Memoria: Chapter 5
Hlýjuna sem þú sækist eftir. (The warmth you seek.)
The Desserta Caravan is nestled between two converging mountain ranges. The mountains dominate the continent’s border, though the perceived “entrance” to Cocytios reminds Pongo of Sylvalum, of the gently sloping shore leading to jagged walls. He remembers his first time walking into Sylvalum, admiring the wisps of spores and the soft sand beneath his feet. Cocytios is similar, but harsher, less forgiving. The snow crunches, the sun blares down, the mountains are less inviting.
Nessa tells Pongo that they’ll have to travel around one of the mountain ranges to access the caravan. They’ll pass through the snowy plains, hook left once the mountains are behind them. They’ll find some sparse foliage, trees that bend and curve in skeletal fashion. They’ll find another lake where many indigens gather, a waterfall that descends from the towering mountains further east. They’ll find a terraforming ring, similar to the one that greeted them at the entrance of Cocytios, similar to Oblivia’s extensive collection.
Pongo blocks the incoming wind with his palm, shielding his eyes as powdery snow throws itself into his vision. He takes a moment to thread his fingers through his hair, push the loose strands behind his ears. No use - the wind unsettles everything, forces him to follow blindly. Nessa stays close by, encouraging him to move forward. Though she’s wearing considerably less armor than Pongo, she appears less bothered by the cold.
After a brutal burst of frost, Pongo groans, hugging himself. The chill skyrockets up his arms and legs, gnawing into his ears and the soft biomechanical cartilage of his nose.
“How are you not freezing right now,” Pongo grumbles.
“Because I’m hotter than you and always have been,” Nessa replies. “Stop complaining and keep up. We don’t have long until the sun sets.”
The white expanse and bitter wind are overwhelming to the point of madness. Pongo tried to use it to his advantage, abiding by his natural curiosity. Cocytios’s climate and terrain are unlike anything he’s traversed before, and there’s a real chance that none of NLA’s residents have ever stepped foot across its icy shores. If he were a Pathfinder, he’d be breaking every one of their cardinal rules: he’s not stopping to document anything, assess potential data probe installation sites, catalogue indigens or weather or potential resources.
The mere thought of BLADE work makes Pongo’s heart ache in a familiar way. He hopes Elma and Lin are okay. He hopes they’re not too angry that he broke his promise to bring them to the Repenta Diner for dinner.
The sun arches high in the sky and begins its descent by the time the mountains are behind them. In the distance, the lake Nessa mentioned, a brilliant waterfall thundering down from the mountainside. The dying sunlight refracts against the water in hues of fire and violet. Icicles hang from the cliffside, their surfaces wobbling as water displaces, as the reflections of Cocytios ebb and shift.
By the lake stand more indigens - some of which, Pongo continues to recognize. But the majority are wholly new. A gathering of stout, fluffy birds waddling in perfect synchronicity down the shoreline, curved black beaks housing multiple sets of beady eyes. A pair of big cats weaving through the barren trees, their long paddle-shaped tails smothering their frantic tracks in the snow. A pack of lean, canine beasts with six legs, circular markings running down their flanks.
Beyond the lake, under the careful shade of a looming terraforming ring, a dense array of Nopon tents. The fabric, stitched together with thick animal hydes, holds more shape than those from other caravans. The Nopon come into view, walking to and fro between the tents with tools and supplies in their hands. They’re fluffier compared to their continental counterparts, with curled tufts as long as their bodies. Most carry wood in their wings, Pongo discovers, but some carry flayed pelts, bloodied steel. His eyes widen as he realizes the Nopon of Cocytios are equipped to handle the cold weather - that they are a caravan built on survival, not trade.
As Pongo and Nessa approach the caravan, an indigen catches Pongo’s eye. A massive beast with crystalline shards growing from its shoulders, aprica-adjacent horns protruding from its skull, silver fur shimmering in various shades of aquamarine and lilac. He recalls a creature of similar build, an Earthen animal Lin showed him a picture of. A polar bear. Take away the horns, the crystals, the dark platinum armor it’s adorned with -
Wait. Armor?
