Cythiria has been on Var 7 since she was a child. Yet, she doesn't fit into a world to which she does not belong. She is really from Griddish, but her early memories are scattered. Will she find her way?
Cythiria Crenshaw is all grown up now
But her memories are shattered. It was all due to that moment when she was sent to Var 7 while Griddish was about to commence a devastating war. She was safe, but was she really?
Fredrick and Jillian did their best with Cythiria. But nothing could fix those grinding sounds in her head, or the feeling of despair that would take over her mind. Nothing could help her overcome the fact that she didn't belong on Var 7, that she was not truly a Varling.
The Vars have a terrible effect on the Slaves. They wear them down over time. But what was even more devastating for Cythiria is that she was no longer able to maintain her connection to her precious Tenddrome.
The Tenddrome is what binds the Slaves together, nurtures them, gives them comfort. When the Slipshot to Var 7 was closed, so was the connection to the Tenddrome. Now, Cythiria was left to her own devices to survive.
And survive she did, but not without its consequences. Eventually, Rive Amber would return for her and help her to "find what she has lost."
But what exactly did Cythiria lose?
Escape
The dark portal fizzled and faded away. Rive Amber walked through the point of convergence towards the Silo. She stepped close and touched its cool, metal, featureless surface. She turned her hand and tapped the surface with her knuckle until she heard the thin, tinny rap turn into a hollow, dull knock. She reached into a pocket and pulled out an Init Caster. She held it arm’s distance away from her body and watched it grow to a staff half her own height. A small hatch appeared on the surface and opened, revealing a small, round socket. She lifted the IC and touched its tip to the socket. A panel slid open, and Rive stepped in.
She held her breath momentarily as the smell of burning metal assaulted her nose. She glanced across a wide chamber. Above, a sphere of blue and white energy nearly as wide as the Silo itself, swirled and churned, as tendrils of plasma licked the sides of the Silo, sending thin, metallic pings and squeals echoing through the room.
She stepped towards the center of the room, pausing at an oval pod the size of a single Slave. She stepped towards a dark panel next to the pod. She closed her eyes momentarily. Upon the surface of the panel, a holographic series of graphs, sliders, and buttons appeared. She gestured and waved them away.
She stepped back and reached towards her waist. She gripped her Plaxis Strand in her hand. It hissed and fizzled as it ignited.
“I’m sorry, Cythiria,” she mumbled. War is coming, so I must close the path to Var 7. You will lose access to our precious Tenddrome. I cannot guarantee your safety once that happens. But maybe, you can learn to be free from its burden. And one day, you can lead us all to a new way of life.
Rive lifted her arm and struck the panel with the Plaxis Strand. The panel flashed and popped. Rive turned and jogged towards the open door. She stepped out as the hum of the Slipshot fell silent. A cool breeze brushed through Rive’s hair as she stepped towards her Vérkatros to return to Sanguine Heap.
First Blush
Cythiria stepped into the workstation. The seat was covered with a thin, soft, rubbery material. The workstation seemed to wrap itself around her, as if she were seated inside the cockpit of a racecar or an airplane. The walls cast a gentle, calming light, and a cool, airy breeze swirled around her. She shivered, and the breeze warmed, as if the workstation itself read her bodily response to it. She sighed, and her eyes started to droop. On each side was a small window. She looked out either side. On one, some student she hadn’t met. On the other, Chelss. She felt her heart thump! inside her chest.
“In front of you,” continued the voice, “Is an array of three screens. You will use these regularly during lessons. In addition, you have been assigned a headset and a pair of earphones. We will begin role, so please apply the headsets now.”
Cythiria glanced through the widow at Chelss. She watched her as she gently pulled on the headset, making sure that the long tufts of hair streamed over its bands and not under them. Cythiria followed, pulling it on carelessly until it settled upon her head.
A warm glow of red light was followed by a series of quick, blue flashes.
Cythiria felt a deep, rumbling grind in the back of her head. She grimaced. Her forehead tingled and burned and then she heard a pop! followed by a deep sting, as if she had been cut with a jagged knife.
She jumped up and ripped the headset off. She tossed it across the room and tumbled out of the workstation. A gentle, chiming, rhythmic burrrrr sounded through the room, followed by the sound of the voice. “Please return to your workstation. Number 15987, Cythiria Crenshaw, please return to your workstation.”
She fell on the cold, concrete floor and pushed her back up against the wall. She could feel a tickle on her forehead and then her cheek and lip. She lifted her hand and wiped her cheek and then glanced at her crimson covered fingers. She started to tremble, pulling her legs up against her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees. Her ears and head pulsed and throbbed, and the deep grinding sound in her head rose to a more feverish pitch. She heard a voice, close by, urgent, a thin, wispy sound that cut through the chaotic, noisy din of her own mind.
“Hey, Cyth, are you ok? Cyth!” She could feel a body press close to hers, an arm wrap around her shoulder, a hand grasp her arm. She could smell a gentle, florid scent, a comforting perfume. She turned her head and looked up towards the sound of the voice. She looked into those hazel eyes. They were wide, urgent, yet soft, nurturing.
“Cyth! Are you ok? Talk to me!”
And then, darkness.
