miravess

[miravess]

Old Enemies, New Friends

Introducing my gloomy Hunter, Mira! And featuring a few other folks. Killy and Stoomdorm belong to @newbabyfly and their husband, Nika belongs to @one-hell-of-a-nerdy-butler. I hope I didn’t butcher any characterization! 

Fair warning, it’s a tad long, and tumblr’s text formatting is wack.

“Here?” Mira paused her headlong sprint in the center of a clearing in the maze of stacked and toppled shipping crates. It was large, wide enough for a dropship to land and the height of the stacked crates and detritus around it shielded it to some extent from Titan’s driving rain. It had probably been used as a helipad for offloading freighters back when there was anything on the moon besides Hive, Fallen, and an ever-dwindling garrison of Guardians. Shura, her Ghost, nearly invisible against the grey metal and driving rain in her drab blue-grey shell scanned the area and bobbed a small nod of agreement,

“I think this is as good as it gets.” Mira pulled off her helmet, letting it clang to the deckplate at her feet. The noise, even muffled by the curtains or rain, echoed loudly through the labyrinth of metal around them. It would draw the Silent Fang to her and, one way or another, the hunt would end here. Mira had tracked these Silent Fang and their Baron halfway across the ruined and half-submerged cities of Titan, picking them off from the shadows. But at some point, the Fallen had turned the game on her and the Hunter had become the hunted. That ended here.

She shed her tattered and sodden cloak and pulled her cannon from its holster at her hip. It was an old Hakke model, all sharp angles and simple lines. It had been gifted to her by Lord Saladin, and his golden wolfshead crest still glittered dully on the cylinder. Mechanically, she checked the weapon. Eight bullets left. Her shotgun and machine gun were long empty, discarded days and miles and deaths ago. Eight bullets, and how many pursuers? Fifteen? Twenty? More?

Mira closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. The Silent Fang would approach under stealth, and the driving rain and intermittent lightning would only confuse her sight, make her twitchy, make her waste bullets shooting at ghosts of movement. Until she could draw them out properly, she would fight blind, as she had in the Hellmouth pits on Luna, in the Light-forsaken corridors and cells of the Dreadnought, in the polar-dark pits deep under red Mars, and as she had over the past weeks in the Arcology-mazes of Titan.

The frontrunners arrived. Two of them, hunting ahead of the pack. She heard them scrabbling over the crates above her and to her right.

“Stay low,” she whispered to Shura, who had already secreted herself among the folds of Mira’s discarded cloak. “Hopefully they think you’re dead after that Vandal winged you, and I’m pretty sure I’ll need you before the fight’s over.”

One of the newly arrived Silent Fang charged her from behind, hoping to finish the job even before their Baron arrived, to earn glory and Ether. Mira shot them in the head without turning around, hearing the body crash to the deck and the hiss of escaping Ether. So much for glory. The second came at her from the right, more cautious now, ducking and weaving. It availed them nothing. Mira’s cannon cracked again and the bullet tore through the assassin’s chest, sending them spinning away.

More Silent Fang had arrived now, following the sound of the gunfire. Mira could hear them moving into the clearing where she had chosen to make her stand, claws scraping for purchase on the rain-slick metal. One set of footfalls was heavier than the rest; their Baron was here. Mira listened for those heavy footfalls and turned towards them, calling out in Eliksni,

“What are you named, Baron?” Awoken physiology was ill-suited to the rasping, guttural language, but she had spent long enough living and fighting alongside the House of Wolves to make herself understood. The greeting was a formality; she knew the Baron, and the Baron knew her. The Baron paused, perhaps taken aback at being addressed so formally under these circumstances, but returned the greeting in kind,

“I am Kirexses, last of Silent Fang. You are known to me, Miravis, shadow-in-the-light, Kell-killer.” Mira opened her eyes as the Baron stepped forward, shedding her stealth. She was small and lean for her status, scarcely larger than a Captain, but still nearly two feet taller than Mira. Her face and body were crosshatched with old scars. Her lower arms were thin and atrophied, and one of her upper arms had been severed just above the elbow, in these lean times, she had clearly not had enough Ether to grow it back. In her remaining upper arm she held a long arc-blade, notched and sparking, raindrops cracking into plasma along its edge. Mira nodded slowly,

“And you are known to me, Kirexses. Oathbreaker, sister-killer.” A grim smile split the Baron’s scarred face,

“My sister chose her lovers well. I see now why she chose you. A pity she loved you more than living. Still, you have given us good hunting. Better hunting than she did.” Rage boiled through Mira, but she forced it down. Years of hunting and killing and dying had brought her to this moment, and she would not squander it with rash action. She wanted to scream, to empty her cannon into the flickering half-forms around her, to scour this rain-lashed clearing with her incandescent fury. But she knew it would be useless. She had to be smart, she had to be cold, like the remorseless killers she faced, like the Void Light glinting ever so faintly at the edge of her mind. She was low on ammo, and the Light felt faint and guttering, so close to so much Hive corruption. But two could play the game of provocation. Mira looked Kirexses in the eyes and spat onto the deckplates between them,

“No more hunting then.” She snarled, “How does it feel to stand where you will die, Traitor?” The Eliksni have three words for “traitor.” One is more akin to ‘liar,’ and denotes an Eliksni who has reneged on a vow or promise. Among certain more devious Fallen circles, it has come to be used as a sort of backhanded compliment, much as a human might use ‘sly.’ The second means a traitor to House or family and is seen as a potent affront to any Eliksni that considers themselves civilized. The third and final Eliksni word for ‘traitor’ means a traitor not to House or kin but to all it means to be Eliksni, to be alive, to be a thinking, feeling being, to be more than a mere animal, to be more than Fallen. It is an insult of the gravest and vilest order. And it was such a traitor that Mira called Kirexses.

