#ch: zavala

[waterdeep]

DESTINY 2: FORSAKEN ➵ DESTINY 2: SEASON OF THE CHOSEN.

Do you know which side YOU'RE on?

[fox-fic-and-ink]

First round of writing commissions is full!

*rubs hands gleefully*

1. Zavala/Nightmare Cayde (hard NSFW)

2. Warlord AU Shaxx/Cayde/Zavala (hard NSFW)

3. Kakashi/Iruka (fluff)

4. A Painting Missing Strokes, A Song Missing Notes (CH 13)

5. Crow/OC (NSFW)

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Corrupt [2]

Come, oh bearer mine, and show them that even a rose can be deadly.

SERIES: Destiny WORD COUNT: 6,806 SHIP: N/A CHARACTERS: kel, luke, cayde-6, lord shaxx, eris morn, ikora, zavala, quinn

Almost two weeks later, Cayde’s call comes at an inopportune moment.

Middle of a firefight with a group of Fallen that he’s sorely underestimated, and he makes the mistake of opening the line at the exact time he sees the Captain bearing down in him. Before Cayde can start to speak Kel grunts and calmly says, “one second,” before diving out of the way of a pair of shock blades that descend on him.

Reaching for his belt and one of the sticky grenades resting there Kel rushes forward, ducking underneath the Fallen’s four arms and two blades, not stopping to look behind him as the Captain roars in offense.

An explosion causes the rocks under his feet to shudder. A blink of red disappears from his HUD radar.

The comm line, surprisingly, remains patiently silent.

He takes stock of the enemies left: a dozen Fallen, all of them conveniently grouped up.

Propelling himself forward he leaps from the ground and pushes off the surface of a broken pillar, light roiling around him and shrouding his body in rippling flames—flames that he pulls handfuls of etheric, fiery knives from that fly from his hands too fast for the Fallen to dodge.

Kel lands as those knives erupt around him, and when the dust settles there are no Fallen bodies to be seen. Just ash and smoldering, blackened shrubs.

His fingers flex over the grip of the hand cannon held in them, eyes scan for any more enemies in waiting.

Cayde can’t seem to keep silent any longer. “Was that the trick I taught you? Tell me that was the trick I taught you. It was the trick I taught you, wasn’t it.”

Kel ignores him, glancing at Echo as she materializes to survey the area. “Did you have news?”

“We know how to find her.” Cayde answers without missing a beat or acknowledging the snub.

He holsters Thorn and turns away from the battlefield he’d just cleared, and Echo calls in his ship without prompting. He doesn’t need to hear more explanation than that, but Cayde gives it anyway, voice briefly drowned out by the roar of engines.

Kel wonders if he does it just to reassure himself that Quinn was still alive and they would get her back now that they had a lead.

Luke’s assumption that the Taken had pulled her through a rift into the Ascendant Plane had been correct—and her ghost, after having found a way out of that alternate dimension, had gone on for several minutes about how terrifying it was until Ikora had gently urged it to focus.

Apparently she had managed to turn the Taken’s own paracausal powers against them, tearing a hole in that reality herself. A rip only big enough for Glyph to slip through, allowing it to return to the Tower, frantic and exhausted by the long and rushed journey between Saturn and Earth.

It knew where to enter the Ascendant realm to find her—the tricky part would be hoping they got there quickly enough to keep whatever lurked there from either corrupting or killing her.

Kel’s fingers twitch near his holster and he wonders: were they one and the same?

He wonders: what would Dredgen Yor have said?

He doesn’t dwell on it, spending the entire flight from Venus back to Earth silent and aware of the rising hum in the back of his head the closer he got after days of peace. Like when he had found it, Thorn was eager.

The little girl still appears in the corner of his eyes and tugs on the hem of his tattered cloak, begging for his attention. Sometimes he feels her fingers curl around his own, finding upon looking down that they’ve been replaced by the grip of a handgun that purrs at him to lift the barrel to his chin and pull the trigger.

