Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Godzilla didn’t know how things changed so much in such little time.

It was a quick transition, one he could only see looking back at all the years long gone now. But he knew how it all began.

With a ball of fire falling into the ocean.

✦

The loud crashing sound that came even before the impact had been enough to wake him up, huddled deep into the ocean floor as he was. It still haunted him sometimes, whenever his memories got out of control and twisted themselves into unhappy ones. He could still feel how the impact itself sent waves of vibrations crashing all around him.

It was enough to give him a headache, he remembered that well too, and with a tired flare of his nostrils, he had kicked himself away from the floor and swam towards the vibrations still reverberating endlessly all around.

It really was a little maddening, as bad as when the ground shook and the land shifted. Sounds just wouldn’t stop bouncing into each other and coming back to his ears, and he wasn’t the only one affected by such a racket. On his way up, he dodged and swam out of the way of many dazed and slowly sinking creatures. He could smell blood, could feel distress and confusion in the water, but could not smell death.

With a flick of his claw, he turned one sharp-toothed one back around and watched it scurry away.

It took just a little longer to find the reason for such a mess.

Slowly sinking deeper into the ocean and shining in small bursts of light was a... ball. The water around it bubbled and steamed, its surface looked singed, and it sent out tiny vibrations from deep within its burned and hardened surface. Beat after beat, in a constant thrum.

He inched closer, narrowing his eyes at it, and nearly flinched back when something within it stirred. And a sound, like none he had ever heard before, reached his ears. Muffled as it was, it still sounded clear enough to seem hurt. Or exhausted.

He stared at it for just a second longer, before opening his jaws and catching the slowly drifting ball between his teeth. There was another little sound, then silence, while he slowly made his way to the surface.

Sand crunched and drenched beneath his dripping feet, and he leaned forward to place the ball down. There was something in there, something making those strange vibrations. But it was quiet now. Quiet and still.

Until it wasn't.

In the blink of an eye, the ball shook and seemed to rip itself from the inside as something at least tried to move out of it. Struggling to, and there was no better word for it, nudge its way out was... something. It was round, and grimy, and wet, and—blue. He thought it would smell worse than it did, but the thing inside of the ball didn’t appreciate his sniffing.

It seemed to give it a new sense of urgency, as two little stumps clawed and tore the ball open for whatever it was to peek out of it.

The first thing he noticed were the mandibles, biting at air and huffing as it nudged itself up, and then its eyes. It was a strange glowing thing, with eyes as blue as the oceans and as bright as the night skies. Those eyes squeezed tight but did not close, and he watched quietly the way its body undulated with a strange dim light when it twisted around to look at its surroundings. But then it twisted back quickly, snapping its head toward him with widened eyes.

It made that strange short sound again, something between a chirp and a croon and a chattering of mandibles, and its body glowed in a pattern of waves he had seen plankton dance together in at the end of each day. He could almost see the shape of something in those pale spots. It was strange how much it reminded him of those same plankton flashing when something hungry swam by.

He hesitantly called back, keeping his tone as low as its call had been. The thing’s body shone brighter with his grumble, then stilled again into that deep sea blue. It tilted its head to one side, and tried its best to imitate his call it seemed, but it just sounded like it hurt.

When he leaned closer its mandibles let out a muffled sound. He stopped when its body coiled up like it was planning to go inside its ball again, but after a quiet moment, it slowly relaxed, but kept its mandibles drawn in a way that reminded him of bared teeth.

Its skin was indeed glowing, from up close he could see better the patterns lining the soft carapace that made its head and back, could see the multiple arms it seemed to try and keep still clinging to the opening it had carved, could see the way its eyes slowly opened more and more until the careful tilt of its head was followed with a soft chirp.

He grumbled again, and blew at it with a huff.

The thing chirped and shook its head, bringing up at least four stumpy arms to mess with its face. While he watched it eagerly cleaning away the residual grime and liquid that still clung to its body, a quiet huff and a glance from under those arms followed him as he straightened back up.

With a little bit of compensation to one side, the thing and the ball fell over, and it carefully dislodged itself from its—egg, it seemed. He had never seen an egg like this before. Glowing and humming. Almost as alive as the thing inside of it had been. Even now, where it laid half torn in the sands.

The thing looked around, eyes following winged creatures flying overhead or settling into tall trees, clumsy feet trudging and feeling up the sand. A droning sound leaving it as it gazed down and brought one of its arms up and closer to its mandibles.

The thing looked back at him over its shoulder then, and took one tentative series of steps closer.

It rose as far as it could and chirped, one of its legs rising with it and waving itself in front of its chest. Or what constituted as a chest in its body. He watched it silently, cocking his head to one side and huffing when the thing waved two arms instead.

He lifted one claw and imitated its movement, and it seemed satisfied then. With a little croon, it turned around and made its slow and wobbly trek deeper into the island he brought them to. He was still not so sure about his choice of an island to begin with, but as he watched the thing disappear into the foliage, he felt that doubt turn into something less to do with worry.

And had it... thanked him?

*

The thing couldn’t understand him.

That had to be the only reason it hadn’t moved when he pointed out the spider coming its way. It wouldn’t try to communicate with it for any reason, would it? It was the perfect example of an easy meal.

Would have been. If the spider hadn’t caught a glance of him over the thing’s head and promptly retracted its mandibles back to itself.

The thing had watched it turn around and leave, a meek little chirp chasing it. Then turned its body around to chirp at him, like he’d scared it away and that was a bad thing.

He grumbled at it, it imitated the sound again, a little better, then turned back around and continued on its way deeper and deeper into the dense forest.

He didn’t know what it wanted, what it was looking for, if it was only getting a look at the island or wandering aimlessly. He didn’t know anything about it, couldn't even know where it had come from by its smell alone, it just smelled of the ocean and something else he couldn't tell. And it would only respond to him with mimicked grunts or chirps. 

Some chirps were inquisitive, along with a tilt of its head, but it would soon seem to give up and continue with what it was doing.

Which now was feeling up the shape of a large boulder and nuzzling away the hanging vines that covered a small opening to a cave. Way too small for it, and it seemed to know that too when it backed away again with a clack of mandibles and a huff.

It didn’t seem to mind having him follow it around. At least the little looks it kept throwing over its shoulder didn't seem bothered, maybe cautious, or curious, but not bothered. It wasn't hurt, as far as he could tell. Even if such a fall from wherever it had been dropped from should have done some damage. Adding the fire to that? This was strange. But not strange to the point of getting him on edge, really. Strange to the point of being better than some quiet rest, for now. 

He really didn't have anything else better to do, and this thing had woken him up from what he was already doing. 

It... also didn’t look like trouble, all things considered. It wasn’t aggressive, the creatures that had been dazed by its sudden arrival had recovered when he looked back down with the egg in his teeth—not like that was much of its fault, looking back at it too—and it seemed mostly curious. Mapping and prodding as it went. Alert, but still wide-eyed and careful when it saw something that grabbed its attention.

It wasn’t from anywhere near, it smelled strange, and it couldn’t understand him. But it was a curious little thing, too curious for its own good. 

There it went again chirping at something with enough teeth to cut it with a glance. And judging by the look it leveled towards the thing, it more than planned to.

With a growl, the snarling beast backed away with a glare thrown his way, and the thing didn’t turn around to look at him this time. But he caught the end of a sigh leaving its mandibles.

It was also in no condition to fight, with those chubby legs and wobbly body. But it still walked around like it could. Like there were no worries in the world.

The thing chirped lowly to itself, and he took another step closer, a shadow guarding each of its many little steps.

The Cosmos had been chatting incessantly since they landed. 

But from their previous suggestions of where to aim her silk at to ideas for her next cocoon that ranged from size to color, their chatter still circled back to the one topic; they had yet to stop commenting about the tall creature glowering behind her back.

In front of her eyes, her faeries danced and twirled around each other. They had donned the image of winged beings with fleshy wings and feathery tails, they told her it was a creature of this world. She liked it. Their chirps sounded close to her own. And one of their last chirps would have her widening her eyes if she could.

She blew them away with a slightly admonishing coo, and they fluttered quietly closer to hover over her head instead. The creature still walked in silence with thundering steps, clueless to the suspicious faeries glaring at it. She didn’t understand why.

They had nearly disappeared into thin air when the creature had growled at that beast with the spike-horned armor. She was no fool, that beast had no interest in her except for that of hunger, but all it would have taken to deal with that problem was one string of silk aimed right at its mouth. 

Still, she couldn't help but appreciate that it cared enough to do that. Even if the Cosmos were not so moved.

As unnerving as it was to have it shadowing her every step, she still wanted to know its name, know what the names of the things around them were, thank it for leaving her on an island of all places. She was sure she had hit water on impact, it was unmistakable, the change of frying heat to sizzling. Though much better than hitting hard rock.

It was dangerous, she could tell. Those teeth weren’t just for show. And others would not move away from its path with a single growl if there was not a known promise of violence that was always kept true behind them.

But it had been nothing but kind so far—she would appreciate a little less growling so she could try to interact with other beings past the initial attempts at eating her, the first contact always did take a little effort—but it had been most gentle, its teeth had not even pierced the walls of her egg, and it kept trying to communicate with her too. Grunts and grows as they may be, it still tried, just like she had. Oh, well. Maybe they could find a way to understand each other one day so she could ask it about its world. 

She knew one way. But the exhaustion clinging to her mind could only cause more discomfort to them both.

Another cave too small to fit even the first half of her body, let alone a cocoon, and she backed away again, trying not to let her frustrations show too much, but it was hard with her body glowing to match the setting sun. She would not have a large creature following her around forever. She needed armor, she needed wings.

The creature huffed somewhere behind her, and she turned around with a questioning chirp. Noting that the Cosmos had been staring at it unblinkingly and on guard as soon as she had turned her attention to her search.

It grumbled deep in its chest and walked past her with long and strong strides. But then stopped a little ahead, turned its head around, and tipped its chin forward. Deeper into the forest.

Her faeries chirped, anxious and suspicious. She followed it.

It led her on a little weavery path, where tree tops completely covered the floor of the island from any sunlight, and the bioluminescent plant life and tiny insects guided their slow trek. 

The creature’s head nearly brushed the top of the trees, and its lashing tail served as a barrier of sorts, not that she worried anything would sneak up on them. She couldn’t feel any presence here that wasn’t small enough to be crushed, though her guide expertly stepped around plants and lines of little beings going about their day.

The creature’s leg was not there a second ago, or she would not have walked right into it. 

She hurriedly took a few steps back and glanced up at it with a few words to share in mind, language barrier or not, but it was still looking forward. Its head moving only to cast her a single glance from the corner of its eyes, then looking ahead again.

She followed its gaze, and her mandibles parted with a trill.

A large cave mouth, covered by a thin stream of water and hanging vines, with a tiny river coming from inside of it twisting its path away and deeper into the forest—stood right there, in front of her eyes. 

She hurried closer, jumped over the shallow waters, and walked into the cave, ducking past water and vines to find the dimly lit interior, safe for occasional little bursts of light from tiny beings or the plants hanging from the walls. It was massive, tall, and deep. Enough for more than one egg. Deep enough that her guide could fit. More than one even.

Though her guide was nowhere to be seen. 

She rushed back and peeked her head out from behind the curtain of water to chirp at it.

It watched her from outside, and grumbled back, the water from the little stream shook with its vibrations.

And then it turned around and walked away, its lashing tail disappearing into the foliage. Like it had not just given her a means of survival, a place to rest, and drink and—and start over.

Her faeries fluttered around the cave excitedly when she pulled herself back inside, circling those glowing beings and crooning a melody in greeting, not at all minding that they were either ignored or given a wide berth.

She shook her head with a soft trill and looked around for the perfect spot. Not too dry or too wet, nowhere that could disturb any of the life already there and—

There, perfect. 

She sat down close to the dripping wall and pulled the first string of silk from her mandibles. It would be a long process, but this cave was well protected. It would be alright.

Were there any more Guardians in the systems close by? She couldn’t feel the presence of any other on this planet, but surely those nearby would come in contact soon enough, her faeries could try and reach them later once they were well rested. She could already feel them extending their reach. They had given all of themselves and more already, they deserved to rest.

The chattering of her mandibles echoed against the cave walls, and as if called by her musings, the Cosmos fluttered closer.

Watching her movements closely with low croons, each flap of their tiny wings illuminated the surroundings in little bursts of light and dust. She greeted them with a chirp and watched them with a tilt of her head. How happily they fluttered around in their new forms, how excited they looked to see a new world, how bright their light looked again.

She could protect this planet.

The thought came as suddenly as a flash of thunder, but she welcomed it, welcomed the Cosmos' words, because it was true. They watched her do so, then fluffed the feathers of their tails with a new radiant gleam in their eyes.

This time it could be different, they would not lose another world to her weakness again. They could not. She was—she would be stronger, she knew more, her faeries believed in her. As they always did. And she would not let them down, their trust and faith would not be for nothing. She would not let any of them down.

Maybe... perish the thought, but... maybe they were all long gone, no eggs to hatch from anymore and... If that was to be true, then she would not disappoint them either. She could not let them down. Because if they were all gone then it all fell down on her. It all—

Oh, but of course there were others, there always were. Hidden in meteors, slumbering in star cocoons... She would find them soon and together they could do what should be done.

Let the Golden Demon come, they would be ready.

Wouldn't they?

She squeezed her eyes shut as far as they would go and turned back to the cave around her. Its dripping water, its humid air, the dim lighting filtered through the waterfall at its mouth. She nuzzled at the plain cave floor, stuck the silk into it, leaned back, and glued it again next to the same spot. Bit by tiny bit, a little path of dots appeared, soon to become a large circle and then so much more.

The Cosmos sang, they danced, and mimicked helping her set up her silk. And after a quick show of strength and will, with exaggerated huffs and chirps, they floated back to her head and plopped down with tired sighs.

She trilled at them and continued her work. Her ears occupied by songs, her mind occupied by gentle eyes and quiet looks. So curious, seeking, and searching. Such open curiosity on such a hardened face. From up close its teeth looked sharper, its eyes more golden, its size more looming. But from that close, she could also see the way it angled its chin down in just the right way that hid its teeth, could watch the way it stilled its body when she couldn't help but prepare her silk for a quick dash towards the forest.

How glad she was to not have followed the Cosmos' advice to aim for its eyes and run. The creature was a blessing upon them. A bit of light to their cursed luck. As weary as she felt deep in her soul, tired and suspicious above all, she was not going to ignore such a show of kindness.

Hopefully they would meet again one day. She had much to thank it for. From a good distance, if possible.

Flashes of fire and darkness occasionally broke the gentle thoughts she tried to keep, but she forced those away with a more forceful path of silk dots. 

She had escaped. Somehow against all odds, her egg had cruised the Cosmos safely and carried them away, not into a lasting sleep but to a planet. Far enough that she could no longer hear those lasting cries reverberating through the Cosmos' web like the lasting ripples on the surface of a water puddle. Painted dark and dense by—

Her faeries stirred in their perch on her head, fussing and humming sadly, and she cooed an apology. She should have minded her thoughts more.

“Alright. Listen here, you two." Shaking her claws off, she leaned back and rested on her hind legs. "For just a day—and I know, it is a novel concept, but... how about... we focus on the now?"

Her chirps sounded odd in the denser air of this world, but she didn't need to raise her volume as much as the past one. Packing as much optimistic levity into her words as she could, she bobbed her head and chirped at the yelps it got her. "Let us focus on this cave, and this cocoon, and these little beings you've been pestering," she added, "you know they can't see you.”

She leaned down and pulled more silk from her mandibles, and her faeries slid down her face, playfully hanging from her mandibles before jumping off to hover closely instead. One curious and one chastised little head cocked at her words.

“This is a new beginning, yes? You can try reaching out to others later, but for now, we can just... rest." She chirped at the ground and the growing circle of silk, feeling the warmth of their light on her skin. "We must be far away. If he didn't—if he didn't follow."

She got no answer, but she knew she was talking more to herself than anything.

"We should be alright for now. You can't feel him, yes?" Two fuzzy heads dipped their chins. "Then there is no hurry. We can settle down, explore, get to know this world. Don't you want to?"

They did. They had wanted to since they had left the egg and traveled deeper onto the island trailed by that large beast.

But her insistence on finding a safe place for their cocoon had tempered their thirst for exploration, and no doubt centered their thoughts back on unpleasant ones. It was important, the first thing they should do, the first thing they always did. But the circumstances were different now, weren't they? They wanted to explore, they wanted to distract themselves.

"Did you see that creature back there? And those teeth? And that other creature and its mandibles? Massive!"

The Cosmos did not look convinced by her attempts at levity, if anything their little eyes held slight judgment and... sadness.

Sad acceptance.

She wouldn't have that.

“Our egg could have traveled anywhere." She leaned closer until they blurred against her vision. "It could have been hit by a meteor, it could have been swallowed by a star, but look where we are now. Isn’t it nice?” 

The world sang around them as if on cue, and the Cosmos turned to watch the life bustling in it, just behind that waterfall. It was so lively, so different from the world and the failure they had to leave behind.

“Don’t you want a new home? I’m sure the Alpha of this world won't mind. Judging by the..."

Show of goodwill...? Kindness?

"...Hospitality of that kind beast that helped us, we should be welcome here. Just until we are ready to... to leave again, what do you think? We can make ourselves useful. We just need to find a way to do that soon.”