There was a moment of silence, then the Baron howled something unintelligible and the Silent Fang charged en masse in a wave of rippling, distorted light. Mira shut her eyes again and steadied her breathing, listening to the chaotic thunder of the ring of approaching Fallen, searching for the slightest gap, a break in the line to slip though. She found it. She waited until the last possible instant, until the ring of assassins was so close she could smell the ozone tang of their arc-blades, then in one fluid movement she tossed down a grenade, a howling blob of pure Void, and flung herself towards that tiny gap in the ring, dipped into a graceful roll, and vanished. Carried on by their momentum, the frontrunners among the Silent Fang stumbled into the Vortex that whirled where Mira had stood an instant before, and Mira permitted herself a barest shred of savage satisfaction at the screams of the five or six of them that the Void swallowed, flensing them apart at the atomic level. To their credit, the others recovered quickly, but not quite quickly enough.

Mira dropped out of stealth just as she drove her knife into the spine of one of the assassins, holding the twitching corpse upright to protect her left side as she raised her cannon and brought down two more with quick shots to the chest, flinging their bodies backwards and hampering those behind them. Sloppy, but that was the beauty of these massively overpowered Hakke guns. When you don’t have time to shoot accurately, shoot a big enough bullet that it doesn’t matter.

Mira dislodged her knife and kicked the Silent Fang she had skewered with it towards two more who were charging her from that side, fouling their advance. With the fight fully underway, the Silent Fang had dropped their stealth, and Mira opened her eyes, noting that Kirexses had hung back and was watching the fight, leaning on her blade, obviously hoping her assassins would finish the job for her, or at least provide her an opening to stab Mira in the back. Mira gave ground steadily, circling to keep the remaining Silent Fang between her and the Baron.

Still backing away, Mira fired two more shots. One took the head off of the nearest assassin, but the other went wide as its target twisted to the side, reaching Mira and thrusting a crackling arc-dagger at her face. Mira brought her knife-arm up, slamming her forearm into the Fallen’s wrist just behind the knife so that it passed harmlessly past her head, in the same motion twisting sideways to avoid the Fallen’s off-handed punch, pressing her cannon to their chest and pulling the trigger. The bullet passed clean through that Fallen and killed another behind it. The moment’s entanglement had cost her though, and she was nearly surrounded again. She parried another arc-blade but was forced to leap back again as she felt another shear through the armor just above her knee, leaving a deep, cauterized gash. Another arc-blade sank into her side before she could pull away and for a sickly instant she smelled her own charring flesh. She lashed out with her knife and the owner of that blade toppled away, their throat cut, gushing ether and foul blood. She continued giving ground, parrying, dodging. She had flipped her cannon around and now held it by the barrel, using it as a club to break arms and crush skulls. She had but one bullet left and it had a very specific name on it.

Two more assassins fell, knife-cut, and another, skull crushed by the cannon’s heavy grip. But more arc-blades got through Mira’s guard and cut away at her, shredding her already battered armor and tearing into flesh and muscle. The pain was nothing, but she could feel her body failing her, even her unnaturally tough Guardian physiology giving way under the relentless assault, unable to properly heal. She kept backing away, continuing her circle around the clearing, trying to keep the remaining assassins in front of her, her world narrowed to a slit, darkness closing in at the corners of her vision, threatening to swallow her.

And then, suddenly, she was alone. The last Silent Fang died almost chest to chest with her, their hands wrapped around her neck, her knife buried in their chest, eyes level. The moment was almost intimate. Then the light went out of the assassin’s eyes, their hands slackened from around Mira’s neck, and they slumped to the deck. She gasped, staggering, her vision swimming, trying to steady herself. Where was the Baron? Where was Kirexses?

A heavy footstep behind her and she whirled, trying to bring her cannon up level, but she was too slow. Her arms felt like lead and her head swam. Kirexses’ form filled her vision, and she felt a dull shock as the Baron’s arc-blade ripped through her breastplate and passed clear though her, scraping between her ribs before punching out her back. She tried to stumble backwards, but she was stuck on the blade. Kirexses had deactivated the arc-field around her weapon and all it was now was a dully-serrated rod of steel thrust through Mira’s body, holding her in place. She coughed blood onto the Baron’s face as Kirexses leaned down to bring herself eye to eye with Mira,

“My sister would be proud of you, little shadow,” Kirexses whispered, and for the briefest moment Mira thought she saw sadness behind the Baron’s eyes. “When you see her, tell her I am sorry.” Out of the corner of her fading vision, Mira caught the small, dim speck of light speeding towards her. She grinned a ghastly, bloody grin,