Nessa sidles up next to him, eyeing the bear-like creature. “That’s A’cheron,” she says. “He’s one of the tyresfolly the Desserta Caravan rely on for protection and transportation.”
“Tyresfolly?” Pongo tilts his head; there’s peaceful tyrants in BLADE’s database, ones that don’t actively seek out confrontation but can still hold their own in a fight. A beast of this caliber? He hadn’t expected it to be…domesticated? That’s wonderful!
Though, when A’cheron locks eyes with him and starts charging, it’s a little more in line with what he envisioned from a tyrant.
Pongo reactivates his photon shield as A’cheron snarls, roaring with alarming ferocity. Blue flames ignite from inside its antlered horns, trailing cold embers in its wake, and its long tongue lolls from behind its stained fangs. “Nessa!” Pongo warns, placing himself between her and A’cheron.
“A’CHERON!”
A deep, gritty voice commands A’cheron from afar. The bear slows to a trot before stopping completely, remains standing with eyes trained on Pongo. Pongo keeps his shield drawn, but he affords a quick glance to his left, towards the direction of the caravan. A white Nopon waddles forward, donning a fur-lined blue coat with decorative purple swirls. The tip of his tuft fades into a comforting pink, his wings speckled with cerulean and fuschia spots. A long scar tears down his left cheek and over his eye, pale flesh exposed to the elements.
“What did Froyoyo say about unexpected visits?!” The Nopon yells. “A’cheron needs warning before approaching caravan!”
“Hi, Froyoyo,” Nessa says, completely unbothered by A’cheron’s approach. “Sorry, I know, but this is a bit of an emergency.”
Froyoyo squints, extending a wing to scratch A’cheron’s chin. The embers die out as A’cheron leans into Froyoyo’s touch, rumbling with approval. “Emergency or not, Nessa know better than to visit caravan without warning. Unless Nessa want repeat of last time?”
“I most certainly do not,” she confirms. “Is Vanala here?”
“Wifeypon helping Checheri and Susundi with building campfire,” Froyoyo says. “Why need Vanala?”
Nessa steps forward, gestures to Pongo. He lowers his shield, but with A’cheron still glaring at him, he’s not ready to deactivate it. He smiles, waves with his free hand. Froyoyo blinks. Once, twice.
“Friend Pon is alive?”
Pongo blinks. Once, twice. “You know who I am?”
“Pon think Froyoyo is stupid? Of course Froyoyo know Pon,” the Nopon replies. “Froyoyo thought Pon died after fight with Everqueen. Planet Mira finally have enough ether replenished to restore body - why Froyoyo always last to know about these things?”
“Froyoyo,” Nessa says, “Pongo doesn’t -”
“Is that friend Pon?!”
Another Nopon appears, running past Froyoyo. She sports strawlenny pink fur, her tuft curled in the shape of a heart, and her wings are striped with light blush zigzags - wings that are now wrapped around Pongo’s legs, in a valiant attempt at a hug.
“Friend Pon!” The newcomer cries, her voice partially muffled in his knees. “Vanala was so worried after fight with Everqueen! Never worry Vanala like that again!!”
Pongo blinks a few more times, baffled beyond belief. What’s he supposed to say? Sorry, I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about? Before he can muster up an acceptable response, a flurry of tiny Nopon converge on him, stacking on top of each other, jumping towards him, pushing his shoulders and chest, knocking him down into the snow. So many little voices, an infectious joy shared by so many little bodies. They’re saying his name, telling him how much they’ve missed him - just how many littlepon have tackled him?!
“Littlepon, enough!!” Vanala emerges from the cuddle pile, and all at once, the littlepon disperse. Pongo takes advantage of this brevity to sit up and dust the snow from his hair, trying to count the littlepon as they fall back. They come in all different colors, different patterns cascading down their tiny wings. Nine total. Not an unusual amount of children for a Nopon family, but being knocked down by nine paints the number in a different light.