It’s getting easier for him to recognize the signs and brush them aside, but the visions and whispers had intensified and Kel knows he’s on a short timer. Part of him wants to just toss the damn thing, but the rest of him doesn’t enjoy the thought of what might happen should someone that hadn’t spent hundreds of years practicing intense self-control got their hands on it.

It had already proven itself to be a ticking time bomb for even him—how deep and easy would it sink its claws into someone else?

So, no, he wouldn’t toss the gun and hope for the best, and he had done everything from emptying every round of his rocket launcher’s ammo on it to dropping it in the lava flows of Venus in the hopes of destroying it without success.

The lava flow attempt had left him blacked out and he had woken later with the gun vibrating with furious energy.

That had been the first time Kel had felt true, all-consuming fear since his rebirth, and it was also the moment he realized that Thorn was more than just an accursed weapon in the City’s and in humanity’s history—it was a curse in and of itself.

One that he now held the responsibility of containing.

Eris had said there was a way to silence it, to make it easier to control, but in two weeks he’d had no luck finding how. He was running out of time, and quickly, but he had enough time for this detour. He wouldn’t abandon Quinn. Not when there was a chance she was still alive, not when Gil had given his life to make that chance possible, and not when her bright presence had burned away the shadows of his memories.

When he arrives on Earth he’s met with more greetings that he only briefly acknowledges before moving on. The less time he spent here, the better.

Eris is absent from her place in the Vanguard hall again, but Kel’s steps slow and then stop when he catches Shaxx’s gaze.

From behind their helmets they stare each other down. Shaxx’s fists are clenched tightly at his sides, and Kel sees arc energy sparking around them. He could apologize for what had happened—he had violated the sanctity of the man’s training grounds, unknowingly or not—but it would be hollow and they both knew it.

There was nothing forgivable about murdering one of their own.

“Shaxx.”

The bold greeting sends a fresh ripple of furious static sparking over the titan’s form. “Dredgen.”

Kel can’t put a finger on whether it’s the icy treatment of a stranger he receives or the cold accusation behind the simple moniker, but the painful sting nearly cripples him. The former he had expected, but the latter?

He swallows it down and continues forward as though it didn’t affect him. Though Shaxx looked as though he was ready to intercept him and wanted to do nothing more, the titan remains in place and stares him down as he passes.

Like the last time he had approached the war room an argument is underway, only this time the doors are wide open and the subject, thankfully, isn’t him. Ikora is silent, her hands clasped behind her back, while Zavala and Cayde butt their heads together.

“—I’m going, Zavala. You can run my hunters through Shiro or Marcus while I’m gone, but I’m going.” Cayde says, heated. Not quite as rare attitude for him, but still out of the norm.

“We need you here, Cayde,” Zavala jabs a finger down onto the table in front of him to emphasize the statement, firm and unyielding in everything from his voice to his body language, “let her fireteam run the rescue op and we’ll send a temporary third with them.”

Cayde refuses to concede. “And I need to be there.”

He’s the first to notice Kel’s entrance. His expression shifts to something neutral, but Kel doesn’t miss the quick glance to where Thorn is strapped to his thigh. Cayde’s gaze lingers—and then he gives Kel a nod in greeting. “I gotta be there for more than one reason.”

Kel returns his nod and understands.

Zavala doesn’t look happy about Kel’s presence, but whatever protests he has to it are held in check; he makes no effort, however, to hide his distrust. Ikora just gives him a once over and a long, considering look before lifting her chin ever so slightly in acknowledgement.

Two out of three wasn’t bad.

He says nothing, quietly continuing down the steps and veering off to the side once he’d reached the lowered landing and finding a spot apart from them where he can stand silent and still as a statue. Maybe they could pretend he wasn’t even there.

