It is written that Hybrasil was birthed by Grandmother Night. And so in the beginning she was a place of darkness who would permit no light but the distant stars in the sky. Even the moons did not hang in the sky until Alarea the Usurper plucked them from the neck of Grandmother Night while she slept and dropped them there when she tried to escape the night's fury. And in this home of shadows and starlight it is little wonder that the first Children of Hybrasil beheld almost nothing in the way of color.

It was in the Rising Age of Goddesses, when the Children of Hybrasil feasted raw and bloody on the great creatures of their world (and on each other when they could not get them) in service to chasing the title of Bride for themselves and teasing dowry gifts from each new Goddess that arose from chaos that Hybrasil finally became a place of paints and artistry. One by one were the colors sealed inside of names, and being able to hold them in their hands at last the Children of Hybrasil learned their nature and witnessed the truth of each for themselves.

First came [Yellow], with [Blue] following only breaths apart. After many long years were [White] and [Black], and long after that came [Brown] and [Green] and [Violet]. So it went, and so it went, and so it went. And as the years passed the number of new Goddesses ran out, and their gifts became less frequent, and the Children of Hybrasil were forced more and more to use their gifts to make a Goddess out of themselves. That is to say, a truly lifted and perfected species was asked to prove it deserved all of its favors and the beauty that had been shared with it, and the Age of Burden came closing in around it.

But in that time there was a single color that remained unbound and invisible, refusing to stay trapped within any of the other hues the Children of Hybrasil tried to use on it. It was the color of the blood that ran inside their bodies and the fires that cooked their meals. The very last gift, from Little Sister Fire, was [Red]. But when the name was given the air was heavy with sorrow and only one word hung on the lips of everyone who could speak: "Farewell".

The nature of the Star Story, of theology, and the universe itself is hotly contested among scholars and those among all walks of life, today. But there is one thing which is known to be true: once upon a time, Hybrasil rang out with the commands of a thousand different Goddesses. It is known. And now, only the innermost members of the various cults can even claim to hear vague whispers from the forces that once directed all of reality. 

So it was that red came to be known to the Children of Hybrasil. And so too in the same breath did it become [The Color of Parting].

Mirror's dress is the deepest, brightest shade of red that she could manage. A comfortable meshweave leotard with wide shoulder straps and attached ribbons that dangle down overtop of her arms clings tightly to her body, bound across both hips by a pair of crossing diving belts studded with meticulously shaped rectangle onyx weights. Woven into the suit is a skirt that opens in the front but gathers in layers starting at her waist that pull taut down toward her knees and suddenly flare out as they approach her feet and pool behind her on the floor, fanning out around behind her like the tail of some enormous fish. No other adornments, face unpainted, spots unadjusted. Her hair worn in a simple flat curtain. It was all she could think of when she found out she was expected to attend the after party. 

True to her fashions, it has been a night of partings. A kiss on the back of the hand and a wordless, wave goodbye to Valentina de Alcard. An intense staredown with Maelia Dala that ended in laughter and a high five when neither one of them had proven nervy enough to call the other one out for playing with a multi-drive setup during the tournament. A cup of tea shared with Adriana Teresio, a much harder shot of liquor shared with Ada Smith, along with the promise of more work soon from both of them. A long hug from Kiriala, who was being called away but promised to visit to continue her education whenever she could. An entire evening spent weaving through crowds to get away from Heim Stockar, more insistent than ever that she at least consider joining his Hold. For some reason, a muffin from Marcina Villajero; she carefully sniffed it for traces of cinnamon. 

On and on it went. Masks of happiness, masks of energy, masks of fond farewells and gratitude, all worn with increasing desperation as the noise from the room built up inside her skull until she was finally forced to excuse herself and step beyond the celebration into the relative quiet of the night air. 

And Slate.

"Am I too late, Boss? 'Cause I was hoping to talk shop tonight but if you're burned out already I guess I've gotta wait. You really aren't getting any younger, huh?"

Mirror said nothing. Her eyes were on the sky alone, where hidden behind the city lights the pathways of the stars opened up to the future she was ready to escape to. Three steps further out into the street. A swish of the tail. Slate's hand catches her around the wrist.

"Boss. Come on, Boss. Need you here in front of me right now."

"I thought I fired you."

"Oh, you [i]wish[/i]. You think this is over Boss? The fucking Aeteline lived through an attack that vaporized my Whip and I'm supposed to, what? Retire to a life of weaving?"

"Oh? Did the mighty Selin Makers finally get a taste of defeat inside of victory?"

"F-f-first of all," said Slate through a deep flush of color through her fur, "Don't use that name. Not out [i]here.[/i] Please. Second of all, screw you! You've got the nerve to declare yourself a winner when you dropped the ball that hard?"

"Oh yes, what was I thinking, executing the plan we came up with together to the letter?"

"Shut up! If you did it right I'd still have a pilot to manage and a mecha to maintain! This partial victory crap is gonna ruin the whole 'having my own planet' thing before I even move in!"

Mirror laughs, though she does not mean to. An undignified guffaw that has her leaning against a building just to avoid tumbling over onto the pavement and scraping up her beautiful Dress of Goodbyes. She reaches forward to put a clawtip on Slate's lips before she can protest further.

"You're right. Of course. It's not so bad bringing some of the old stuff over with us. You and I, and Solarel... we wouldn't be able to help it, anyway. Another reason I needed to bid farewell to the rest, I suppose."

"You understand you're not actually getting rid of anybody this time, right? They all know where you live now."

"Maybe so. But distance will carry them away just the same. The pace of their lives will carry them apart and away. Visits, calls, these will be frequent enough for I told you sos to start, but they will fade to nothing and quickly, now that our commonality is shattered. The threads of fate are thin indeed, Slate."

