Welcome to Gaia! ::

Kalani stared numbly at the fabric in her hands. It was artfully made, incredibly detailed, and possibly the most frightened she’d ever been of an article of clothing, at least since she’d first powered up into Sailor Kua’kua. Every time she allowed herself to even think about how this (temporary) gift had come to her, her heart gave such an ache that tears welled in her eyes.

It was just that it was - it was just so kind. It was so kind she didn’t even know what to do with the kindness, for it was too big to hold in her heart. It kept leaking out her eyes instead. Maus…she hadn’t asked him for this. She certainly hadn’t asked Knight Joyeuse Garde to borrow her special magical item; indeed, she had never even met Joy except in passing at the event at the Garde, and thus hadn’t even known such an item existed to be borrowed.
But here it was, in her hands, held like something much more fragile than it truly was. And Kalani was terrified.

Because she had spent so long - hundreds of Kuanian lifetimes - burying the memories this little piece of fabric might show her. She had spent so long trying to forget, because remembering was so painful.

But now, here on Earth, remembering…it was still painful, to be certain, but it also felt - important, in a way it hadn’t when she was standing with her own planet’s ground beneath her feet. She was the only one left. She was the only one left. Did she not have a duty to remember it all? The good and the bad, even if the bad was terrible and the good was so beautiful it broke her heart?
Kalani took a deep, steadying breath, and counted her heartbeats, hummingbird-quick in her chest. She needed to begin meditating again, if she wanted to last the year on Earth and ever have a chance of surviving long enough to - maybe - see her planet reborn.

She knew it was possible. Or at least that it was possible for other alien Senshi, with help from Knights and other Senshi, and if it was possible for them, why shouldn’t it be possible for Kua’kua as well? Didn’t the planet - if not the people - deserve to be cleansed of the evil that had taken root there?

Wasn’t this, this dangerous, tenuous promise, of a memory that didn’t hurt - wasn’t that the first step toward bringing it back to life? Remembering what that life had even looked like?

Kalani took another breath, and laid down on her bed. She held the mask up to the light, studying the way the thread glittered and gleamed against it. Even if it weren’t magical, it would be a beautiful thing.

But it was magical. And, if Joy and Maus were to be believed, it could give her a gift more precious than the finest jewels. For just one night, it could give her her home back.

One more breath, and she felt her heartrate slow enough that sleep didn’t feel like an impossibility. She remembered, in her broken, hazy way, the phenomenon she’d described to Maus: vasa gula. Golden ocean. It didn’t happen often, but when it did…

The first night, nothing happened.

Nothing happened the second night, either.

Maybe she was too afraid. Maybe it didn’t work for her because she was an alien. Maybe any number of things. But Joy had said that sometimes it took more than one attempt, and Kalani wouldn’t give up on this miracle of a chance so easily.

On the third day, Kalani locked herself in her bedroom and meditated. It wasn’t dissimilar from the preparation she’d done as a grub, to grow into the adult she was today, though on a much smaller and faster scale.

All day, she thought of her beautiful planet, before the darkness had come. The thatched roof of the houses, the boats, the animals busy in their homes, digging and singing and chirping and skittering. She thought of the firelight reflecting in the eyes of her family, how proud they were of her.

Just as she drifted off to sleep, she thought of the ocean, made of liquid gold.

She was on the edge of a cliff. She could hear laughter from somewhere behind her, chatter. Music. Her village was somewhere back there, just through the trees. The trees - they were so tall, so beautifully alien compared to the simplistic tree-shaped things down on Earth.

Earth–the whole image shook slightly and Kalani forced herself to focus. To remember: this wasn’t really her planet. This was a memory of a sorts, painted onto her dreaming brain. Not really a memory - she didn’t remember ever standing on this particular cliff before, but it was close enough.

Two grubs appeared at the edge of the forest. “Hello–”

But the grubs gave no notice of her. They ran out of the forest, chasing each other on their stubby little grub legs, almost moving through Kua’kua, though she couldn’t feel them at all. It pained her, but standing there in the light of the vasa gula, watching her people’s children - their future, once upon a time - laugh in the light of it, the ache was…not altogether unpleasant.

They weren’t real, but they were so, so cute. She loved Kuanian children so much. She wanted to squish their little cheeks, even now, even though it was just a ghost of a memory, and that was enough to make her smile.

They couldn’t hear her, but she spoke anyway.

“Watch, little ones,” Kua’kua murmured. They weren’t looking in her direction, so she could pretend they were listening to her, when in fact she knew they were just staring at the beauty before them. “They say that the souls of all Kuanians gather at times like this,” she said, voice soft with reverence, “and paint the sky and the sea with their love for us. Look, look,” Kua’kua whispered, a grin on her face as the sun appeared to melt into the ocean below it.

“Do you see, little grublets? All of their love in all of their souls, pouring out for you, and for me, and for our families,” Kua’kua said. Maybe she was part of the vasa gula herself now, a spirit from the past or future, reaching out to these beautiful children. One of the grubs reached out, like it was trying to catch the sun in the center of its little grubby limb.

“I know. I reach for them too,” Kua’kua said, and meant it; in moments of adversity, she did think of all the Kuanians who had gone before, whose lives and deaths had cleared the way for herself and her family to arrive, for Kalani to become Kua’kua.

“But we must honor their gift,” Kua’kua continued, “by holding this beautiful moment sacred. We have to remember.” She knew, logically, that she was dreaming, that the babies here couldn’t hear her, that they were just creations of her subconscious, representations of what she loved and missed the most about her people.

The sun had set, and the vasa gula had faded, for the moment - but it would come again, as surely as the sun would rise, and Kua’kua felt the strength in her bones that she drew from that moment. A thing was beautiful, after all, not because it lasted forever, but because nothing truly did.

Nothing except love, of course.

Someday. Someday, she would go back to her planet and rid it of the darkness. Nothing lasted forever, not even Chaos. Someday, she would see another vasa gula again. She would. And then, instead of an imaginary, dreamed-up grublet, she would take her new, real friends, and they could see what she saw, feel what she felt.

More importantly than remembering the vasa gula itself, beautiful as it was, what made Kalani wake with tears of joy on her face was the feeling of loving so much and being so loved that neither the sky nor the sea alone could contain it.