Distraction put aside Cayde continues his argument. “Only way you’re keepin’ me off this op, Zavala, is by puttin’ a lock on my ship.”

“Which you would find a way to break or circumvent.” Zavala sighs explosively, pushing away from the table and folding his arms over his chest. “This isn’t like Venus, or Mars, or any of our other warzones, Cayde. You’ll be heading into Oryx’s turf, not one we control.”

“I know the risk. It’s worth it.” Cayde replies.

Silence falls, stretching out until Ikora speaks up. “Think of it this way, Zavala: there would be something especially inspiring for our guardians and City to see one of their leaders heading a direct strike into the heart of the enemy. Morale is something we’ve...been seeing a decline in recently.”

She must’ve been taking a backseat to mediate their argument.

Still, Zavala says nothing, leaning forward on the table again and showing his distaste openly. “And if you die, Cayde? If this fails?”

“It’s a risk all of them take every single day. ‘Side from the fact we’re the ones givin’ orders, what makes us so special?”

Kel had already had more than enough respect for Cayde but that simple rhetorical question tips it even higher.

Hunter Vanguards historically had the shortest details—in the years since the City’s beginning, both warlocks and titans had seen less than five leadership changes combined, and hunters alone had seen at least five—that were typically cut short thanks to a stereotypically flighty nature that usually got them killed.

Cayde was the ‘youngest’ of the current Vanguard iteration, and he still knew what it felt like to be one of the rank and file. Zavala and Ikora had forgotten, and both look sobered by the statement.

In the end Zavala relents, and Kel wordlessly follows Cayde from the war room.

Luke is rushing across the plaza when they run into him, apparently trying to get to the war room himself. Cayde intercepts him before he bypasses them entirely, and Kel has to spend a handful of heartbeats carefully controlling his breathing and beating down the rage that threatens to resurge. It wasn’t his fault, he reminds himself.

Cayde and Luke are staring at him when he returns to the present. Luke looks nervous, and Cayde was once again unreadable. He says nothing to it. “Are we going or not?”

He wants Quinn back within the City walls, safe. He wants to strike a blow against the Taken King, retaliation for his lost brother. The sooner he does both, the sooner he can retreat from the remnants of humanity and seek a way to control Thorn’s influence, keeping them safe from the threat it poses to all of them.

He keeps his distance on the flight from Earth to the rings of Saturn, remaining in the middeck of Cayde’s ship and listening while the Hunter Vanguard and Luke discuss their plan with Glyph giving input based on its knowledge of the chunk of the Ascendant Plane they’d be infiltrating.

Luke glances over at him every so often and Kel returns the looks from behind his helmet impassively, saying nothing; like with Shaxx, he knows that there aren’t words to make up for what he had almost done, and he doesn’t expect Luke to forgive him for it.

They journey deep into Oryx’s floating fortress once they arrive, directed by Glyph who had opted to share a ‘backpack’ with Cayde’s ghost, Sundance. Neither of his allies comment on him using Thorn, but Cayde does conspicuously order Luke to fall back and bring up the rear and Kel to take point, keeping himself between the two members of Fireteam Ward.

It was just as well; the proximity to so much Hive power and magic made the black static at the back of his mind roil, so Kel doesn’t mind pulling ahead so his back was to them rather than the other way around.

Pulling an Ascendant Soul from one of Oryx’s many ‘children’ on the Dreadnaught is no simple task but they accomplish it through equal amounts skill and raw determination—there would be no other way to force open the tear that Quinn had created.

Glyph’s directions lead them into a passage small enough all three of them have to duck down to file through. Luke’s vocal disgust about the chitinous growths and writhing hive worms surrounding them allows a brief moment of amusement to push back Thorn’s greedy grasping at his mind.

The passage darkens the further in they move, all the colors reaching his eyes suddenly washing out in shades of dark blues and grays and blacks as though a painter had stripped all of the vibrance from their universe.