They settled on the petals hanging off the wall of the cave, ruffling their wings and shaking off their feathers. Willing to be hopeful with each word. Bright. Only shining brighter. She cooed at them and their trust-filled eyes.

“We’ll be alright, I... I promi—”

Their eyes widened, and she didn’t have it in her to finish saying it. They knew. They knew too well. She would never make promises she couldn’t keep.

“We’ll be alright.” She nuzzled closer, tilting her head as they hugged her face tight with low croons of their own. “We will.”

The songs changed back to chirps and from chirps back to songs while she worked, their conversations circled from topic to topic, until they grew tired, and their chatter finally slowed in pace. Their chirps continued, but quieter, and as she tuned in on their conversation she realized it was also with a different tone than they'd used before.

The big spiky creature, they called their guide. Scary, and kind. Sharp, very sharp.

With mumbled trills and huffs, they confessed that they liked it. She could see why.

Chapter Text

The sun had risen and set a couple of times now.

The cocoon was taking shape, bit by little bit. The base was already done, and now she needed to build up from it. She took a few steps back and huffed. The walls were always the hardest part.

Her middle ached again, but she pulled at another patch of silk from her mandibles even as it did. It was a pain she could ignore most of the time.

She could always build her cocoon first and worry about food after she had wings to look for it. But the journey here had been a turbulent one, and the circumstances before her egg had cruised through space had been even more so.

The next bit of silk she glued to the cocoon fell to the ground. Nearly as thin as air.

She was tired. There was no shame in admitting that. She was tired and hungry, her silk would only last so much if she didn’t feed soon, and then she would be too weak to leave to look for something to eat. That was no gamble she could make now.

When she looked for two little pairs of eyes, she found the Cosmos dancing at the mouth of the cave, doing their best to pull at the hanging vines to part the way for her, but the most they could do was lightly brush against a leaf.

Still, she trilled, and nudged the vines away, stepping over the little stream. Her faeries circling her and chirping down at the creatures in the water watching as she passed.

After a few minutes of walking and finding newer and newer sights that ranged from tall trees to smaller trees, she circled right back to the place she had started at. An open area, a grassy field filled with flowers and many creatures going to and from.

It's not that there wasn't any food. Everything was just so tall.

She could climb up those stems... they just didn't look like they could support her weight very well. But the pollen was such a tantalizing sight, so close but so far away, almost shining in the sunlight, little specks of golden flying in the air like tiny pieces of starlight.

Her faeries chirped. She shared a look with them, and moved forward to grab the stem. It only wobbled a little bit in her hold, and it was a little too smooth for her taste, her paw slid down a little too easily when she tested her weight again.

But it was right there. Maybe she could topple it over? It hurt to even consider that, and its roots looked very well set in the soil...

Another hesitant chirp close to her ears, and she cooed back. It would be alright, really. Nothing a few tries couldn’t fix.

One arm after the other, two legs to follow, and she started climbing.

For a moment he thought there was another strange glowing egg falling from the skies but landing on the island this time.

But there was no smoke, no strange smells, and sneaking closer between the foliage to follow the sound there were no fires. And for just that one moment that followed, he prepared himself for a fight he thought he had already left behind and across the oceans. But there was nothing that bad when he finally got close enough to see what that was all about.

It was just the thing lying on a crack in the ground, still on its back and staring at the skies like they had betrayed it. Legs kicking the air uselessly before it sighed and started twisting its body this way and that.

It stilled when he stepped into the clearing, those blue eyes zeroed in on him immediately—but in a blink, the rigidness in its body left and it seemed to sag against the ground. It trilled and waved its arms again. All of them.

It had gotten its feet back under itself by the time he reached it. It shook its head, shuffled its feet, and looked up at him with a lilting coo.

His furrowed brows must have been enough of a question for it to understand, because it turned its head up, and he followed its gaze to find the flower it had set its sights on.

That was ridiculously tall for it, and still towered a little over him.

The thing was still gazing dreamily up at the flower, and with a closer look at the stem it had apparently tried to climb on, he could see chewing marks and what looked like a desperate attempt to stop itself from falling that only left clear claw marks in its path. He didn't even know it had claws.

It cooed sadly, and turned its head towards another flower, just as tall, if not a little tilted. 

This was an island visited by winged beasts and long-necked beings, the plant life had adapted to receive them. Sometimes, when he caught himself leaning closer to a tree to hear the arguments being shouted in its branches, or turned in the sand to watch the forest behind the beach growing quieter as night fell, he thought it had grown with him, but it didn't. Its trees just grew smaller while he grew taller.

It was also an island he had grown to call home from time to time, whenever home was too loud, too full, just too much. It was peaceful, a safe haven where some passed by and continued with their path after, never staying for too long.

It was as safe as a place could be, but if he had known this thing didn't eat plants off the ground or meat he would have dropped it somewhere else.

His nostrils flared in a sigh, and he stepped forward to bite into the stem. It tasted disgustingly sour, like seaweed-infested water that somehow had lost all its oxygen, and it tasted even worse when he had to chew a bit to finally get a good hold on it.

He pulled, and the flower hit the ground with a racket that scared away winged creatures from their perches on the surrounding trees.

The thing had watched him quietly, then moved closer to softly touch the flower's petals, and that soft caress seemed to have more purpose than just an analysis of its next meal. The quiet sound it let out had him looking around for the next flower he could get instead since that one didn't seem good, but then it looked up, met his eyes, and its entire body shone almost as brightly as the ocean’s surface under the setting sun.

It trilled, and cooed, and bit into the pollen with a series of little chirps. He couldn't say that he didn’t see the appeal, really. It smelled sweet, it just tasted horrible.

He had never had a routine before, but that became a little bit of a ritual.

Two moons later he stepped into the clearing to find it shoving its face into another tall flower stem and digging a hole where its feet pushed against the ground. It seemed surprised to see him again, but his help also seemed more than welcome. 

Two moons after that it seemed just as happy to see him. And three more moons after that it was even waiting for him, sat beside its next flower, its body glowing in brighter tones of blue when he stepped into the clearing.

Suddenly, the island became less of an escape and more than just a chance to rest. After all, the time he would have spent actually resting was spent in those fields instead. But even if he left for the oceans with the same aches in his body and no sleep caught, he found he didn't mind.

Every new sunrise that he could afford to rest, he would go check on it, confirm that—yes, it wasn't dead yet, somehow—and bring down a flower for it to feed on, always aware of the weight of its gaze upon his fresh or healing wounds.

Wounds, he learned, were sometimes more of a warning than any sharp claws and tough armor could be. To see someone with claws ripping their skin, teeth dragging along their neck, holes pierced nearly through bone—that was more than enough to keep others away most of the time.

Where one might see an easier prey, another would see someone that hadn't been easy at all. He was used to the stares his wounds got, the many looks his scars caught. He welcomed them, really. He didn't mind the fear, the hesitance, the occasional measuring up.

Strangely enough, the thing's looks never seemed malicious, or particularly scared. It never looked scared, in fact.

When it startled at a sound from the forest, when it didn't hear him approaching because it was lost in its own thoughts, when it suddenly realized his tail was closer than it had last seen it at—it never looked afraid. It tensed up, the soft armor on its back bristled, it backed away. But it never cowered.

It was fun to see, even more because it seemed to watch him with just as much curiosity. And didn't turn away when he caught it looking.

That lack of fear manifested itself in a different way that one time.

One day, when it was feeling brave, it nudged his leg with its head and nodded at a path in the foliage. But before he could follow it a screech from the skies told him it was time to go.

He nodded at the flower already on the ground and turned around, but when it looked as crestfallen as a withered flower he stopped, and leaned forward as much as it would allow him to before it started getting fidgety. And his reassuring grumble must have translated well enough for it. Because when he turned and made for the water the chirp that followed him out didn't sound as sad or final.

He didn't press on what exactly it wanted when he came back two moons after that, and it took another two moons for it to feel brave again and stop him before he could bite the flower it had been resting on. He looked down as it nudged him, met the beckoning tilt of its head, then followed when it led him into the foliage.

To see that cave again and watch it urging him inside of it was not what he expected. But it didn't seem too disappointed when he didn't follow it in. He grumbled at it and turned around, focusing on the aches he had been ignoring since he reached the island—instead of how its trust made them almost fade to the back of his mind.

It didn't give up trying to lead him to its cave.

It cooed deeply every time he stopped just beyond the limit of the little stream in front of it. But when his aches eased up and the pounding in his head wasn't as painful, he would stay, and watch the fishes going about their day in the crystalline waters with it until he had to leave again. There could never be peace for long. 

The next day he would check on it, and it wouldn’t stop him when he pulled a flower down. It seemed sad each time, like it hurt it to even look at the fallen flower, but each and every new day, it didn’t have any new scars littering its body or any signs of having gotten itself into a fight. It was either extremely lucky or something about it kept others away. He didn’t like either of those options.

But he noticed the looks it gave him changed over time. The hesitance to get closer slowly disappeared.

The one time it decided to reach an arm out to touch him was interrupted by a call from the skies, urgent and insistent, but he thought about those claws extending to reach his leg on his path through the waves. It seemed to have a purpose in mind, however. It wasn't like a nudge from its head to grab his attention. The leg it tried to touch, he remembered sullenly, had a large gash a claw had torn through that ached and burned in the water he swam through.

Sometimes it shuffled its mandibles in a meaningful way, nodded to his wounds with an expectant air, but his lack of reaction always led it to sigh, or huff, or turn its attention back to a flower instead.

The lack of understanding each other had its obvious bad sides, and he was reminded of them when it tried to touch him again a few other moons later. Again, it had inched closer with careful feet, again it had reached for his leg still bleeding and aching. He didn't have time to bite back his growl, regretted it as soon as he saw the thing snatch its arm back like he had tried to bite it off.

When he promptly pulled down the brightest flower he could find, holding his breath against the sickeningly sweet smell it carried and closing his eyes against the pollen that rained down his face at the smallest tug, the thing stayed a flower's distance away from him. But it caressed the colorful petals with careful claws, and he realized he wouldn't have really minded if it had touched him with them.

The next days were spent gaining enough of its trust to step closer again. Each dull ache in his body only reminded him of its attempts to reach him. He missed the ease it had just started to show around him, but he stayed back, waited, watched it watch him with eyes that once again seemed more curious than on edge. It didn't take too long for it to brave closer and closer, day by day, flower by flower.

All it took was one bad day for that routine to change.

He could still feel teeth gnawing at his neck, claws desperately ripping at his chest, could still hear a final roar fading into a weak whine ring inside his head. His wounds still burned and ached—but the water of the ocean would keep it from growing infected. The swim back to the island had been enough to coat all of the tears and gashes.

Sleep sounded like a great idea, but he had one more thing to do before that. He had gone five moons without visiting the island again. Because just when he thought one problem was over another one crawled back into the light. The thing must have been starving by then.

With each step taken into the island his wounds burned like a flash of lightning, pain shooting through his entire chest and back and extending further. But it would be gone soon. 

He just needed to close his eyes, and when he opened them again, the pain would be gone.

The thing was just stepping into the clearing as well when he reached it. It chirped and waved its arms when it spotted him, but the sound nearly didn't reach his ears. The world sounded muffled, he thought sullenly as he held back a tired sigh, all the screeching and roaring had gotten to him in the end then. But his eyes still didn't miss the colors shining in the thing's body. Everything looked more vibrant. And the colors that almost burned into his eyes were the color of a sunrise. Something he did not want to think about now, not when he just wanted to sleep without thinking about the day that would follow when the sun rose.

Without much thought, he bit into the closest flower stem and pulled it down, the acrid taste not even registering to his burned tongue, and watched the thing come closer with eyes that didn't really see.

He was so tired. And that was too dangerous.

There was a constant droning sound slowly becoming clearer, broken by tiny chirps, and his eyes focused again to find the thing standing as tall as it could in front of him. He could feel its gaze heavy on his wounds, could see the arms that rose as if to touch them, and its eyes looked so sad it was almost unsettling. It managed to look like it was in more pain than him. But a quick look showed that, yes, it was still fine.

He grumbled at the flower and turned to leave, but he heard the thing chirp back before he was too far away to not hear it. He didn't have it in him to answer.

A few different moons later—moons that were spent sleeping pains off and nursing deep aches that plants couldn't reach—it tried to make him go inside its cave again.

It was sitting beside a flower when he stepped into the clearing, with some chew marks on the stem and a path carved into the dirt under it. It looked up with a start when it noticed him, mandibles drawing tight and claws rising. Its body flashed that bright color again, what he'd grown to associate with its sign of surprise, but it was only for a moment, before it settled into blue again. And just like that, the thing settled down too.

He made sure to wait until it started eating to leave this time. The echoes of its last call to him moons ago hadn't left him alone while he slept. But the thing didn't eat. 

It bit oh so gently into a petal and pulled at it, huffed and puffed, then stepped closer and pulled a little at the stem, then went back to a petal.

He allowed himself to stare at it blankly for just a moment more before he grunted and bit into the stem himself. 

It led the way through trees and bushes with a series of low chirps and disappeared into its cave. He stood there for a second, then laid the flower down close to the waterfall. It could drag it inside the cave, he had seen it do it before.

The thing peeked its head out and chirped at him, bit into a petal then pulled. Not enough to rip it off of course, or nearly enough to be convincing.

His nostrils flared, he stared into those bright blank eyes for a beat, but after the thing only cocked its head at his stare, he leaned down and gave the flower a nudge deeper inside the cave.

The thing chirped again, its eyes glowing brighter for a moment, but it only leaned back and watched him. He gave it another nudge, and another, and another until the thing seemed satisfied. Until he nudged it deeper in, and the waterfall was falling right into his eyes. 

Through the rushing of water against his head, he heard a lilting trill. The thing looked too happy with itself when he blinked the water from his eyes, and sidestepped the petals to stand beside a tall wall of... something. Round, and dense, and pale... it looked like a long and muddled spider's web. Had it found itself another type of meal, then? 

The thing chirped lowly in its chest, then turned back to him with a tilt of its head towards the ball of webs. Another quiet chirp when the silence stretched for too long. 

He grumbled appreciatively. That was a very... well-rounded ball of webs. Very good. He had never seen one like this before without the accompanying reek of decaying corpses. 

The thing would have blinded him if its body had glowed any brighter.

She stared at the mouth of the cave, the rushing water in the tiny waterfall, the colors it painted the cave in from the setting sun's light.

If she concentrated enough she could almost still hear the quiet grumbling from the creature's chest, the sound it made before pulling itself away from the cave and walking away. That was always its goodbye to her; an incline of its head and that nosily sound.

She turned to the cocoon with a tired tilt of her head. The horrid thing she had hurried to get ready as soon as possible and visibly suffered for it. It lacked the elegant lines she always loved carving into its walls, lacked the thinner walls where she could catch a glimpse of the outside when she was ready. It hurt her eyes to look at it, really. No wonder the Cosmos always looked so drab to be in the cave, let alone anywhere close to it.

And yet, when the creature had made another little sound—one she hadn't heard yet, and she could easily recall the other six different sounds it let out around her—it made her feel a little better about it. Even if its eyes looked a little lost when staring at the cocoon, if it was because of how horrible it was or if it had never seen one before didn't matter. It had seen it, that was one thing dealt with. Now she could fully focus on it until it was finally done and never look at those messy walls again.

She took a deep breath and walked back to her cocoon, running her claws on its side and sighing at the wobbliness that met her. Now, it could look ugly, but it couldn't be so soft and delicate to the point of ripping. The last time she had fallen out of her cocoon before she was ready was not a time she wanted to remember.

She pulled silk from her mandibles, leaning closer to thread patterns on the wall and keeping an eye on the two fairies twirling about. They had been very playful lately, always eager to leave and explore more of the island, and always dancing around each other whenever they had to go back to the cocoon. But one thing pulled her thoughts away from the happy sight.

The creature didn't look hurt today, she could recall. It had even humored her, helped her carry the flower back here. 

She really thought that had been its last string of patience before, that it had refused her offers to heal it one last time and had enough. It looked exhausted, the bite marks on its neck so violent and vicious she could almost feel the pain herself. But it had once again turned around and walked away before she could do much more than stare, and not before giving her a long look too. Silly creature, checking her for wounds when the gaping tear on its neck was right there.

Maybe it wanted nothing to do with her. A connection to a Guardian had its good and bad sides, after all. But to not wish for an alliance and still help her? That was strange.

Yet it did always return with its wounds healed, didn't it? And with the scent of plants and salt lingering on its scales. So maybe it already had someone to care for its wounds in the lands beyond the endless waters, no reason to get tied to another alliance.

So why help her then?

Chapter Text

Two suns he spent licking his wounds and sleeping insistent pains off.

Two suns were enough to make the sight of the island on the horizon be almost as bright as the sun setting behind its silhouette. That one night he didn't get a visit from the thing while he rested at the beach, and he waited, focused on the sounds of the forest for any quiet cooing. He had waited, and rested, until the skies started brightening and he dove into the waves again with a last look towards the trees.

Two suns and two moons later he didn't find the thing in the fields, but his growl got an answering trill from inside its cave. The stem of that last flower was still sticking out of the cave mouth, but it was easy to sidestep it and peek behind the little waterfall curtain.

Half of the pollen was gone, but that didn't capture his attention. The ball of webs did, and the thing's head peeking from halfway inside of it.

