1969/Ember of Reckoning

Ember of Reckoning
Date of Scene:	26 September 2024
Location:	Plot Room 1
Synopsis:	While the Mahou of Tokyo are feeling the disturbance from Mount Fuji, one feline teenager is in a deep sleep; deep, but not untroubled.
Cast of Characters:	Catra, Bow

---

Catra has posed:
Somewhere, hovering over Mount Fuji, a storm is brewing.

Somewhere in Obsidian Tower, a young feline doesn't care what's happening to Mount Whatever. All that matters is, it's been a lousy day; a lousy week, a lousy month, a lousy existence in general on this lousy planet that stinks and is full of noise and an overarching reality of constant sensory overload. As often seems to happen her quarters are in a bit of a thrashed state; a table on its side, the contents of cupboards strewn about, food on the floor.

But not the Adora plushie from last Christmas. That retains its place of honor on the top shelf, where things that nothing bad is to ever happen to reside. (It's more or less alone up there.)

Catra is curled up on the floor beside her bed (the mattress is too soft), in her shorts and cropped tank-top, with a heavily rumpled blanket half-draped overtop of her. She's got her headphones on, not with anything playing, just... to block out the sounds. She can hear people moving around in the tower outside her door, and hear the sounds from outside. Not that it matters; she's restless anyway.

Bow has posed:
Across Tokyo, the magical feel a subtle, jarring shift beneath their feet. A sudden, sharp tremor that snaps them out of their sleep, leaving a faint hum of unease in the air. But as they scramble to make sense of the strange occurrence, it becomes clear only the magical are affected. Only those attuned to the world's deeper rhythms.

Among them, one stands apart. Catra. While the others felt the Earth stir, she hears something else. A voice soft, yet commanding, feminine, and familiar (Adora? No.. close, but no.) whispers in her ear.

"Awaken."

There's a pull in the tone, gentle but urgent, resonating through her core.

"Awaken and claim me."

The words aren't just sounds; they wrap around her senses like a heatwave. Slowly, warmth spreads through her, growing in intensity, seeping into her very bones. The warmth quickly turns to fire, flames licking at the edges of her being. It's suffocating suffocating and real.

Suddenly, the room feels too small, too stifling, the air thick with heat. Her heart beats faster. Sweat beads on her skin, her breath comes in shallow gasps. The flames aren't just around her they're inside her.

Catra has posed:
Awaken, says the voice.

Catra doesn't wake up. Even asleep, it seems she is resistant to being told what to do to the point of self-destruction. Her knees draw up against her chest and she lets out a whimper that, were she awake, she would find beyond embarassing.

"Who are you?!" she demands, speaking within her dream. "What do you want from me?" And then, Catra just can't help herself; she falls right back on the proven defense strategies in the face of the unknown.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!!"

But it isn't leaving her alone. In her mind, she's back on Etheria; somewhere in the Fright Zone, surrounded by all the clanging industry and pollution and general hell. Except, to her, it's home, however dystopian. She drops to her knees, clutching at her chest as her heartrate becomes uncomfortable; she gasps, struggling to take a deep breath, and claws at herself, drawing deep gashes in her own flesh as the heat within her builds.

Standing, she staggers down a corridor, taking a turn to where she knows there's a pool of water; it's waste water, from the cooling systems on some machinery, but she throws herself into it anyway, willing to suffer it as the heat inside her continues to build. As she crashes through the surface, she curls up into a ball, closing her eyes and waiting for relief.

But doesn't come.

The water is gone; she's laying on her side on a hard floor, still dripping wet from her plunge but the water is gone. Instead, she's surrounded by intense, oppressive heat.

She's in the Forge.

Bow has posed:
The voice doesn't relent.

"Awaken."

It coils like smoke, insistent and all-encompassing, filling every crevice of the dreamscape. The heat intensifies, pressing in on the body it's chosen, spreading from within slow at first, then rising, the flame demanding to be acknowledged.

