Chapter Text
Samanya excused herself as the two locked eyes. She could tell this was the kind of conversation her adoptive father needed privacy for. She was not a stranger to ex-Horde soldiers. Over the years, she and her father sheltered more than a few grunts left to die on the front lines. However, this woman wasn’t just some canon fodder that needed help disappearing. She’d seen the wanted posters; she’d heard Kantor’s confessions. This was Captain Adora, the Beast of the Horde, and the two had some talking to do.
They continued staring at one another after Samanya left. Two ex-Seconds of the Horde, who had each once stood astride the greatest military machine Etheria had known in a thousand years, were now sharing a pot of gritty coffee in a rundown kitchen.
“I’ve seen the files,” Adora said, breaking the silence. She was staring right through him. “I know you ordered the attack.”
Kantor sat down across from her, laying his cane against the table. The wolf could hear that his heart was pounding in his ears. Still, he sounded almost nonchalant when he spoke. “Are you here to kill me, then?”
She stayed quiet for an unsettlingly long time. The question brought her back to the moment she first reviewed those files months ago. The green and black text on the cracked monitor stabbing at her eyes. Her vision blurring with tears as she realized . . . every horror, every hurt, every crime . . . pointless. It had all been pointless.
“The files listed the mission as a failure,” she finally said, barely keeping the cracks out of her voice. “It wasn’t supposed to — to end like it did.” She looked back at Kantor. “What happened?”
“A simple no,” He deadpanned. “Would have been easier on an old man’s heart.”
“Do you really think you have the right to an easy heart?” She shot back.
“Do you really think you deserve to be the judge of that?” He parried. While Kantor preferred to keep away from news of the Evil Horde, even he couldn’t avoid hearing of the infamous Beast. When she said nothing, he sighed and poured himself a cup. “Would you like some?” he asked. “Samanya guzzles the stuff around new moons. The caffeine counters the exhaustion.” She said nothing. “It’s a long story,” he explained. “We may be here a while.”
He poured her a cup and slid it across the table. She eyed the drink warily before taking an aggressive swig. To her credit, she almost kept a straight face. Kantor winced. Back in his day, officers had a regular coffee ration. He hadn’t thought about how the Horde must have changed in the last decade as the old guard leadership, those who had chosen to join at the start, were replaced by those who had been drafted before they could spell.
When Kantor joined, the Horde wasn’t too different from the mercenary crews he’d run with since he was a boy. Except those who joined got a lot more security and a lot more power. In exchange, all they had to do was follow a few more rules and turn a blind eye to certain . . . recruitment tactics. But now, instead of having to accommodate the expectations of outsiders, Hordak finally has a perfect box of well-beaten cogs to draw from as he shapes his war machine. To those kids, first choice of ration bars and a closet to call their own were all the perks they needed to make a promotion worthwhile.
Now one of those kids was sitting in his kitchen, waiting politely for him to explain why her family was gone. He sighed. “It all started with the Siege of Halfmoon . . .”
Kantor was serving as a Force Captain on that fateful night. After months of back and forth, the Horde had finally managed to force the defenders to retreat behind the city’s great sandstone walls.
“I assume they don’t teach you much about the siege in Force Captain Orientation,” he said. “What with how it ended, but you could have learned a lot from the tactics involved.”
Hordak had chosen this target carefully. The Magicat Kingdom was imposing, but isolated. There was a slim chance any other Kingdom would offer to come to their aid, and an even slimmer chance they would accept it. Nine-tenths of its population was concentrated in Halfmoon, so it was just a matter of taking that one city. Conquering the Kingdom would give them access to the Crater Canyons - an extremely productive territory for iron mining - and free reign over the Wastes — not a major prize, but the psychological affect of such rapid expansion would catch the other kingdoms off-guard.
Hordak knew this campaign would set the tone for his conquest of the planet. If it was a quick victory, Hordak could show how merciful he was to those who failed to put up a fight. If it was brutal, drawn-out siege . . . well, then he could show the other kingdoms why they should seek his mercy to begin with.
After the outlying villages had accepted fighters loyal to the Fallen Princesses of Scorpion Hill, Hordak had a good excuse to send raiding parties. Then, when the nobles of Halfmoon refused to turn over the Rebels, he had a good claim to push further and further in. Commanders like Kantor were careful. They pushed just enough to draw out the City’s vanguard, and only then did they let loose with the strongest artillery. By the time they bottled up the kingdom’s forces behind the wall, with a special built canon the size of three battle cruisers ready to smash it to dust, victory was all but assured.