“Tell her yourself.” With one last effort she grabbed the handle of Kirexses’ weapon and keyed on the blade’s arc-field, flinging herself sideways and allowing the weapon to tear its way out of her side. The shock killed her almost instantly. But Shura was there, a blazing pinprick of light that pulsed outwards, bathing the falling Guardian in healing radiance. Mira was alive before she hit the ground. She caught herself and whirled, hearing Kirexses’ scream of rage and fear, reaching deep within herself, looking for the Light. It was dim and distant, struggling beneath the Hive’s smothering presence, but it was there, and she seized it, drawing two long blades of shimmering Void and swinging them to meet Kirexses. Mira’s first blow severed the Baron’s remaining upper arm at the shoulder, sending her arc-blade spinning away across the deck. At the same instant, her second blow sheared down through the remains of the Baron’s other upper arm, and the lower arm below it. The third blow removed the Baron’s last lower arm, and most of her leading leg, sending her topping to the deckplates at Mira’s feet. All this passed between one heartbeat and the next. Mira’s Light guttered out, the blades fading from her hands.

Kirexses half-knelt half-lay on the cold metal, silent and shuddering from shock and pain. The stumps of her arms twitched uselessly as if they still thought themselves whole and useful. She tried to look up at the Guardian standing above her but could not move her head. Mira knelt down before the broken Baron, retrieving her cannon from where it had fallen from her momentarily-dead hands and pushed the cannon’s barrel under Kirexses’ chin, forcing her head up so they were eye to eye. A long, silent moment passed between them,

“It’s not fair,” Mira found there were tears in her eyes, “that you go to be with her and I do not.” Kirexes’ reply was a barely audible whisper, and Mira had to lean in to hear her,

“She is patient, little shadow. She will wait for you. I will tell her of your love.” Mira’s answering smile was thin and pained,

“Thank you.” She squeezed the trigger. Her cannon barked one last time, and then all was silent.

The noise that escaped Mira’s throat was more animal than human. Years of rage and grief denied and buried, forced down behind cold calm and quiet precision, all given voice at once. Shura gave her Guardian space, gave her this moment of release, but she knew they had to move. The gunfire and subsequent burst of Light would surely attract any Hive lurking nearby, and they were in no fit shape to fight.

Shura gently nudged Mira’s side,

“Mira, we have to go. The Hive will be here soon, and I don’t think I can rez you again.” Mira nodded slowly, and hauled herself shakily to her feet, standing over the corpse of her oldest enemy.

“Was she truly the last?” Shura asked. Mira shook her head,

“I don’t know,” she paused and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, “and I don’t think I care. I’m done hunting, Shura. Let’s go home. Think you’ve got enough juice for a transmat back to our ship?”

“I really don’t kn-” Shura was interrupted by a sudden mechanical roar that drowned out the noise of the rain and ocean. Mira clapped her hands over her ears as a Guardian dropship came screaming out of the low clouds overhead, firing retrothrusters to cut its hurtling descent and levelling out hardly a hundred feet overhead. It circled Mira once, then came to rest over a particularly tall pile of shipping crates. Hearing the distinctive hum of an incoming transmat, Mira momentarily averted her eyes from the flash of grainy light, then looked up to regard the figure now standing atop the metal cliff before her. A flash of lightning gave Mira a second’s clear view of a Warlock, robes whipping in the downdraft from the ship’s engines, a seething ball of corruscating Void hovering above their outstretched hand. Mira held up a finger, then walked the short distance to retrieve her helmet, strapping it on and activating the voxcaster.

“Hello up there!” Mira called, “And how are you this fine afternoon?” The Warlock shrugged,

“From the looks of it, better than you.” Mira analyzed the voice. Low and cold, but melodic, probably female. And just a bit tinny. Maybe a bad helmet voxcaster, more likely an Exo. “Are you Mira Vess?” Mira was suddenly glad for the concealing mask of her helmet, as she doubted she had successfully kept the surprise from her face. Her mind raced. Who the hell was this? How did they know her name? She struggled to keep her tone casual,

“Does this ‘Mira Vess’ owe you glimmer?” The Warlock seemed taken aback by the question, then laughed quietly,

“Not that I know of.” Mira sketched a shallow half-bow half-curtsy, keeping her eyes on the Warlock,

“Then, I am she.” Nearly a full minute of unspeakably awkward silence passed. If Mira had been expecting an introduction, none was forthcoming. Eventually, growing ever more perplexed, she felt compelled to break the silence. “Well, it seems you have me at a disadvantage here.”

“I like it that way.”

“I, uh, meant more in the sense that I don’t know your name.”

