Ensign T’Fearne - Cerulean Echos [ Part 1]
teayl.thorn
((Flashback))
((Market Street, B’Hala, Kendra Province, Bajor))
The chaotic sounds of Market Street swirled around her—people calling out to eachother, children crying in the alleyways, the scent of fresh bread mingling with the sharp tang of blood, dust and smoke.
In a moment of desire to protect the Bajorans, her voice was used as a conduit for the wormhole aliens. T’Fearne felt a tingling sensation at the back of her mind—a strange awareness, as though something ancient and immeasurable was reaching out. Her breath hitched as blue light flickered through her vision, a sudden pulse of energy so pure and foreign it seemed to drown out all else. Beings far stranger than she could fathom, pulling on her vocal cords to share their warning. Her throat burned with the weight of their words, a message not for her but for the people of B’Hala. It seemed to have worked as the word had spread through the city like a wildfire—a warning from the Prophets. The gossip flew from street vendor to farmer, from child to parent.
She had a moment of memory drenched in blue, the market street, the fallen spire, the overturned cart, and the Bajoran people all lit by an inner blue fire. Alieth glowing with brilliant green fire on her ear. And there was Vrozek. His figure glowed with an intensity of yellow fire, mixed with streaks of red and blue—a strange combination that sent an unexplainable chill down her spine. What did it mean?
Then the bite of the arrow at her back.
Alieth refusing to let her go, bearing the responsibility of everyone's lives on her tiny shoulders.
Alieth: No, I will not let you go. You are my responsibility. All these people are. We must leave, and save as many as we can.
Vrozek’s voice urging that there wasn't time to save others, he should have sounded afraid, but instead, he sounded angry, and she wasn’t sure why.
Vrozek ::tries to hide his anger::. We don’t have time to save everyone; we must go. Do you think that was the only thing following us?
She wondered what he meant.
She remembered flashes of being pulled along in the fading dusk, pausing at moments to catch her breath, the crowds travelling with them becoming thicker, then being pulled up into a cart with the wounded and crying children.
Someone, probably Alieth, pulling an arrow out of her shoulder and then pain. Only blackness followed.
((End of Flashback))
((Back of a Cart, Road to the Mountain Pass, B’Hala, Kendra Province, Bajor))
The world returned slowly, like a blue fog lifted from her mind. She woke to the feeling of something soft brushing against her hair. She blinked, her senses sluggish, and then she saw the tiny Bajoran girl, her eyes wide with concern. The girl’s hands were gentle as she placed a small, delicate flower in T’Fearne’s dark curls—an innocent gesture of kindness in the midst of so much chaos.
T’Fearne’s gaze drifted down, and she realized with bemusement that the sleeves of her bloodstained jacket had been used as a sort of makeshift embroidery canvas while she slept. Some of the stitching was painstakingly beautiful, as though crafted with the greatest care. Other parts, however, were less precise, as if a drunken arachnid had decided to leave its mark in silk.
She was in the back of a cart loaded with a group of children and a few other injured, all crouching in a bed of dried grasses. Some of the children were holding needles and thread and had clearly been having an impromptu mischief session.
T’Fearne: What’s…what’s this? :: croaky voiced:: This is very pretty. Did you do this:: indicating the embroidered sleeves and the flowers:: Thank you!
She sat up with a grimace and tried not to move her shoulder.
The child beside her, eyes full of wonder and quiet fear, tugged at her freshly embroidered sleeve.
Bajoran Girl: Priestess… will the Prophets save us?
T’Fearne’s throat tightened, the weight of the question far too much for her right at that moment. She could feel the depth of the child’s hope and the weight of the uncertainty that loomed over them all. These children would not grow up in a thriving B’Hala like so many of their ancestors. Their lives would be very different. She thought about growing up on Betazed in the aftermath of the occupation.
She squeezed the child’s hand, her long fingers gently enveloping the tiny one.
T’Fearne: Yes :: softly, looking deep into the warm brown eyes above the tiny crinkled nose:: You will be safe. You will go on an adventure, little one. You will travel across Bajor and see its beauty, mountains, rivers, valleys, oceans, and stars. And you will grow strong, as strong as your pagh.
She reached out and gave the girl’s ear a gentle tug.
T’Fearne: Oh, such a strong pagh. And you too!
She reached over with her good arm and playfully pinched a few other little ears until the solemn children were giggling and wriggling away in the back of the cart in mock escape.
T’Fearne: You’re all very brave. You will carry this story with you. The stories of B’Hala, of all of us. Tell Bajor your stories.
The cart rocked over the uneven road, and the children’s eyes sparkled, for a moment, the weight of the exodus and the uncertainty of their future felt a little lighter.
T’Fearne’s heart ached. Her team had done their best to give them a future, and even the Prophets seemed to have a hand in it. She had no way to know, but she thought that the children would remember.
oO Maybe you are the ones who will carry the rumours and tell the tale to the generations to come, passing down the myth of the once great city of B’Hala, the jewel of Bajor, lost to time. Oo
She knew that it would not be forever.
[Act 3 / No Tags / TBC in Part 2]
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Security Officer
USS Ronin - NCC-34523
R240107T14