Adding to its vulnerability, unlike most other kingdoms, Halfmoon had no Runestone Princess. The Crimson Catseye and its last wielder had disappeared a millennia ago.
“According to legend, the wielder was always a member of the ruling noble family, but once they bonded to the stone, they would abdicate their place in the line of succession and serve as some sort of . . . Protector for all of Etheria, not just their kingdom,” Kantor explained.
“And the wielder was thought to be the living avatar of the goddess Sekmet,” Adora recited. “Legend has it, the sun god, Ra, tore out his right eye to create a living weapon to wipe out all life on Etheria and make way for a new world. Instead, the other gods and surviving mortals joined forces to deceive and restrain her. They devised a plan to split her essence between worlds to keep her from ever returning to wreck havoc again. The rebel gods took half and turned it into the warrior goddess Bast, patroness of Halfmoon; one mortal, the Magicat Pharaoh, channeling it through the Catseye, became the vessel for the rest, and passed it the curse down through the generations. She was the first Eye of Ra,” she finished. “Or, She-Ra.”
Kantor sat back in his chair and whistled. “And I thought I was thorough. Did you find some sunken Magicat library in the Wastes? I assume Magicat mythology wasn’t added to the cadet curriculum.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another memory flashed in her minds eye.
She couldn’t sleep; not by herself, not after what had happened. She tried facing the nightmares alone; but, as soon as she’d get close to passing out, she’d realize she didn’t hear breathing at the foot of her bed and reach out to check on her and —Catra’s eyes watering as she backed away, Thaymor burning around them. “This is what you’ve been doing . . . ,”. Hurt, betrayal, fear, disgust: carved into every line of her face. She’d only seen flashes of this look in Catra’s eyes before . . . in the Black Garnet chamber.
That last thought made her sick. Catra was the only one who had never been scared of her. Now, after Catra had seen the Beast in action, she couldn’t picture her any other way, no matter how hard she tried. So, Adora stayed up all night, organizing every scrap of data on Halfmoon, Magicats, and this She-Ra.
She’d face whatever this thing was like she faced every other challenge: relentlessly. She would understand every angle of this problem, and then she’d know how to conquer it. If she could just find a way to get rid of this ** thing ** possessing her friend, Adora could make her see how wrong she was. She could apologize. She could reason with her. She could bring her back home.
She could stop being alone again.
~~~~
She came back to the present as her host continued. Kantor suspected that Hordak would have made a play for the city even if it haven’t been so ripe for the taking. Halfmoon was the most technologically advanced city on Etheria. Some said their scientists could work wonders that outshone the greatest masters of Mystacor.
“I assume, as his Second, you discovered his . . . obsession with First Ones’ Technology for yourself,” he asked.
Adora nodded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the memories. “Once, I had to sacrifice our stronghold in the Northern Reaches to get some ‘Source Code’ for him.” While the wild-goose chases had been annoying, they had certainly gotten easier once Entrapta inserted herself as Hordak’s Lab Partner . . . whatever that meant.
She never asked, and the princess never elaborated. Adora got a lot more clarity when it came to missions in the First Ones Tech department and much more free reign in the “Conquering Etheria” and “Getting Revenge” departments once the two got to work on Hordak’s secret project; so, she couldn’t care less what those two did with the rubble she scavenged from ruins.
“Well,” Kantor continued. “Let’s just say he had very good reasons to want to take Halfmoon.”
According to some legends, Halfmoon had been built by the First Ones from the ground up. Other accounts claimed it was the only city that existed before the First Ones settled Etheria, which really called into question the whole “First” part of their name in Kantor’s opinion. The information available was painfully vague; most of the stories they could glean from caravans would only mention the city’s tech in passing, as a detail in a story about star-crossed lovers, court intrigue, or lost warrior goddesses.
The night before the canon went online, all the major officers were present. Everyone hoped some of the shine of victory would rub off on them. “The only one who stayed behind in the Fight Zone was,” he grimaced. “Shadow Weaver.” Adora’s knuckles went white as she gripped the coffee cup so hard it could have shattered.
Kantor noticed and hoped the wolf would leave enough for Samanya to bury. Fortunately, he saw the grip loosen. “I think I went a whole month without thinking about her,” she muttered with a faint smile. “New record.” Kantor didn’t think he was meant to hear that, so he continued.
It turned out that she made the right call. Things started to go wrong with the ambush. A strike team from Brightmoon appeared out of nowhere. They peppered the camp with spells, leaving us scrambling. Before the Horde soldiers could get their boots on, they surged on the canon.
