Maia couldn’t have said how much time passed before the trundle of wheels over the Defender’s floor roused her out of her fugue. She started for a moment, knots of anxiety pulling tight inside her before her eyes focused enough to register the familiar barrel shape of T7-01’s chassis.
“Teeseven.” She deflated back against the side of the holoterminal, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s you.”
T7 let out an inquisitive whistle, rolling towards her where she sat slumped on the floor in the middle of the ship’s empty conference room. Maia shook her head.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “I just… needed to hide for a while.”
The little astromech stopped short. Warbling out another series of beeps, he rolled a few hesitant inches back the way he’d come.
From someplace, she found the energy to summon up a faint smile. “No, you’re fine.” She dragged a hand from her lap to pat the floor next to her. “Keep me company a little while?”
With an enthusiastic trill of agreement, he scooted across the remaining distance to park alongside her. Drawing her legs up underneath her, Maia shifted to drape her arm around T7 and rested her head against the top of the droid’s, letting the metal casing cool her hot face.
The storm of emotions had passed since their return from Umbara. Now she just felt drained, wrung out and exhausted as though even if she’d wanted to cry she’d have no more tears left. The rawness of her eyes and the thick, tight feeling weighing in her sinuses layered over the other aches and twinges that chorused through her every time she moved, legacy of the train crash and the fight through the wreckage afterwards.
She didn’t mind. Physical pain was something to focus on - a welcome distraction from the sick sensation of the world falling out from under her.
Did I do this?
She kept circling back to that thought. There were so many questions chasing round and round through her mind, unanswered, maybe unanswerable: where had it all started? What had she missed? Had they gone wrong somewhere, the two of them, or had it been wrong from the start and she’d just been too blind to realize?
She’d thought that they’d been recovering, that the rift between them after Iokath had begun to heal… but it seemed now that had only been an illusion.
No matter what path she took through memory trying to make sense of the tangled mess she’d landed in, she kept coming back to the same question: Did I drive him to this?
“…I don’t know what to do,” she murmured against the scuffed metal of T7’s casing.
The little droid whirred, processing for some moments before he beeped out a hopeful suggestion. T7 + Jedi = launch now + find Theron + retrieve?
A quiet noise hitched out of her and caught in her throat, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I don’t think it’s going to be that simple this time, little guy.”
T7 swayed a little, head tipping downward, and let out a mournful dwooo.
“I know.” Sighing, Maia let her gritty eyes fall closed. Soon, she knew, decisions would have to be made, orders given. The Alliance would have to take action, and the endless movement of the universe wasn’t going to hang suspended while she struggled to regain some fragmentary sense of balance.
But she couldn’t face any of it right now.
Leaning against the faithful support of her oldest friend, she tried her best not to think.
quick opinion! do you think there's any merit to the widely held theory that minako has a shitty relationship with her mom? in that little concept art, it lists her mother under things she hates, and the one time we see her mom, she's yelling at her, but i don't quite know what i think about it myself :|a i sorta don't want usagi to be the one senshi with a good home life, haha
That’s a good question! I had forgotten about that mention of her mom in the concept art, so I double-checked the official translation.
While Miss Dream lists Minako’s mom under “hates,” Kodansha lists her under “can’t get along with,” which leaves a lot more room for interpretation, to me. Honestly, there are a ton of reasons why kids might not get along with their parents, and I feel like “I don’t get along with my mom” is a statement that can encompass anything from “we love each other but our personalities clash” to “I literally want her permanently out of my life as soon as I’m legally and financially free from her.”
Also, even though Minako supposedly doesn’t get along with policemen, her biggest fan is a policewoman, and the one policeman who hates her mostly just resents being the comic relief of the manga (and hilariously, the antagonism isn’t really mutual). So her not getting along with policemen is not as big of a deal as it sounds. And if her disagreement with them is on the same level as her mom, well then.
So I think you could read Mina as having a terrible home life, but you could also just as easily read it as Mina and her mom both have very strong personalities and clash easily, but still do genuinely love each other. Maybe her mom just doesn’t get her. Maybe Mina’s just a handful, because she’s 13 and ready to fight the world. Maybe they can’t stand each other now, but they’ll both grow a little.