The change from the plane of existence they call home and the Ascendant one is immediate and disorienting, as though they’d stepped through a pressurized barrier, the weight of the air around them suddenly oppressive and stifling. His light feels small and choked and he knows that he can’t remain here long.

Already, Thorn is drawing strength from the darkness.

The passage opens up after a ways and all three of them are struck dumb by the void that greets them, littered with cracked stone pathways and floating islands of sand and Hive growths consuming nearly every visible surface.

All around them a howling gale roars, dark clouds twisting and and swirling, obscuring every broken, floating pathway until a blinding flash of lightning within the unnatural storm around them sets the endless horizon alight and reveals them.

Along with the shadows of massive, writhing tendrils somewhere in the far distance within the smoke-like clouds of the storm.

The reports of Crota’s throne world, infiltrated by that six-man fireteam decades ago, hadn’t done this chaotic realm justice. It was terrifying in its seemingly endless, haunting expanse with the storm around them both deafening and silent at once.

He couldn’t see any of Oryx’s mindless army, but he can still feel countless eyes watching them, greedy and hungry, something ancient and eldritch and powerful waiting for them to fall into the yawning abyss below.

Thorn feels abnormally warm in his palm. It speaks to him for the first time in nearly a week, voice almost incomprehensible within the deafening cacophony of echoes that accompany it.

Do you hear it, oh bearer mine? The song. Listen to the song. Hear its truth.

Light-wielders shouldn’t be here. No one should be here. He knows this instinctively, and with a glance at the other two Kel knows that both of them have come to the same conclusion.

And Quinn had spent over a month trapped in this hell. Alone.

A massive, distant roar rising over the silent gale snaps them all of them out of their horrified awe, reminding them of what they had come here for.

Cayde readies his Ace. “C’mon, let’s move.” To the point and devoid of his usual good humor. It’s a testament to the wrong-ness of this place, to the danger of it. This wasn’t a place to underestimate and he knew there was no place for his usual levity and devil-may-care attitude here.

This time he leads the way, Glyph’s nervous voice over team comms telling them that Oryx’s throne world was massive, and it had no idea how much further in Quinn may have traveled in its absence—they hadn’t been able to find somewhere safe to just bunker down, and it wasn’t likely she had found a way to since.

Monsters unlike anything they had ever seen wandered these teetering paths and inexplicable ruins, apparently, and it makes near-frantic emphasis that even if they couldn’t see any now they were still everywhere.

So they moved forward carefully, following Glyph’s direction further into the throne world, all on high alert. Cayde quickly grew visibly frustrated with their slow pace, but with the roaring winds and fog around them they could scarcely see twenty feet ahead, and knowing that one wrong step sent them into a dark abyss that Kel doubted they could survive, ghost or not, they couldn’t afford to rush any more than they could afford to dawdle.

Several times Glyph had to call out for them to abruptly change direction or for them to stop before they walked right over the edge of one of the floating structures they traversed.

Kel had to reach out and grab Luke’s robes one of these times, just barely catching the warlock before he completely lost his footing. By the way he had gone completely still, staring at Kel as he held him over the edge, he’s sure Luke had wondered in that moment if he was going to just let him fall.

Thorn tells him that he should and then howls its rage into his mind when he instead pulls Luke back onto solid ground.

“Thanks.” Luke says, voice shaky.

Kel’s head hurts. “Don’t mention it.”

Twenty minutes pass. Then thirty. Only twice did they have to stop to fend off a wave of Taken-warped thrall, vicious and screeching at them as they scale and traverse the twisting and broken landscape of their King’s territory.

Cayde works flawlessly with both of them as though he’d been part of their team for years, and all the thrall and acolytes and knights unlucky enough to be in their path fall.

They take a moment to breathe after a wave of thrall clear, all acutely aware that they didn’t have many of them to spare. Tick tock, tick tock.

Luke breaks the silence first. “Anyone else a little worried we haven’t seen any of those monsters Glyph mentioned?”