It lifted its head to coo at him, and seemed to try to lift an arm too, but it was too deep in the web ball to do it. With a small shrug, it went back to adding more webs around itself, a low tune coming from deep within its chest while it worked, and he didn't even realize he had laid his head down on the cold stone and watched its meticulous and repetitive moves for what must have been a long time. He wasn't even that tired, but maybe it was just the way its low tunes reverberated against the cave walls like he was deep in the oceans that lulled him into such a state.

When he came back to himself the confusion was still there, but it was even bigger when just the thing's eye shone from a hole it had left at the top of the ball. It cooed at him, and he grumbled back, expecting an answer he knew he wouldn't get, or maybe simply wouldn't understand.

The answering coo he received was strangely comforting, a lilting sound that reverberated against the cave walls. Though its meaning was still lost to him.

Before it closed itself off to the world it gave him one last chirp, and the cave fell silent, with only his breathing filling the darkness.

Had it... reached the end of its life? He had come to realize it looked like some much smaller creatures he saw flying and lounging around, and those were terribly short-lived. Was it like them? Was that why it wanted him to be there?

His breathing hitched, and for that one moment the dark was even lonelier than before.

Until the ball of webs started to glow.

It hummed too, chattering sounds came from deep within it, and that same thrumming beat reached his ears. Beat, after beat.

He stayed, and watched, and listened, until a loud roar too loud to miss reached him as well. The thing was still glowing when he pulled himself out of the cave, and the waterfall curtain in front of it glowed along with it.

He would come back when he could. He just hoped it would need more flowers by then.

The inside of the cocoon was a welcomed darkness. A silence filled only by herself, a void broken only by her own light.

In front of her eyes, her faeries floated around each other, their songs growing quieter and quieter and turning instead into a lullaby. They had abandoned their chatter a little ago, but their words still rang true.

Kind, they had chirped amongst each other, so kind. And it was true. 

She was glad it had played along, she didn't know if it would understand what was to come had it not seen her entering her cocoon. The image of it quietly waiting for her in the grassy fields had brought a feeling too unpleasant to her chest, enough to force her to pause in her work.

Something told her it was still outside. Something told her the weight of its gaze was on the cocoon still. It was strange how much she didn’t mind. How much it didn’t unnerve her.

But now the darkness was calling to her, and she had missed this, the feeling of weightlessness. She would feel it again soon, she just needed to close her eyes, and when she opened them again...

Her faeries sang, the darkness consumed, until she and the Cosmos were as one once more. From dust stars were born, and transformation was slow, but all things became and nothing was ever wasted.

Maybe those long gone would be part of her wings, the clawed hooks that kept her secure, or the carapace that armored her body.

With a last lingering low croon, she slumbered.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The rumble of thunder, a flash of lighting, the rattle of stones. A wail. A sacrifice. Pointless and worthless. 

There was no stopping it. No stopping them.

She shoved her head between her claws and flattened her soaked antennae against her head, but that did nothing to stop the need to move, to run, to fight. Pointless, all of it. Useless.

The ball stirred in its rook it nested in. It unfurled and spread its tendrils through her mind. Worry, urgency, fear.

Her faeries chirped, they sang and danced in front of her eyes, but their songs were shaky, their moves were stiff. She crooned, and they fluttered closer to rest against her soaped cheeks instead, nuzzling into her fur with meek chirps. It wasn't fair, they shouldn't try to comfort her when she couldn't comfort them back.

Why did this planet need to have thunderstorms? And such severe ones at that? This torment had started so long ago, so long since the skies had darkened and the clouds had covered a sun that had just begun rising. It looked like it was never going to stop.

Just a little earlier she had been practicing again, attempting swifter and tighter turns in the air, and the creature had been content to lay in the sand and watch her as always. 

It had been more vocal, each time she soared back up just an inch away from touching the water it would grumble, its tail would thump against the sand, or it would snap its jaw closed again just as she turned to it for its verdict.

But it looked tired today, its breathing was louder than usual, and its eyes would droop and stay closed for a few moments until it opened them again with a start. But as always it refused sleep, and simply sighed each time she trilled at it and nodded towards the ocean. 

Maybe there was something in the waters keeping it away, or maybe it just wanted company. She was happy to oblige.

But her good humor had dissipated as soon as her antennae picked up the electricity charges in the air, and this was the first time she had been the one to bid her guide goodbye first before she hurried to hide away at her cave. 

Like a youngling, scared of loud sounds and strong winds.

The creature had seemed so confused, its answering grumble cut short and fading into the distance as the foliage muffled everything beyond it, and when she knew, she was already standing inside the cave. Hoping it would help in some way, in any way.

But the winds were pushing all the water from the waterfall inside the cave, and she could only go so far back without having her wings cramped against her legs or digging into the cold stone.

Each time she shook herself dry, a particularly mean breeze would soak her again. But the worst thing was not the rain, or its accomplice, the wind. The worst thing was the thunder, the lightning.

Each strike like a sentence, each deep rumble a growl, each flash of white like searing hot pain coursing through her veins.

She covered her face, shielded herself and her faeries from everything and willed herself to fade into sleep, or into any semblance of unconsciousness she could reach. 

The Cosmos understood her silent plea.

Their songs picked up in pace again, lilting melodies right against her ears bouncing around her head, their slow tempo interrupted by another flash of lightning, before slowing down even more into an interlude. They danced in front of her eyes, and bit by bit, their forms wavered between three to four twirling shapes of each swaying fairy.

The ground trembled under her, but she wasn't in her body anymore. 

The world was muted, its colors, its sounds, its sensations. There was only that lullaby lulling her into nothingness, and she allowed it to sway her, to make her drift into a middle ground of peace.

Another terrible rumble of thunder that shook the cave walls, too much like a low growl, the flash of lightning a flash of sharp teeth, cruel sharp eyes, bloodied golden scales and gaping maws glowing to—

She pushed herself deeper into the song, pushed away any memories, any irrational thought. She shouldn't do this, she knew it was dangerous, it would be too easy to end up drifting forever. But she couldn't think about this, not now.

Maybe never.

Everything was slow and hazy while she moved to shove her face into the cave floor. But it still did nothing, if anything it made each rumble of thunder reverberate right inside her mind, to crash in horrible dissonance with each harrowing note of the lullaby.

She wished she had eyelids to shut out the world around her, a world she had grown to love so much. Why, why did it need to have thunderstorms? Sure, it was a harsh planet, as violent as it was generous, and its storms were just as fierce—she often saw the heavy clouds cruising in the distance, moving towards the land just beyond the horizon. It was a matter of time before the first storm hit the island, her wishful thinking had been for nothing in the end.

The next rumble of thunder did not come from the skies. It was right outside the cave mouth.

Shapes blended in front of her eyes, but she slowly lifted her head.

The next flash of lighting evidenced a large silhouette. Looming. Moving through the thin waterfall. Slowly, stalking, hunting, eyes glowing golden, electricity crackling—

She was on her feet before she had even comprehended what was happening, the Cosmos' songs clipping into a stuttering stop with each moment it took to move and— 

Her claws sank into the stone of the cave floor with a loud crack just before they could slice at the creature's face.

Thunder rumbled against the cave walls, water dripped down the creature's chin. She tried to move her antennae, but they were soaked through and glued to her head.

It stared at the claw she struggled to pull out of the stone, slowly brought its eyes up to meet hers, but she turned her head away before she could see the look on its face. She cooed, and prayed it would understand her apology.

The cave was big, very big, but it still felt crowded when the creature decided to crawl its way inside to lay down next to her. Not quite touching her, but its presence alone felt like a heavy warm blanket she wanted to brush off of herself. 

But she wouldn't. She tucked her wings closer and kept her eyes down, staring at the claws that had almost wounded it.

Why did it always take those final steps when she wasn't ready to leap? Any other day she would have jumped from joy to finally share her cave with it, show to it all the tiny lives sharing their homes with her, but she wouldn't be a good hostess now. When each flash of white carried with itself a flash of death and pain behind her eyes.

She pulled at her antennae and shook them dry again, knowing she would be soaked again in less than a blink. But after a moment no water hit her fur, no wind chilled her body, and the next flash of white did not reach her eyes.

Chancing a glance up, she saw scales. Looking beyond she found glassy crests. And following the puff of air that hit the side of her face, she met eyes. Golden and glowing—but kind. Curious too, and confused, but... kind.

She hesitantly trilled, and the creature easily grumbled back. The sound filled the cave and shook the stone under them, but that didn't bother her. It filled her chest, made her antennae tingle with its proximity, but it carried none of the danger the sounds that came from outside did.

She rested her head between her arms again, and when she ruffled her wings, they hit something that hadn't been there before. She knew, even without having to look back, that the creature's tail easily curled around them both.

Thunder rumbled outside, but the sound did not reach them.

The perks of having eyes like hers were that no one could ever know where she was looking at. That was useful in a fight, useful in tense confrontations, useful in many situations where danger could think she was not aware of it. 

This was not any of those situations, but something told her that the creature didn’t know subtlety, and it would be seeking her eyes even if her own were wide blown and staring back at it.

She waited for the shimmering guilt in her chest to settle down before lifting her head from her arms. 

It watched her with the same calm look she had grown to expect, and when she tilted her head, the creature did the same. Its eyes scrunched closed when she chirped, and then went right back to jumping from one of her eyes to the other. Golden and hazel twisting and blending, the light of her own eyes meeting its and slightly illuminating the space between them.

The Cosmos floated to circle it, trilling and cooing at its unsuspecting face.

But there was something in there, other than the tiny crease in its brows and the jumping tip of its tail thumping against her legs. Something that didn’t need to be spoken to be known, something that didn't take a peek into someone's mind to be found.

It wasn’t just curiosity shining in those eyes, it was... concern . 

For her.

The curiosity she had always seen in its eyes ever since she escaped her egg on that beach was more than just curiosity, more than a look you give to a strange new rock you stumbled into. It was a need to understand, to comprehend.

And if that look didn't make the feeling in her chest worse.

Stars, she just wanted to talk.

She had so much to tell, wanted to listen to everything it had to tell too. She needed to listen to what it had to share, she could only talk so much to herself before those conversations started going in circles. And such unpleasant circles at that, spirals even.

What did it do outside the island? What were the oceans like? What did it do on that large land not so far away from here? Who kept hurting it? Did it even want to talk to her?

She had always had a patient ear to listen to her before, a fuzzy head to lean into her chest and talk back, a humming egg to listen to. What good would it do to sing if it would only hurt when no one joined that song?

Now her words faded into empty space or the cold, jagged walls of her cave. 

Her faeries did their best to comfort her, and she could always confide in them. But it wasn’t the same, with this, with what they all went through, it wasn’t the same. Their memories were the same, the feelings those memories brought were the same—but not what they needed.

The creature watched her silently, eyes seeming to track each conflicting thought. And she wouldn’t save words to say how kind it was being, how patient, how calm. Shielding her away from a storm and the cold water. Why did it stay here, when it could sleep the storms off under the ocean instead?

Maybe it didn't mind it as much as her. It most probably didn't. But she couldn't see any pity or disdain in its eyes.

When the next flash of lightning came, its tail only curled tighter around her, brushing against her legs and staying there. Just close enough to know it was there, but not quite touching.

If... If she asked—if she tried to allow them that chance to talk... It wouldn’t... bite her, would it? Oh, it had been so long since she had last done this.

It could be jarring, the first time you heard words in your head that weren’t yours and saw things your mind would never even know to make up. A poor creature millennia ago had gone into shock when she had tried. It had recovered later and asked her without mincing words to not do it again. But it had been necessary then, for both of their sakes. And that was a good time in her life, she was fully in control, her mind was stable and secure.

Would it be worth it to try now, and scare it away? Would it think she had tried to hurt it? Again? 

It was still silent, but its eyes had drifted to follow the colorful little creatures floating around them. It didn't know, but one of her fairies was dancing among the other flickering lights of the cave, its little chirps crooning a melody.

Her other fairy sat at the creature’s snout, studying its peaceful face with low coos, and slowly turned its body to glance at her. 

A single tilt of its tiny fuzzy head—and she sighed.

Maybe she could do something different. Just close enough. Not pushing into its mind, but just brushing its thoughts. Just... just sharing.

She lifted her claws very carefully and the creature’s eyes immediately turned to her. They watched her, watched her slow movements, and watched her bring one arm closer. Still calm.

It didn’t growl, or hiss, or move away when she slowly brought that claw closer to its face. Its eyes narrowed when she stopped just an inch away from its forehead, in the space between its eyes, they went cross-eyed to follow it, then focused on her own eyes again.

She held its gaze, and touched its forehead.

Immediately she felt the shiver that coursed through its body, from the tip of its tail startling against her leg, the rumble that echoed in the cave, the tiny push against her claw—but not to push her away. Just a scare. The first contact was always a surprise.

She kept at it, stabilized their connection when it wavered at a quick flash of thunder, pushed through the wall of feelings muddling the way. Her own restlessness, an unsure worry, fear, regret, betrayal. She didn't know which feelings were her own anymore. But her arm was still attached to her body, so she pushed through and through—

And found stillness. Like flying through a storm to reach the skies above those heavy clouds. Like a standoff. Waiting for the other's move before you took action.

She carefully offered her first vision. Her first memory. The one she always remembered first. The type she always showed when she had the luxury of taking her time with first contacts, enough to ease them into the feeling of it all.

A beautiful grassy field filled with crystal clear lakes. 

The water soft and warm to her claws, the grass perfect to lay on, the almost careful brush of each blade under her wings as she spread them onto the ground. The quiet hum of large crystals nearly reaching the skies building off each other, in many colors, shapes, formations, clusters.

The peace of that sight, the calm of belonging. 

The stillness... softened. A clouded darkness parted for a tiny ray of light to peek in. Careful. Hesitant. Curious.

She embraced that curiosity she had missed, almost clung to it, and offered it another sight. It was different to see it like this. To feel it like this. It was encompassing. It was mutual.

Others like her dashing through the skies, different fur, different wings, so many colors. Songs, conversations, greetings. 

An excited call from the distance. A flap of wings, the quiet thump of claws meeting the soft grass. The lazy turn of her body as she looked for who called. Soft green eyes, a tilted head, a snarky greeting followed by a warm nuzzle.

Home. Safe. Warm.

The creature was still silent. If she concentrated the howling wind could still reach her, but she still couldn't hear a growl. Couldn't feel it pulling itself away,  pushing her away—it wasn't doing anything. Somehow, that was worse than being slapped and chased away.

She inched closer to its mind, sought any sort of reaction from it. Did it want her to stop? Was this too uncomfortable? Were the sights boring?

This is home, she tried to show it. This is safe. I think of this when I need that. Let me share it with you. Do you like it? I miss it. It's beautiful, isn't it?

Curious. Cautious. That hesitance still there, but... Hopeful. Why did this feel like a mistake? A misstep? She did not mean to... To hurt or offend or —

Those notes of betrayal sang against her, ruining the careful tune she had set between them in a horrible dissonance. Pushing her away but at the same time drawing her closer.

Let me understand , she urged with feelings. Show me what I've done so I may apologize, she invited, opened her own mind to it, let her walls fall beyond what she had ever allowed before. She had nothing to hide. Never had. It could see that. Please, see that.

It did not prod. Probably didn't know how to yet. But it seemed to understand her intent, if the softening of those hard edges brushing against her told her anything.

Maybe they should try again? From the start, now that the mistrust in its mind had lessened?

She reached for that memory again. A comfort, a calming song, a soothing balm. Just what they needed now.

A beautiful grassy field filled with crystal clear lakes—

A thunderous shake. A bright flash of light.

She shook her head, drew her mandibles tight, focused on their connection.

A—A beautiful grassy field filled with crystal clear lakes... painted red and fiery. The grass dry and coarse against her wings as she fell into the ground. Those ponds dark and glinting. Glistening. Evaporating.

No. No, no.

A gorgeous sky, clear save for the large and soft clouds in the distance. The stars shining even through the daylit sky—a loud roar, a bright flash, electricity coursing—

Confusion. Distress. Her own? She couldn't—she couldn't see. Too dark. Too—

A dodge. A shout. A crater where the lightning struck where she had just been. Heavy clouds, a bright red sky. Meteors crashing, meteors that had followed him, meteors that were not meteors. But corpses still attached to his gravity.

The storm. Unending, looming, dark .

Pain and death, screams and roars. Echoing, a pain shared. A flash of light, a shape amongst clouds, bright eyes and glowing maws. 

Too quick to move, too weak to fight.

Guardians fell from the skies like meteorites, their wings burning, their bodies scorched—and a roar, shattering the air and crashing the bounds between the clouds and space—pierced her mind.

Its words mocking. Their minds seeking.

Cries. Around her. Her own. Seeking and searching for the sight of green, of blue, of white.  But meeting only dark and red. They would not win. It was no use.

Too slow, too dark.

With a last effort that ripped and tore her wings from her back, her egg shot away into the endless darkness of the cosmos, becoming nothing but a background light in its sea of stars and rocks.

Fear, cold and searing. Paralyzing.

She fell, her body at the mercy of the skies as a distant song bid the winds to carry her. And gently turning her around to stare at the raging storm above, they did so, and granted her the chance to see death. 

Her Golden Death, clad in thunder and blood, shadowing her descent and blocking any sights other than itself with its wings —

She lifted her trembling claw away from the creature's brow. Watched its eyes flutter open. Her faeries hovered close, their only sounds the soft flutter of their wings.