I used to dislike the 900 year old Chibs thing myself, but I eventually came around to it by headcanoning that her brain always stays at her physical age, since it can't grow and develop if she doesn't. I also sorta like it as a source of angst for Chibs, and part of the reason her relationship with her parents might be strained, because she feels like she's letting them down by not growing up and getting her senshi powers. Once she accepts who she is and stops idolizing the NQS in her head, (c0
she starts growing up again. I do understand why 900 years feels like a stupidly long time, and tbh it could have been shorter than that and had the same effect, but I just wanted to explain how I came around to liking the idea after I initially found it annoying like you do.
I dunno, I think Chibs has enough to angst about, we don’t need to create more for her. Chibs herself isn’t even really a factor for me in this, though, it’s EVERYTHING ELSE. She’s a child. This isn’t a conscious choice on her part, what could she be expected to do? I don’t blame her for any of this.
But everyone else around her, at minimum, just gave up and hoped it was something that’d wear off one day (AN IDEA YOU’D THINK THEY’D STOP CONSIDERING SOME TIME AROUND THE THIRD CENTURY MAYBE BUT WHAT DO I KNOW). They’re the parts I really have trouble with. And while I could headcanon some reasons or excuses or explanations, the fact that the manga doesn’t even show evidence that it’s CONSIDERING these implications is my real problem. Like I said way back with Crystal, I’m not going to do all the work here. I’m the audience, that’s not my job.
Still, as always, whatever works for you works for you! That said, please don’t anyone else send me in your headcanons and stuff. I appreciate you may be looking for ways to make it okay for me, but it’s NOT okay for me, and there’s no amount of headcanoning that’s going to make it okay.
This one also ran out of control, which was... probably to be expected, honestly. I am sorry I took so long, I swear I will try to get my other pending prompts out faster!
25: The smell of ozone during a storm.
“Tell me you’re not thinking of going back out there,” Theron said.
Lightning forked through the sky of Yavin 4, punctuating his words with timing he couldn’t have paid for. The flash of it lit the guilty embarrassment that crossed Maia's face as she glanced toward him, before she raised her eyebrows and did her best to school her expression into one of surprise.
Damn but the woman was easy to read.
“Of course I’m not.” The crack of a thunderclap almost drowned out her entirely predictable reply. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Theron cocked a dubious eyebrow. Sure, she’d shed her sodden and filthy outer robe, tugged off her muddy boots to wring the squelch out of her socks, and generally done a good impression of settling in to wait out the storm under the dubious shelter of the Republic backup comms tent. But he wasn’t a trained observer of people for nothing. He hadn’t missed the way her attention kept straying outward through the sheeting rain, past the encampment toward the jungle, as though her eyes were drawn to some objective a long way off.
Right now those eyes held his, wide and impossibly blue, a transparent attempt to convince him of her sincerity with eye contact alone. If he’d never met her before, it might have actually worked. As it was, Theron didn’t even have to say anything - he just waited, watching her expectantly, until she finally looked away with a lopsided smile.
Busted.
“All right,” Maia conceded, “maybe a little. But only thinking. I’m not foolhardy enough to try actually going out in--” she waved a hand toward the open mouth of the tent, “--that.”
Outside, rain hammered down on the Coalition base camp in curtains of water, muffling all sound beneath its white noise and making visibility at any distance more like a wish. The jungle beyond the camp was barely a suggestion of shapes through the haze.
Another strobe of lightning turned it all black and silver for a fraction of a second. “Good,” said Theron, absently starting a silent count. “It’d look pretty bad for the rest of us if we lost the star of the Jedi Order in the jungle. Again.”
Maia lifted her chin, mouth opening to retort only to close again as thunder boomed with the force of a detonation. Closer this time, Theron judged - the worst of the storm had yet to hit them. By the time the reverberations faded, she’d tucked the flash of indignation away.
“I made it back fine, didn’t I? Scourge and I just lost track of each other in the scuffle. It could happen to anyone.”
“Hmm.” It was probably some kind of character flaw that made him want to poke at that thin veneer of Jedi composure, to see the woman underneath show her face again. “‘Navigation sense of a blind mooka.’ I think that’s how Kimble put it.”
A flush of pink colored her cheeks. “Doc talks too much.”
Theron chose not to mention the rest of what Kimble had said after Scourge came out of the jungle without her, or how close he’d come to punching her medic in the face before Satele had arrived to lay down the law. He suspected Maia wouldn’t take his side, and that was a discussion he really didn’t feel like having with her right now. Or in general, to be honest.