“Think it’s somethin’ we should be grateful for, kid.” Cayde replies easily, flicking his wrist and dropping the empty magazine from his Ace so he can reload it.

“No,” both Cayde and Luke’s attention snap over to him at the single deathly certain word, “it’s not.”

“What’re you thinkin’, Kel?” Cayde’s hand flicks the new magazine into place within the barrel of his gun.

He struggles to find the words he wants to say through the deafening static between his ears. Thorn doesn’t want him to speak at all. “Oryx wants us to keep going. He wants us as deep into his world as he can get us.” He pauses, one of his gloved hands settling on his helmet over the crown of his head; he’s not sure why he knows this. Or how.

His fingers tighten around Thorn’s grip.

“I mean, we know Oryx wants us dead, Kel. Why not just try to kill us here?” Luke asks. He doesn’t have to mention that thrall and knights were hardly a challenge for veteran guardians that had faced them before.

He can’t make the words form, though they’re on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t know. He does, but he doesn’t.

“‘Cause we’ll be farther from a way to escape,” Cayde supplies, and though there’s something crucial missing from the answer Kel knows that he’s dead to rights, “we find Quinn, he kills all of us at once. If he’s lucky, which he ain’t. This handsome mug ain’t dyin’ today.”

Kel needs to figure out what that crucial missing piece is. He needs to. What was it?

“Question is: why?” Cayde continues, and Kel sees him shift impatiently in the edge of his vision. He knows the answer to this question is important, just as Kel does, but he’s gotten far enough that his biggest concern is finding the woman he still hasn’t admitted he loves.

Listen to the song. You know the words. Let me sing to them, oh bearer mine. Join me, let us sing together.

“I don’t know.” Kel finally says, his tongue feeling leaden within his mouth. And it’s true that he doesn’t, but the melody between his ears is beginning to make horrific sense.

Cayde’s watching him with sharp eyes, likely trying to assess whether or not Thorn was getting its hooks into his head again—but he apparently comes to the conclusion that Kel had it under control, because he turns his back to him and then starts forward, calling for them to keep moving.

Fool.

‘Shut. Up.’ Kel thinks forcefully, his jaw grinding until it’s painful. Miraculously, Thorn retreats to an incessant buzz in the back of his head in response.

It gives him no comfort.

They move forward, minutes ticking by, until the silent thunder cracks and the roaring winds around them are broken by a single, piercing scream that causes gooseflesh to erupt all over his skin. All three of them stop dead in alarm that’s quickly replaced by urgency.

Cayde breaks into a run first, followed without prompting by him and Luke, and Kel can hear Luke muttering a staccato repetition of shit, shit, shit from beside him.

It’s as they round a colossal stone column that Glyph speaks up, having remained silent long enough Kel had nearly forgotten it was there, its voice a shrill, tinny yell of warning over the comms: “Abyssal Knight!”

Barely a second after it yells in warning a massive behemoth materializes right in front of them in an unnatural, crackling storm of something like dust or gravel. It looked like a Hive Knight in shape, but was so huge that their heads just barely reached the height of the bottom of its knees, and its chitin was soot-black and nearly invisible in the inky darkness of the Ascendant Plane.

They notice the massive blade raised above the creature’s head nearly too late.

The shockwave of the blade striking the already cracked and crumbling ground sends all three of them along with shattered debris flying; Kel feels his back slam into the jagged stone surrounding the path, the blow knocking wind from his lungs and stunning him.

On the other side of the path a blast of arc energy sends more debris scattering and Luke stumbles out of it on his knees. A few feet to Kel’s side Cayde crouches almost on his knees as well, feet dangerously close to the edge of the floating path and one of his hands curled tightly around the exposed root of a dead tree.

Shaking the daze from his eyes, Kel lifts Thorn as the Knight raises its blade again.

“Just run, you can’t damage these things!” