She had refused to use She-Ra's weapon in any form except as a shield for so long, but when the outcome of the battle became clear—when that split second of opportunity arose... She wasn't sure who made the decision, her, or the voice in her mind she had all but snuffed out, but the shield had morphed into a long, sharp blade. In the next instant she felt a hand close over hers on the hilt, sharp claws drawing pinpricks of blood at the strength of its grip as Catra added her own power to Adora's thrust and guided the weapon forward— --and then it was over. She coughed slightly, and the result tasted warm and metallic. Not just a split lip, then. “We did it,” she said, her voice sounding weak and raspy to her own ears. “It’s over.” The sound finally stirred Catra from her morbid reverie, one ear twitching back toward Adora before she turned to look at her. She hadn’t escaped the battle unscathed—countless scratches and some concerningly deep cuts littered her exposed skin, and one arm was wrapped protectively around her midsection—but when she saw Adora, her eyes widened. A soft curse. She crossed the distance between them, and crouched in front of her, eyes roaming over her body to take inventory of visible injuries even as she struck up up a conversational tone.“You know, I'm starting to wonder if you remember how to fight at all. The idea is not to end the fight looking like you've been flattened by a tank.” Her laugh turned into a cough, and both motions hurt. A lot. “Don't make me laugh, you jerk.” “Adora! Catra!” Bow and Glimmer were rapidly approaching over the ridge—or, at least, as rapidly as their own apparent injuries would allow. Bow was leaning on Glimmer and walking with a pronounced limp, and the signs of exhaustion became clearer on Glimmer's face the closer they came. She'd overused her powers again. Evidently satisfied that Adora wasn't in imminent mortal danger, Catra had ended her inspection by sitting down hard next to her and leaning heavily back against the tank. She was exhausted too, Adora thought to herself. She felt the urge to put an arm over Catra's shoulders and pull her closer, but she knew her ribs would stop that motion even if she had the energy to start it. Instead, she felt a warm pressure on her shoulder and upper arm as Catra leaned closer. Adora breathed in, letting the contact anchor her. “Yikes, Adora—you look terrible.” Bow slipped to the ground and Glimmer followed, taking up position on Adora's other side. They both looked worriedly in her direction. “I’m fine.” “No, you’re not,” Bow insisted. The urge to cough came again and she suppressed it—a terrible idea, her ribs informed her, the pain so intense that her world tilted and blurred for a moment. When it righted herself she felt the strange urge to laugh. An equally terrible idea. She shoved it aside. “Okay, I'm not,” she admitted, leaning her head back against the cool metal. “Happy?” Bow smiled. “No.” “Are you able to move?” Glimmer asked, looking worried despite her own obvious exhaustion. “I'd teleport us, but I'm out of power.” Able? Probably. Willing? Adora started taking inventory of everything that hurt, stopping when she realized it would be easier to list what didn't. Her left eyelid was feeling surprisingly healthy. Might as well start the list there. Glimmer's words prodded her again. “If you can move, we should probably get you some help.” “Probably,” she agreed, letting her eyes close and making no motion to get up. “Just... in a minute.” She heard no argument from either side. Glimmer's hand found hers, and she glanced toward her at the contact. “I'm glad you're in one piece,” Glimmer said with a tired smile. “Likewise,” Adora returned warmly, then glanced at Bow. “Both of you.” “Ughh,” Catra groaned from her other side. “I'm gonna be sick.” Glimmer rolled her eyes. “Glad you're okay too, sourpuss.” Catra glared. “That's speciesist.” Glimmer scoffed. “I still owe you for that time you said my hero theme would be 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Adora choked back a laugh, then groaned. “Guys.” There was a sheepish “sorry” from her right, and a grumble of apology from her left. The high of surviving a battle relatively unscathed—er, well, mostly in one piece—was one thing, but knowing that this was the last battle, and the war was finally over... the only thing that was keeping them from giddiness was their own exhaustion. From the jubilant shouts she was beginning to hear in the distance, others did not have the same issue. In the silence that followed, Adora found her head nodding toward Catra's shoulder. At some point, her arm had found its way around Adora's back, and she focused on the familiar warmth. A horn joined the distant shouts, loud enough to make Adora start—and then wince. “Sounds like they're getting closer,” Bow observed. “Do we want to meet them?” An almost inaudible sound of annoyance issued from Catra when Adora lifted her head. No, not really, Adora thought to herself. “Suppose we should,” she said. After all, they were going to be remembered as the heroes of the rebellion. Might as well be remembered standing up. She realized a moment later, mostly vertical and in incredible pain, that she hadn't quite factored in the part where she had to actually stand up. The process had not been... pleasant. She swayed dizzily and waited for the blood to return to her head, only kept upright by the arm around Catra's shoulders and Catra's arm around her waist. Glimmer helped Bow to his feet behind her. As some of the pain receded, Adora noticed that Catra's eyes had fixed again on the morbid display a short distance away. “Are you going to bring the sword back?” Catra asked, quietly. In that moment, she realized that she realized with some surprise that she really, truly didn't care. “Leave it,” she said, with a surprising amount of strength and certainty. “I don't need it anymore.” Her crutch, her need, her dependence was gone. With her friends beside her—their strength, loyalty, intelligence, and their power that was only amplified when brought together—she wondered if she had ever truly needed the sword at all. She turned her back on the image of the sword, gleaming as it pinned Hordak's body to the ground. The old world was gone. She tightened her grip on across Catra's shoulders for a moment, sending Glimmer and Bow an appreciative smile as they started their slow journey toward the sounds of celebration rising from the rebellion forces. Time to start building the new.