Ostrich turned away first.
Not dramatically. No final words. No grand farewell. Just a casual pivot of her body, like someone leaving a room they've already grown bored with.
The air shifted.
Before she could take another step—
"Don't."
The word didn't echo. It stuck.
The ostrich stopped.
Mantis stood between her and the path forward, posture rigid, eyes sharp, the kind of stillness that comes right before something breaks.
"I don't know who you are," he said."I don't care who you claim to be.""And I don't like the way you showed up here as you belonged."
Ostrich glanced over her shoulder, smiling.
"That's three sentences," she said lightly. "And not one of them was a question. Progress."
Her tone made it worse.
Mantis stepped closer.
"There's something wrong with you," he continued. "Something hidden. Something that doesn't feel… earned. You talk like you know the ending of a story no one else has read."
Ostrich laughed. Not loud. Not mocking. Soft. Genuine.
"That's because I wrote the margins," she said.
Silence hit the group like a held breath.
Sefu stiffened. Kura's fingers curled slightly, though she didn't know why.
Mantis's eyes narrowed.
"Who created you?" he asked.
Ostrich tilted her head.
"Now that," she said, "is finally a good question."
Mantis as the Audience (This Is Now Canon)
From this episode onward:
Mantis asks what readers are thinking but afraid to say.
He challenges lore, motivation, morality, and truth.
When something feels too convenient, too divine, too clean—Mantis calls it out.
Ostrich (or elders like Gemma or Sefu's broth,e r, later) answer—but never without cost.
This keeps your story smart. It prevents plot holes from pretending they're mysteries.
Ostrich's Vibe (Clarified)
When Mantis accuses her of being:
Shady → she smiles.
Untrustworthy → she agrees without apology.
Dangerous → she jokes, because danger doesn't scare her.
Why?
Because Ostrich is:
Half Kura's subconscious truth.
Half Gemma's unspoken regret.
A being who knows why Kura refuses to use her other abilities and respects that refusal.
She won't force Kura to awaken. She'll only explain what happens if she does.
Mantis didn't move.
Ostrich noticed that immediately. She always did—stillness was louder than motion.
"You're blocking my exit," she id cheerfully. "That's either brave, stupid, or emotionally symbolic."
"Answer the question," Mantis replied.
Kura felt it then. That pressure behind her ribs. The same feeling she got right before a dream went wrong.
Ostrich sighed, dramatic like someone forced to explain a joke.
"Fine. Who created me?" She tapped her chest once. "You already know the answer. You don't like it."
Mantis's voice went flat. "Gemma."
Ostrich smiled wider. Too wide.
"Nope."
That landed wrong.Even the wind hesitated.
"She shaped me," Ostrich continued, pacing slowly, circling Mantis like a thought that wouldn't go away. "Gave me language. Rules. Manners. Trauma, if we're being honest."
She stopped directly in front of Kura.
"But you made me."
Kura flinched. "I didn't—"
"You did," Ostrich said gently. No teasing now. No jokes. "Long before you understood what creating meant. Before you learned fear, I'm what you left behind when you decided not to be everything."
Mantis turned sharply. "Explain. Now."
Ostrich leaned back, arms crossed, tone sliding right back into dark humor. "There it is. The fan-favorite demand."
She looked at everyone this time.
"Kura has more than one power set," she said. "Dreams were just… safer. Softer. Easier to control."
"The wind listens to her," Ostrich went on. "The stars recognize her. The sun answers her. The moon—"
Her smile dimmed.
"—the moon remembers her."
Kura's head hurt. "Then why won't I use them?"
Ostrich didn't answer right away.
Mantis noticed. That pause wasn't theatrical. It was careful.
"Because," Ostrich finally said, "every time you do, you stop being a person and start being a function."
Silence.
"You bend wind, and people follow you," Ostrich said."You bend stars, and destiny rewrites itself around your footsteps.""You bend the sun, and life burns brighter—or faster.""And the moon?"
She exhaled.
"The moon asks for memory in return."
Mantis clenched his fists. "So you're saying she's holding back for everyone else?"
Ostrich shrugged. "I'm saying she chose pain over control. Mortality over worship."
She looked straight at Mantis.
"That's why you don't like me."
Mantis didn't deny it.
"You know too much," he said.
"Wrong," Ostrich replied, smiling again. "I know exactly enough."
She turned, finally stepping toward the path again.
"But don't worry," she added over her shoulder. "I'll be back. You haven't asked the question you're actually afraid of yet."
She paused once more.
"Oh—and Mantis?"
"Yes."
"You're right not to trust me."
Then she was gone.
The air rushed back in like it had been holding its breath the whole time.
Kura stared at the space she left behind, heart pounding.
Mantis didn't look relieved.
He looked confirmed.