“Wait,” the wolf interrupted. “Brightmoon came to their aid? Why?”
“I had a spy look into that once I got promoted,” Kantor explained. “One of the lesser members of the royal family got leave to study sorcery in Mystacor. Apparently, she made a few friends, and one of them married into the crown. A few rumors said they were more than just friends, but I think those were just rumors by nobles who didn’t like it when royals left the city.” He took another swig from his drink. “Small world, isn’t it?”
She stared into her mug. “All they could send was one strike team?” She growled. “Must not have been very good friends.”
“Well,” he shrugged. “The King-Consort was leading them personally. Though, Micah was always first to charge in. We may have captured him that night too. We recovered fast enough from the assault. But no one expected what happened next.”
As the Horde were finally gaining the upper hand, this low whining sound started to build. Out of nowhere, the wind picked up, like a hurricane was on the horizon. Then, a bright flash exploded — blinding the whole army. The next thing anyone knew, they were lying flat on the ground, and where the city of Halfmoon once stood there was nothing but smooth desert.
“I recovered first— grabbed a few squadrons and headed for the canyons. Figured if I could secure the mines, I’d stay out of the blast radius of Hordak’s inevitable meltdown and set myself up to get on his good side.” Adora recognized the mix of shame and pride glinting is his eye. She’d had that look before, reminiscing about old plans. “My superior officer wasn’t so prescient.”
“Let me guess,” she offered. “He got sent to Beast Island for his failure and you got his job?”
“No,” he deadpanned. “That only happened after I convinced my superior that the best way back in Horak’s esteem was a quick campaign in Snows. Never saw him again. After he was declared M.I.A . . . well, Weaver may have thought she was owed the job, but I knew Hordak wasn’t one to feel indebted to anyone. When there was an opening, he had a tendency to promote whoever was in his line of sight and get back to his lab. So, while she was locked away in her chambers studying the cub they brought back from the debacle, I made sure I was first in line.” He saw her frame freeze up at the mention of the kid. He knew better than to press.
Her apprentice was always an odd fixture of the Fright Zone. From what he gathered, one of her lackeys had brought the child back from the outskirts of Halfmoon after the Vanishing. She was probably the closest to all that raw, magical energy; that was probably what caused Weaver to take an interest.
Kantor never took Weaver to be the maternal type, and based on how the kit skulked around in the shadows his instincts were correct. He made a habit of choosing to buzz into her chambers during her lessons, mostly just to annoy her and remind the witch who was in charge. Once or twice, he caught a glimpse of red lightning shooting out from the runestone and into the kit‘s limbs as she tried to carve out symbols in the air.
Kantor tried to keep the image out of mind. Magic had always made him queasy. He left Shadow Weaver to messing with the Black Garnet and focused on conquest. He spent so much time outside the Fright Zone that he didn’t realize Weaver’s strategy until it was too late. While Kantor gathered power on the field, she built a network of spies and sycophants.
After a few too many convenient failures brought on by her supporters sabotage, he realized that Weaver had learned her lesson from last time. She was playing to win. The tipping point came five years after the Vanishing of Halfmoon, when she managed to predict a major Brightmoon assault in near perfect detail. She even used the Garnet to pinpoint King Micah’s location, allowing him to be captured and shipped to Beast Island. It was the Horde’s proudest moment since Scorpion Hill; and Shadow Weaver played a starring role.
Kantor still led the attack. They shared the credit, but Kantor knew how dangerous his position was. Weaver was breathing down his neck. He needed to prove his usefulness once and for all. Outshine the witch so much that no one would care if she had an . . . unfortunate accident. He already knew that they didn’t need her to access the Garnet’s power. He’d seen her apprentice do it after all.
All Kantor needed to do was give Hordak something he wanted more than any piece of territory. The thing he had been cheated out of at Halfmoon. The subject of his secret project. The thing Kantor had heard him call “The Portal.”
The old man sighed, and fixed his eye on the wolf across the table like he was facing a firing squad. “That’s how I first came across the Cult of the Claw.”
When Halfmoon disappeared, it emitted a distinct signal. According to an unauthorized dive into Hordak’s project notes, a smaller version of that same signal had been recorded in the Scorpion Kingdom a few decades before. The notes theorized that the portals were no natural occurrence, but the result of mucking about with First Ones ruins.