Though most of the littlepon reconvene by Vanala’s side, one remains by Pongo’s feet, staring expectantly at him. They look similar to Froyoyo, bearing some of the older Nopon’s blue and pink markings. White fur, save for the colorful stains on their tuft and wings, and wide eyes bearing a hint of weaponized mischief.
“Pon Pon’s ether look weird,” the littlepon says. “Is Pon Pon okay?”
Pongo flounders in search of an answer at first. Clearly, he’s not okay. He doesn’t remember any of this, and something deep inside of him is reiterating that it’s wrong to have forgotten. Familiarity, nostalgia, a deep and terrifying sense of home - yet he doesn’t understand why.
But this littlepon is so small, so young. Pongo is a bad liar, a fact he’d accepted a long time ago, but he’s capable of half truths. “I will be,” he tells the littlepon. “Nessa brought me here to…talk about it? See if Vanala could help?”
Nessa walks over, offers a hand to pull him to his feet. To the littlepon: “Sprinkle Sprinkle, I didn’t know you could read ether signatures!”
“Inherited from Mamapon,” Sprinkle Sprinkle says proudly, puffing out their neck fur. “Mamapon has been teaching Sprinkle Sprinkle how to hone talent!”
“Go with other littlepon,” Vanala ushers the littlepon away, and Sprinkle Sprinkle darts off after some muted protest. “Now then,” she says, brushing down her fur with her wings, “friends follow Vanala into hubbypon’s tent. Tell Vanala and Froyoyo everything.”
Pongo falls in line behind Nessa and the two Nopon as they approach the largest tent in the caravan, propped up by sturdy wooden beams and reinforced by ice-touched stone and thick rope. Its roots dig deep into the snow, marking it as a semi-permanent structure. The door, cut from the wall, swings open as Froyoyo beckons them all inside. Nessa ducks, barely comfortable. Pongo crawls on his hands and knees; his wide shoulders catch the doorframe, yet he wiggles past without causing a scene.
The roof slopes upwards into a cone, providing him and Nessa with far more room to breathe. The floor, lined with thick woolen carpet, is plush beneath his hands, yet a stiff material beneath gives it form and stability. There’s a small spot in the back corner of the tent with two fur-lined sleeping bags - Froyoyo and Vanala’s beds, he assumes - but there’s enough space to sit, to cross his legs and make himself comfortable. The pillows and cushions to his left, a makeshift living room in this small Nopon tent, give under his weight. Absentmindedly, Pongo reaches down, caresses a loose strand of embroidery thread on the one he sits on.
Nessa sits to his right, crossing her legs in the same fashion as Pongo as Froyoyo and Vanala occupy the other side of the tent. The tent’s decently warm, shielded from Cocytios’s elements, and lit from a simple firelight hanging from the center of the ceiling. The light wouldn’t provide enough warmth by itself, Pongo thinks. His knuckle drags against the carpet below, and it’s warm to the touch. Heated floors, then. A welcome comfort in the midst of the chaos.
“A lot’s happened recently,” Nessa starts, “but first and foremost, Pongo’s alive. Solstice and I rescued him from a tyresfolly in Primordia. He’s been with the humans in their city this whole time, and neither of us ever sensed him because…well, because his aidoneum connection’s severed. He doesn’t remember anything - which is a personal insult because I’m pretty unforgettable - and I think that could be tied to his connection being cut.”
“Amnesia?” Froyoyo says. “Friend Pon truly remember nothing?”
“Not a thing. Hells, he thought he was human when I first talked to him.”
“Friend clearly not flesh tree,” he grumbles. “Ether density of planetary avatars and flesh trees completely different.”
Pongo opens his mouth to argue, but Nessa interrupts, speaking to Vanala before he has a chance to speak. “You can see his aidoneum connection’s been severed, right Vanala? But if it was truly gone, he wouldn’t he here. I can’t read ether as well as you can, so I was hoping you could tell me what’s going on inside him. If it’s another kind of ether, if something else is inside him, how we could reestablish the connection, anything.”
Vanala steps closer to Pongo, scans him over. Her wide eyes squint into slits, peering into the very depths of his soul. He gives a nervous smile. Forces his hands together to keep himself from squirming.
“Connection not actually severed,” Vanala announces after a minute of awkward silence. “Ether so faint that connection looks severed, but trace remains!”
“Really?” Nessa’s eyes widen. “So does that mean…”
“Vanala has theory,” she explains. “Whatever happened, Mira didn’t strengthen aidoneum connection enough. Could be reason for Pon’s amnesia. Whatever case may be, Vanala’s solution remains the same: Pon needs to visit planet’s core where planet’s ether is strongest, and hope that Mira can strengthen connection.”
“The core of the planet?” Pongo’s eyebrows raise.
“It’s not actually the center of the planet,” Nessa explains. “It’s this big crystalline structure beneath Imperium that’s made of pure miranium. Mira infused it with its ether and used it as a conduit to create us. The F’lenla A’slegn built Imperium above it so they could study it further, even created this whole cave system to go down and interact with it. Whenever Mira wasn’t using us to communicate with them, its consciousness was inside the core.”
“Almost like a fourth avatar, then?”
“Sorta? You don’t expect a crystal to talk, is the thing. And it doesn’t. Mira basically explained it as going to bed after a long day.” A pause. A murmur: “It’s been asleep for a long time, though.”
“Sounds like friends will need way to get to Imperium,” Froyoyo says. “Froyoyo will ask A’cheron to find more caribears. Bad idea to go tonight - worst creatures of Cocytios come out at night, and weather changes quicker than littlepon eating full cart of thermonanas. Stay with caravan for the night, travel tomorrow morning.”
“I could go for a thermonana right about now,” Nessa tucks her hands into her arms, suppresses a shiver.
Pongo bows his head, fiddles with his anxious hands. They speak so easily of a solution, yet context eludes him. He has yet to understand why he’s placed so much trust in Nessa, why the littlepon all crowded around him with love and relief, why every step he’s taken feels so familiar…
And so melancholic.
The deep, pervasive discomfort of nostalgia grips his heart, locks it behind silver and steel. He is a patient man, in a world that is not his own but welcomes him so readily. Though the path he walks is meant to provide answers, for once, Pongo lets himself be selfish. He wants answers. He wants them now.
Nessa goes to stand, done with the conversation. Pongo raises his voice, loud enough to command attention but quiet enough to indicate insistence, not anger. “Could I ask you all something?” He says. “Or, ah, many somethings, if that is okay. I just…I am so confused. You say I have amnesia, that I do not remember any of this. But if what you are saying is true, that I am not human, that the planet is sentient, that it created us as avatars for…for some reason? And there are Finless Aslan -”
“F’lenla A’slegn,” Nessa softly corrects.
“- and a city and a core that might be able to restore my memories, because my ether is gone? Gods,” he puts his head in his hands, mumbling his last words. “I want to believe you. But I have no idea where to begin.”
A pause. Pongo doesn’t look up when Vanala speaks. “Friend Pon have every right to be confused. Scary situation Pon’s in. Vanala, hubbypon, and Nessa all here to help Pon get better.”
“Froyoyo not good with ether like wifeypon,” Froyoyo says, “but Froyoyo can help in different way. Would friend Pon want to hear what Froyoyo knows of friends and world? Tell story of Pon’s memories from Froyoyo’s point of view?”
Pongo looks up, his brow raised. Hungry, desperate for a timeline, he nods a few times in quick succession. “I would love to hear more. Tell me everything you know.”
Nessa’s lips part, poised to speak. Yet she hesitates, takes a moment to sit back down. Neither Nopon seems to notice. Froyoyo clears his throat, his breath leaking from his curved mouth in a single puff of condensation.
“Then Froyoyo start from beginning,” he says. “Most Nopon natives of Mira. Contain aidoneum thread, signals that Nopon are creation of planet. Some more attuned than others. Wifeypon one of gifted few who reads ether signatures - not just of Miran creations, but everything. Froyoyo always admired wifeypon’s talent. Very beautiful, very smart. Smarter than Froyoyo!”
“Hubbypon making Vanala blush,” Vanala mumbles, hiding her face behind her wing.