Forgive me, she wanted to say. But they had not reached that part of the connection yet. What use would it be now?

Its breathing was quickened, each flare of its nostrils fanning her fur in puffs of air, and its eyes — blown wide with a fear that wasn't its own — slowly eased back into their familiar shape.

Thunder rumbled outside, but she focused on the creature's eyes when the next flash of white came.

The moments stretched, another beat, and another, and the creature had yet to lunge at her, or get up to leave and never come back. It would be easy to end her quickly when they laid this close, just a slap of its tail and it would be over. Forever this time, she had not laid an egg yet.

If before there was hesitance and mistrust in its mind, now that trust was broken, ripped to pieces. It had chosen to trust her, and what had she done? Showed it memories she would keep away even from herself, let alone share it with someone like it. Who had been nothing but kind and understanding. She was not ready. She knew she was not ready, but she still did it anyway. Selfishness, all because of a need to be heard and seen.

But the creature did not snarl, its eyes did not harden. 

It slowly calmed its breathing, and the look in its eyes wasn't resentment or suspicion.

That was sympathy and... understanding.

Understanding?

She leaned closer and cocked her head with a low chirp. The creature watched her do so, its bright eyes still so dark, then grumbled, slowly, quietly, a sound that came from deep within its chest. 

She felt it inside her own, that sound, that feeling. Felt none of the fear the rumbling still echoing in her mind brought with itself.

The creature's eyes were on her claw before she had even lifted it again. She saw a quick flash of something in the dart of its eyes, so quick she might have missed it if they were just a little further away from each other—but then it dipped its chin, and didn't seem apprehensive anymore when she inched closer to softly touch its forehead. Cautious, wary too, but she could see no fear.

Only willingness. For what?

A soft tap against its scales, the flutter of its eyes, and she looked at what it was thinking of. At what it was remembering.

The transition was muddier, chaotic, and disorganized. There was no clarity or a practiced mind, just that willingness to have something to show and—and it was willing. It wanted to show her something. It wanted to share something with her too.

There was only a hazy memory and everything that came with it.

Fear. A roar. A plea.

And a horrible soul-crushing feeling, tearing at her insides and pulling.

He couldn't do anything to help, no matter how much he fought, how much he pulled at an arm or a leg, he only fell back on the grass with fur in his aching teeth. His teeth weren't sharp enough, his jaw wasn't strong enough. He was paid no mind, simply kicked off and tossed aside.

No matter how much he tried, he was still too small, too slow, too weak, too—

Another roar, and it wasn't his.

There was blood, blood on the ground, blood on the grass and the water, blood on his scales and his claws and his teeth. He blinked the blood away from his eyes and stared at the fallen body in front of him. Too wounded, too bloodied, too—

Too still.

Through a haze, he heard thundering steps, a growl, and saw a hand, pulling at the body and freeing a bloodied arm from deep within its chest. 

The body fell back down. Jaw slack, arms limp.

His eyes moved up, and up, and up until they met with the scarred face towering over him. That face sneered, and its bruised lips pulled back to reveal bloodied teeth. 

Not its blood.

It growled, and an answering growl came from behind it.

The Ape roared, and it was too loud, everything was too bright—but he still saw the creature behind the ape surge forward and rush towards him with a single beat of its wings.

Soulless red eyes, thirsting for more spilled blood of his kind now that it had had a taste. But there were no more left. What else did they even want —

He blinked, and he was already diving into the water, pulling his tail closer just in time to feel a nip at his scales. He swam until his entire body cramped, he sank, deeper and deeper, faded into the dark and the silence.

And the currents took pity on him. 

They washed the blood away, they cleaned his wounds, they carried him with themselves deeper and deeper—away, away from death, away from what he had failed to do, what he had failed to learn, who he had failed to protect.

Away from mother.

She pulled her claw back and let it fall on the floor, just as the memory shifted into something warmer, the beginnings of another memory. A warm embrace, a kind touch, kind eyes, and kind assurances.

But she would not see, it wasn't her right. It had already shared so much. He had already shared so much.

The creature took longer to open his eyes, but when he did, they were blown wide again. 

She leaned closer, and waited, while he slowly calmed his breathing and closed his eyes with a shudder. And after a few quiet moments, he opened them again with a last sigh. Nostrils flaring, eyelids fluttering.

There was no need to fill a silence so heavy. So she did as he had done and waited, because she understood. She knew that feeling too. Would it see the understanding in her eyes like she had seen in his? Was that why it chose to share with her?

Her faeries cooed and fluttered over the creature's head, tiny clawed wings petting his scales. And she couldn't stand to see the harrowed look in his eyes, that haunted guilty shadow looming over him. 

Stars , he did not deserve to carry such a weight. He was so little, and he had tried so hard.

She chirped and brought her arm up again, and the creature only watched with tired eyes. He didn't dip his chin, or draw away from her touch, and so she held the side of his head with one arm, and with the other tapped his forehead.

The creature shuddered again, but she did not show him any pain, or fear, or guilt. 

She showed him the sight of a starlit sky as clear as if you were swimming amongst the starlight itself. She showed him the weightlessness of flying, and letting yourself go, knowing the winds would carry you safely in their hold. She showered him with the warmth of a sun's embrace, unfiltered by clouds or skies.

The peace of a song, the softness of a hug, the calm of the silent dark.

The creature took it all in, confusion overriding awe and being overridden by more questions. But the weight in his mind lightened, and that's what she wanted.

He listened closely to the song she played, he watched the scenes she painted, the strings she wove and plucked into a melody he could see and hear and feel.

Her vision of a star's cradle was seamlessly replaced by an ocean and a lively silence instead of a void, and through that same dense darkness, tiny bright spots rained and poured down towards the ocean floors to join their deep sands. Not stars, but tiny beings.

There was none of that early hesitance, none of that wariness. Only soft memories, soft thoughts, soft feelings.

He showed her the weightlessness of water, the peace of its depths.

He showed her creatures dancing and singing, in large pods that met and merged and circled him to invite him to join.

The relief of feeling sand under his feet again after so long in the dark, the bliss of sunlight on his scales, the gentle caress of the currents against his body, the chance to swim again without the urge to escape.

A warm embrace, warm fur, warm greetings. Safe. Home.

It just felt right, to pluck each string in a crescendo, to chirp quietly at the melody he played after hers. Warmth complemented by warmth, happiness, and comfort. She didn't think, she only felt, and it felt right to slip.

It was a single string that she plucked a little earlier that caused a lilting harmony, and she could only still herself when their strings tied themselves together into a knot that slowly smoothed itself again into a web. And then, and only then, did she realize what had happened.

Oh, that was horribly forward of her, wasn't it?

The creature opened his eyes and blinked at her, and her faeries stared at them both with wide eyes too large for their heads.

She stopped herself before she could shut her mind away from the creature’s. It wouldn't be fair, not when all the confusion from his mind was still freely radiating into hers.

It really was now or never, they had already shared memories, to talk would be a step compared to a leap, right? Though she most certainly could have asked before she dragged him into that leap. Oh, that was a recipe for disaster from the start. She knew she wasn't ready yet. How could she just slip into doing something like this—

The Cosmos weren’t being of any help now.

Languages, such simple things, so easy to understand when you could instill the meaning of your words in someone's mind. It would be alright, he had reacted very well so far. They were sharing memories just now, surely he wouldn't— hopefully he wouldn't—

She still felt bad when he flinched.

"I am terribly sorry—"

His head shot up from the cave floor with a start. "What."

"I didn't mean for this to happen, I swear!” The cave lit up in tones of yellow, and she ruffled her wings to dim their glow. “I would have warned you or asked you for permission first, of course, or—"

"You are in my head."

Her mind fell silent, while his own slowly quieted down and held only those simple words, reverberating against each other with confusion and surprise.

"I—yes.” He still wasn’t growling, his teeth were still very much away from her neck. “And you... have been in mine. For the last couple moments."

"No, no." He shook his head, just a quick lean from side to side. "You are talking to me, in my head. We are talking." 

"We are. I hear you."

A small nudge, barely perceptible in the corners of her mind, and she pushed back just as softly. The creature's eyelids fluttered.

“We are... linked, this is how we spoke with each other, my kind. With our minds. It is more efficient, I think.”

She almost cut their connection when the beginnings of a headache started forming in the back of her mind, but stopped herself. His thoughts were quick, muddled, and overrode each other too quickly for her to follow. Each phrase he managed to push to the front of his other thoughts was silenced by three others.

“Could you try to calm your thoughts?” She reached with a claw to press at his snout. “I am having trouble following—”

"How do I?—is this—your kind?—What is—beautiful eyes—no—"

Water dripped somewhere in the back of the cave. The creature's eyes slowly widened while the silence between them stretched.

"Why, thank you.” She reached forward to give him a little tap again. If his eyes widened more they would pop out of his head. “You have beautiful eyes too."

"You heard?—I did not mean to tell—to show? I—"

His thoughts stuttered into a wall of muddled memories in his effort to clear his mind, and a curious slowly rotating tailed creature she saw in the streams close to the cave was the only thing she could grasp from his thoughts.

She pitied the poor dear. Communicating with your train of thought took some getting used to.

Her faeries snickered above the creature's head, and she pulled her arm back and chirped into her claw while he was busy studying the moss patterns on the floor. "We can work on that, no worries."

That small reassurance seemed to at least mean something to him, judging by the softening of the heavy draw of his brow, but the moss was still the most interesting sight in the cave to him. The Cosmos still chirped back and forth to each other. 

She blew them away with a quick huff, and chirped at the creature when he lifted his head at the sound. The Cosmos seemed more smug than anything.

“You need only push a thought to the front of your mind, and I will hear it.” She tapped his muzzle again, and his snout scrunched at the touch. She nudged his mind with lightness, brushing against the embarrassment clouding most of his thoughts. “You already know how to silence a thought, that is impressive, I have never seen this technique before.”

The creature didn't try to shut her away, she could still see it all, feel it all, and he was mostly confused. But that confusion became targeted, and a question formed at the forefront of his mind. 

He learned quickly.

“What—” The word reverberated between them, and when he closed his eyes, his next thoughts were much clearer. “Who was that? In your memory?”

Something in her chest squeezed, but she asked, "In the good one or the... bad one?"

His brows gained a new weight, and with the help of the feeling brushing against her thoughts she could recognize the gesture as apologetic. "The bad one," he grumbled. "Something... Something tells me that one would be easier to talk about."

Shoving down the tight squeeze of her chest, she could only silently agree.

She rested her head between her arms and made space for her faeries to quietly settle on her claws with lowered heads. She wanted to talk. She got that chance to do it now. It didn't make it any easier to see the Cosmos leaning into each other with tired eyes.

“A demon I hope I never meet again.” She ruffled her wings and sighed. They weren’t burning. “He was insatiable, and... and as far as we knew... just—”

She shook her head. The tilt of his head was more understanding than she knew such a small thing could be, even as his brows creased.

"Not good news," she sent him instead. "Never."

The creature opened his eyes, tilting his head back. “Insatiable for what?”

“Power, destruction, death, maybe none of those. I try not to think about it,” Her faeries nuzzled closer to each other with low coos, their gazes holding hers. Void black, brightened by a flash of cloudy white before settling back into darkness. “The last of our kind that tried to peer into his mind went mad.” 

There was a surge of thoughts and feelings that were just quick enough to be muffled by his own mind before she could understand, but his thoughts turned somewhere else, so she pulled away enough to give him a sense of privacy, stilling her own mind before her curiosity got the best of her. 

She wouldn’t ask. She shouldn't, just like he didn't. Just remembering such a thing had been enough to have him nearly shut down. But maybe with time she could know more about his past. Maybe another day, when they hadn't just shared such vivid fears then such sweet comforts. For now, the sound of his calm breathing was filling the cave, and she hadn’t caught another flash of lightning in a while.

Thunder rumbled outside, but it was distant, the worst of the storm had passed. And just as that thought crossed her mind, her entire body seemed to gain a new weight.

Stars, she was exhausted.

“What is your name?”

She looked up from the point on the floor she had been staring at. The creature blinked, and his twitching tail brushed against her legs. 

“Mothra.” His tail stilled, and his wandering eyes focused back on hers. “What should I call you?”

His answer took only a little longer to appear in her mind. And when it did, she could almost hear the gruff growl mouthing the words that reached her, “Godzilla.”

"Sweet to meet you." She dipped her chin, and watched him watch her do so with a small tilt of his head. “A name to my guardian, at last.”

She lost his eyes again, to the flickering little beings floating about this time—the Cosmos once again among them, twirling around each other now—so she rested her head on one of her arms to watch him get lost in those lights too. Godzilla, what a name. It fit him.

It seemed so long ago since she had first clawed her way out of her egg to meet those curious golden eyes.

She still remembered that horrible feeling in her chest, that coldness in her belly. It was not a good sight to find right after... everything. But those golden eyes soon lost that darkened shadow, especially when he had leaned down and closer to get a good look at her. She too got a good look at how kind golden could be again.

It seemed like so long ago since he had first followed her deeper and deeper into a forest she had almost no time to learn about. Growling at anything that looked at her the wrong way, helping her feed herself, standing by, watching her gesture and point at anything she thought he would like to see from his own world—and yet he would always humor her.

And he would always come back.

Just when she thought it would be the last time she had see him, in the next sunset, or the next, she would step into that clearing, and she would only need to wait a little before she heard his steps again.

His nostrils flared, and his eyes traced a brave little winged being twirling in the air between them. He grumbled deep in his throat as his words reached her, “It was the right thing to do.”

"It was." She chirped when that little being settled on her arm. If its crystal thin wings were only a little wider it would almost look like her. “I am still thankful.”

He watched the little being, watched her watch him for a quiet moment, then dipped his chin and closed his eyes.

A sigh left her before she could hold it back, but she breathed in after, tilting her head and flexing her neck. The Cosmos danced closer to lay on her claws again, their tiny claws clinging to her while they hung upside down and chirped up at her. The rain still poured outside, and the little waterfall at the mouth of the cave rushed with more water than ever before. She would need to check on the little creatures by the stream later, such a mess was sure to disturb their homes.

She did try to steer her mind towards other matters, but her thoughts still got the best of her. That silly need to try to comfort him like she had been. But by the heavens, it was always easier to comfort larvae and eggs.

Now, lying next to someone who shared her thoughts, shared her feelings, was also haunted by maddened eyes and bloodied maws — suddenly it was hard . Curse her hypocrisy. She did not know how to comfort herself, how would she comfort someone else?

"It—" She began before she could think better of it. "What you... what you showed me. It—"

An eye opened, the faintest brush of something soft reached her mind.

She leaned closer, kept her words gentle. "What was that? Those creatures in your memories?"

Such maddened eyes were difficult to forget, the bloodied maws parting to form death-drunk sneers. She would know. But whatever that had been it was just... vicious. The flashes his memory revealed were dark, violent, rageful. That was a killing with intent. With purpose.

But a young mind is also an easily scarred one, even if she did not doubt such horrid visions weren't always the makings of nightmares, a youngling's memories could still blur memories until they are changed to match the fear they had felt. Young larvae were always haunted, the First Born always needed help to calm their mind.

It was never pleasant to see which ways each mind painted the same nightmare. Which way they met the same death, even if they had not died it yet, they always knew it was coming one day. In such rare cases, creativity was a curse.

But if those memories were not corrupted by a disturbed mind—if such beasts were still walking around in this world—

Were they the ones hurting Godzilla whenever he ventured into the oceans? Were they still roaming in that distant land?

Maybe a visit to that land again was in order, then. Guide or not.

His eyes still focused somewhere under her head, but that fragile thing she had felt was now gone. It was hardened now, a scar still tender and hurting. But healed, even if it still bled when pushed too far.

She did not want to push too far. He had not. But when the silence between them only stretched and she got ready to apologize, that softness returned. Stars, she had missed that feeling, this way of feeling another, of knowing. It was only better to not feel like this was uncomfortable for him, there was no discomfort she could feel. For a first contact, he seemed to have grown used to it already.

Godzilla's eyelids fluttered, and she pulled herself away from his reach before he felt any more of her thoughts.

"Monsters." He finally said as his nostrils flared, but no air came out. She could recognize a growl building in the back of his throat, at the same time that his words just sounded terribly exhausted. "Monsters we keep in the dark and don't go looking for."

She nodded her head, and kept her eyes on her own claws while his got lost somewhere she could not follow.

For a quick moment she almost felt chastised. Almost apologized for prying, for dragging that growl from his chest, but it was not for her. That exhaustion was not because of her. That haunted look was not because of her.

But she could recognize all of it. Sometimes she wished she could growl like him, rip such a deep response from her chest to let it go.

His tail thumped against her leg once then stilled, the tip of it quickly uncurling from around her and pulling away. She really didn't mind, had almost even missed the feeling of its touch, lost as she was in the weight of his words, but the brief burst of emotion coming from him made it seem like he had just slapped her.

She should be the one cowering at the thought of hurting him.

She moved her arm to touch his snout, assure him she didn't mind his touch—but his eyes darted to that claw too fast, that look widened just a little before he schooled his expression again.

She pulled her arm back, rested one claw over the other. Looked at the ragged corner of his snout instead. “It... it was not your fault, Godzilla.”

“I know.” Quiet, even his thoughts sounded muffled. He didn’t meet her eyes, and his breathing stuttered. “It still hurts.”

“I understand.”

