It occurs to her vaguely that she has not left the Kathresis in a week.

Her eyes hurt and her legs are sore. She takes breaks, yes, pops the hood and gets out and scrambles across the surface of the machine to perform repairs or adjustments. She sunbasks on its rooftop and sips water she leans down to scoop into her black cat mug from wild rivers. But she never touches the surface. Never removes the neural link from where it connects to her neck. Almost forgets what it's like to be apart from the machine.

There is still so much to do. So many instincts to retrain. So much study of reach and distance to accomplish. She's changed her entire body, again. There's so much to learn. So much distance to cover. Mirror built the Whip from components and knows every inch of it. Dolly, the girl who fought Angela in videos that constantly loop in the corner of her eye, has some strange harmony with her machine her mind chews over in the background. And her. Set back twice. What is exotic power worth without familiarity? Where can she strike a girl who has just risen from a crushing defeat? She is on the rooftop again, purple scales glowing in the sunshine. Warmth. Were there other kinds of warmth? Now she's in the arctic, watching what happens when ice freezes. 

Warfare needs to be a statement. What is hers? What does she have to say? She still doesn't know; still doesn't have that vision of the future, can't see how to grow dresses that make everyone beautiful. Doesn't know how to become the centre of the world, doesn't know how to live without being the centre of the world. She lowers her cup, attached to the end of her grappling hook, so it can be filled with hot chocolate. She can't [i]just [/i]win, not now. She has to become the symbol of victory that all the world's warriors orient themselves around. She's one and one. She's in debt. She feels the eyes of rivals and would be rivals. That too is weight to carry. She can't let them down. She can't be mortal; to be mortal would be to disrespect their defeats at her hands.

She's on the roof again, bare against the sunlight. Time has become a single moment without break or interruption. She's half dreaming, her consciousness born anew in the balance of heat and cold, storms of summer and storms of winter. They've seen her bleed and not even the Bezorel's limitations can take that away. Rankings, rankings, rankings. Numbers changing and getting further away. Not meaningful for her, but meaningful for how they make people relate to her. Speak not to the outsider; [perfection/fragility]. She needs to be stronger. Power is a trick; something she uses against others, something she turns, something that deceives her. She's glad she killed the Enkindler. She needs the lead. She's disappointed it didn't survive. She'd suffocate with the pressure of someone else exploring this alien strength at the same time as her. She thinks she needs that.

Dreams, dreams, dreams. A sword is such a small lever with which to lift the galaxy. Even the sunlight doesn't stop her leg from kicking, claws from marking the roof of the Kathresis. The battle damage from her dreams accumulates, the sound of scratching metal as claws work out their nerves. Can she rely on tricks, stratagems, deep tactical awareness? Must she rely on fundamentals, raw invincible technique applied in straightforward hungry force? Can she survive not having ranged superiority? What about artillery superiority? How can she force an engagement? How can she force engagement? How can she engage? Dreams, dreams, dreams. Speak not to the outsider. How can she swallow all these words, digest these feelings? How can this emotion distill into the movement of blades? Is a victory with the gun too inelegant? Should she be fearsome? Should she be loving? What does Angela need from her? What does Mirror need from her? What do Isabelle, Dolly, Naelkai, Stalok, so many others need from her? So many different ways to be strong. How can she be all of them? 

She drinks in the sunlight. She needs every drop. She needs it to survive the cold. She needs it to wield the cold. She needs it to be able to give everyone everything they need while not giving anything she can't give. She knows she needs to touch the ground at some point, needs to unplug at some point. Perhaps Dolly and Jade have the answer. The Kathresis is a God, it has thoughts and instincts that run deeper than her limited experience. Maybe she can steal their technique, their harmony. Maybe she can lean in one direction and let the Kathresis lean in the other. Violet eyes open sharply and all the dreams are gone. She has an answer and now she's filled with frenzied energy. She needs to test this, needs to learn this, needs to absorb it into herself. She doesn't need unbeatable strength, she just needs the strength to beat everyone. Why not steal their strength for herself? If she doesn't have anything to say why not say their words back to them, stronger and more clearly than they could say themselves? Zaldar, was this what you meant when you said Speak Not?

She's becoming the Kathresis. She is not done becoming.