“I like it that way too.” Mira let out an audible, exasperated sigh,

“Alright, well can you at least tell your friend to come out? Makes me twitchy having a gun trained on my ass.” It had been a clever move, transmatting a Guardian down behind her while the ship was firing a quick burst of the retrorthrusters to stabilize, hiding the distinctive glare and noise of transmat. And Mira would probably have fallen for it, if she hadn’t used the same trick a dozen times herself. The Warlock gestured with her free hand and a Hunter stepped out from behind another stack of the endless shipping crates to Mira’s left. He had an assault rifle tucked under one arm, trained on her. His free hand held a grenade, primed and ready, Solar Light dripping between his fingers. These two were not taking chances. Mira shook her head, spreading her arms wide, “While I appreciate your caution, friends, I’m not exactly in any shape to be a threat to either of you.” The Hunter eyed her up and down, noting the hacked and bloodstained armor, and the ring of Fallen in various states of dismemberment. He lowered his rifle a little,

“She’s right, Stoom. I doubt she could even drop a grenade at this point.” The Warlock didn’t budge,

“Where’s your ghost, Hunter?” she called down,

“Nice and hidden until I know just what you two intend.” Mira kept her tone pleasant, but there was ice behind it. “Now are we going to stand her jawing until the local Arcology’s-worth of Hive come to say hello?” The Warlock, apparently named Stoom, a name that rang a distant bell for Mira, shrugged,

“I don’t really see how that would be a problem. For us at least.” Mira turned to face the Hunter,

“Ok, she is really not helpful. Are you two here to retrieve me, or take me out? Because either way I’d love to get a move on with it.” As if to reinforce her sentiment, the keening shriek of a Hive wizard cut though the rain and engine noise, and then another, close enough that Mira almost jumped. She was gratified to see the Hunter’s head whip around, searching for the source of the sound, taking his gaze off her for a moment.

“Killy!” The Warlock snapped, and he refocused on her. Realization dawned on Mira,

“Hang the hell on,” she said, turning to face the Hunter and Warlock in turn. “Killy? Stoom? Like, Stoomdorm-2? Aren’t you two kind of a big deal or something? What in all the hells are two of the Vanguard’s finest doing all the way out here talking to little old me for?” Killy sighed, stashed the grenade in a belt pouch and lowered his rifle,

“Don’t play coy, Mira. The Vanguard wants you home and you’re, well, ‘a noted flight risk’ I believe was how Zavala put it.” Mira forced a laugh to cover her surprise,

“Oh do they now? And in what status am I to be delivered?” Stoom gestured meaningfully with the ball of Void she still held,

“Ikora did specify ‘alive,’ but that does leave us a substantial amount of leeway.” Another series of Wizard shrieks rent the air, these closer than the last, and this time answered by the deck-shaking roar of an Ogre. Mira threw up her hands,

“Alright, fine. Can we just get out of here? I’ve been killed on this soggy, Light-forsaken excuse for a moon way too many times.” Stoom and Killy shared a nod. Killy slung his rifle over his shoulder and the Void Light in Stoom’s hand flickered out. Killy raised an arm, circling it above his head and the ship shifted slightly so it hovered directly overtop of them. Wordlessly, Killy transmatted up to the ship. Stoom pointed upwards,

“You next.” Mira sighed and gestured Shura to her, then locked onto the hovering dropship and transmatted aboard.

Mira found herself in the cramped hold of an old Kestrel-class jumpship. She pulled off her helmet and drew in a deep breath of the clean, albeit recycled, air, realizing for the first time how accustomed she had become to the brimstone stench of Titan’s methane-rich oceans. Killy was already seated on one of the low benches that lined the walls, removing his helmet to reveal an Awoken with stern, lined features and close-cropped hair. Stoom joined them a moment later, taking a seat next to him. Her helmet stayed on. Another Awoken Guardian, a Titan from the blocky pattern of his armor, leaned out of the cockpit door, looked Mira up and down, and winced dramatically,

“Shit, Hunter. You look like we both need a drink. Better find a seat. Gonna be a bumpy ride out.” Something about the Titan’s emphasis on ‘bumpy ride’ came across as ham-handedly flirtatious, but Mira was in no fit state to respond even with her usual biting sarcasm.

Mira seated herself across from Killy and Stoom and strapped herself in as the jumpship roared up and away, jerking through Titan’s turbulent atmosphere. Even strapped tightly into the ship’s safety harness, the turbulence was unspeakably unpleasant, and Mira was glad she hadn’t eaten anything substantial in a few months. After a few minutes that seemed like days, she felt them break free of the moon’s gravitational pull, the roar of atmosphere giving way to the eerie silence of open space. The pilot stuck his head in from the cockpit again,

“Alright,” he announced, “since our engines took a pounding on the way in, we’re sublight back to Earth. Shouldn’t be more than twenty or so hours. Still,” he paused to shoot a broad wink at Mira, “plenty of time to get to know each other, right?” The Titan disappeared back into the cockpit. Mira turned to Killy,

“Who’s that? And is he always like that?”

“Oh, Nika? That’s actually the best behaved I’ve seen him in forever. I think you scare him a little. Although that’s never stopped him before.”

“Just the opposite, in fact.” Stoom chimed in. Mira could almost hear the grin in her voice. She sighed deeply, leaning back against the wall behind her, releasing herself from the safety harness.

“So what’d she tell you about me?” Mira asked, “Dreadful things, no doubt.” Stoom cocked her head, confused,

“Who? Ikora?”