She could only hope he could feel that same comfort he had offered her, but had, instead of words, chosen to offer with his own pain.

The tiredness crept through her mind again. And she pulled herself away for good—as much as they could be away now—her mind lingering on a last note of ache and grief that was quickly covered and pulled away from her reach for good by a heavy feeling of drowsiness. She shuffled her wings and pulled them out from under his tail to drape them over him instead, and sighed, hugging her face close and focusing on his calm breathing. In and out, in and out.

Just as she was slipping into sleep, the faintest of nudges pulled her attention back to the world around her, and the one open eye peering, oh, so subtly at her.

"What?"

"How were you outside of the egg that brought you here?”

The Cosmos stirred from their perch on his head to look at her.

"That... is a story for another day, I am tired.” She reached over to rest the side of her claw over his eye, and when she lifted her arm back his eyes were both closed. “Sleep. We both went through a lot tonight."

His soft sigh fanned at her fur, but he gave a small incline of his head, and his words too were weighed with tiredness as he said, "Sleep well."

She pulled her arm back, tucked it under her chest and let out a sigh of her own. "Good rest."

The Cosmos fluttered down to settle on his snout, throwing twin quiet looks at her—and sang, a deep lullaby, tender and serene. Godzilla was soon fast asleep, the notes of his calm seeping into her own mind as he wondered where that song was even coming from. Perhaps to him their voices would sound like chiming crystals or the slow sighs of the ocean waves.

But through the slowly calming fog of his mind, she still caught the pattern his thoughts weaved before pulling herself away again and allowing their song to carry her into sleep. As she brushed closer to that feeling, as she hugged her face and sighed at the careful curl of his tail touching her legs again, she listened, watched, and felt that calm pattern.

Safe, warm, home.

And it was with her last echoes of clarity that she thought, as she too slipped into the embrace of the comforting lullaby, that this was the first time she had seen him sleep. And he had chosen to do it with her near.

She woke up with a sense of loss.

She had dreamed, but thankfully couldn't remember about what. Only the lingering fear in her chest remained and she could have a guess at what had plagued her mind. 

But she looked around herself, shook her wings, and stretched her back, because something was missing. From the cave, being too quiet and big, and her wings, brushing against nothing but cold stone.

The ground where Godzilla had laid on was a visible shape in the moss, and she nearly lost herself in the memories of such a calming presence and calm kind eyes when her faeries appeared in front of her and she bit back a startled squeak. 

The Cosmos danced and chirped in front of her eyes, welcoming her to another day. And she cooed, bowed her head to nuzzle close to them, and chirped back when they trilled and flapped their wings, before pulling herself up and sitting with a heavy sigh.

Yesterday had been... a lot.

Godzilla. Her... friend? Her guide? Her companion...? On her impromptu stay on this planet?

Her guardian?

Now had a name she could call him. And all it took was a storm, and a misstep, and both of them sharing their darkest memories and closest comforts on a dark night. It was a good enough trade, wasn't it?

Her faeries each bobbed their heads, up and down, and side by side.

She could still feel his presence, a sensation in the back of her mind, as sure as she could tell there were stone walls around her and a ground she could step on. He was out there on the island, but far away. 

She pulled at her antennae and carefully cleaned them, one by one, before moving on to cleaning her fur.

They were linked now. Connected in the deepest sense she knew two beings could be. To share emotions, and thoughts, and memories. Far closer than necessary for communication. They were linked. She had linked them. Because it had felt right to do so.

She sighed and preened the fur on her head.

She could peer into his mind at any moment, as could he. She could shut him away from her mind at any moment, and he—

She would teach him how. Soon. If nothing had changed from yesterday to today, and he hadn't changed his mind on how he felt about having her in his thoughts. And having her know such a deep part of himself. And—

Her faeries shrieked, and she cooed at her claw and the patch of pale fur she pulled back from her head.

What even was that, what was she even thinking? Linking with someone like that, a bite would have been the least she could have expected. He could be upset, he could be uncomfortable.

The crack in the stone her claw had dug stared back at her. 

She could have hurt him. She could have hurt him when he was simply coming to check on her, make sure she was alright, to comfort her.

Did he regret what happened yesterday? Sharing such a deep memory? Had she made him feel like he should share such a thing?

She didn't realize she had nearly curled herself into a ball until the dark between her arms and the rock was suddenly brighter. Her faeries chirped and pushed at her mandibles with exasperated huffs, flapping their wings and slapping their tails. She chirped quietly back and pulled her head away from the ground, heeding their disapproving stares. But they still didn't seem happy.

They flew towards the mouth of the cave, disappeared behind the leaves of the hanging vines, and flew back in. Beckoning her closer with their tiny paws.

Right. Right. She wouldn't know until she asked him, and now she could. She could ask him, and he could answer her. How wonderful. Maybe he could also tell her to cut their link and leave, too.

She didn't want to tell him how unpleasant that would be.

Her faeries' patience had reached its limit, and they screeched and chirped at her until she finally took a step forward, and another, and another. Until she walked past the waterfall and stepped into the outside of the cave. To the sounds of the forest, and the life breaming from every inch and nook of itself.

The creatures in the stream swam by with no worries, easily dodging any branches or leaves that had fallen in the water and going about their day. Some creatures had even made homes under said branches or leaves. She trilled, and some of them stopped to glance at her, before continuing their unhurried journey.

She pulled herself up again and took another step forward, but her claw brushed against something soft.

A flower, lush and colorful and overflowing with pollen, sat on the grass in front of her. Missing a large stem that she would later have to drag deeper into the forest to be returned to its soil.

She picked the flower up and pulled it closer to nip at the pollen with a trill. It was sweet, this planet's flowers were more amicable for sure. Just like its residents. Most of them, at least. The ones that hadn't tried to eat her. Her faeries settled on her head with happy chirps.

She checked the grassy fields after, and took a long walk around the island next, seeking the sight of dull scales, knowing very well his presence was clearly coming from only one direction.

Her faeries chirped encouragingly. She took in a deep breath, tightened her hold on the petals in her mandibles, and stepped into the warm sands of the beach.

Godzilla's tail twitched, but he didn't move other than that. Still facing the lapping waves, his back rose and fell with each calm breath, his crests gleamed in the bright sun. She could even see the oceans through them.

She slowly trudged her way closer and sat on the sand next to him.

One of his eyes opened and focused on her with a slow blink. He grumbled, and she resisted the urge to flare her wings when the faintest nudge brushed against her mind. Unhesitant, but a little cautious.

It was easy to ignore the twin smug looks thrown at her.

She chirped back, cringing at how muffled the sound was by the flower, but Godzilla didn't seem to mind. His eyes dropped to the petals clutched between her mandibles, then turned to the waves.

"I thought you would be hungry." His tail flicked in the sand, and she turned her eyes away from his face to focus on the ocean ahead of them. She couldn't believe the hint of embarrassment brushing against her mind. "After the... It was a rough night."

He really had learned quickly, quicker than she had seen before. His thoughts were clearer, even if his mind was still a muffled raging current in the background of what he sent her way. So clear she could feel the shared pinch of emotion blinking to existence before being pushed back and away from her reach. It was clumsy, but he had done it well, and she didn't seek it out to see what it was.

Creatures flew overhead. The waves lapped against the sands. The ocean's own calm breaths, slow and soothing.

"I was hungry, thank you." She let the petals go and held the flower in her claws. The pollen was long gone, but something just pulled at her chest to be able to hold the flower without a large stem in the way.

She clutched the flower closer. "How... how are you?"

His eyes darted back to her.

"I'm fine." He looked at the flower, and the waves, and somewhere behind her head. "How are you?"

"Well. Thank you."

He dipped his chin into the sand and closed his eyes.

They often stayed like this before. Sitting beside each other to rest, to fly, to watch the skies and the waves. He never cared much for the skies and the stars littering it, just like she never cared much for the waves like he did. Their sounds were calming, a soothing rhythm much like a lullaby, but he would watch each wave with just as much care and attention as the last.

Before, even without her understanding the meaning of his grumbles or him the meaning of her trills, she had always felt like they could reach an understanding in those silent moments. Even if for different reasons, and for different things, she felt they both watched the stars and the water looking for the same feeling they would bring.

Now it didn't feel the same.

Her faeries hovered close and chirped, but she ignored their suggestions. Things were already awkward enough and it was clear that they hadn't talked to anyone but each other since they had sailed the stars.

A tiny beak pulled at her fur. She huffed at her faery and watched it float away. Like she was any better , their little eyes said.

They clung to him too quickly, they didn't want whatever this was between them to become strained, but they didn't see the problem this was, only that it made her uncomfortable and affected him too, so she just needed to fix that. It wasn't that easy. They could stop blinking at her like that.

Did I make you uncomfortable? Seemed too obvious; she had seen him hold back a flinch. Did I hurt your trust? Was a good question, but something about the silence between them kept the question back. Would you like me to cut this link I never even asked you about first? 

"Are—" Whatever she was going to say faded from her mind as soon as she had built up the courage to let it out. The flower wasn't helping as much anymore. "Are you—"

His eyes opened again, looking at her with such patience, such openness.

"I—about the..."

The confusion in his mind mixed with concern, and just like that, the entire apology she had in her mind disappeared into open air, and for the first time in what felt like—and probably had been—centuries, she panicked. "I... here." 

She reached over, plopped the flower as far as she could reach over his head, and sat back in the sand. Staring straight ahead at the oceans, and more water, and the distant line of the horizon where the skies met even more water.

Her head was turned straight ahead, but from the corner of her eyes, she still saw him blink, three, four times, and tilt his head to the side before the flower could slide off of his face.

He didn't try to get it off, she didn't move from her position, and her faeries, hovering over his face, cooed and crooned from their perch on the petals. It was a pretty color, red and white with hints of orange. And it matched him, in a way that it added color to his scales, a touch of softness to his rough exterior. It looked cute.

She cut that thought short when he pulled himself up to stand on his feet and tower over her, easily blocking the warmth of the sun. Her faeries squealed and jumped down from the petals to hover next to her again.

He took a deep breath and stared off into the horizon with a determined look, a rosy petal covered half of that determined look. "I must go now."

Ah, of course. She dipped her head and moved to lay on the sand to watch him step into the water.

But he stopped before he could fully disappear under the waves, and with his crests still peeking out of the water, he turned his head around to meet her eyes again. And even from a distance, she could still see him very meaningfully dart his eyes towards his back.

"Come on," Came his words to her mind when she didn't move. His eyes turned to the trees behind her, but she was too busy still processing what he had just said. "You wanted to follow me before, didn't you?"

"The..." Her wings ruffled behind her back, and her faeries nudged at her cheeks with calming coos. "But before—"

You lost me in a maze of thick forests I could not follow fly through , she held back the thought as soon as it appeared and pushed it to the back of her mind. You disappeared under treetops I could not see you through. And she didn't sulk about that, but it did... bother her that he didn't want her near. For some reason.

Was he... maybe leading her away as a way to tell her to leave? Would he leave her in another cave and bid her goodbye? That was kind of him, it was, but—

Oh. The Cosmos watched her silently.

Maybe it was for the best. Because maybe she could... leave, then.

By the heavens, they had to leave. She had to—she had a duty. This was getting out of control, the time they had wasted here was just...

This was good, actually. She could thank him for his help, for his company, for last night—apologize for last night—and then, once he turned away and left, once she got a last look at his kind eyes, she could bid this world goodbye and leave. Yes. Yes. Alright. That was—

"You almost took my eye out last night."

His words reached her just as she found the right words to thank him, and shame crept up her carapace to settle somewhere in her antennae.

"—and that's a good thing," he hurried to add when she couldn't hold back her flinch. And there was that touch of embarrassment brushing against her mind again. "I apologize, I doubted you. That land is not as protected and isolated as this island is. There aren't just spiders and winged beasts in those forests. As you... well know, now."

It must have been a reflection of the sun in the waves, but with his eyes flitting towards her claws and up again, he continued with a strange twinkle in his eyes. "But now I know those claws aren't just for show."

Her faeries chirped and tweeted next to her, but her eyes fell back to look down at her claws. "I am terribly sorry."

"I know, you're showing me you are. I'm still getting used to... this." He was still there, floating above the waves, and he tilted his head towards his back again. Towards his crests. "But come. There's... someone I'd like you to meet."

His eyes brightened at the surge of curiosity she didn't even try to keep back, and with a flap of her wings, she took off and hovered over his back. The Cosmos following after a moment.

She had never gotten too close to his back before, had avoided his tail whenever it wasn't set calmly on the ground or dragging behind him when he walked. His crests weren't the most welcoming sight—as beautiful as they were in the sun and moonlight. They had a deadly beauty, one she could appreciate from afar.

There, from up close, his crests were indeed as sharp as they looked, but she could see rougher edges and flatter planes that she carefully settled herself in between. It wasn't an uncomfortable fit, distributed as they were she could move across them freely, almost like jumping from tree branches jutting from the ground.

They weren't as cold as she imagined them to be, like the cool face of a crystal or glass. They had seeped in the warmth of the sun, and she more than happily opened her wings and let them brush against his crests. Her antennae shot up when with a particularly strong breeze, the air around her was filled with a faint chime.

She traced a crystalline surface with a claw and cooed at the faint whistling it let out.

Hesitant as they were before, the Cosmos now seemed to be everywhere at once, flying around his crests, looking at each other through their clear surfaces and chasing the other through those narrow obstacles. She watched them play, pretended she did not see the disapproval in their little eyes before, then turned away from the zapping lines they left behind in their wake.

She ruffled her wings, made herself comfortable, and trilled. And after just a quiet beat Godzilla grumbled back, the sound almost swallowed by the lapping waves, and swam deeper into the oceans with a quiet swish of his tail.

They sailed off into clear skies, brighter than ever after a heavy storm.

Maybe she could take just a little more time.

Chapter Text

It was fun showing her things she was so happy to learn about.

It was throughout the day that he found there were things all around this land he walked through, kept safe, lived and grew in—that he had just forgotten about.

It was watching her coach a song from a band of small winged beasts that he remembered they weren't just an annoying background noise that chased him off to the oceans. They were singing for each other, she told him, all preoccupied with their own melodies to really build a rhythm that wouldn't drive someone mad.

She sang along to the constant chittering between the trees while they slowly moved into the forest close to the beach, and that background noise slowly adjusted to accommodate her own chirps and trills.

The flowers he would always evade, filled with such strong smells and surrounded by so many buzzing creatures, were so colorful and large a single petal nearly dwarfed Mothra's head. They were soft to the touch too, but still strong enough that his claws did not rip holes through them. 

He did as Mothra showed and stepped closer to a taller flower standing alone, further away from the tiny fields that made his nose itch. And maybe he was spending too much time in the deep, or too much time sleeping his aches off, but looking back at them from a distance just filled his eyes with so much color it seemed like it was the first time noticing them at all.

You've forgotten to see beauty, Godzilla, Mothra had chirped at him when she had picked up his somber mood, because of course he was still having trouble keeping his thoughts to himself. But she had proceeded to pull him aside every few moments, to watch a small creature walking in the distance, to ask what a pretty flower was called, or listen to the love songs being practiced above the trees.

He still kept them in track and led the way deeper and deeper into the forest, but he stopped, while Mothra lingered a step back and chirped at a flock of singing creatures on top of a branch that had been doing their best at dancing to grab her attention.

His eyes wandered, drawn to the feeling of being watched, and found whose eyes had been lingering on his scales.

A large herd of horned beasts watched him back, their sleek fringed horns dripping from mud and their hides glistening with water. And he already knew where they were headed, they were heading toward that same place, it was a long way to go still.

This kind was a skittish one, the faintest of noises was enough to have them scrambling to run away, leaving behind whoever they needed to. And that was survival, that's just how it was done, but he still always had to lead some lost ones back to their herds now and then, and that always took longer than it should. But they seemed grateful after. Seeing younglings reunited with their parents made the headache and endless herding worth it.

But they did not run, they did not tense at meeting his eyes. They simply lingered, shared grunts and looks, then spread all around the place. Digging their backs into tree trunks or grazing the yellowed grass.

He heard a chirp from beside him, but he didn't need to ask to know what she had seen.

A brave beast stood closer than all others, nostrils flaring and eyes seeking. But it walked closer and closer, step after step, to stop still a good distance away.

When Mothra took a careful step forward it did not run, but from under its legs a tiny muzzle peeked out and let out a bold beep.

Mothra didn't bother pulling her thoughts away from his, and the wave of adoration that hit him had him nearly doubling over in his opinion on these creatures.

The little one ventured closer while its parent watched, and he had seen these creatures stomp and charge at anything that came close to their young. He himself did his best to avoid coming near if he could, they were only more prone to scattering when stressed. But the parent showed no worry, its tail didn't twitch, and its eyes didn't harden.

Mothra leaned down, staying very still, while the little one stopped a few tiny steps away. 

It slowly came closer, sniffed at her face with its tiny beak horn just barely starting to grow... and let out a loud honk. Its little eyes took the sight of her in, wide open, and in them, he could swear he saw the reflection of Mothra’s own eyes. Just as awed, just as curious.

He had to shut her away from his mind before things got out of control.

They both watched the parent and its young turn around with a last lilting call behind their backs, before they joined their herd again and disappeared amongst the foliage. Their honks and huffs slowly fading in the distance.

Just as the last sight of a tail disappearing between the bushes was gone, Mothra turned her head to chirp up at him. A soft glean to her eyes and a breathless sound following that chirp.

"There is always so much everywhere around." She turned to watch the bustling forest surrounding them. "I can barely hear my own thoughts, how wonderful."

He huffed, and moved to lead the way deeper into the clear path in the trees ahead. He had made this same trek countless times before. "You'll like the deeper parts of this land, we aren't even close to leaving the shores."

The sound of the waves still reached them, through the bustling life below and above the trees. They were making slow progress but he wouldn’t rush them. Mothra followed closely behind him, but he still stopped and waited each time he heard an excited trill.

“I can’t wait to see all of it, everything is so beautiful here. Not that the island is bad, of course.” He heard the crunching of leaves as she followed him. “But here there are the flowers, so many different things to see, these songs, the—the vines.”

He stopped at the sound of something snapping, and turned his head around to find Mothra freeing an unfortunate flower from its cage of giant vines. Rather curtly, too.

“The vines can be annoying sometimes, I know.” He stayed back, while she pulled more and more vines away from the delicate petals.

“They can, yes. This poor dear was suffocating.” She carefully untangled a stubborn vine from one of the flower’s leaves. It sprung free like it had taken a big breath. “Oh, even worse is the scare when you trip on them or if they fall from trees.” She shook her head with a trill, eyes glowing in a blink.

“Like you falling out of the sky.”

Her careful movements stilled for just a moment, and he felt that familiar slow retreat of her presence. Might as well try again. “How did that happen, again? Your egg didn’t have wings.”

“Oh, it—" Her movements resumed, her claws slowly untangling the vines and letting them fall to the ground. He was sure he saw them twitch. "It happens.”

He looked up from the very still vine to blink at her. “It happens.”

“Yes! It just... when you least expect it. Someone must have picked my egg up. Suddenly you're in the sky and... well, then you are falling. Suddenly." Something dense and muddled against his thoughts. Another vine on the ground, a slightly more vicious kick to push it further away from her feet. "Like getting sick. Some just like picking on smaller beings. It happens.”

He remembered very clearly the sights she had shown him. “That never happened to me.”

The last vine in her hold snapped. “Getting sick?”

"I was in a small egg once." He sighed. Turned to follow a migrating line of birds soaring in the skies. How high did it really go? “But no. I mean falling out of the sky.”

“Yet. It hasn’t happened to you, yet.”

He understood her clues, he did. So he turned around and stepped deeper into the forest.

Maybe the night they shared had been a little too much for her, maybe she regretted sharing what she had, maybe she wanted to move on and leave all that behind.

He could understand that, would respect that if that's what she wanted to do. But he couldn't find it in him to regret all that happened. As strange and... uncomfortable as it had been. But uncomfortable in the memories they had shared, and not in the sharing itself. How strange, really.

But well, regret or not, it led to them finally sharing words and knowing each other more. Mothra liked flowers, liked to eat their pollen and hold their petals. She liked hearing the songs sung by the skies or seas, liked the sound his crests made, didn't like vines very much. 

She also liked to keep many things to herself. And he wasn't upset about it, he wasn't. Mothra could stop trying to nudge his mind with so much worry, it was fine. He was the last one allowed to judge another for keeping their secrets.

But one also couldn't blame him for being curious.

Where did you come from? How come you've never visited such a large land where everything is? How did your egg fall out of the sky? Should I have a talk with anyone dropping eggs around? What was that about the demon? What is a demon? Those strange sights you love to share, they are beautiful, but what are those?

All of his questions were met with the same avoidance, no matter how carefully worded, and he understood her hints, he did not pry. He moved on, shared another story about the deep when prompted, and let her steer their conversation until she left her mind free to brush against his again. He would admit, the mind thing—link—was useful. It was always difficult to know when he was pressing an issue too much until he got snapped at or until whoever he was questioning ran away.

But he noticed that for everything she kept locked away, she tried to give twice as much. 

Because now he knew how to keep his own thoughts to himself, and how to keep her out of his mind. She had made it her mission to teach him as much as she could on the way from the island. It... should have been worrying how easy it was to just accept this was something they could do with each other now.

Talk with their minds, share memories, feel those memories on their own skin and not have it feel like something was crawling under his scales.

On their slow journey across the oceans with her wandering around his back until she finally decided his head was a more suitable place to rest on, he had made up his mind. Much like everything about her, the stranger it was, the easier it was to simply nod and continue on.

I've never seen this flower before, it’s so pretty! Even if they were everywhere he had ever looked. Look at these beautiful creatures dancing around us in the water, how lovely! When those creatures traveled all oceans and seemed to want to fly rather than swim. 

When their travel was interrupted by a band of screeching birds hitching a ride on his back, she was happy.

They're singing for you, Godzilla, such a beautiful song! Even if those beasts already knew to be ready to fly at any moment, because they would be chased off for a moment of peace.

But between her questions about the deep waters around them and the land she was more than eager to properly meet, she had started a game of pushing and pulling, blocking and allowing their thoughts to mingle.

And charming as she thought it was, his attempts at blocking her strange sights of bright colorful clouds against an endless dark sky with spinning tailed creatures weren't a good way to keep her out of his thoughts. He had stopped himself from his last attempt to pull himself away from her reach when he heard an uncomfortable chirp coming from his back. Too much information, she said. She didn't have time to pull back from his mind before it became too much.

And so had started a lesson on walls, and mountains and focus.

"You need to imagine building a wall, a wall so tall and thick I could never even dream of passing through." 

He had felt a pull at the flower still clinging sternly to him just before it started sliding off his head, and she had chirped, and leaned more heavily on her claw. Her weight on his head still featherlight. "Focus on that, and it will be so."

And so he had, and she had brushed against his mind with another memory. And as his scales had warmed with a soft heat and the world fell silent to his ears—he imagined a mountain, tall and strong, and brought it between where he could sense whatever limits there were between where his thoughts ended and hers began. And it had worked, his scales felt the soft brush of water again, and his ears were filled with screeches and shrills.

He didn't block the wave of happiness she shared after that.

Their little game had picked up in pace then, a feeling of free fall was rebutted with a rush of warm currents, and the howling of winds against his ears became a soft rhythmic lapping of waves on sand. It had been fun, to answer each of her enthusiastic questions, to allow her simple joy and pride to flow through him, and to ask her his own questions.

When she would allow them, of course. And not answer him with another hurried question about the oceans. It was jarring, the sudden hollowness the absence of her presence left in his thoughts whenever his questions waded into strange territory.

He pulled himself away from his memories to shake off a winged creature's attempts at approaching his head, just in time to hear Mothra beckoning him closer to another flower.

But strange secrets or not, she had made good on her word.

By the time they had gotten close to where he had been steering them towards since they reached the shores, he had stopped grinding his teeth at the constant chittering, he had stopped glaring at the flying beasts that fluttered around Mothra with happy chirps and proceeded to fly at his face, and his eyes didn't ache to keep open for too long.

She pointed everything out to him, the flowers that smelled sweet and painted everything with color, the creatures that watched him pass with no fear in their eyes, no hesitation to stay where they were when they walked by, who needed only a quiet grunt to understand they needed to move out of their way.

She helped him find beauty again. 

And he did, but not while she let her wings become a resting place for tiny pests that sang and played, not while a herd of long necked beasts allowed them to walk through their numbers with only quiet honks and grunts, or when Mothra flew behind a flower and pushed its petals closer for him to smell. 

But when his eyes moved up and met hers.

He pulled his thoughts closer to himself and sought her out in the surroundings she could have wandered to—and found her hovering over another toothed plant with not enough apprehension. That flower fed on a certain diet, and it would only be happier to find a bigger meal than usual.

But all it took was a faint brush against her mind that she allowed, for her to lean away from the plant's reach and move to walk with him again.

No words needed, not a grumble or a move. He could understand why they would use this thing instead of just talking. Didn't make it less... What it was. But Mothra wouldn't do such a thing. Everything he knew—everything she allowed him to know of her told him that. She had given him no reason to doubt it.

There was no way to show how grateful he was that she listened to him and stayed as close as she could even with her unending curiosity that wouldn't be embarrassing. Maybe in her eagerness to meet new things she wouldn't have realized something was stalking a little too close. Or realize a plant was inching closer with hungry bared teeth.

But there was nothing really dangerous around, and whatever could be a danger wouldn't be for long if it showed itself. There was only the louder swooshing of wind as they climbed a steep path, and slowly the trees parted to reveal the small hill they now stood on, and the sight that awaited over the cliff ahead.

He stopped, and turned to watch Mothra slowly make her way up. And he did not huff at the way she tried her best to keep her wings tightly clasped behind her back against the strong winds, or how much the winds ruffled her fur and antennae. It was just the smell of flowers that were still stuck on his nose.

Though he did turn his face away when she slipped.

"Oh, this... this really has been wonderful, Godzilla." She chirped, her breathlessness mixing with the look in her eyes he could only hope to describe as happiness. She lowered her head against a stronger breeze and pushed forward. "I was right to wait for you to show me this place."

"This is not what I wanted to show you."

She fluttered her wings and landed close to his legs, balancing herself on a fallen tree trunk. "Is it not?"

"We haven’t reached the valley yet." He waited for her to step closer to nod ahead with his snout. "But I thought you would have liked to see this."

It was beautiful, something he saw nearly every day and that still managed to make his breath hitch.

There was nowhere to look that did not have trees, or mountains, or rivers and lakes so large and deep he could even swim in them if they weren't already full with their own residents. Colors mixed together and weaved paths that changed and blended seamlessly, from lush forests to tall mountains to a distant desert and beyond.

The sun bathed the land, and screeching beasts flew overhead, twirling around each other to disappear into the clouds above.

He looked down when Mothra had been quiet for too long. But her mandibles were parted, her antennae drawn up and her wings hung low and loose on her back. He turned back around to look at the world waiting under them again. There was nothing to worry about, then.

"What is this place?" She took a careful step closer to the edge, and slowly turned her head this way and that, eyes taking in the sight from the skies to the land.

What it was called? There were too many names for him to remember. But what it was? "For many, it's home."

She turned away from the sight, cocked her head at him, her words in his mind soft. "But not for you?"

Was that a hint of sadness he felt? For him or for herself? No matter, she was still distant, so he shook his head, considered the beautiful land in front of them. Then grumbled. "Sometimes."

She followed his look back to the view ahead. He caught the smaller nod of her head before a swooping band of birds stole her attention. He took the opportunity to run his eyes through the furthest forests he could see.

"But my home is still a little ahead." He let his eyes wander, easily finding the place he knew he would be. He was getting too predictable. "Would you like to know these forests? There are more of those horned creatures close to lakes."

She turned away from the dancing pairs to trill at him, the sun catching on her fur brightening the glow in her eyes. "Without question."

The journey through those forests was as peaceful as he could only hope for it to be. There was a reason why he preferred to stay on the island. 

But nothing jumped them while they moved through a river, watching horned beasts big and small gaze peacefully back at their slow trek, and nothing attacked them when they neared a quieter spot in that particular forest he had spotted on the hill, framed by tall trees and a small mountain. 

He was getting better at blending in, that he could admit. But he would recognize that tree anywhere, he had been the one to pick it out.

Mothra trilled when he stayed still for too long, and walked forward to glance at the wide forest around them, and the distant peaks of pale mountains hidden by clouds in the distance. 

He dipped his head, and followed her wandering gaze. The forest was quiet and empty, safe for its trees and the faint mist. “We are here.”

“Oh," her quiet chirp still reverberated endlessly around them, "it’s a beautiful sight!"

She looked at him over her shoulder, touching a tree's trunk with a gentle claw. Her words reaching him in an almost reverent tone. "Such a... quiet calm.”

A quiet calm was all that could be said for the qualities of such a place, but Mothra still tried, and he watched the moment her mind still came up blank of things to praise this dead forest for.

He huffed, and saved her from trying to cling so much to kindness. “This forest isn’t what I wanted to show you either. I don't know why he keeps coming here.” He stepped closer to that pale tree and leaned forward, holding back both a snort and a grimace. “He hates it when I do this.”

“When you—?”

He bit into a tree and pulled, just enough for its trunk to creak and its roots to lift slightly from the soil, and that was enough for the ground to begin to shake. 

Mothra trilled and fluttered her wings, but he stayed where he was, and watched that small mountain rise and rise until from behind the dirt and falling debris two eyes glared back at him.

He took a deep breath.

“What did I tell you about pulling the trees on my back! By the heavens, we've talked about this. Would you like it if I pulled at your crests? Would you like it if I picked your scales? You didn’t like it when—”

“Methuselah.” That glare narrowed into slits at the interruption, but he did stop his rant. “I brought someone to meet you.”

Methuselah froze, and slowly turned to glance over his shoulder and behind him.

Mothra hovered awkwardly a few steps back, arms held close together and wings ruffling behind her back.

Uncomfortable didn't begin to describe what was coming from the faintest brushes of her mind, but there was something else in there she kept back just out of his reach. 

Ah, right. She didn’t understand them for one, for some reason she also refused to share and instead asked him what the sands in the deepest parts of the oceans tasted like. But there was a mixture of anticipation and confusion, and maybe he also knew why. Because here he was, just letting someone scream in his face when she had seen him snap at a winged pest for less. Singing for him or not its shrill screeches weren't pleasing to hear.

Methuselah’s eyes narrowed then widened, and he turned to him with a rumbling tilt of his head. “Is this—?”

He dipped his head, and Methuselah took a careful step forward to lean down and closer to Mothra. She threw him a quick look, but turned to Methuselah again with a quiet chirp. He hoped she would never learn how obvious she was with where she was looking at.

“It is so nice to meet you," Methuselah crooned, actually crooned, and Godzilla was going to remember that. "We’ve heard so much about you. How are you? Has he been treating you well? No growling and hissing?”

“I don’t hiss.” Mothra looked between them with a tilt of her head, and he leaned closer to Methuselah where he was, still hovering close to her expectantly. “She can’t understand us." Well. "She can’t understand you.”

“Oh?” Methuselah glanced at him, back down at Mothra, and pulled himself to stand tall again. “How come? Is she wounded? Maybe Behemoth can—”

“She’s not wounded, she is fine. We just...” Should he explain it? Would he even know how to? Would he try to understand before he had to hold him down? “We have a different... way of talking to each other.”

“Oh, I understand,” With that tone in his voice he did not. “Me and Behemoth started something like that after a while. It helps, doesn’t it. I remember how lost you were every time. There are some things you don’t want to share—”

There, see. “Methuselah, no. This isn’t—we—”

Methuselah leaned closer, the deep grumble in his words not matching the softening look in his eyes at all. “No shame in that, Godzilla. Do I and Behemoth look the same?”

Waters below. He shook his head, but it just looked like a quick jab of his chin instead. “We are not like that.”

“Ah." Methuselah drew back, turning a more careful look towards Mothra with a tilt of his head. He didn't like that tone either. "Friends?”

“I..."

Were they?

He turned to look at her, and she tilted her head again, antennae drawn up. And even if her expression was searching, he couldn't feel her presence anywhere near his mind, and he couldn't be more thankful. "I don’t know.”

He could catch a quiet cooing sound coming from deep in her chest after his grumble, so soft he could have mistaken it for anything else if he hadn't heard that same sound while they shared thoughts and bad memories in the cave. It was calming then. Was it maybe her way of soothing others? There was no need to soothe him now, was there?

"We had that phase too."

He shut his eyes, took a deep slow breath, and turned to meet Methuselah's knowing look.

"What phase? No, Methuselah, I brought her to meet this land, and Mothra wanted to—"

"So she has a name now?"

"Methuselah."

"Oh, alright." He threw his head back. "Let an old one have fun now and then. But you know Behemoth won't let the 'blue thing' out of his head any time soon.”

Oh, sure. Behemoth wouldn't.

Methuselah’s shoulders shook, and whatever creatures weren’t disturbed enough to leave the trees on his back until then soared off into the skies with loud complaints. “Can you ask if she'd like to meet him, then? They’re resting near the mountain valley."

He bit back the growl building up in the back of his throat. There was no way he was leading Mothra there on her first visit to this land. That was too close to the caves. They knew it was. “Not that place again.”

“You can growl all you like, at this time the water is the freshest it’ll be and the calves still need to learn to swim. Remember what you promised?”

He stopped glowering at an innocent rock to turn his glare at Methuselah. He opened his mouth, nothing came out, tried again. “I promised no such thing.”

His glare had no effect on Methuselah's unamused face. “Breaking your word already? The calves aren't that bad, you are just a grump. Behemoth will be so—”

"Godzilla?"

He wiped the glare from his eyes and turned to Mothra. She still stood a few steps back, a tense rigidness to her posture, and her words finally reached him again with a brush of worry he could tell she still tried to hold back.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes." He grumbled, leaned forward when she didn't look convinced, then shook his head when she cocked her head at him. He met Methuselah's confused eyes and turned to her again. Wrong way of talking. "Yes. There is nothing—we were just—"

She dipped her head, but there was no ascent to the gesture. That next sensation brushing against his mind, though, was familiar.

...Protectiveness?

And the position of her claws, that tilt to her body; she was defensive, against Methuselah of all creatures, readying herself to protect... him. He closed his eyes against the strange feeling surging in his chest and blamed it on the bright sunlight.

"Really, everything is fine. This is..." How glad he was Methuselah could not hear his thoughts too. Behemoth could forget something he had just heard, Methuselah would never let such a thing go. "My home. One of them. This is Methuselah."