The rational part of him knew he wasn’t being entirely fair. From Korriban to Rishi he’d heard Kimble lapse into alarmed swearing over the comms - a sure signal that Maia had yet again launched herself into danger without waiting for her backup - too many times to doubt how much the other man cared about keeping her in one piece. Theron still half wanted to punch the guy. The idea of listening to Maia patiently tell him that Doc was right, she could take care of herself and sending out a search party with a storm looming dark on the horizon would only have risked making more victims in need of rescue, prickled under his skin like an itch he couldn’t reach.
So Theron kept his mouth shut and let the drumming of rain on the tent’s durasilk canopy fill the silence.
Silence didn’t seem to bother Maia; she wore it comfortably, never compelled to talk just to fill the void. Pretending to occupy himself with studying a readout on his datapad, Theron watched her sidelong as she undid the band holding her hair and shook it out of its half-collapsed knot. The rain-wet mass of it spilled down her back, dark and heavy and longer than he'd expected. With a strange little jolt, he realized he’d never seen her with it down before.
Why it should even matter, he had no idea, but suddenly the space inside the tent felt very close. The driving rain rendered the rest of the camp hushed and distant, creating an illusion of privacy - as though it were only the two of them on the whole jungle moon. As Maia worked at combing her hair into some kind of order with her fingers, Theron caught himself holding his breath.
She’s a Jedi, he told himself. Get a grip already.
Not that she looked like much of a Jedi at the moment, perched on the edge of an equipment trunk with her feet bare and straggling wisps of damp hair sticking to her face. The picture she made couldn’t have been further from the figure that strode out of the jungle in the midst of the downpour, covered in mud and worse than mud, her head held high. With steam hissing off her lightsabers and refracting the blades’ glow around her in a corona of blue and violet, she’d looked more mythical than real - like something sprung fully-formed from the point where lightning struck the ground, bright enough to burn anyone who dared come too close.
Which was way too fanciful a thought for Theron Shan, and hard to reconcile with the very real flesh and blood of the woman who was currently biting her lip as she tried to worry loose a stubborn tangle with her fingertips. And just how she could be this much of a mystery when everything she felt showed on her face for the world to read, Theron wasn't sure.
He never had been able to resist a mystery.
Maia finished bundling her hair up at the nape of her neck and secured the band back in place. From the way her shoulders dropped, he thought she might have sighed, but the sound of it was lost under the rainfall.
“To be honest…” She spoke softly, getting to her feet. “I’m not very good at waiting.”
He put aside the datapad he hadn’t been looking at as she padded across the tent and came up alongside him. “We’re on Revan’s timetable,” she said, once more gazing out through the rain towards the jungle. “I just… can’t help feeling like I should be doing something.”
The storm wind blew spatters of rain in through the open tent flap. Maia curled her arms around herself against the chill in the wet air; this time, Theron could hear the breath chuff out of her in a self-deprecating little laugh.
“Impatience is a bad quality for a Jedi.” She looked toward him with a hint of a smile playing over her mouth, eyes bright with the conspiratorial amusement of one sharing a private, secret joke. “I probably shouldn’t admit to it out loud.”
If either of them shifted even a little to the side, their arms would brush. The air felt charged, tingling against his skin, as though the slightest contact would send a spark jolting between them. Theron opted not to test the theory. “Maybe,” he said. “For what it’s worth, though, I know the feeling.”
Her lips curved, the hint of a smile warming as she studied his face with an expression akin to wonder, like he'd said something profound. “You do,” she murmured, voice almost lost under the rain. “Don't you?”
Theron opened his mouth to say - something, but the words didn't come. Reflected in her eyes he caught a glimpse of a silent understanding, a sense of being not just seen but known. Recognized. Your shortcomings are safe with me, it said. I won’t tell anyone.
Oh, he thought.
Lightning blazed blue-white and purple, sending a crackle of feedback through his implants; the explosion of thunder came only a heartbeat after. Theron hadn’t been aware of moving, but somehow the two of them stood face to face, unconsciously oriented toward one another and close enough to touch.
Alarms buzzed along his nerve endings: Danger! Danger! Abort!