“No, that Praxic psychopath, Aunor. No way you got to me without her or one of her little rats trying to warn you away.” Stoom winced, anticipating Killy’s lie,

“I have no idea wha-” Stoom cut him off, her synthesized voice flat and expressionless,

“She told us you’re a dangerous, violent loner. That your obsession with the Hive is, at best, creepy, and at worst a threat to City. That your vendetta against the House of Wolves has pulled you away from being any use or help to the Vanguard often enough to make the Vanguard seriously question your loyalty. And that every fireteam you’ve ever run with is either dead or missing.” Mira stared at her for a long moment, looking genuinely taken aback, then let out short, raspy laugh,

“Well, Aunor might be a violent nutcase with an explosion fetish, but she’s not a liar.” The surprise on Killy’s face was obvious. “What, you expected me to try and tell you I’m a perfectly normal, well-adjusted, rule-abiding hunter? Do those even exist?” Killy shrugged,

“Well I think I turned out ok.” Mira turned to Stoom and raised an eyebrow,

“Did he?”

“He’s alright.” In spite of herself, Stoom was developing a cautious respect for this strange, lonely Hunter. She was at least satisfied that Mira probably wasn’t an immediate threat. Killy leaned in,

“She also told us you’d thrown in with the Drifter. Why? Do you trust him?” Mira laughed humorlessly,

“Trust the Drifter? No. Absolutely not.”

“So why’d you do it?” Mira hadn’t noticed Nika come back into the cargo bay from the cockpit. Damn quiet for a Titan. Or maybe she was just exhausted. She took a moment to consider her answer before speaking,

“The Drifter’s a bad man. A liar, a cheat, maybe even worse. But he’s been alive for a hell of a long time, and I respect that. Besides, he knows things. Things about the Hive, the Taken, the Nine. Things I aim to find out.”

“Sure,” Nika cut in, “but at what cost? Is it really worth it? Turning your back on the Vanguard?” Mira paused again, looking over each of the Guardians in turn.

“Look. I can tell none of you are exactly new here. But I suspect I’ve got a few years on all of you, so allow me to dispense some hard-earned wisdom. The Vanguard aren’t just great Guardians, they’re good people, some of the best I’ve ever known. But sometimes being on the side of the good person doesn’t mean jack. Sometimes following good people just because they’re good and righteous gets everyone you know and love dead, really dead, forever dead, on an airless rock two-hundred thousand miles from home. Sometimes the good people die and the bad people live, and I have a lot to do before I die my last death.”

“You were there, at the Great Disaster, weren’t you?” Stoom asked in the silence that followed Mira’s quiet outburst. She knew the answer, having read Mira’s file -what of it wasn’t heavily redacted- on the way to Titan. Mira nodded,

“Sure. Who wasn’t? What makes me special is I walked away in one piece. Eventually.” Stoom recalled having read in that file how Mira had vanished in the wake of the disastrous assault on Luna, deliberately ignoring a Vanguard ship sent to retrieve her and direct orders to disengage. How by all accounts she had wandered the labyrinth of tunnels around the Hellmouth for months before a fireteam was eventually dispatched to capture her and all but drag her home, delirious and, by all accounts, changed. In the dim light of the cargo bay, it occurred to Stoom that Mira’s luminous Awoken eyes burned the same sickly green as Hive soulfire.

“Did you, though?” Killy asked, quietly. The sincerity of the question caught Mira truly off guard, and she recovered slower than she would have liked,

“Sorry, Hunter. But you’ve got to get to know me a lot better than this before you get to know any more of my tragic backstory.” All four laughed, and the somber moment passed.

~

Mira slept most of the rest of the way back to Earth. A deep, mercifully dreamless sleep. Several times she half-woke to hear Shura chatting quietly with the other Guardians. Tower gossip, mostly. Shura never complained about their long stints away from the Tower and the Traveller, but Mira knew she always missed the company of other Guardians and their Ghosts more than she let on. Once or twice Mira heard her name spoken, but she was simply too exhausted from weeks upon weeks of sleepless hunting and fighting to rouse herself. She trusted Shura to be discreet, to not say anything she wouldn’t say herself if she were awake.

Mira was eventually fully woken by the staticy chatter of comm traffic from the cockpit. She recognized the usual pattern of hails and responses, challenges and codes. Since the Red War, security around the Earth had increased exponentially. She pulled herself into a sitting position and strapped herself back into the safety harness, bracing for another bout of atmospheric turbulence. Nika was a good pilot though, and reentry was no more unpleasant for Mira than was inevitable.

After a brief argument with Tower security over an expired Vanguard landing clearance code that gave Mira a sense of just how long these Guardians had been hunting for her, Nika set the dropship down in one of the Tower’s innumerable hangers and joined them as the cargo bay filled with the quiet hiss of depressurization, the locks holding the ship’s ramp clanking open in noisy sequence. Mira pulled on her helmet to shield her eyes and ears from the blast of light and noise would assault her when the ship’s ramp dropped. She’d been away for too long, she knew, and braced herself. Even so, the sudden blast of light and sound hit her like a solid wall. The dull roar of mingled mechanical noise, shouted conversation, and hurrying footfalls grated on her mind even through her helmet’s protective audio baffles, and the late-afternoon sunlight nearly blinded her even filtered through polarized lenses. Everything was too loud, too bright, too quick, dragging her attention one way and then the next in dizzying succession. Her mind was still stuck in combat readiness, and everything looked and sounded like a threat. Every shadow held a hidden assailant, every curious glance cast her way seemed full of suspicion and veiled aggression, every weapon looked ready to fire on her. She shook her head, trying to concentrate through the fog of sensory overload and paranoia, her vision clouding and twisting. Someone tried to grab her arm to steady her as she nearly fell down the ship’s ramp, but she shook them off, taking a few stumbling steps before finding her balance, slapping the side of her helmeted head several times to clear it.