There is no response from the sleeper. The body curls tighter, muscles tense against the unbearable warmth, but the flame does not ease. It grows, hotter and hotter, relentless in its pursuit.

The mind is thrown back to Etheria. The Fright Zone materializes, dark, metallic, and industrial. The clanging of machinery echoes in the background, smoke billowing in heavy clouds. The scent of burning fuel and pollution fills the air oppressive, choking. It's a familiar place, once a refuge, now foreign. The heat presses in more fiercely, turning home into something alien, suffocating.

The heart races faster, erratic, and frantic. Muscles seize up, breath shallow and gasping, skin drenched in sweat. The fire churns inside, uncontrollable, tearing at every nerve. Fingernails rake flesh, drawing deep gashes, but the pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming heat suffocating every breath.

Desperation sets in. The body stumbles forward, searching blindly for relief. Down a corridor, there's a pool wastewater, murky, but it's water, and anything to cool the fire. A plunge into the pool, crashing through its surface, the water wrapping around the body but no relief comes.

The water evaporates in an instant, leaving the body dripping but still burning, lying on the cold, hard floor. And now the surroundings have changed.

Catra is in the Forge.

Heat presses in from all sides, the air thick with molten energy. The flames aren't wild they're deliberate, controlled, waiting. The place where metal is shaped and refined. Where the weak are tested, and the strong emerge.

"Awaken," the voice calls again, firm but patient. "You are the chosen. The flame is yours to wield. The Forge will make you what you were always meant to be."

The fire surges again, more intensely, as if responding to resistance. The flames swirl, gathering into a vision---a gemstone, glowing with a fierce, living flame. It floats before the body, radiating heat and power.

"Claim me," the voice beckons once more, no longer a command, but a promise. "In the Forge, you will be honed. Hammered. Shaped into the one who can bear the strength you desire."

The fire waits. The heat does not relent.

The Forge is patient. It will not leave.



"You can defeat her."

Catra has posed:
"Well maybe I don't want to!"

Defiance, the automatic response. Catra is on all fours, her elbows resting on the floor as she holds her head. She abruptly pulls the crown she wears off her face, and hurls it aside with little care to its destination; on the floor or into the forges, doesn't matter, as long as it's off her head. The Force Captain badge, gone in reality but still present in her dreams, suffers the same fate.

You can defeat her. Her. Adora? Catra grits her teeth, whining softly as she tries, with ever decreasing success, to resist the inner flams, swiftly shifting from simply painful towards agony. And yes, she wants to defeat Adora. Of course she does. Does she?

Perhaps it means Shadow Weaver. But Catra already defeated her, and she's not here. ...But of course she ran away to join the Rebellion. Adora. Because of course she did. What else did Catra expect? But who else could it possible mean? Not that silly pink creampuff Glimmer, she was already here and running with Obsidian. Scorpia?

Scorpia practically defeats herself.

"I was meant to be a failure," she snarls, pushing herself up from the floor and forcing her muscles to do her bidding. She rises to her feet, balling her hands into fists so tight her claws pierce the skin of her palms, and crimson joins sweat to drip off her knuckles. "Meant to be *nothing*. Adora's sidekick. NOTHING. But I took that *nothing*, and I beat everyone! I already beat Shadow Weaver, I came this close to destroying Brightmoon, and I captured Adora and the Sword and opened a portal! *I DID THAT.*"

Catra sways on her feet, panting loudly as she wills herself not to collapse back to her knees, even as she sways and repositions so as not to fall over.

"Who," she gasps. "Are you."

Bow has posed:
As the ethereal form of flame takes shape before Catra, the shimmering spirit radiates warmth and light, contrasting sharply with the chaos swirling within Catra's heart. The column of flame's voice is soft yet firm, echoing through the haze of Catra's defiance and despair.

"You speak of defeat, Catra, but it's not the failure that defines you. It's how you rise from it. Your spirit burns bright, even when you feel like you're engulfed in shadows." Ember glides closer, her luminescent presence casting a gentle glow that illuminates Catra's clenched fists and the determination etched on her face. "You've fought so hard, and yet you still question your worth. Why?"