She turned her eyes back towards Methuselah, tipped her head just the tiniest bit up then down, and for the first time since he had lifted himself from the ground, she took a step closer to him.

Methuselah quietly watched her careful steps, slowly dipping his chin to follow her until she came to a stop in front of him. The trill she let out was responded with a deep rumble.

She ruffled her wings, tilting her head up at him. Her glowing eyes running over his horns, the scars on his face, lingering on his mouth then finally settling on his own eyes. They lingered there too, before she chirped, and the tension in her body slowly melted away. "Methuselah seems nice."

"He is. He just looks like that, but he is—"

"Home?" She turned her head to glance at him, a gentle gleam hovering in the light of her eyes.

His eyes drifted to the soft glow on her wings, and it was easier to say it again. "Yes. He is my home."

"But one of them."

"Are you two having a good talk?"

His glare had no effect, like it had never had. All it got him was a lifted brow. And so he turned back to Mothra's curious look with only a quiet sigh. "My other home. Would you like to meet him too?"

"Of course," she chirped, and her wings flashed brighter, "I would love to."

He turned to Methuselah again, but before he could even open his mouth Methuselah was already leaning forward and presenting his horns to Mothra. There was no need to translate that invitation, and after just a moment of consideration, it was accepted.

With a single flutter of her wings, she flew, hopped on his horn, and with a few other hops settled onto his back.

Methuselah beckoned him to follow with a nod of his head, but stopped before he took a step, his eyes scrunching at their corners. "That looks good on you, you should keep it."

Mothra trilled, at her own claws, at a beast that circled her before settling on a tree, or at the flower slowly sliding off his brow—he didn't know, but he dreaded the possibility that they could one day understand each other.

For once in their journey Mothra's attention was diverted from him and he became nothing but a translator. But he was glad, strange as it was, following Methuselah's slow pace and lumbering steps, he was as much of a translator as a filter.

Methuselah had accepted their little situation easily enough, suspiciously easily enough, but that just meant he turned his focus to other things.

"Can you ask him what it is like to stay under the earth for so long? Is it comfortable?"

"Ask her if she's ever tried seaweed, it's wonderful on this side of the coast."

"Could you please ask him what it is like to carry a mountain on his back? Is it too heavy?"

"Does she have a name for you too? Like the 'blue thing'?" 

"No." He growled, and Methuselah's shoulders shook again, but Mothra wasn't disturbed from her perch on a rock, or by him growling either. "Let that go Methuselah, by the deep."

"See? Grumpy. Ask her if you're this grumpy when with her too. Or is it only with us?"

"What did he ask?"

She brushed against his mind, eyes glowing while she cleaned her claws, and he didn’t have enough time to really think about what he could make up on the spot.

"If— if you—" His eyes drifted around, seeking any unfortunate creature he could divert her attention to. A flying pest could fly their way into a tree now just for once and he wouldn't grumble about it—but his eyes settled on the high waterfall, the flat planes of the mountain it sprouted from, and the damned hollowed mountains just ahead. So close. "We're here."

"Oh, we are?" She perked up and jumped to look over Methuselah’s head at the approaching valley. 

The trees that became scarcer the closer they got, now were nowhere in sight. Through the bright sunlight free from any clouds, in the view ahead there were only tall mountains that kissed the skies, a wide valley, and a river that rained down from the waterfall surrounded by creatures of all types and bathed the scenery with life and a sweet air to fill his lungs.

And those pests jumping from their mothers' backs and into the shallow water.

Before they got even anywhere close to the herd, a bellow signaled their approach, and all hell broke loose. Heads turned toward them and greetings came from left and right. While other creatures lazing about the waters or resting close to the river gave them a sparing glance and returned to what they were occupied with before.

Methuselah roared and leaned into any shoulders that welcomed him, Mothra chirped and waved a claw at any who greeted her, and he grunted, nodded, and ducked at any nudges at his neck or shoulders.

Methuselah perked up as soon as a louder roar echoed through the valley, and Mothra batted her wings and soared off of his back before he trotted, running as much as one could with a mountain on their back, to stop before a tusk could stab him in the eye.

Behemoth nuzzled close, shoving his face between Methuselah’s horns. And Methuselah leaned closer, his murmuring deep enough that the winds still carried the sound to reach his ears. His eyes narrowed as soon as Behemoth turned to look over at him and Mothra hovering close by.

She settled on the ground again and tilted her head at him, her glee mincing with his own weariness in his mind. “Your other home?”

He dipped his head, almost distracted from the scheming happening just ahead, or from tracking all the carefully positioned sentinels he could see stationed in just the right places around the bank—only by the tone in her words he would almost call playful. Teasing even. But Mothra’s attention turned to her own feet with a startled “stars!” as the calves ran between her legs like particularly tall and thin tree trunks, chasing each other, hiding from each other, trying to climb them.

With a last look over his shoulder, he turned to help her with their more urgent problem—pulling those fleas away would probably be harder to do with claws like hers.

Behemoth had at least heard his request last time.

As swarmed as she was, Mothra didn't seem all that worried. She got a claw under one calf before they slid back down to the ground, and they gladly grabbed onto her and the other claw she brought up to support their back. 

As she pulled them higher up, the calf squirmed and jumped around until they could stand on her claw and reach for her with their paws. She indulgently leaned closer with a soft coo, let the calf fall on her face and touch her fur, and when they leaned even closer to press themselves against her face; she only chirped.

They still had a difficult time with their words, but even while mushing themselves against her fur he could still make out what they said when they barked out, “Pretty!”

Mothra didn’t understand what they had just squealed about, but she still cooed and nuzzled closer to them, chirping when they snorted and wiggled against her mandibles.

He wasn’t distracted enough not to notice the calves slithering ever so closer to his tail. 

They weren’t slick, they couldn’t hold back their squeaks at getting so close.

All it took was a growl for them to scatter, and off they went to peek at him from behind Mothra’s legs again. But they weren’t scared, no. Those beady eyes held no fear, they were having fun.

His crests were shiny. They liked them. He didn't like it when they touched or bit or slobbered all over them with their barely grown calf teeth. They could just go bite trees and rocks like normal young if they needed to bite things so much. Oh, but if he gave them a scare to keep them away suddenly he was going too far. Annoying little damned ticks.

"What do you mean? They are adorable." 

Ah, great. But Mothra was still too focused on the calf clinging to her face. "They are pests."

Their eyes twinkled while they peeked at him from behind her legs. Sometimes he felt they too could read minds. There was no reason for their looks to be so mischievous if they did not know what kept him from taking them in his mouth and dropping them in the water. That was the easiest way for them to learn to swim, but Behemoth disagreed quite vehemently. And now, his glare had no effect on them either, and off they went right back to chasing each other around her legs.

“Just wait until they get... even more comfortable with you. They like shiny things.”

“Well, I can only oblige." She tipped her head back to glance at him, bringing the calf up to her head for him to see. He didn't like how they looked at him, but when Mothra looked back at them that malicious glint in their eyes evaporated into thin air while it squeaked and squealed at her. "How can I say no to such eyes.”

The little pest in her claws was happy to nudge into her fur, and Mothra was happy to let them. He knew, he could feel the absolute delight coming from her. 

But he heard those thundering steps approach in a pair, and the sight of those calves staying still for once to look up at Mothra’s eyes almost kept him occupied enough to not hear the low murmurings that reached them. They could never even dream of being discreet.

“Look, they’re talking to each other.”

“They’re what?”

“They’re talking to each other.”

“Oh, dear."

"Strange, isn't it? But he hasn't said anything about it."

"He hasn't? Oh... well then. We've seen stranger. It's just... nice to see."

And Methuselah had already made up Behemoth's mind. Just when he thought he would have one less problem to worry about. He didn’t hold back the growl in the back of his throat when he turned to glare at them. “Not like that.”

Both Mothra and the calf in her claws tilted their heads at him. But she turned to chirp at Methuselah when he stepped closer, and Behemoth standing next to his shoulder as always.

He looked at the skies for just a moment for strength, just a reprieve from that scheming look in Methuselah’s eyes, and stopped. Just ahead behind the small mountain in front of him, smoke steadily rose and replaced the clouds in the sky. It brought him less joy than he had hoped for to reassure himself that that was Behemoth's problem, not his.

The calf squealed at Behemoth, and he dipped his head at them with a quiet snort, the vines tangled around his tusks dragging against the ground as he did. “They like you. I’ve never seen them flock over to someone like this."

Back to translating again, he turned to Mothra with Behemoth’s words. Ignoring the curious look that followed him.

Mothra dipped her head and brought the calf closer, giving them a quick nuzzle before lowering them back to the ground. They immediately ran away to join the other calves in circling Behemoth and Methuselah.

“They are all lovely,” she said, as the calves welcomed their new competitor and squealed at her like they had understood. “Please tell them that.”

He was going to, but Behemoth was already continuing on with something about the calves before he could, Mothra was listening intently and glancing at him for a translation, and Methuselah was looking between them with a knowing look that he didn't like at all.

He kept his own voice low enough that it wouldn't disrupt Behemoth's description of the mildest behavior the pests had gotten up to lately. Someone had lost all their fur.

"What are you doing with your face," he didn't hiss. "Stop that."

"Oh." Methuselah almost scoffed, the only thing that was missing was the sound he barely bit back. "Apologies if it gets awkward watching you two stare at each other in silence for so long."

"—Oh, younglings. You know how they get. But it is wonderful to finally meet you. There hasn't been a single day we didn't hear from you." Behemoth paddled on and tilted his head to meet Methuselah's eyes. "Though lately we have heard less."

Methuselah looked away from his glare and dipped his head back towards Behemoth.

"Granted we see him less too." He turned his eyes to meet Mothra's curious gaze. "He's spending time with you, I assume?"

Mothra perked up at being addressed directly. But before he could even hope to translate what they had said and come up with something else decent enough and without the suggestions dripping from Methuselah's tone, Behemoth snorted. And he knew something was up.

"Oh, he won't stop talking about your wings, says they shine more than the moonlit waves."

"Don't forget the eyes glowing like the clearest crystals from the deepest caves." Methuselah leaned in to grumble almost conspiratorially. "Or the colors so bright they could have rivaled the fullest patch of flowers. Or—"

Looking at the sky again sadly didn't make him sprout wings to fly out of there. If anything at least it was a small mercy that he couldn't feel Mothra anywhere near his mind. He didn't think he would manage to imagine a mountain big enough to keep everything going on in his mind where it should be.

"Godzilla?"

Too good to be true, it seemed.

He glanced down at her, met the curious tilt of her head and the glance she threw at the two still running their mouths in front of them.

"They're just... going on tangents, it's nothing worth translating. They are old, you know how it is." Her brows fell, and he turned away from that look too. He held Methuselah's eyes instead. "I am doing you a favor, really."

"Oh? How do you know I would not like to partake in it? Elders always have the most enlightening insights on the smallest things in life."

Methuselah would blink any moment now. And he had not used so many objectives to describe her wings. This was ridiculous. "They sure do."

From the corner of his eyes, he could see Mothra looking back and forth between them all. Her antennae rising and falling. "Are they... talking about you?"

He answered too quickly, "No."

"Oh." Mothra shuffled her wings behind her back. He heard a quiet sound from her mandibles. "About me?"

Oh, no.

"In fact," he began. Took in a deep breath. "They are talking about me."

"Oh, really."

Her tone was different in his mind, but at least she seemed more comfortable now. But then something else brushed against his mind. Something insidious. Something horrible in this very moment.

Curiosity.

A low sound built up in her chest. Something quiet. Something thoughtful as he caught her looking up at him again. "Things you do not wish for me to know..." she drawled in his thoughts. Somehow.

"Indeed." He almost nodded, but decided to glare at Behemoth instead when he opened his mouth next. "They are defaming my name if you must know so much."

"And you are withholding such knowledge from me."

"And I will continue to do so."

She huffed. He glanced at her in time to catch her antennae flick in a gesture he could recognize as something restless at this point. But the light feeling brushing his mind had not soured at all. This was... playful.

He really did not like the look Methuselah and Behemoth shared just then, so he quickly pulled his brows into a frown again. But they were still busy talking about his restlessness as a youngling now, it seemed. Comparing him to the calves was just too far. Methuselah did not have crests on his back he could bite. The trees were not the same at all.

"How bad can it really be, Godzilla. Please."

The gentle feeling in his thoughts could only be described as a playful pulling. But he still refused to look at her. Maybe if he stared for long enough the two would stop. Maybe he could make her focus on something else. Anything else.

"Are... are they talking about when you were young?"

He stared ahead. Unbudging.

But she still did not look upset. If anything he could read a glint of challenge in the slant of her antennae resting against her head. 

Methuselah was on a row, and he even was considering never pulling on any of the trees on his back ever again if this was what he would get for it. But throughout his readily ignored efforts to stop the barrage of descriptions he had regretted ever allowing to leave his mouth, his own silent grumbles died out when Behemoth stopped nodding along to Methuselah’s words and startled like he had been struck by lighting. And that happened way too often.

But he proceeded to pull a calf from the ground and lift them up, and the pest hung from one of his claws by their vice grip.

Mothra immediately chirped and took a step closer with outstretched claws, but it was clear that the calf was having more fun than anything. What was curious was Behemoth subtly pulling his paw away from her, and Mothra's quiet croon that followed.

The sudden lull in the conversation gave him a hope that was crushed immediately when Behemoth started bringing up all the times he had gotten his crests stuck on a tree and walked back to the herd in shame. And that managed to be enough to make him disregard the strange look in Behemoth's eyes because he was shedding, dammit. And trees were better than rocks to reach those tiny patches on his back—

But when Methuselah startled next there were no calves around him, and the confused look he sent Mothra’s way only got him a tilted head and a quiet trill.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Methuselah’s startled look turned to Behemoth, to him, and back to Mothra. “What was that?”

Behemoth butted in before Methuselah could hang his mouth any wider. "A...!" He blinked. "Seismic... shift." 

"A what?" 

Methuselah jutted his horns, giving a vigorous dip of his chin. "Yes, a seis—seismic shift. I just felt it. We both did. It was—it was very strong."

"What is that." 

He tried to meet Mothra's eyes since Methuselah was so intent on looking at her like she had sprouted horns on her head, but Behemoth puffed his chest and stood taller, as one of his paws pulled a calf away from the patch of fur on his arm the little tick had been pulling at. “Oh, don't you look at us like that, Godzilla. Younglings these days, Methuselah. I swear. We've been around way before there were even trees in this valley." 

Mothra's chirp was too inquisitive, the tilt of her head too curious. Methuselah's eyes were already brightening. 

"No, no—"

"That we did." Methuselah nodded vigorously down at Mothra. "Everything was just barren and gray.” 

“There were mushrooms taller than us.” Behemoth jutted his horns up towards the skies.

"I didn't—"

“Taller than even you, though maybe when you were still little.” Methuselah jutted his chin at him, and turned to Behemoth again, eyes suddenly sparkling. “Oh, remember when he reached just about your chest? And he could fit on my back and we would carry him to the beach—" 

“I... I can’t translate this quickly—"

Right in front of his eyes, tall mushrooms became tall trees, trees became a dramatic tale on how hard it was to make a forest grow, and how slowly day after day life changed around them with time. And oh, how much time it was for them. 

Mothra tilted her head at him, antennae moving to stand tall on her head. Too happy with herself.

"There they go. Look what you've done."

She chirped.

Their reminiscing brought up times when he was smaller and smaller, and the two really didn't seem like they would stop any while now. Mothra seemed entertained enough, throwing him an occasional look and a quiet titter. No doubt she noticed the looks he threw at them being ignored. But other than that her thoughts were distant. Maybe she was getting tired? 

He knew the two could be exhausting when they got together, the wide expanse of this land itself could be exhausting, it was a great leap from the calm of the island. He could feel his own tiredness creeping over his mind, and just looking back at the pests that seemed to have had enough running around and now laid on top of each other in piles made that exhaustion worse. 

He gave up on translating anything, it wasn’t worth it. Mothra still chirped and tilted her head, paying close attention to whatever they were talking about now. Something about small paws, of all things. But she either just liked seeing the two build off of each other’s energy in their tales, or the sight of some calves slowly climbing up Behemoth’s arms to rest on his back was enough to keep her interested. 

That trail of smoke still rose to meet the clouds, but he looked beyond, and the sky was changing. If they hurried they could catch the moment the sun set and those beasts she had liked so much moved back towards the thickest forests. This journey could still be salvaged.

"Alright, alright. This is great." He raised his voice enough that Methuselah paused the story he was sharing just as it became about his 'rebelled years'. He never had any such thing. "We have all met. You've had your fun. Now I do have to show her the lake where those horned beasts meet at.” 

He ignored the quiet huffing from the two while he nodded towards the way they had come from, and Mothra thankfully only dipped her head and moved a step closer with a strange twinkle in her eyes. Thank the deep. “Take care. And please, Behemoth, stay away from the caves—"

A loud bellow cut him off, and they turned as one to see the herd opening a path for a woolen beast to run into the clearing. The calves all stirred awake and clung tighter to Behemoth’s fur while the beast limped closer, hissing something under their breath, shaking their head and blinking too quickly. 

He remembered her. He didn’t know her name, he didn’t think she had ever even shared her name, but he knew what they had gone through together. They had parted ways moons ago, with a sealed cave behind their backs, new scars on their bodies, and a new charge she had chosen to care for. He remembered it all well. Remembered why she had to take on such a responsibility in the first place.