"...Goddess. It messes me up something crazy when you say stuff like that in a tone of voice like you're the happiest you've ever been. This really counts as a happy ending? Disappearing into darkness while everybody else watches us through a Far-lense?"

"It's happy enough for me," Mirror says through a queer smile, "Just leave it. You wanted to talk shop? That sounds like a fun way to recharge."

"Mm....hm. Well, uh, sure. So I guess, the Gods-Smiting Whip really turned out like a mobile artillery platform, right? We were able to, y'know, do The Thing because we were able to use your ah, needs to create separation. But I think that limited you a bit as a pilot, because on a certain level you just couldn't direct the Tails with enough finite control to do what you needed while also maneuvering the main body out of danger. Or into it, for that matter. We gave up a lot of easy kill shots going for these weird technical plays, if you follow."

"You think we hit the limits of Nine Drive, then?"

Slate nods. "Yeah, I do. I think the next evolution that's really gonna push you forward as a pilot (and me along with you) is a tighter focus on the body. Something more reflexive and responsive. I want to take advantage of your 'shattered limb style' and build you a frame with much greater articulation along the whole thing. I'll build it for speed this time, and I mean [i]real[/i] speed, like, you've never moved this fast in your life kinda speed. We can even deploy a modular limb system for greater adaptability since you won't really need hands for holding stuff and you don't need to wrap your head around holding stuff that's not there..."

"Th-the problem with, with that's, uh," came a small, deeply out of breath voice from around a dark corner, "The, uh, phew. Wow. The... haaaaa, l-limitations of the, uh, the pilot."

"Matty?"
"...Matty."

The hybrid cat dragged herself over to the pair, burdened by half a dozen suitcases and the galaxy's largest, heaviest, and most overstuffed backpack crammed full of every essential a silly kitten could ever need to go on an adventure. The total weight seemed like it could crack a moon in half, and it was certainly doing a number on her spine. Slate rushed over to relieve her of some of the burden, but Mirror stood frozen in place.

"S-so if we wanna make a mecha like that for Mommy-- I mean Mira-eep! M-M-Mirror! Th-then we need, aahhhhhhh, we need to build her a proper flight suit to go with it. The Chains of Power system helped her by creating artificial limiters that helped her mind not get stuck on stuff, and this'd be like that but for her body. As she warmed up we could have it slowly activate and stabilize bigger g-forces, enhance reflex speed, there's really no end to how high we could lift her if we built the suit and the mecha with the same design in mind. I think it's really interesting!"

"Sweetie, that's-- I mean, that's a really interesting idea but. Have you thought this through? I mean, think about the life you have for yourself here! What are you..?"

"Matty. You were. You. Are."

"Y-You don't... want me?"

"I," Mirror's tongue clicks in disgust. Her fish-tail dress swims up and down the sidewalk in motion that is trying to rush toward and away at the same moment, "It is. Not about. What I. Want. Your. Apprenticeship. I. We. Cannot give you. Opportunity. Like that."

"You deserve the best life you can possibly have, Matty. Boss and I are about to be roughing it for a good long while, and even beyond that we're probably going to be under constant threat of pirate attacks and who knows what else. You've got something amazing with Trosta. You and she were able to perfect a system I spent a three years on without cracking. You don't wanna walk away from your life here just like that, do you?"

"The..." Matty's voice is choked by tears now, "The threads of fate are thin!"

"Huh?"

"I, I, I, I heard you! You think we're all gonna forget you! And I don't wanna! I, I talked to Trosta already and she said I graduated! I'm a master now and you can't tell me what to do!"

"...Kitten. I."

Matty flings herself against Mirror in a crushing hug. The sweetness of the gesture is undercut by about a hundred kilos of hard, heavy gear swinging around her arms and clapping Mirror in the back and the ribs, but the pilot digs her heels in and weathers it with just a small grunt. Her hands find Matty's hair and stroke it softly.

"All my life! All my life nobody knew what to do with me! I tried smiling and I did what everybody said and it never ever ever worked! They just let me go and let me go and let me go! But I found you! Workin with you's the first time I ever felt wanted! I don't wanna be forgotten! I don't wanna forget! I wanna! I wanna be! I!"

Slate shares a look with Mirror from overtop of Matty's head. The wry grin of motherhood, chagrin mixed with pride. Mirror softly strokes Matty's neck until she has to be held to stay on her feet. Until sobs turn to sniffles turn into desperate, shaky giggles and nuzzles against the mesh pattern on Mirror's chest.

"Foolish. I am. For thinking. I could manage. Without my sunspot."

"Hehe, that's right. We're a family! And family's not blood! It's love and belongin and always stayin together no matter what! That's right, right? That's us, right? I found you? I-it's... real. Right?"

Mirror tilts her head toward the sky again in silence. Tears moisten her always watery eyes and bead against her fur until they roll down her neck. She presses Matty's head deeper into her chest in answer. Slate, unseen by either of them, shakes her head and presses herself against the pair of them.

"It's real, sweetie. You and me and Mira, and now combat slu-- uh. I mean. The scary dragon lady too."

"We are... strange."

"That's fine," Matty chokes on tears and laughter in equal measure, "We'll all be weird together!"

The Age of Burden had ended eventually, too. The voices of the divine sang for those with ears to listen. A new goddess had even manifest herself onto the same plane of reality as the Children of Hybrasil. Everything was changing, all over again. The ashes of old dreams and old worlds scattered on the solar winds, to coalesce somewhere now. Red, the color of parting. Was it the wrong choice after all?

Not at all. Because after goodbye... after goodbye, comes the next hello.