Ember's expression is one of understanding, a blend of empathy and resolve. "You are so much more than a shadow of someone else. You've carved your own path, made your own choices, and claimed victories that others thought impossible. Shadow Weaver may have held power over you, but you broke free! Brightmoon stood against you, but you took them on with everything you had. You wield your anger like a weapon, but it can also be a shield."

"Your future is not dictated by others' expectations. You are not defined by your past failures but by your resilience and your drive to stand tall. It's okay to feel lost, but do not mistake that for defeat."

Ember's words resonate with the truth of Catra's journey, the struggles she's faced, and the strength she's displayed. "Failure is a part of growth. It teaches you. It sharpens your resolve. Look at Mt. Fuji beautiful, powerful, yet shaped by the eruptions of the past. You can rise from the ashes of every setback."

With a gentle gesture, Ember invites Catra to see beyond her pain, beyond her conflicts, urging her to recognize the strength that lies within her tumultuous heart. "You're not alone in this fight. The choices you make can lead you to a brighter future. All you need to do is believe in yourself."

They are no longer in the Forge.

Mt. Fuji, its serene silhouette stark against the chaos unfolding below. Tokyo burns, flames licking up into the night sky, illuminating the horizon with a sinister glow. The air is thick with smoke and the distant sounds of panic and destruction echo in their ears.

"Is this the power you want?" The voice lingers, questioning, teasing the boundaries of desire and ambition. It cuts through the haze of heat and fear, resonating deep within.

"Or is the power you seek... simply the power to know you can control such?"

Catra has posed:
Catra finally can take it no longer, and collapses back to her knees. She pitches forwards, catching herself on her hands; once more on all fours, she draws ragged breaths, staring at the floor in front of her, framed by unkempt locks of hair hanging down from her head now that they're no longer restrained by her headpiece.

"You," she gasps, "Don't know me."

In spite of every indication to the contrary, she clings to that notion. Even as flames dance on the back of her head and shoulders, flickering into being down her back and along her arms. Flames, but not orange; they are purple, bright in the center and dark on the outside, reflecting the nature of the magic she's been using up until now.

"My future is *MINE*," she snarls, "Not yours, not anyone elses. You... remind me of Light Hope. Why are you doing this to me?!"

And then they're on Mount Fuji, surrounded by the tranquility of nature. How is it Catra has never come up here before? Because it reminds her of the forests around Brightmoon? Perhaps it reminds me of the night she lost Adora.

No, the night Adora left her.

She looks down at Tokyo, burning. The screams of panic. The sounds of buildings collapsing, and a civilization being rendered into ruin. A loud, smelly, offensive civilization that assaults her senses without relent, even when she sleeps, and all she can ever do is try to drown it out with headphones and overly loud music, and walk around with a hoody pulled low so neon lights aren't stabbing her eyes, and just.. try to not think about the smells.

Could she burn it all down? Is that what she wants? Would it make her feel safe? Safe. Because that really is what she wants above all other things, even she yet struggles to understand that for herself. The flames dancing across her form spread, igniting the ground around her until she's engulfed by a swirling inferno that doesn't quite reach any of the trees, and progresses no further.

"Who... are you?" She hisses. "I don't want to destroy Tokyo," she gasps at last. "But why does taht matter to you...? It's never mattered... to any one else."

Bow has posed:
The flames flickered and twisted, forming into a figure---small, familiar, unmistakable. It was Catra as a child, wrapped in the glow of the fire, her eyes burning with a fierce intensity. She stood there, the embodiment of the flame itself, staring down at the older version of herself with a steady, unwavering gaze.

"I'm someone who's tired of watching you hold back." The child spoke with a voice that was both calm and forceful, a blend of patience and frustration. "You are more than you know. But the way you've pandered... let another engulf you... it's suffocating."

