Ganymede had lost track of Dal-Sun unusually quickly.  She was already far behind as it was, but near the start of her chase, Dal-Sun had seemingly started jumping up the cliff face in ways that looked impossible to Ganymede, and Dal-Sun disappeared from sight shortly afterwards.  Ganymede was left to make the trek up the mountain on her own.

She wasn’t sure exactly which direction to go to find the dragon, but she knew the path had to be reachable by a crowd of inexperienced climbers, at least, and there was only one road in front of her, so she took it.  The many fresh prints in the dirt indicated that she was on the right track.

As she set on the path, her mind raced to process everything that had just happened back in town.  Dal-Sun had beaten Martim–her own friend–into unconsciousness.  Before that, even, in the days leading up to their arrival at Dinrock, she had already been crueler than usual, in her words and actions.  Ganymede had assumed it was because they were getting closer to a potential path towards the moon, but that hadn’t been enough to make Ganymede be mean towards her friends.

Ganymede winced.  She was leaving the others behind.  Arya had run off crying, having been betrayed by her own beliefs.  Ganymede didn’t know if Martim was even still alive.  She had abandoned them to chase after Dal-Sun and the dragon.  A part of her hated herself for doing it, a part of her felt selfish, but her feet kept moving forward anyway.

In the end, Ganymede didn’t know how to help either of them.  Martim could only be taken care of by doctors, if that.  Ganymede couldn’t even imagine what Arya was going through, never having been especially religious herself, and knowing very little about Arya’s religion in particular.  Ganymede wondered if it felt the same way as it would feel to her if the moon was killed–if something like that happened, Ganymede suspected she would be inconsolable, too.

But what about Dal-Sun?  Ganymede was heading towards the dragon to see it for herself, too.  But a part of her was definitely still pursuing Dal-Sun, as well.  Why was that?  What was she expecting?  What was she hoping to do?

Who even was Dal-Sun?

Ganymede thought back to the friend she had gotten to know over the weeks that she had been part of the Lunites.  Dal-Sun had always been a little rebellious in nature, it was true.  Head-strong.  But Ganymede had never gotten the impression that it was malicious, not until these past few days.  The Dal-Sun she knew had been kind.  The Dal-Sun she knew had used her head-strong nature to look after others.

But the Dal-Sun she’d known had always been distant, too.  There had always seemed to be subjects under the surface that she’d simply avoided.  She would frequently relate to Ganymede about how she had grown up in an environment similar to hers, went through similar troubles.  But she had never shared details.  Ganymede had been left to guess, to simply take Dal-Sun at her word–but ultimately, she couldn’t, because Dal-Sun had turned out so differently than she had.

Or at least, so she felt.  But she knew Dal-Sun disagreed with her on that point, too.  Dal-Sun seemed to think Ganymede was the same as her.  She’d said so multiple times.

Ganymede thought back to all the times she had disagreed with Dal-Sun, or felt different from her.  Sometimes she would say as such, and Dal-Sun would wave it off, say that Ganymede just needed to get used to life in the Lunites, or otherwise that the difference wasn’t as big as she made it out to be.  Sometimes Ganymede would simply stay silent if Dal-Sun said anything she disagreed with, because she was afraid of what might happen if she said so.  Maybe Dal-Sun just assumed Ganymede felt the same way she did because of that silence.

Maybe it was due to this deception on Ganymede’s part that Dal-Sun thought the two of them were the same.  Maybe it was Ganymede’s fault this was happening now.

Ganymede felt pangs in her stomach from the rising guilt, but she kept pressing forward.  If it was her own fault, then it was all the more reason for her to find Dal-Sun and make this right, somehow.  She would find that connection between the two of them, for the sake of the moon.

She looked towards the sky, and felt silly for doing so, because of course the moon wouldn’t be out.  It was broad daylight.  In fact, even though she had started off just a few hours after dawn, the sun had already passed overhead.  It was past noon.  Had she really been walking for that long?

Then, suddenly, something slammed into her backside, and she fell forward onto the ground, smashing her nose into the dirt.  After recovering from the shock, she groaned, lifted herself up, and looked back over her shoulder.

There was Dal-Sun, standing over her, paws clenched.

“You rejected me,” Dal-Sun said, “but you’re here anyway.  Why?”

Ganymede said nothing.  She still didn’t have a clear answer for that, herself.

“I could’ve gotten there before you did, easily,” Dal-Sun said.  “But it bothered me too much that you were here at all.  You’re not here to help, so I can only assume you’re here to get in the way.  And I can’t allow that.”  She put her paws on her hips.  “So tell me.  Why are you here?”