“I’m ok.” she said, more to herself than any of the three Guardians watching her with obvious concern. Their worry only grated on her frayed nerves. She felt foolish and out of place and it irritated her. Others had noticed her awkward exit from the dropship too, and now she felt many eyes on her, too many. It made her nauseous. Without looking back, she set off in the direction of the Consensus Hall, noting the sound of three sets of footsteps falling in behind her. She turned back to the fireteam that had brought her here, forcing a pleasant tone through her irritation,

“Pretty sure I can find my way from here. It hasn’t been that long since my last visit.” None of the three guardians budged. Nika smiled brightly,

“Flight risk, remember?” Mira heaved an aggravated sigh and started back off towards the Consensus Hall again, her entourage in tow. As she walked and her head started to clear, it occurred to her that the civilized thing to do would be to apologize to the three Guardians, who had clearly come a long way and risked life and limb to retrieve her, for her rudeness. But the fact of the matter was she simply had no idea how to go about it. So she proceeded on stony silence, letting them think what they would of her.

It was a long walk, but on some level Mira was glad of it. Whatever inquisition awaited her in the Consensus Hall, she needed time to try and steady her nerves, calm her racing mind, force herself back into what she called her ‘civilized mindset.’ The others kept silent, either respectful of her troubled state of mind, or simply unwilling to engage her after her outburst.

Eventually, they came out onto a bustling courtyard, fully open to the sky above. Across the stretch of worn flagstones and low ornamental shrubs, set into the wall of unadorned concrete, stood the imposing double doors of the Consensus Hall. Stoom, Killy, and Nika followed her across the courtyard and up to the doors, where she paused and turned to face them. Unsure of what to do or say, she removed her helmet and gave them a short nod,

“Thank you.” She said quietly. “I, uh, guess I’ll see you around?” Nika dipped an elaborate courtier’s bow, while Stoom and Killy simply returned her nod, their faces unreadable. Not waiting for a response, Mira turned to face the massive doors, and shoved them open, disappearing inside.

~

Mira entered the Consensus Hall fully expecting to be met by a figurative, or possibly literal, Consensus firing squad. She had prepared herself the whole walk here to face Zavala’s hard, disapproving stare, Hideo’s strident condescension, Jalaal’s wearying sarcasm, Aunor’s probing, leading questions. Instead, the hall was quiet, empty except for a lone figure standing at the far end, hands clasped behind her back, staring out the great window overlooking the city below. The figure was cast into stark silhouette by the lowering sun, but her profile was unmistakable. Ikora Rey turned and silently beckoned Mira to come stand with her by the window.

The two stood side by side in silence for several minutes, looking down on the great city spread out beneath the ever-present bulk of the Traveller.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Mira?” Ikora asked, not taking her eyes off the cityscape below. Mira nodded slowly,

“I think so.”

“And are you ready to be a Guardian again?” The words were spoken flatly, with no tone of reproach, but they stung more than any direct insult could have. Mira bit back an ill-considered retort, searching for the right thing to say.

“I don’t know.” She admitted eventually. Ikora turned to face her,

“The City needs you.”

“Needs me?” Mira made no effort to keep the bitter incredulity from her voice. “Last I checked I was a, what was it? A ‘dangerous, violent loner?’” Ikora sighed,

“We both know the Praxic Order bears no love for you. Aunor’s file on you was created under my auspices but…” she trailed off without finishing the thought. Her mind was obviously elsewhere. “Mira, the Vanguard is in crisis. Now more than ever we need our veterans. We need Guardians like you. Your knowledge, your insight.” Mira looked at her askance,

“Ikora, cut the crap. You’re not thinking of offering me the Vanguard position are you?” Ikora shook her head,

“Traveller no. You’d never accept anyway, and I expect Aunor would quite literally explode. But the truth is there are almost no credible candidates left.”

“Shiro?”

“Alive, but no one’s heard from him directly in a while.”

“Bray?”

“We both know she’d never do it. Besides, Zavala would have a stroke.” Mira grinned,

“Eris.” Ikora shook her head in mock amazement,

“Of course, why didn’t I think of that?” The two shared a moment of quiet laughter.

“No luck tracking down Lady Efrideet I guess?” Mira asked eventually. Ikora turned to her, her eyes narrowed in half-serious suspicion,

“No. And I don’t suppose you’ll be the one to tell me?” Mira shook her head firmly,

“Due respect, but even if I knew, Efrideet’s probably the only Guardian in the system I’m more afraid of than you. At least you’d kill me in a fair fight.” Ikora silently arched a single eyebrow. “Probably.” Mira amended. The two lapsed into a long moment of silence. Mira was the first to break it. “Who else from the old guard is even left?” She asked, “Hunters-wise, I mean.” Ikora sighed deeply,

“A few, scattered around the system. But the fact of the matter is that being a good Hunter also has the effect of making one largely unsuited to Vanguard duty, or at least highly resistant to the idea of serving in such a capacity.”