The heat surrounding them intensified, flames crackling louder, casting sharp shadows. Purple fire danced along the ground, curling around the child's feet, an embodiment of the chaotic magic that had always pulsed through Catra's life.

They stood atop Mount Fuji, surrounded by the still, cool night air. Stars glistened above, and the tranquility of nature pressed in from every side. Below them, Tokyo burned.

The city was a sea of fire, buildings collapsing in the distance, screams carried up by the wind, a civilization being consumed by chaos. It was loud, overwhelming, the sensory assault relentless; flashes of neon lights, pungent smells, an urban cacophony that had never given any reprieve.

"This. This is where you are destined as you continue to hold back. As you continue to allow others to dictate your way."

Flames surged up around the child, swirling in a powerful vortex of heat and light, though they never reached the nearby trees. They held back, contained, but present; always present.

"You've let the universe turn you into something you're not," the child continued, her voice softening, but still direct. "You can be more. If you stop holding back... if you stop letting others decide who you are." The flames pulsed brighter, a reflection of the challenge being presented, a moment of reckoning poised to change everything.

The fire waited. The choice hung in the air.

"But is not one you need make now. You know where to find me. Just like your ancestors."

Catra has posed:
"I," Catra seethes, "NEVER HOLD BACK."

It's a lie. An obvious one; even to her. Of course she holds back. She could have killed Hinoiri at least four times when she was sent to do that, but she held back. She could have stopped Adora and her friends from destroying the pureheart rifle prototype, but she held back. She could have seriously hurt or killed several of the people she's fought so far, but she held back. She could have won a lot of fights she's been in absolutely hands down, but she's always held back.

What is she so afraid of? Winning? No... it's something else.

As Catra grapples with the obviousness of her duplicity, her eyes come up to gaze at the firey version of herself. Her nostrils flare as her breathing mirrors the forge bellows, and she feels her blood coursing her veins like molten iron.

Impulsively she lashes out, striking at the effigy of herself; she plunges her hands into the inferno, grasping and tearing and screaming as she comes away with a furious, glowing ember, cupped in her hands. She snarls, peeling back her lips and growling as she holds onto it, clenched in her hands in growing agony until the flames surrounding her surge, purple and orange blurring together, skin and flesh scattering as ashes on the wind, searing her right down to her screaming skeleton.

But it is not the end; she isn't those things. She is fire. The inferno doesn't burn on her or around her, it is her, and she throws her head back as she howls out loud,

And thrashing she is awake, and she is screaming and clawing at the floor and blanket around her and she bolts upright as a blast of dark energy blows the bed across the room, staves the wall in beside her, blasts her shelves and blows out the windows, sending shards of glass sparkling into the night.

Catra gasps, leaning against the now ruined wall and clutching at her heart, tearing off her headphones and ignoring the tears and snot streaming from eyes and nose as she waits for the agony to fade, to pain to an ache and finally to recede. She sucks in a breath, holding it and forcing it to depart slowly, leaning against the wall until her heartrate comes down.

Carefully, she rises to her feet, angry at how her knees wobble for a moment. Gently, she pads cross the floor, picking her way through the debris until she stands at the edge, right where the window used to be, where one more step would carry her into oblivion.

In the distance, Mount Fuji. She can see it. The dark, firey cloud hanging over it. So.

Now she knows where to go. And she doesn't need anyone's help.

Bow has posed:
When Catra grabs her, the younger Catra dissipates, leaving only flames around the warrior's hands. The voice softens, though its words carry the same weight. "You can tear yourself apart again, or you can accept it; what you truly are. Not a weapon. Not a tool. A force of nature, untamed and undeniable."

In hand, the ember glows fiercely, heating until it sears. The shard pulses with life, a burning reminder of untapped potential. But then, as quickly as it came, the light fades, and in its place remains a small shard of amber. Dormant for now.

Silence falls again, but the air remains charged. The journey is far from over, and the path forward is clearer than ever before.

The final words echo softly, almost a whisper. "You never needed anyone's help. What you've always needed... is belief in yourself."