“Froyoyo speak only truth,” he replies. “Froyoyo was very young when first met Vanala. Froyoyo fell in love at first sight. Had just asked to court Vanala when big spaceship crash landed on Mira. Ship landed in ocean south of Cocytios and was sinking fast. Desserta Caravan came together to help, but weren’t the first to reach ship. Turns out, planet Mira created three avatars - Nessa, Starr, and friend Pon - to rescue survivors on spaceship and bring them to land. Avatars had been around very short time, caravan had never met them before. All came together to help new friends from sinking spaceship settle in and start new life on Mira.
“New friends were called F’lenla A’slegn. Very tall and colorful, with big horns and sharp ears. F’lenla A’slegn decided to build new home on other side of C’aradhras Mountains, past big gaping hole in Cocytios. Turned into massive city, with big forcefield to protect F’lenla A’slegn from nasty Cocytios weather and indigens. The F’lenla A’slegn named city: Imperium. Desserta Caravan do regular trade with them for long time. Thermonanas were huge trade since thermonanas increase body heat. Very good for cold weather! In exchange, F’lenla A’slegn gave caravan new metals and materials, used to enhance tents and build armor. A’cheron’s armor made from metal given by F’lenla A’slegn! Very resilient, very good for cold weather.
“All three avatars helped F’lenla A’slegn build new home in Imperium. Avatars occasionally visited caravan with F’lenla A’slegn for trade and supplies, and to ask friendship of Froyoyo and Nopon. Many F’lenla A’slegn also interested in wifeypon’s ability to control ether - friend Solstice was very frequent visitor. Solstice was leader of F’lenla A’slegn, and very kind!”
“And Nessa very in love with them,” Vanala tacks on. In response, a faint trace of blush on Nessa’s cheeks, a soft smile.
“Everything good for few years,” Froyoyo continues, “but then, big space dragon called Everqueen descended from space and tried to gobble up F’lenla A’slegn! Turns out, F’lenla A’slegn crashed on Mira after running from Everqueen, but Everqueen found them and wanted to eat all their ether. Avatars came together and fought Everqueen, sealed her away in big sphere in Sylvalum. Caravan hid inside cave in C’aradhras Mountains east of here. When coast was clear, caravan came out, looked for F’lenla A’slegn. But all F’lenla A’slegn died. Vanished, after Everqueen came to Mira.”
An entire race of xenoforms killed, Pongo thinks, massaging the backs of his knuckles as his eyes widen in horror. If what Froyoyo is saying is true…we tried to stop this threat, and failed. Is that why Starr is angry at me?
“Would you be referring to Pharsis, the Everqueen? The yggralith that is trapped in the Noctilucent Sphere in Sylvalum?” Pongo clarifies, realizing the creature’s title is strikingly familiar.
“Very same,” Froyoyo confirms. “Starr came to Desserta Caravan and told Froyoyo about fearsome fight afterwards. Said that friend Pon died in fight against Everqueen, and that Mira use too much strength creating prison that Pon couldn’t be brought back right away.”
His nails dig deep into the soft skin between his knuckles. A glance in Nessa’s direction - her blush has faded, replaced by what he can only call a deep and sorrowful rage. Her eyebrows squeeze together, the thin curve of her mouth in a taut line. Their eyes are the same, hard to read, yet he catches enough light to recognize that her gaze is turned away from him.
“Nessa,” Pongo starts, “is this -”
“I need some air,” Nessa snaps. “And a thermonana. Maybe two.”
“Thermonanas in crate behind Checheri’s tent,” Vanala says. “Fresh harvest from this morning, too! Eat as many as Nessa needs to be warm!”
Nessa gets up, darts out of the tent before Pongo can stop her. The door bounces open as she departs, settling back into the doorframe after a moment. Soft snow flutters inside, instantly melting on the heated carpet. Pongo watches it land, watches it disappear.
“Something off about Nessa,” Froyoyo mumbles. “Not acting like herself.”
“Worried about Pon,” Vanala suggests. “Wants him to remember.”
“Gods,” Pongo says softly. “I hate having people worry over me. I hate that I do not remember any of this happening.”