Ganymede looked back at her.  “I don’t want to get in the way,” she said.  “I want to help you.”

Dal-Sun shook her head.  “You know, I really don’t understand you.”

“I don’t understand you, either,” Ganymede said, turning herself over.  “But I want to.”

Dal-Sun shook her head again, her arms now crossed.  “You’re the only person I’ve met who wants to go to the moon as badly as I do.  And who understands it as well as I do.  You’re the only other person I’ve ever seen who was willing to throw everything away for the sake of pursuing it.  You’re the only other person I’ve seen who was willing to do it even if no one was helping you.”  Dal-Sun threw her arms out.  “And yet, when we’re here, as closest to the moon as we’ve ever been, and I’m making what are the most obvious choices I’ve ever made in my life, you’re here looking at me like I’m fucking crazy.”

“I want the moon more than anything else, too,” Ganymede said, “but I don’t think the moon means the same thing to me as it does to you.”

Dal-Sun looked down at her for another second.  Then Dal-Sun lifted her leg and slammed it into Ganymede’s side, causing her to roll several feet away.

“Enough of that bullshit,” Dal-Sun said, walking over to her again.  “What do you mean the moon doesn’t mean the same thing to you?  It’s the fucking moon.  It sits up there in the sky, and it provides raw magic power and energy.  That’s proven facts.”

“That’s the thing, though,” Ganymede said, clutching her aching side.  “That’s the only part you seem to care about.  But the moon is a living thing, too, and I–”

“It’s NOT!” Dal-Sun said, kicking her again, with the same level of force as before.

After Ganymede stopped rolling, she groaned.  “You only care about power,” she said, “but I don’t.  I’ve never cared about it.  I just want to meet the moon.  I want to tell her I care about her.  And I want to tell everyone else in the world I care about them, too.  I want to get to the moon so I can learn how to do that.”

Dal-Sun walked over to her again, and Ganymede braced herself for another kick, but it didn’t come.  “I don’t believe this,” Dal-Sun said.  “What the fuck kinda fairytale bullshit are you on about?  You’re a goddamn grown woman, Ganymede.  And you sure as fuck weren’t all hearts and hugs back in your hometown.  You KNOW how necessary power is.  You ALREADY ran away from the people you ‘loved’ for the sake of getting more power.  Now you’re judging me for doing the same?”  Here, Dal-Sun stomped her hoof into Ganymede’s side.

“Gah!  I left my home because I failed to figure out how to tell them I care about them!  I left because I wanted to figure out how!”  She looked at Dal-Sun with tears forming in her eyes.  “The moon’s the only way for me to do that!  That’s the only reason I’ve ever wanted to reach the moon!  It’s pointless to get to the moon if I have to hurt people to do it!”

Dal-Sun kept staring down at her.  Then, she started walking circles around her.  “Let me tell you something about power,” Dal-Sun said.  “People always talk about it like it’s a bad thing, but the fact is that there isn’t shit you can do in this world without power.  Power is, simply, the ability to do things.  To make changes.  The more power you can get, the more you’re able to do.  Good things included.  Telling people you care about them?  That takes power, too.  It at least takes the power to communicate, which not everyone has.  Some would say it takes the power of courage.”  She shrugged.  “I’d say it takes the power of self-delusion, but what do I know.

“The point is, power can be used for stuff like that, too.  But there’s no point to that kind of power.  So you say some words to somebody.  So what?  What does that do?  What does that change?  Nothing.  What have you actually done in the world?  What presence do you even have, if that’s all you do?  Are you even alive, if that’s all you do?”  Dal-Sun raised her arms in the air.  “You ‘care’ about people so much?  Why don’t you fucking do something about it!?  Don’t say words to them, do something that actually changes their lives and makes them better!  And if you really care about them, get as much power as you can so that you can make as many positive changes as you can.”  She thumped her chest.  “That’s what I’m doing.  I’m getting power so I can make things better.  You’re not in a position to judge me when you’re doing nothing.”

As Dal-Sun spoke, Ganymede had slowly lifted herself to a sitting position.  “Some power can be good,” Ganymede said, “but if you have to abandon what you care about in order to get that power, then you’ve defeated the purpose of getting the power, and then you’ve done worse than nothing.”

Dal-Sun kicked at her again, but Ganymede managed to block it with her arms this time, and maintain her position.

“I haven’t abandoned anything!  It’s all of you who are rejecting me!” Dal-Sun said.  “I’ve always tried to show people the right way to get things done, and I’ve always been ignored or chastised or fucking fought over the issue!  I’m always the only one willing to do the actual work of it!  I’m always the only one willing to make the sacrifices that have to be made!  And I’m willing to do that even when no one else wants to, and then you all have the gall to judge me for it!  To insult me for it!”