Etheria had no shortage of curious fools tinkering with the tech. Kantor decided that one of them was bound to make a breakthrough eventually. At the very least, there would be another portal, and when Hordak detected it he would expect an army to have been dispatched yesterday.
So, Kantor began making plans. He created a standard retrieval protocol for every regional commander to memorize; well, every commander he could rely on to give him full credit. The tricky part was planning for areas that weren’t under Horde control. He couldn’t exactly launch a full invasion at the drop of a hat; and unfortunately, given how deep Weaver’s tendrils reached, he couldn’t rely on their elite strike teams - the Ones best suited to infiltrate a kingdom, secure a village, and drag the local eggheads back the Fight Zone.
So, Kantor decided to find allies on the the outside. Mercenaries who would be loyal to him and him alone.
Kantor had grown up in the Wastes. He’d heard stories of the wolves who claimed the right to rule Brightmoon. After drinking a few old contacts under the table, he set up a meeting with their leader. “I swear on both my fathers’ graves,” he recalled. “This man made Hordak look humble. He demanded we conduct all our meetings in person, but never allowed us to see their base, probably because it wouldn’t live up to that pompous name he gave it. Always made a show of taking over some watering hole instead. He also refused to conduct business with us unless I addressed him by his full, made-up title: Brigadier-General Victor Greylock IX.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “Doesn’t ring a bell does it?” The words spilled out quickly.
The wolf’s eyes narrowed. “Why would it?”
“Because he— dammit, I should have known something was wrong when I gave him the coordinates,” Kantor rasped, unable to meet her eyes. “I hired them to do similar work in a few towns, just to prove they could control themselves, before I kept them on retainer to wait for the portal. They put our best strike teams to shame- no casualties, limited damage. They were perfect for the job.”
When the signal flared up deep in the Whispering Woods, Kantor was thrilled. Horde tracking tech got scrambled every time they sent soldiers in there. Even with the precise coordinates, any teams they sent to find it wouldn’t be able to go three steps without getting lost. But his wolves wouldn’t have a problem. They could take whatever backwater had stumbled upon the portal’s secrets, send up a flare he’d developed, and let his soldiers do the rest. And, as if by fate, it was a full moon that night. He actually saw Hordak grin when he told him the good news.
“With all the other missions, the General was detached, professional. But when he saw the dot on that map, he smiled.” Adora held back a shudder as an image of glistening jaws and red eyes flashed before her. “He smiled, and he said . . . ‘It will be good to visit Greyskull again.’”
The Lone Wolf, the Beast of the Horde, the mighty werewolf who was feared the planet over, who faced off against She-Ra without flinching, looked like a stiff breeze could knock her down. No one knew her village’s name. The Horde listed it as “Unidentified Settlement.” The Rebellion didn’t know it existed. Even she had forgotten it until now— every detail of her home drowned out by rage and trauma . . . and a strange red haze over the memories. But this . . . this General Greylock had known it. He had been there before.
Kantor set himself up to take all the credit, but that also meant there was no one to share to the blame. When his soldiers followed the signal flares to the village, when they came back with nothing but horror stories, Kantor knew he was doomed. He put up a good effort. His squads scoured the ruins for clues, but the wolves had systematically demolished almost everything useful. Then, a month later, with Beast Island looming over him, Shadow Weaver of all people threw him a lifeline: permission to speak with the only survivor.” They both winced.
“At first,” he explained. “Since Shadow Weaver was in charge of cadets, I couldn’t exactly get a hold of you without her say so. I could have pulled rank, but I was reluctant to admit to Hordak that interrogating the nine year-old about quantum physics was our best option.” The old man pointed to his glass eye. “Fair’s fair,” he said. “I deserved this. But I am curious how she knew you were turning? Samanya says it takes months to see the signs.”
“She told me she ‘just knew I was special,’ but I think she made a habit of checking all the kids who came in for magic,” she offered, recalling a shadow drifting around the infirmary, red lightning crackling from her fingertips as she reached for her. “Since I was in danger, the wolf . . . came out earlier than it was supposed to. Don’t feel too special. It wasn’t the last time she pulled something like that.”
Kantor took a deep breath. “I know you have every right to kill me,” he said as evenly as he could. “I ruined you life. I’ve ruined a lot of lives. But before you make your choice, you should know the truth. The Cult didn’t lose control, and they weren’t acting on the Horde’s orders. I can’t tell you why they did it, but I can tell you one thing with absolute certainty: it was personal.”