“Not Pon’s fault,” Vanala sidles up next to him, places a wing on his knee. “Like Vanala said before, Pon’s in scary situation. Nessa scared, but wants to help. We all do.”
“Thank you,” he tells her. “I hope I can repay your kindness one day.”
He almost leaves the sentiment there, content with all he’s heard. Yet his curiosity persists, ravenous. In Froyoyo’s retelling, there was no answer to Starr’s anger. No answer as to why he tried to kill Pongo in Primordia. If they’d fought side by side against Pharsis, if Pongo had died in the fight, why would Starr want him dead? Nessa had dodged that question when they’d traveled across Cocytios to the Desserta Caravan.
But it doesn’t feel right to ask Froyoyo and Vanala about this. They’ve already done so much, between agreeing to shelter them for the night and providing their timeline of events. And with Nessa clearly distressed…Pongo’s heart tugs in too many different directions at once, pressing against his lungs. He looks at the door. He lets concern win against curiosity.
“I might want a thermonana myself,” Pongo says, uncrossing his legs and attempting to stand. He’s average height for a human, but far too tall for a Nopon’s tent. “Would it be okay if I -”
“Pon better not finish that sentence,” Vanala quips. “Silly Pon, always asking before he takes thermonanas.Vanala always insulted Pon thinks he needs to ask. Family never needs to ask - family always welcome to whatever caravan has to offer. And Pon is family!”
Family.
Pongo grins from ear to ear. Elma and Lin had used that to describe their misfit team a few times. The sentiment rings true in his chest, even if he doesn’t remember this place, these Nopon. To think he’d given up hope on curing his amnesia, back in the early months of his involvement with BLADE. Now, more than ever, Pongo wants to remember it all.
He thanks Froyoyo and Vanala again, and with newfound resolve, he exits the warm tent, heads into the bitter chill of Cocytios’s unyielding winter.
~
Before he leaves, L’cirufe asks Starr how he’d gotten to the Lifehold Core. Who brought him, who agreed. Starr uses both names for the tyresfolly, since L’cirufe is so intertwined with the humans in Primordia. M’iriam, a long time ago. Jia Mian, the Beloved, to those who don’t know her history.
L’cirufe doesn’t follow Starr outside. When Starr spoke her name, he swallowed, bowed his head. He tries not to interact with the tyresfolly if he can help it. Starr doesn’t force it. For all his rage, he is not a monster.
M’iriam’s feathers rustle as Starr approaches. He’d told her to stay on the landing platform, after she’d flown him to the Lifehold Core. It’d been a difficult flight; Starr can only use the aidoneum connection that binds her ether to the planet for so long until the guilt overwhelms him. She hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t asked for the aidoneum to claim her very soul, break her spirit and mind until her only thoughts were that of a primitive creature. All of Mira’s creations answer the aidoneum connection’s call, and though she’d followed Starr’s commands, it wasn’t without protest.
Yet he’d kept M’iriam on course, treated her as kindly as he could on the journey. She lowers a wing for Starr to help him climb onto her back. It’s the aidoneum connection at work, warped by Starr’s hand, but he forces himself to believe she helps him out of kindness.
As she prepares to fly, Starr grits his teeth, clenches his hands into her back to hold steady. His head’s killing him. The skull-shaped mask he wears is a decent enough disguise, but he’d felt it in the Lifehold Core, the way the planet ricocheted against his temples. Had L’cirufe noticed? If he had, he kept quiet about it. If he hadn’t, it was for the best.
“Nessa would’ve brought him to Cocytios,” Starr muses to himself. “She may bring him to the core. We’ll search there first.”
His migraine spikes.
Don’t hurt him. Please, Starr, don’t do this.
Starr grins. “We won’t hurt him. We’ll kill him. There is a difference.”
He twists the aidoneum connection, the thread of ether that connects him to the planet and all its life, and prompts M’iriam to take to the skies. Her wings push her up into the smoke-stained clouds above Cauldros, echoing in time with the rumbling of steady volcanic activity - and it drowns out the planet’s desperate pleas.