Theron ignored them, distracted by a droplet of rain tracing a slow, glimmering track along the side of Maia's face. Curiosity was absolutely going to be the death of him, because this could not possibly end anywhere good and there were a million reasons he should be taking a step back, but none of that seemed as important just now as the memory of the way she’d kissed him in those last stolen moments before they’d pulled out of Rishi. He could practically still feel her mouth on his, soft and unexpected and careful of his split lip - the sigh that she’d breathed out as they parted feathering warm against his bruised skin.
If he kissed her right now, would she taste like lightning? Would her lips part against his, until the clean, sharp sweetness of the ozone-laced air after a storm raced over his tongue? If he buried his hands in the wet silk of her hair and bent his head to hers, suggested they steal away somewhere really private together to burn off their restless energy--
--most likely she’d remember who and what she was, and that would be an immediate end to that. But Theron couldn’t help wondering.
Couldn’t resist the impulse to reach out and brush the back of his finger over the curve of her cheek, catching the raindrop that hung suspended like a tear. Her chilled skin warmed to his touch, and Maia stood very still, the trace of a blush tinting her cheekbones. She didn’t speak. He couldn’t be entirely sure she even breathed - or maybe he was the one holding his breath again. Maybe they both were, in case the wrong move, the wrong word, the wrong sound would shatter the illusion and bring reality crashing back in.
Any second, he thought, uncurling his hand to let his fingertips graze down along the line of her jaw. Any second now, she’d pull back. She’d turn away to avoid his eyes as she made some flustered apology, trying to pull composure back around herself like a robe.
He skimmed his thumb across her chin, over the ridge of the little diagonal scar that he still hadn’t gotten the story of. Any second now one of them was going to have a sudden rush of sanity to the brain and it was almost certainly going to be Maia, because after all she was a Jedi and Jedi didn’t do attachments, and any second now she was going to remember that.
Maia’s head tipped back, tilting her face up toward him. Her lips parted as she drew in a quiet breath.
Any second now...
“Master Jedi.” The brisk voice sent them jerking apart like they’d touched the same live wire. Sergeant Rusk stood in the downpour outside the tent, with a waterproof poncho draped over his armor and rain dripping steadily from his craggy face.
“You’re needed at the command center,” he told Maia, stoically deadpan.
“--Ah,” said Maia, blushing hard enough to be visible from across the camp. “Of course.” She took a step in Rusk’s direction, realized she was barefoot, and hastily turned back to where she’d left her boots while Theron tried to decide who he wanted to shoot more, the Chagrian or himself. “I’m sorry. Give me just a moment.”
Under other circumstances, Theron probably would’ve enjoyed watching the truly priceless series of faces she made as she went through the unpleasant process of putting her damp socks back on so that she could shove her feet back into her boots. As it was, he occupied himself with feigning nonchalance and casually positioning himself just so at the opening of the tent, ensuring that Rusk couldn’t come under the shelter of the durasilk without physically pushing past him. By the time Maia had her boots on and was hurrying back across the tent to join the sergeant, he’d shrugged out of his jacket and had it in his hands.
“Here,” he said, holding it out to her.
Maia looked at the jacket, then down at herself, before lifting her eyes back to his. “I’m already soaked, though.”
Huffing, Theron dropped the red leatheris unceremoniously over her head. “Just get going.”
She laughed and went, head ducked under the makeshift shield of his jacket as she darted out into the storm. Rusk nodded curtly and tromped after her. In moments the pair of them had receded into the haze of rainfall, splashing through the muck off towards the temp shelter that served as the Coalition’s command center.
Well, Theron thought. Shit.
He blew out a breath and shook himself a little in an effort to settle his jangling nerves, not that it helped much. Turning away, he moved to collect the datapad he’d set down, tapped out a quick command string.
By the time he’d satisfied himself that the tracer he’d dropped into his jacket pocket was reading properly, and that its directional signal could be routed to his ocular implant if he needed to, he had some of his equilibrium back. Another command sequence terminated the active homing program and set the tracer back into passive mode - a minor precaution, just in case.
There was, he thought, no sense in being excessive.
“Can you walk?” Meiyi’s voice at his side sounded flat, incongruously quiet after the din of battle.
Torian took a moment to test his newly-freed limbs before answering, working his toes inside his boots and flexing his fingers, open and closed and open again. Whatever the assassins had tranqued him with was wearing off - a mixed blessing, since it meant there was nothing to dull the edge of the cold searing his hands and feet. Better than the numbness of possible frostbite, though.
