Four and twenty Vorax made into an Oni...

I go to my bunk and shut the door. My angry confrontation with Kiyoshi all but forgotten for the moment. Sitting down on the bed, I very deliberately pull out my 'nest'; a feather for each Vorax that participated in the final dance. I am momentarily startled by the lack of Cataclysm browning my right arm, but the memory of it draining out of me during the Last Flight soothes and bothers me at the same time.

The feathers are laid out in curved rows in front of me. I stare at them. My mouth opens to talk to them, admonish them, comfort them for all they became. Then an oh-so-small voice whispers, "It's just your feathers, not even theirs...the rest of your race is no more." No more. Last. I am the.. For some reason I force myself to say it, blankly, "I am the last Vorax."

Red rage blinds me, blue loneliness freezes me. "It cannot...it cannot be...I cannot...I cannot be the..." I feel like I'm suffocating. Part of me wishes that I would die, here, now, in my anguish. My bed in front of me is soaking wet. I'm so used to crying that I no longer note the moisture descending down the well-traveled planes of my face.

I gather up the feathers that are mine but really should be them. Them that I gather to my heart, not feeble plumage. I walk to the deck clutching my sanity for all it's worth, and shift forms. There above the deck of the gunship Sennin the very last funeral flight of the Vorax is performed, as feathers drift down into the cold, unforgiving sea.