“I’m not insulting you!” Ganymede said, now getting to her feet.  “I care about you, too!  I’m just worried that you’re making things worse for yourself, or others!  I know I’m not perfect, I don’t understand everything, but neither do you!  You need friends to help you figure these things out!  You’re not supposed to be making all the decisions on your own!”

“Stop telling me what to DO!”  Dal-Sun pushed her, knocking her back a few steps.  Reverberations of awful memories resonated through Ganymede’s mind.

“There’s no ‘making decisions together!’” Dal-Sun said.  “You either win and do what you know is right, or you lose and you don’t!”

“But what I know is the right thing to do is to care about other people!”  Ganymede felt her whole body shaking now.  “But I don’t always know the right way to do that, so that’s why talking with friends about it is important!  Because they can help me know what is the right thing to do!”

“Pathetic,” Dal-Sun spat, walking circles around Ganymede again, though this time, Ganymede spun in place to make sure to stay facing her.  “Why, exactly, do you still think other people actually know what they want?  After everything you’ve seen?  After what happened to you?  People don’t know what they want.  People are awful at knowing what they want, or what they need.”

Dal-Sun stepped back a pace and threw out her arms once again, but kept circling Ganymede.  “Fucking look around you!  Look how much everyone around you has been hurt already!  Martim’s hometown has no money, Arya’s hometown has no backbone, your hometown has no goddamn sense, and not only have we all been hurt by those things, do you think anyone else in those places is doing any better for it?  And do you think these places are the exception to the rule?  They’re not!  They’re the only types of places that exist at all!  People don’t know how to take care of themselves!

“But do you know the real problem, in all those cases?” Dal-Sun asked, pointing at Ganymede.  “Because all of those people willingly give up any and all power that they would ordinarily have.  Because they’re cowards.  They’re afraid of the responsibility.  More than that, and more pathetically, they’re afraid of any change at all.  They’re willing to be miserable for their entire lives rather than do the scary thing of fighting to make anything different for themselves.  Because they’re afraid someone might judge them for it.”  Dal-Sun spat on Ganymede.  “You have that fear, too.”

Ganymede winced.  She couldn’t deny she held that fear close to her heart at all times.  Still, she held her ground.

“I thought maybe you were different because you were willing to go against everyone in spite of that fear,” Dal-Sun continued.  “I thought you were trying to overcome that fear, because you were brave.”  She scoffed.  “I see now, though, that you’re just a confused idiot, just like everyone else.”

“I don’t understand everything, but I’m doing my best,” Ganymede said, her voice quivering.  “And I think everyone else is in the same position.  I think they’re trying to change what they can in ways that make sense to them.  I think they’re always learning what they’re capable of changing.”

“They aren’t trying to change anything!” Dal-Sun shouted.  “You know how I know?  Because they always hate the people who do change anything.  The people at your home hated you for trying to change things.  The people in my home hated me for trying to change things.  Everyone around us still hates us for trying to change anything.  They hate us just for being different.  And it’s fucking stupid, because everyone is different!  It’s just that no one wants to admit that or embrace it!”  She lifted her arms to the sky and looked upwards.  “Do you know just how wonderful and beautiful the world would be if everyone loved themselves for what made them different from everyone else, and brought those differences into the world?  How colorful and vibrant everything would be?  If people loved and accepted each other for being different, for bringing that color and beauty into the world!?”  She slammed her paw against her own chest.  “I know what it truly takes to bring about that kind of world.  I know it means gathering as much power as I can, to change as much as I can, and not being ashamed of doing it.  Gathering power and using it is love, because it means love and acceptance of myself, and love of others who are willing to do the same.”

She paused, her breathing ragged.  Ganymede’s own breath was unsteady, too.

“You say that,” Ganymede said, “but from what I see, you don’t accept how others are different from you.  When they’re different from you, and they go out of their way to express that, you judge them for it, too, clearly.”  Ganymede looked her in the eye.  “I thought you liked me, but it was only because you thought I was the same as you, and now that you know I’m not, you’re hurting me.  Hating me.  If this is a problem with everyone, then it’s a problem with you, too.”

Something in Dal-Sun’s expression suggested something other than pure bitterness or anger, but Ganymede couldn’t figure out what it was.  Dal-Sun sighed and looked to the ground.  “You still don’t get it,” she said.

“But I know what you’re saying is wrong, because I know I don’t feel it in myself,” Ganymede said, tears rising to her eyes again.  “Even though you’re so different from me, and even though you’re hurting me, I still think you’re beautiful.  I still love you for what you are.”