“A catch twenty-two if I ever saw one.” Both Guardians fell into another period of silence. Eventually, Mira had to ask the question that weighed on her. “So. Why call me here? Why send a whole fireteam, undoubtedly with better things to do, to hunt me down?”

“Among other reasons, to seek your advice.” Ikora answered simply. Mira barked a short, grim laugh,

“Shit, you must be asking just anybody these days.”

“Mira,” Ikora’s tone was chiding, but kind, “you know I value your counsel. Yes, I’ve spoken with many Guardians about our current… predicament, but few with your perspective.” She paused, fixing Mira with a wan smile, “Or, for better or worse, your candor.” Mira nodded slowly, gathering her thoughts. This whole meeting was not going anything like what she has prepared for, and she found herself once again on the back foot,

“Right. Ok, you want my two cents so here goes. The Vanguard’s lost its teeth. There’s a whole lot of Guardians out there that have all but gone rogue, breaking from Vanguard protocol in ways that would have gotten them in deep shit back in the day. And that’s not even counting the ones waving around that ‘Dredgen’ title the Drifter’s handing out for Traveller knows what reason. Guardians are getting wilder, and no one’s reining them in, keeping them on track.” She smiled wistfully, “That was one of Cayde’s greatest strengths, you know. He’d make these assignments sound like we were going over the Vanguard’s head, pulling one over on you and Zavala. But then it would always come around to fulfilling some Vanguard objective or another. Gave Guardians with a more anti-authoritarian streak an outlet. But now,” she gestured vaguely out into the evening sky, “well, a lot’s changed. Honestly, Ikora, what’s-” She cut herself off before finishing a rash thought, pausing to choose her next words carefully. Ikora sensed her hesitation,

“I didn’t send one of my best fireteams to hunt you down across half the system to bring you here to be diplomatic, Mira.” Mira chuckled drily,

“Well, fine then. What’s even the point anymore, Ikora? Of the Vanguard. You and Zavala can’t seem to see eye-to-eye since Cayde bought it. The Praxic Order’s running things like an inquisition, more so than usual, I mean. The Drifter’s all nice and cozy over in the Annex doing whatever the hell it is he’s doing. The Factions, such as they are these days, can’t seem to do anything more useful than bicker and seize valuable resources for their own purposes. Guardians are spread out all over the system, isolated, working at crossed purposes for powers unknown, answerable to no one but themselves. Are you ever going to stop it? Rein in the Guardians, bring the Factions to heel? Set our efforts in some productive direction?” She paused, meeting Ikora’s gaze fully for the first time, “Could you even, if you wanted to?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Mira blinked, surprised by the frankness of the answer. Ikora held Mira’s Hive-green gaze. “But if past precedent is any indication, we’re coming due for another catastrophe. I fear whatever comes next could very well break us, shatter what fragile unity we’ve managed to cultivate here. There are a lot of new Guardians, Mira, who will look to their veteran peers for inspiration and guidance. When they do, I would very like like you to be here to help guide them.” Mira’s heart sank like a stone. Anything but this. At this moment, she would have preferred the firing squad. She wasn’t a leader, a mentor. Not anymore at least. That part of her had died years ago on Luna with the rest of her fireteam and friends.

“Ikora I…” Mira dropped her gaze away from Ikora’s, fumbling for the right words, “I don’t even know if I can. I’m not…” she gestured vaguely at herself, a rush of grief and guilt overwhelming her, “I’m not exactly…” she struggled for the right word, “I’m not exactly whole, I’m not who I was. Every time I come back I feel like I’m missing more of myself. I can’t even remember-” her voice caught and she choked back a growing lump in her throat, “Ikora, I can’t remember her face anymore.” Mira hugged her arms to her chest, feeling suddenly very small and very alone, unable even to look at Ikora. “I’m sorry. I just don’t think I’m who you want me to be anymore.” She felt scattered and distant, like she was falling apart on some soul-deep level, and somehow watching it all happen from outside herself. She didn’t want Ikora of all people to see her like this. She turned on her heel and took a few faltering steps towards the door, slowly steadying herself as she walked,

“You owe me, Mira Vess.” Ikora called after her, her raised voice echoing in the empty hall. Mira jerked to a halt. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten.” The Warlock’s tone was hard as steel and just as cold. “All these years, whenever I dragged you back from whatever Light-forsaken corner of the system your bloodlust drove you to, I always let you go again. I never called upon the debt you owe me. This time is different. This time you stay.” It was not a request, it was not even an order, it was simply a statement of fact, and Mira had no more power to deny it than she did to deny the name Shura had given her, or the Traveller’s Light that coursed through her undying body.

