The sun rises on a new day and a new Phos, now equipped with striped pearlescent legs. Having surrendered themselves to the ocean in hopes of helping their new friend, Phos was rewarded with first betrayal and then redemption, only to emerge in a new form – not necessarily better, but certainly different from before.

That episode saw Phos attempting to sacrifice themself multiple times over, certain their life could only possess value if given up for the sake of another. First by going into the sea for Cinnabar and Ventricosus, and then through their willingness to become a sacrifice to save Ventricosus’ brother, Phos demonstrated basically no concern for their own safety or future. And why would they, anyway? Every aspect and inhabitant of this world seems to tell them they don’t belong, that they have no value. The gems themselves seem like strange interlopers in this world, existing outside of its natural ecosystems, and even among gem society, Phos is an outsider without purpose. To the gems, purpose and identity are as one – if you don’t possess a clear role within their society, you might as well not exist at all.

But again and again, Phos has demonstrated the genuine value of simply being, of being present and attentive in the lives of others, and of caring for others even if you can’t provide what they truly seek. Phos was unable to resolve the problems of either Ventricosus or Cinnabar, but both of them nonetheless consider Phos a vital presence, something worth protecting. Dia, too, would weep bitter tears if Phos were to disappear, leaving a frail Phos-shaped absence in their wake. The seemingly utilitarian world of the lustrous cannot help but mirror the truths of our own – that utility is a terribly impoverished way to assess personal value, that our “jobs” can only attest to a fragment of the way our lives affect the lives of others, and that even if we believe we are truly without purpose or value, we are almost certainly fooling ourselves into self-hatred, unaware of all the fragmentary, myriad ways we are valued and loved.

Episode six opens on a fresh day in the land of the lustrous, as gems return to their regular patrols of this austere yet beautiful island. As I mentioned previously, these sparse environments are actually made more spectacular by the intrusion of gems upon them – and given the vast emptiness of this environment, with its sprawling flat plains and pure blue sky, it’s easy to engage in camera tricks like movement into depth, ambitious pans, or even shots that spin around the characters entirely. In animation, as in every art form, embracing what is uniquely afforded or supported by your aesthetic tools is the route to mastery. In Land of the Lustrous, we see a studio exploring the vast potential of a wholly new toolset, unburdened by the labor difficulties intrinsic in recreating such camera effects in traditional animation, or even live action cinema.

We see the fruits of this exploration demonstrated immediately, as Yellow Diamond dodges fleets of arrows in a sequence that feels much like a living painting. Color fills and contrast – the blue and green of the background, the pure white geometry of the interlopers, and that shimmering yellow beacon in the center. Heroes and villains represented as shimmering splashes of color, dancing across the canvas – until suddenly Zircon arrives, and throws themselves before an arrow aimed at their partner.

Even for the successful gems, this life is a procession of destruction and reconstruction, with tricks like their corpse paint limbs emphasizing how identity is an act of choice and will as much as it is a fact of birth. Land of the Lustrous is a transhumanist narrative in one of the most fundamental ways – it inherently challenges the primacy of birth and the choices made for us, attesting with its every variable that we construct and define ourselves through willful decisions every single day. At the same time, the fragility of these gems, even in the context of each other’s bodies, emphasizes the violence of both personal relations and transformation. For gems, even attempting to express intimacy can damage the people they love.

So it goes for Zircon, whose arrow injuries are supplemented by leg damage from their collision with Yellow Diamond. Staring down at their damaged friend, Yellow grouses that “Zircon’s an idiot. Why even cover for me?” Rutile responds with the obvious “because you’re held in high regard,” underlining a key point of disconnection between the lustrous’ greater and lesser members. The hard-bodied luminaries of this society cannot even understand the glow they cast, or the anxieties they provoke in the weaker members of their community. Their confidence is an effortless extension of the ease with which they occupy their assigned roles, making it almost impossible for them to understand the pain of those who were born fragile and unsuitable for glory.

What they can understand, in the place of that humility, is loneliness. Yellow does not believe they are special or worthy of praise – they brush off Rutile’s explanation with an ashamed “thanks to me, everyone I’ve paired with has wound up on the moon,” further confessing that “the only reason I’m the oldest is I’m first to run away. I don’t even know why we’re fighting anymore.” Beautiful geometric compositions present Yellow as fundamentally isolated within this world, stranded among the columns and hallways of their antiseptic home. The moment is both lonely and tender, as one of the heroes of this community carefully dresses the wounds of a subordinate who feels they can never reach Yellow’s example. Perhaps these gems’ greatest expressions of intimacy are the moments of them putting each other back together.

This exploration of the allegedly successful gems’ psychology continues as Yellow tracks down the newly mobile Phos. Out in the marshes, Phos is mired in one of the unfortunate frustrations of metamorphosis: personal transformation doesn’t always drop you off where you’d hoped to be, particularly when you’re not certain what a happy or “successful” version of you would even look like. In this case, Phos has been gifted with legs so powerful that they can’t even stop when they want to.

This, at least, seems like a problem Yellow can fix. After an initial false start, Yellow pledges that “I’ll stop you this time! I’ll handle it! Have some faith!” Their words carry a special resonance in the wake of Zircon’s injuries, framing this small act of support as penance for their prior failure. Having spent most of our time wandering around with this society’s least valued members, Yellow’s fears demonstrate how even this society’s ostensibly “best” gems are also wracked by anxiety, tormented by their inability to protect their weaker compatriots. This system where everyone’s value is determined by their birth is terrible for all the gems; for the strongest gems, their reward is to watch their friends die again and again, unable to help them grow beyond their fundamental nature.