Dal-Sun looked back up to stare at her, but her expression was no longer one of anger.  It was one of disdain.  Disgust.

“Not even enough self-respect to stand up for yourself,” Dal-Sun said, reaching for something in the inner pocket of her coat.  “Just a mindless, cowering, bootlicking worm-critter like everyone else.”

“This is me standing up for myself,” Ganymede said, doing her best to stop herself from crying.  “This is me saying what I know to be true.  That I can do what I think is right, and make the changes I want to make, and I can disagree with the changes you want to make, and I can still love you and want to understand you and work together with you in spite of all that.  You tell me I’m a grown woman, well, you are, too, Dal-Sun.  You don’t have to view the world in such black-and-white terms like a child would.”

Dal-Sun held the moon rock in her paw.

“I’m not a woman,” she said, “and I’m not a man.  I’m a god.”

And with that, she swallowed the moon rock whole.

Somewhere in the back of Ganymede’s mind, she wondered whether this would even accomplish anything, given that the sun was out, given that there was no ritual circle.  But it was only the briefest of thoughts before Dal-Sun’s knuckles started slamming into her face.

The pains were sharp and quick, and they were now hitting her all across her body.  For a moment, she thought she might be about to be knocked out like Martim, or worse.  But she stayed conscious.  Dal-Sun didn’t mean to incapacitate her, Dal-Sun meant to hurt her.

The pain was all-encompassing and overwhelming to the point where Ganymede almost felt as though she was detached from all of it, in some strange way.  She felt the pain, but it was also like she was observing it, using her own body as her means of perception.

She observed Dal-Sun, too.  She thought she did, but just like before, Dal-Sun didn’t even look real anymore.  She looked like a dream, like a hallucination.  Like she had no corporeal form, and was landing these blows on Ganymede’s body through thoughts alone.  Through sheer willpower.

And this was Dal-Sun’s will, the fierce, raging will that she’d always had.  This was the will that had whisked through Ganymede’s hometown, that had grabbed Ganymede and taken her away from the town, too.  The same will that had rescued her from that life, that had shown her so many other things.  That had told Ganymede that she was worth something that her hometown hadn’t seen in her.

This will was now beating her into nothing, but it was the same will as before.  It still had the same presence and beauty, and Ganymede was still grateful for what it had done for her.  Even though she no longer felt she understood why it had done it.

Ganymede had her own will, too, but it didn’t have the ferocity that Dal-Sun’s will did.  It was why Dal-Sun was able to overwhelm her now.  Ganymede never had that power, because she never wanted it.  But Dal-Sun always wanted it, and it was why she had it now.  Was able to use it like this.  Was able to use it to hurt Ganymede, or help her, or surprise her, or scare her.

The only thing Ganymede’s will had was resolution, in spite of everything.  The desire to know someone.  The desire to understand and accept another’s will for what it was.  Ganymede considered this, and realized it was her will to continue trying to connect with Dal-Sun, even in a moment like this one.

But she realized, now, that a connection was meant to go both ways.  She wanted the connection, but Dal-Sun didn’t.  She would never be able to make a connection work as long as that was true, no matter how hard she tried.

She realized that maybe it had been the same way with everyone else, too.  Her friends and family back home, her friends in the Lunites.  She wanted a connection that the others didn’t want, or didn’t know how to give her.  And because of that, the longer she tried to connect with them, the more she prolonged the pain.

She kept trying, because she hated the idea of abandoning them.  But maybe it wasn’t her fault that they couldn’t connect.  Maybe it wasn’t her responsibility.  And all she was accomplishing by trying to force the issue was hurting both of them.

She considered this, and she considered Dal-Sun, still whaling away at her already bruised and beaten body.  Whaling away at Ganymede only because Ganymede had kept trying to connect with her, after it had become clear that there was nothing more to come of it.

And so, Ganymede turned away.

She turned away, and so Dal-Sun’s body-slam missed its target, and kept moving forward

 

off the cliff behind Ganymede

 

and into the open air

 

as Ganymede looked down in horror

 

and Dal-Sun looked back up at her

 

and smiled at her.

 

By the time Ganymede’s thoughts returned to her in full, she was still staring over the cliffside.  But Dal-Sun was now long gone, and Ganymede was left with nothing but her badly aching body.

Ganymede slowly crawled backwards, away from the cliff ledge, and then gradually made her way over to the inner mountain wall, where she collapsed in a heap.

Ganymede stared at the distance, at nothing, for a long time.

Then tears rose to her eyes again.

Then she started sobbing.

She cried, and she cried, and she cried.

“Haruto,” she said.  “Haruto, I just wanted to be your friend.”

And so she kept crying, until eventually she fell asleep from exhaustion.