If that cave had been opened again—

He could already feel himself tensing, and he didn’t have time to keep his thoughts close enough, because Mothra trilled and one would need to have their eyes closed to miss the bright flash of light from her wings. Not that she hadn’t tensed at the sight of open wounds and blood already, but he felt the brush of her wings against his feet before his eyes caught up to what he was seeing.

"Godzilla?"

He turned to her with a quiet shake of his head. 

Her mandibles flexed, but she dipped her chin, and he dipped his in silent gratitude. Just a moment, he just needed a moment.

Methuselah and Behemoth stepped back for the beast to stop in front of him, leaning more heavily on one of her paws, until her weight seemed to become too much for her arm and she stumbled. But Behemoth's tusk shot out to gently slide under her chest, and she leaned heavily against it with a last tremor coursing her body. He could see where she had been bitten, the line on her side and shoulders where teeth had dragged through, could almost feel the pain himself. Behemoth would need a good while to help with that.

"Godzilla, t-they—" She started, then shook her pelt like it was dripping wet. It was, but not with water. "They came out of the caves near the coast again." She panted, and lifted her head to look him in the eye. A blood-soaked sneer stared back up at him.

"This time it's different. I don't know how, it—it just is."

Methuselah and Behemoth were already dipping their heads when he turned to them, and Mothra let her confusion freely brush against his mind.

Her worry.

“Godzilla? Are they—”

"It's alright. Everything will be fine." His words did nothing, her worry was still a hazy feeling nearly clogging his mind, but she took a step closer, and he leaned forward too, holding her worried gaze. "I just need to go. There's... there's something I need to do, a place that needs my help."

He turned to Behemoth, looking over to find him fussing over the beast's wounded shoulder, picking through the many flowers and plants tied around his tusks to press against her pelt as she hissed through her teeth. Methuselah stood behind her with an arm behind her back on the ground, letting her lean on him for a support he could see she needed.

He didn't even need to open his mouth for that understanding look to be quickly thrown his way. He turned back to Mothra, tilting his head back at Behemoth's calming gaze and leading her to look at him too.

"They will watch over you while I'm gone.” Mothra watched Behemoth murmur lowly to the beast and he pushed against her mind, drawing her searching eyes back to him. “Not that you would need to be. Watched over, that is. Just." He shut his mouth with a sigh. Rambling. Again. "Stay here, please."

"Alright."

Her words reached him easily, that same soft glow in her eyes stared back at him. She was holding something back, he could feel that same wall she had taught him about keeping him away. But through whatever tiny cracks there were, her worry still slipped through.

"Take care." Words soft in his mind, she tipped her head and held his eyes. "Whatever it is, wherever you will go."

He rose again and turned around to see the beast's anxious hovering. The fur on her neck was cleaner now, and she nervously flitted her eyes towards the trees. Time was a delicate thing, but something just kept him going. "I'm sorry. About those beasts you wanted to see. I’ll explain everything later."

“If you—if you would like to, then I would appreciate it." She tapped her claws on the ground, softly. Glanced at the beast hovering anxiously next to him. “I will be here."

"Alright. Good. I...” He went to take a step, hesitated, tried again. And finally leaned down and closer to Mothra again, his snout hovering next to her but not touching. His mind looking for anything else he could say. What was the plan here, even? To nudge her? But it would be strange to get up again so soon.

That mental wall seemed more physical than ever, and he was somewhat grateful for it now, he didn't think he would be able to keep his thoughts away from hers instead.

“Until later." Was what came out of his extensive search.

Before he could pull back, a claw gave his snout a soft tap.

Her eyes softened and she leaned forward a little, pressing her weight against him. And that should be impossible, her eyes couldn't even move. "Until then."

He finally turned around, his steps more purposeful while Mothra’s gaze followed him, but Methuselah's low rumbling still reached him. He was talking with either Behemoth or Mothra, and it was so unbearably soft. Was he comforting her? That was good.

"Oh, Godzilla! Did you show her the crystal lake yet? It's brimming with life around this time! Those horned ones always rest there too, I’m sure she’ll like that place."

He knew that tone in Methuselah's grumble, that comforting lilt to it that would always calm a flickering tail, a quickened heart or a hastened mind. He didn't need that anymore, but it was nice that it was still there. Maybe Mothra would appreciate it.

He didn't look back, but he did turn his head just enough to acknowledge that Methuselah had spoken to him. The winds would carry his words well enough. "I plan to. Soon."

So much for a good first impression.

The beast whined next to him, and he quickened his pace with a quiet grumble. "Are they safe?"

She glanced up at him, blinking the one eye she could keep open until recognition lightened that look. But there was something grateful, too, and tender in the softening of her brows.

"You remember." She huffed out in a quiet whisper, then shook her head. "They are," she said. "Scared, but they know to stay quiet. The others are keeping watch."

She ground out through gritted teeth, limped another step forward. "We managed to push them back enough for them to reconsider, it seems. No one was hurt too much."

He glanced at the plant-covered wound on her side, and nodded, grumbling in his chest as he looked forward again.

"But they will come back."

He looked down, met her wide eye and furrowed brows. Desperation colored her quivering growls.

"I know they will, Godzilla," she stressed through gritted teeth. "This felt nothing like... like more than a game, almost. They never retreated without you there before. I don't understand. But I don't like it."

"I know." His slow grumble drew her jaws closed, and he met the uncertain look she threw up at him too with a nod. Others might think them overzealous, overreactive, alarmists. Others had not gone through what they had. Only lived in the peace their worry provided. "They will not go far, do not worry."

The look in her eyes smoothed itself into a calm worry instead of a desperate one. There was no need to convince him of anything. It was good to see her realize that.

He could hear the flutter of Mothra's wings, could hear Methuselah murmuring, Behemoth making an agreeable sound.

But she would be alright, they would all be alright. He would make sure.

He wouldn't be getting fur stuck in his teeth this time, presuming he wouldn't be losing a tooth or more.

He could also not miss the quiet whispering beside him. The sound of the beast whispering under her breath more like hissing, but not from pain.

It was a pointless thing to ask, really. But he watched her lowered head, then grumbled, "What troubles you?"

Distant screeches from the sky silenced as soon as they flew above him, but he still nodded up at whoever lingered above. He was already on his way, no need for another guide.

"They are unharmed." She repeated without looking up. "They weren't hurt. This time. But if they had come just a little closer—"

"They will not come again," he said firmly. "Others will follow their example."

"They are getting bolder—"

"And I—" He stopped. Blinked. Bit back his growl. "We will not let any harm come to any others."

Like this, when she lowered her head and let the sunlight leave her face, the tired lines of age and exhaustion in her eyes were more evident than ever. He would have softened his tone if he did not know this was what it took to really soothe her worries. He had not recruited her help. They were to leave and retreat until he was made aware of any problems. They knew that. But he could not, and would not fault her for her choice. If anything, the sight of her wounded eye and limping gait only brought a bitter taste to his mouth. If he had been patrolling instead of resting on the island would it have made a difference? Would he have reached them before she was forced to be hurt?

They walked in silence until the trees grew taller and thicker. Then she sniffed the air, with a difficulty he could note, and let out a low sound in her chest.

"I cannot be of any further use to you now, in this state." She limped forward, then nodded, and stared ahead with her head held higher. Much like she had when he had nodded at a burrow in the ground and asked if she would take such a responsibility as her own. "But I will try my best."

He grumbled, turned his eyes towards the distant mountains he could catch a glimpse of already, and sighed.

"That is the only thing we can do."

Chapter Text

Methuselah could pinpoint the exact moment, and the exact place, that a shift happened in his life. 

He couldn’t tell as easily what made him go to that spot on the beach. 

He didn’t like the beach, he didn’t like water, but something had pulled him to that place in the sands, not far enough that the forests were too far behind, but with a wide enough view of the sands and the distant horizon.

He remembered all of it well, he could still feel the way the breeze ruffled the leaves of trees on his back, the soft warmth of the sun on his skin. And he also knew that he was having a bad day.

It was a slow journey, an agonizing trek through trees and mounds and rivers until the beach was finally in his view.

He hated it. 

It went on for too long and he knew it went deep. Deeper than it had any right to. And it was everywhere. That deep water was all around.

But he needed something different, other than waking up, pulling himself off the ground and finding another mountain to lean into. Behemoth had told him to go to the beach, like that was a solution to everything. Why don’t you stand in the ocean breeze for a while, Methuselah, he had said, it’ll clear your head. 

Maybe to him it was, he was having a bad time just making his way to the beach.

He lost count of how many times he had to growl to get creatures to move. There was a forest on his back but he wasn’t that slow to blend in with the foliage around. Everything was testing him today, that was it.

The sand crunched under his paws, and he took a long deep breath. The air tasted like water, and rain, and salt. Very calming, Behemoth. The ocean was still staring back at him and being too deep.

He sank his claws into the sand, and it didn't feel bad. It was good enough to keep him there. Listening to things screaming at each other and everything in the sky, the lapping of waves, feeling the sunlight on his skin. It felt good. Enough to close his eyes and ignore the ocean, just enough to take another deep breath and take it all in.

That wasn't the smell of salt, that was blood.

He opened his eyes and sniffed the air again. That was close. And it was indeed really close, it turned out. Because after two steps deeper into the beach he found what had been reeking so much. He just needed to look down.

There was a body, that had just washed up on the sands by the look of it. It was small, terribly small, and he didn't want to step closer to confirm what he thought it was.

He had seen this kind before, they could get big. Very big. But he hadn't seen another in a good while. They had their territory, and as long as he didn't overstep there were no problems to be had. Throughout the years, they were one of the only ones on this land he didn't have to worry about at all, others were a little too content to start fights.

They got big, very big, but this one was small. And it wasn't moving. And it reeked of old wounds.

It was missing scales, the tip of its tail, and the sharp crests on its back hadn't even begun to properly grow yet, but they were a dull color. Cracked, and dulled. He saw many things in his life, but it was always a bad day to find a little one having its life cut short.

This bad day was now even worse.

Something kept him from just turning around and leaving that body to return to the earth, something must have made him take a careful step closer. He didn't know what, he didn't know why.

He sniffed it, and nudged at it with a claw, and it was a horrible thing to see. The way it was limp, its little arms slumped at its sides.

Until it wasn't anymore.

He didn't have time to blink, because in one moment golden little eyes shot open, the next it had crawled its way up and dashed under his legs, and the next he was turning, looking all around for it.

And he found it, and its nipped tail, hanging from the branch of a tree. A very tall tree, but that was near the end of its life. The ground next to a beach wasn't the best place for it to grow.

The little one watched him with wide eyes from its perch on that tree. And that branch was way too small for its weight.

“What are you doing?" He stepped closer, but stopped, the tree shook a little too much with each step. "How did you get up there so fast?”

The little one clung to the trunk, claws digging into the flacking wood. It pulled its tail closer and curled it around itself, words stumbling out from its mouth like a scattering herd.

“They—they’re going to get me.”

“Who?” He inched closer. “Can you come down? You’ll hurt yourself if you fall. This tree—”

It was a very bad day for him, and for the little one too it seemed.

Because the branch broke, and the tree gave in when it hit the ground with a startled yelp, but he rushed forward and pushed the trunk back and away with his horns before anything worse could happen.

And then he looked down to see the little one curled into a ball, holding its tail like it was the only thing that could protect it, and he didn't think much before he laid down and pressed his head into the ground close to it, murmuring calm nothings that didn’t seem to even reach its ears.

It didn't run away, it didn't growl or swipe at him like the bigger ones did, it just curled itself more, closed its eyes tight and flinched. And he would have preferred a new scar on his face.

He grumbled deep in his throat, nudged it until its spiky back rested against one of his horns. It did open its eyes then, and those widened wet eyes had clearly seen too much for one so young.

“It’s alright. You’re alright. No harm done.”

He didn’t know if it was the sound he made, or the tone of his voice, or maybe the way he stilled himself as much as when the earth accepted him as part of itself—but the little one slowly stopped shaking and let go of its tail to take a look at him. Its eyes lingered on his horns, and his teeth, but then moved up, to meet his eyes, and that lasting tension in its body left bit by bit. 

He heard those thundering steps before the little one had a chance to tense up again, and Methuselah had half a mind to question when he had started to recognize those steps, when they had stopped making him tense. But the little one was trying to dig a hole in the ground, and wasn't getting very far, and just gave up when those steps stopped a little ahead in front of them. 

Behemoth stood just a step away and cocked his head. And any other day he might have huffed at the look in his eyes, asked him why he was there, but not today, when the little one was shaking so hard he could hear its teeth chattering against each other.

Behemoth's eyes moved from him, to the little one, to the fallen tree and back. “What is going on here?”

"It came from the water." The little one nuzzled even closer, shoving its head into his horns. “It’s afraid someone will get it."

Behemoth lowered himself to have a look at it, his tusks coming to rest on the sand and framing them both, and they must have disturbed a bit of sand, or dirt, because the little one tensed up, and sneezed. 

It froze, and tried to find a way to shove itself inside his horn again.

But Behemoth only huffed and tilted his head the way he always saw him do with calves, and him, whenever he was being too unreasonable by his silly standards. “What is your name?”

The little one watched Behemoth closely, eyes tracing his tusks before moving back to his face. But then it turned its head to look at him over its shoulder, and after he dipped his chin further into the sand, the little one turned back to Behemoth, took a deep breath, and pushed itself forward to stand a little taller.

It wasn't every day someone found the sight of him more reassuring than Behemoth.

“Godji—Goji—” It shook its head with a growl, and tried again with a determined sneer. “Godji—”

They shared a look over its head and nodded encouragingly. 

But it sighed, and spoke to the grass under its feet. “...Godji...la.”

“Godzilla?" Behemoth repeated, bless his experience with teaching young and understanding what they tried to say. "What a mighty name, fit for a fierce warrior.”

Godzilla opened its mouth, but closed it again, and lowered its head with a flick of its tail. Tiny claws digging into the sand.

“But you are hurt, little one. Come along, let us take a look at you.”

Godzilla looked back at him over its shoulder again, looked back up at Behemoth's gentle encouragement, and pushed itself up using his horns for purchase.

Methuselah could pinpoint the exact moment everything changed in his life. Because he didn't get to sleep for a long time after they took that skitterish young deeper into the land to heal its wounds.

Godzilla was a headache.

A headache that needed food, and attention, and calm and slow movements. 

He liked to climb on his back, and wouldn't come down until Behemoth gave him his tusks to help him down. He liked to stand in the sand, listen to the waves, and wet his feet. He liked to sleep under the sunlight, but he would only do so when he was near, his eyes would always seek him out, like he was afraid that he would simply disappear. But he was always near, Behemoth had a herd to help take care of.

Godzilla was a headache, that would run to hide under his legs at the smallest noise. 

A headache that after many nights trusted him enough to sleep again since they had first found him, a headache that looked at the oceans with such longing and fear. A headache that made him build up enough courage to step into the oceans with Godzilla clinging to the rocks on his back, while Behemoth hooted and cheered from the beach.

A headache that taught him how to love the ocean again.

A headache that taught him to close his eyes and find comfort in the deep silence under the waves, taught him to simply leave himself at the mercy of the water and let it carry him wherever it wanted. 

And soon the beach wasn’t enough for both of them anymore, they swam deeper and deeper into the open water, and after messing around and swimming with pods of other creatures all day Godzilla would then climb on his back and let the sun warm his scales while he carried them both back to the beach, and to Behemoth's greetings.

He was a headache that grew, and grew, taller and stronger until he towered over them both. 

A headache that would bring them gifts. Trees and rocks to add to his back, logs and trunks for Behemoth’s herd. A headache that would jump in front of anything to protect them, who would move mountains and skies to protect every life around him, big and small, friend or foe. 

He grew, and grew, until they both watched him walk deeper into the waves at the setting of each sun with shared looks and no worry in their hearts.

He got that change he wanted so much, Behemoth would tell him, bumping his head into his. And that change was small, so small he could fit in his paws, but that small thing changed so much in his life. Sunrise by sunrise.

And that change didn’t stop there, because that’s the whole meaning of the word.

When he had stepped into the clearing again that one night, looking as winded as his eyes looked lost, and told them of balls of fire and strange chirps and stranger things, they hadn’t thought much of it.

When he came back a few suns later, with new tales of bright blue eyes and flowers, they had both realized they were just there to listen while Godzilla let his words flow. But when he came back a few moons later with wounds for Behemoth to tend to, there was guilt in his eyes, and no more words to share about his strange ‘blue thing’.

And the next time he visited, he was simply quiet, and his eyes gave nothing away that could help them understand.

And then, after Behemoth’s plants had done their bidding and those wounds had healed and scarred, he had left, and came back with a sparkle in his eyes he had missed so much. And with that sparkle came words of large wings, and moonlit eyes, and dances in the sky. And Behemoth would look at him, and he would look at Behemoth, and they would turn back to Godzilla’s silent rambling while his tail dodged grabby paws.

And then he understood.

Looking down at Mothra. Those bright eyes and those excited chirps. Seeing her look back at Godzilla with a softening look in her eyes, seeing her measuring him up at the telltale sight of that tail flicking, seeing how with one look from Godzilla her hackles came down and she turned those curious eyes to him again, stepped closer, really looked at him, so much he felt like he was looked through.

He understood, and he was happy; because Godzilla got that change he needed too.