Almost against her will, Mira found herself turning, walking back to stand before Ikora, head lowered, eyes burning with unshed tears, still unable to look the Warlock Vanguard in the eyes. Ikora extended a hand and Mira instinctively flinched away for a moment before collecting herself. Ikora placed two fingers beneath Mira’s chin, tilting her face up so their eyes met. Mira’s face was a twisting mask flitting between grief, anger, fear, and a thousand other emotions as she tried frantically to master herself. Where before she had been unable to meet Ikora’ gaze, now she could not look away. The Warlock’s eyes were as dark and depthless as Titan’s seas, unforgiving as Mars’ deserts, cold as Luna’s dead sky. The two stood this way for what felt like an eternity, Mira struggling to steady her reeling mind, Ikora simply waiting, content to let the Hunter either get control of herself or wear herself out trying. Eventually, Ikora spoke,

“Will you honor your debt to me, Mira Vess?” Mira opened her mouth to speak, failed, licked dry lips, and tried again,

“What would you have of me, Ikora Rey?” She said, her voice barely a whisper. Under normal circumstances, she would have laughed at her own stilted formality, but in this moment it felt right somehow. Ikora nodded, satisfied, dropping her hand from Mira’s chin. Mira started as though awakening from a trance, realizing she’d been all but holding her breath.

“For now, I need you to rest and heal. Reintegrate yourself. There are patrols to conduct and Strikes that would benefit from your touch. Shaxx and Saladin would be glad to have you back in the Crucible, and I imagine the Drifter would be very interested indeed in including you in whatever his most recent lunatic scheme is.” Mira nodded slowly,

“I understand.” Her voice was quieter and shakier than she would have liked.

“Mira.” Ikora’s voice was quiet, but firm, “whatever part of you is missing isn’t out there. You won’t find it in the broken skull of a Baron or in the flayed heart of a Broodmother. You’ve been out there in the black for too long and it’s eating you alive. Come home, while there’s any of yourself left to do so.”

~

Mira exited the Consensus hall and stood outside the great double doors for a few minutes, blinking in the last rays of the setting sun, collecting herself before venturing back out into the chaos. It was evening now, but the courtyard outside the Consensus Hall was still busy, with groups of Guardians and civilians hurrying about and frames hauling crates of supplies and weapons to and from the various hanger bays on this level.

In contrast to her awkward entry onto the landing pad earlier, no one spared the lone Hunter a second glance, and she was very glad of the anonymity. The constant noise and movement still unsettled her a little, and she kept having to stop her hand from falling to the cannon at her hip, but the jittering in her mind was quieting by the minute. It would be hard to readjust to city life, but she was going to give it a try. She had no choice. Neither she nor Ikora had spoken of the nature of the debt Mira owed. They had no need. Mira had never forgotten that it was Ikora who had interceded on her behalf when she had been dragged back from Luna after the Great Disaster, half mad, incoherent and reeking of Hive sorcery. Had it not been for Ikora, she would likely have spent the rest of her unnaturally long life in an isolation cell, or simply been purged at the hands of the Praxic Order’s absurd lust for purity. Mira shuddered and rubbed the strange patterns of scars on her cheeks and brow that even the Light could not fully heal. She owed Ikora her life, what remained of it, and now that the Warlock Vanguard had finally called upon that debt, Mira would honor her word.

She wondered if her old apartment on the lower levels was still there or if it had been reclaimed. She probably hadn’t been in it more than once or twice since the Tower was rebuilt. She decided she’d find out later. For now she needed some time to wander, to get a feel for the place again, breathe the air, see what had changed in her absence, and what remained the same.

Very little had changed, she found. She wandered the Tower as the sun slipped lower and the web of lights that kept the corridors and courtyards bathed in eternal day flickered on. It was a peculiar sensation for her, readjusting to civilization, to being surrounded, for the first time in a long time, by beings who not only didn’t want to kill her, but paid her no particular mind. She imagined some might find it isolating; she found it unbelievably comforting.

Almost without thinking, she found her steps taking her to one of her old haunts, a usually-deserted stretch of parapet-wall overlooking the wilderness beyond the City. There was a small abutment there, an empty platform jutting out into empty air, unoccupied but clearly meant to hold some form of armament. For whatever reason, this platform had remained empty even after the rebuilding, and it was here that Mira had always gone to sit and escape the hustle and bustle of Tower life. There was no railing so Mira walked right up the the edge and sat down cross-legged, letting the gentle wind tug at her cloak.

The sun had set somewhere behind her, and while its last faint glow still lit the higher levels of the Tower above her, the valley far below was already shrouded in night. Mira was thankful for the fading light. With her eyes still ill-adjusted to Earth’s bright sunlight and the constant glare of electric illumination, she had been nursing a pounding headache ever since she arrived.

Hearing the quiet scuff of footfalls close behind her, Mira patted the concrete beside her without looking up. A moment later, Killy lowered himself down next to her, dangling his legs off the edge,

“You’re a hard woman to find, Mira Vess.” Mira regarded him archly,

“Not hard enough, I guess.” For a moment, Killy looked genuinely hurt, but he quickly realized there was no venom in Mira’s words and smiled,

“My fireteam and some of our friends are heading down to the city for a bite to eat, figured I’d invite you along. You probably haven’t eaten a real meal in what, six months? There’s a killer ramen joint in the east district we like to meet at.”

“East district. Maki’s?” Killy looked surprised,

“You know it?” Mira laughed,

“Sure I do. I just can’t believe that old bastard’s still alive. I think he’s older than I am, you know.” Killy rose and offered Mira a hand up,

“Come on. It’ll be my treat this time, and I’ll introduce you to the family. They’re good folks, once you get to know them. Maybe we’ll even get to work on learning that tragic backstory of yours.”