Meanwhile, gems like Phos struggle with the barest obligations of gem society. Newly determined to fight, Phos is gifted their community’s lightest blade, and still struggles to lift it. Looking up at Sensei, they pledge to “practice every day” – a sad, hollow pledge, given the predestined nature of gem physiology. Staring down at this awkward display, Sensei asks once again “why do you so wish to fight, knowing you are not suited for it?”

Phos answer comes readily – perhaps a bit too readily, in fact. “That’s simple. I want to help you because you have a special place in my heart.” The society Phos grew up in has offered no other direction to express passionate feelings than towards Sensei, and no way to articulate those feelings except through proving yourself in battle. The scope of our world and experience ultimately shapes the contours of our dreams – we can only hope for what we see as possible, and the only happy future Phos has seen within this community is that of proving yourself as a valuable warrior in Sensei’s army. There is success as a guardian of this community, or the shiftless existence of being a burden to everyone.

Of course, we have the perspective to understand that’s not quite true, and that Phos is yet again failing to recognize their own value. Even their very next words offer valuable comfort, as they state that “everyone we’ve lost to the moon, they loved Sensei too. We’ve got to help out enough for all of them, don’t we?” Yellow was feeling tormented by their inability to rescue the partners they’ve lost, or to protect the partners they have still to come – but through Phos’ words, Yellow realizes that fulfilling their duties as well as possible is the only way to pay thanks to those that have been lost, and that carrying on their wish to help Sensei is the only way to honor their dreams. Phos is incredibly good at finding blunt, obvious solutions to seemingly intractable emotional problems, but in a world where worth is defined by combat strength, would-be heralds of Phos’ virtues like Yellow or Cinnabar can only vaguely acknowledge it.

So it goes for Sensei, who agrees to pair Phos up with the twin Amethyst gems for patrols. Their introduction is one of this episode’s greatest visual wonders, as the shadow of one gem unfolds into two like a delicate sea anemone. Kenji Mutou boarded and directed this episode with a clear eye for symmetry, and the linked movements of the twins serve as a continuous celebration of symmetrical composition work. In a world where everything is supposed to fit into its right place, Mutou’s layouts only make Phos seem all the more mismatched, the one element of this world that doesn’t mimic some symmetrical echo.

The twins introduce themselves as Amethyst Eighty-Four and Thirty-Three, offering still another wrinkle in this world’s conception of identity. From that initial abolishment of the concept of gender, we’ve since watched Phos undergo dramatic physical transformations that were also accompanied by a loss of their memories. If it were simply their body changing, it would be easy to state that we’re still spending time with the “same” Phos – but if both their body and their memories have changed, thus altering the bed of experiences that make up their actual personality, is it still truly the same person?

In truth, every single human being goes through this Ship of Theseus-style process and dilemma, as we evolve and are reshaped by significant experiences. Land of the Lustrous has already emphasized how growth is a process of destruction and reconstruction, as well as the ugly fact that you don’t always emerge stronger or happier from your transformations; from there, it’s a short step to wondering if the person who emerges is still “you” at all. Is it purely the continuation of one thread of active consciousness that defines us as individuals? What can we say makes up our individual identities, and what can be tossed aside while still remaining the same person? What about our external sources of identity validation – the ways others feel about us, the relationships they have with us? Is it not Cinnabar and the other gems’ steady support of Phos that is the clearest indication of Phos’ identity and worth? Of course, defining ourselves via external validation can’t be a healthy or reliable metric – but if our external selves are untrustworthy and our internal selves are always in flux, who really are we at all?

The next shot of Phos’ room only emphasizes the difficulty of answering “who am I?” Phos’ room is entirely barren of personal items, offering no clues as to what they believe in, hold dear, or define as essential to their identity. The only item they seem to hold close is that sword, a sign of their new responsibilities, the only way any of these gems know to quantify their worth. In a culture so defined by austerity and utility, it’s no wonder the gems cling to their productivity as the only indicator of their value, which in turn doubles as the only indicator of their personality. Their job is their identity, at least in terms of their self-worth – but as we’ve seen, these gems are actually far richer and more diverse in personality and value than their jobs would indicate. They simply have no way of articulating that value, no reason to believe it’s truly of worth – leaving someone like Phos stranded in a culture that categorically cannot value them.

And so Phos sets forth, striding alongside Amethyst as they patrol the western plateau. It’s unclear just how essential this duty is; in fact, Amethyst spends most of their first day admiring jellyfish and weird bugs. When your work is your worth, work becomes essential even if it’s unnecessary, raising a question as to just how many of this society’s jobs verge on Cinnabar-tier pointlessness. But even as Phos scrambles to keep up with the rigors of daily patrols, their very presence seems to enact a change in Amethyst. By the third day, Amethyst is smiling at Phos’ jokes, and even suggests some sword practice as quiet thanks for their companionship. Phos may not be a powerful warrior, but they make everyone around them happier – Phos gives the others a sense of community, something worth protecting because they genuinely care about it, not just because their duties are the only way they can prove their worth.

In a more compassionate society or a less fraught world, Phos’ talents would see them valued and loved. But here, on this barren island beneath an icy blue sky, there is only the threat of the Lunarians, and the skills you can apply to confronting that threat. When the moment of truth comes, Phos fails, spectacularly, without even raising a hand in struggle. Amethyst fights bravely and is shattered, Bort rushes in to save the day, and Phos can only watch, barely able to lift their sword. In spite of their growth, in spite of the warmth they extended to the distant Amethyst, Phos cannot do the one thing this world judges as worthy of value. Absent a sword, they are simply a liability.

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