“I’ll walk out of here,” he said.
With a brusque nod, Meiyi held out her hand. He took it, clasping forearm to forearm, and let her haul him onto his feet.
By some tacit agreement the others had gone ahead, leaving the pair of them alone amidst the scattered corpses and other carnage left over from the failed ambush. Meiyi’s grip stayed firm on Torian’s arm until he’d steadied himself. Then she stepped back and shoved the grip of his techstaff at him.
“Let’s go.”
It was slow going. The hours he’d been bound left Torian’s body stiff and uncooperative, and every step burned. The footing in the passage carved through Hoth’s ice was treacherous at best; with his coordination shot as it was, he had to place each foot with care, reducing him to mincing his way along a little at a time.
Meiyi kept pace beside him, movements uncharacteristically jerky with barely-leashed energy. It rolled off her like convection currents, thick as the scent of ash and fuel and blaster fire that clung to her, until the muzzy part of Torian’s head was a little surprised she didn’t melt the tunnel around them both.
“Mei…” His tongue felt thick, blurring her name in his mouth.
“Should’ve shot him.”
He dared a sidelong look. She was glaring fixedly ahead down the tunnel, her mouth curled into a scowl, profile taut and dangerous. Her hair stuck to her skin in slashes of black from sweating under her helmet - her makeup had smeared with it, muddling the curls of stylized flame painted in shimmering orange over the side of her face.
“Shouldn’t have been caught,” he said, looking away from her. “Stupid.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, started to round on him. Then his boot lost purchase on the ice and he pitched like he was drunk, legs sliding out from underneath his weight.
Meiyi caught him before he went down, ducking under his arm and jamming her shoulder against his side with her arm slung around his back, hissing with the effort. It gave Torian the chance to pop the blade of his staff and dig it into the ice. Bracing himself between the two supports, he worked to get his feet back under him, until he could finally stand on his own power again.
The air left Meiyi in a little huff, steaming in the cold. “Less talking,” she told him. “More walking.”
Torian Cadera was not stupid. “Ma’am,” he said, and turned his full attention to putting one foot in front of the other.
32: Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.
I had to ponder this one for a while. Maia doesn’t really get uncomfortable that easily - I think it’s because mostly she tends to focus on other people over herself? How she feels is very often secondary at best, and something she can process later.
But something I have realised about Maia along the way is - she’s actually kind of terrible at apologizing when she feels she’s wronged someone. At least when it’s something she can’t tangibly make right, like with Theron in the aftermath of Iokath or Doc after that incredibly awkward talk in the Odessen cantina after they got back from Ossus. These are the situations where Maia is the most uncomfortable, when she knows she’s hurt the other person through her actions (or in Doc’s case through her failure to recognize and address his feelings at the time), and she very much wants to make it right, but the damage has been done and there’s no action she can take that will undo it. She can tell them “I’m sorry,” but it feels like a meaningless gesture that may well be more for her own feelings than theirs? Especially in cases where she can’t actually say in honesty that she’d do anything differently if she could go back and do it over.
So she ends up feeling very uncomfortable indeed, trying to wrestle through all of this internally to figure out what if anything she can do to make things better for the other person and in the meanwhile just not sure how to talk to them at all.
There’s a reason my War For Iokath tag is “we don’t talk about Iokath.”
21: If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?
When bad shit happens, Maia’s first reaction (after any demand for immediate action has passed) is always to wonder “could I have done something to prevent this?”
A lot of the time, the answer is no. A good bit of the time she can even accept that this is true, and when it is, she rarely goes looking to point fingers. She’ll seek to hold people accountable for the actions they personally took, and she’ll want to make sure they don’t do it again, but she also accepts that there are reasons, there are extenuating circumstances, and sometimes there are things that just happen. Maybe it’s the will of the Force. Maybe it’s just the inevitable result of living in a galaxy made up of untold trillions of moving parts that frequently collide with one another with no knowledge or awareness of how their impact carries beyond themselves.
At the end of the day, all she can really control is her own actions. She does her best to recognize when she’s played a part in creating a bad situation - and has a somewhat overdeveloped sense of responsibility that prompts her to sometimes take more blame on herself than she probably should - so that she can avoid making the same mistakes again.
Allo! Maia D3, G2. Toshi F4 (or any of the other domestic questions, lmao)
D3: How comfortable are they with the idea of death?
There is no death, there is only the Force.
In a general sense, death holds no dread for Maia. Everything that lives will die eventually; when her time comes, she will (she hopes) become one with the Force as Master Orgus and many others before her have done. There’s nothing scary about that.
In theory.
In practice, well, context is everything.
The very few times she’s been faced with the immediate prospect of her own death - I am thinking most particularly of taking Arcann’s lightsaber through the gut halfway through KotFE, and the endgame of KotET - Maia clung to life with tooth and nail. Because while death itself doesn’t scare her, the thought of dying with work unfinished, with people relying on her to pull through, with evil that will be left to act unchecked if she falls... that’s something she can’t deal with.
She’s got a lot to lose these days. I think if she were faced with a situation where she’s going to die and there is no possible way to save herself - or if the only way to survive would involve doing something against her personal sense of morality - she would fall back on the Jedi Code to comfort herself and try to meet her end with dignity.
How well she’d succeed is a different question.
G2: Who makes up your OC’s family, at least the more important members to them?
FUNNY STORY...
When I made most of my SWTOR characters, I didn’t establish much of any backstory for any of them. Maia especially, as a Jedi, I figured was sent to the Temple at a young enough age that she wouldn’t remember much of anything about her family. It was only well after the fact that it occurred to me that she and my Trooper were close enough in appearance that they could be sisters... and then when I got around to making a Smuggler, the whole concept clicked in my head. One of those BACKSTORY UNLOCKED! moments.
These days I am pretty sure Maia was born on Coruscant and has blood relatives living there. I’m not sure if her parents are still alive, but she has two older sisters, one a soldier in Republic Special Forces (Greeneyes), one an independent starship captain (Raine). Both of them remember the baby sister who was strong enough in the Force that she was handed over to the Jedi as a little girl.
Maia still doesn’t remember anything much about any of this, though. Her family is the found family she accumulated along the course of her travels: Kira and Doc and Teeseven, Theron, Lana and Koth and Senya.
One of these days maybe she’ll find out that she has siblings. I kind of suspect that Theron will go digging into records and such sooner or later, if nothing else. But I don’t think her blood relations will ever supersede the bonds she’s forged with her companions.
Also now Satele is her mother-in-law and that’s A LITTLE TERRIFYING. So far to the best of my knowledge she’s been off the grid so Maia hasn’t had to figure out who gets to break the news, but that's a conversation she's definitely not looking forward to having.
F4: How clean are they overall with home upkeep?
Toshi’s pretty good about keeping his living space clean and in order, mostly because right now his living space is his ship and if you don’t pay attention to upkeep you’re asking for an unpleasant death out in the void somewhere.
Also personal cleanliness is important to him, and that extends to his immediate surroundings. He stays pretty tidy, though his system for “putting things away” doesn’t always map to anyone else’s sense of where things ought to be put away.
BONUS F10: Do they engage in any of the arts? How good do you intend them to be? Would they agree they are?
He passes the time composing terrible, horrible, no good, very bad poetry. Seriously, it’s awful. He doesn’t fool himself he’s actually any good, but he still enjoys it.
Sometimes when he’s been up all night finishing a piece, he wakes Mako up in the wee hours of the morning to recite it to her.
Somehow she hasn’t actually tased him for doing this. Yet.
wittyblather replied to your photo “SHE GETS AN -ITE NAME. What do you suppose that means? Is Fluorite...”
i'd say that unless all the -ites are golden kingdom era in origin, it heavily implies that the -ite names have been forced on the shitennou as part of their brainwashing
I have some theories on the names themselves that I don’t really want to get too deeply into until Danburite actually appears as a character.
But I’m not talking about the name origins so much as where the people themselves come from. There aren’t any (confirmed) youma that I can recall that fit that naming scheme, and every other character we know of that follows the -ite naming scheme is from the Silver Millennium or Golden Kingdom. So can we infer that having a name like that implies she’s also a reinarnated human from the past? Or is it just like a rank? Sailor V implies that the Dark Kingdom is so much bigger and more complicated than we see in Sailor Moon, but it also gives hints that more people than just the most important, core group got reincarnated from the past.