He steadied his breathing. “The bite alone isn’t enough to turn someone. It takes intention and not everyone can do it. What happened to you, and what happened to your village weren’t accidents.” He forced himself to meet her gaze one last time. “And for what’s its worth . . . I am sorry for my hand in this, Adora. I am sorry for what I did to you, to Etheria, to . . . I’m sorry for everything.”
The wolf just stared at her hands. When she spoke at last, neither could tell how long they had been waiting. “When I first read the files,” she began quietly. “I tracked down the grunts who were in charge of your transport to Beast Island. Only one is still around; a lady on desk duty in Dryl. When she said you managed to jump out in open water, and that they all thought you drowned, I trekked down to Salineas, talked to some sailors about what kind of currents you get out there, where they might take debris. Then, I just followed the river. Not sure what I’d find, certainly wasn’t expecting it to be you. But after I brought those kids back . . . there you were rallying a mob in the town square to hunt Lashor down.”
“Why are you telling me this,” the old man said slowly. Laughter rang out through the rafters. A muffled cry of ‘For the Pride of Bast!’ came after.
‘Thank you She-Ra. Woof! Woof! Your lasso of truth has shown me the error of my ways. Now, I’ll join you in the fight for good! Awooooo!’
‘That’s not what happened!’
‘It’s called a redemption arc, Jacques!’
“I’m saying,” she continued. “No one else from the Horde will be able to find you . . .”
———-
. . . and I hope it stays that way,” she finished, the light glow from the ruins catching every line on her face. Though the new moon was now a week behind them, the Beacon still outshone anything in the sky above. It wasn’t exactly neutral ground for their weekly check-ins, but if someone had gotten their way, they would be taking place in the Brightmoon Dungeon (or as the Brightmooners apparently called it, the “Spare Room”). Needless to say, she preferred this option.
Catra whistled. “If I had a buck for ever time I heard Shadow Weaver griping about that guy, I could bribe the whole Horde to defect. I can’t believe he survived jumping ship on the way to Beast Island. I always knew it wasn’t much of threat.”
“He has gills,” she explained. “Quarter Sealenian on his grandmother’s side.”
“Speaking of,” the princess interjected. “When Sea Hawk let it slip that you were still investigating those files at the last Princess Alliance meeting, Glimmer nearly broke the table.” She cackled at the memory. ”She’ll be glad . . . nah, ‘glad’ isn’t the right word. Umm.” She snapped her fingers as the right phrase came to mind. “She’ll be ‘less apoplectic’ when she hears you’ve finally . . . “ She couldn’t stop her tail from swishing. “What are you gonna do with this information?”
Adora looked up at the empty sky, motionless. “Are you and the Best Friends Squad still planning on investigating that signal out in the Wastes?” Catra had mentioned the mission at their last check-in. The Wastes were just about the most dangerous place in Etheria, so the Queen was naturally reluctant to let her best fighters go ghost-hunting there. Still, the reasons were mounting. Between this “Serena” signal they were detecting and the remnants of Halfmoon, the crimson dunes were hiding a lot of secrets.
“Yeah,” Catra answered. “Why do you ask?”
Adora took a deep breath and spoke quickly. “Do you have room for one more?”
Catra looked stunned. Her ears flattened and her tail flicked once, uncertainly. Then, her pupils grew wide and a grin spread across her face.
“What was the ‘pompous name.’?” She asked, excitedly. “Something really douchey like ‘The Den of Despair’ or ‘The Temple of Terror’? If we’re gonna do Rebel missions together we need to work on your banter game. No offense, but “strong, angry, silent type” isn’t exactly the Squad vibe. Maybe we could, I don’t know, practice your insults before we get there.”
The wolf raised an eyebrow and smiled back. “The Cult calls its base ‘New Eternia,’” she responded. “And I’d love to practice my banter with you. And as long as we’re preparing, maybe we could run some drills, go over strategy, make a flow-chart—“
“Ugh!” She groaned. “Seriously? You can’t make me ‘Respect the chart!’ I’m a rebel now; we don’t do charts.”
“One time!” She shouted back, laughing. “I said ‘respect the chart’ one time! I was thirteen. Cut me some slack!”
“How about: I never let you live it down,” Catra retorted. “And maybe I won’t call you Big Floof in front of the team.”
Adora smiled back. “It’s a deal,” she said with a mock curtsy. “ . . . Princess Applesauce.”
As they teased each other and laughed, Adora couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this happy. She was back on the path to justice. Only this time, she thought, I won’t be walking alone.
Deep down however, the wolf knew she never had been.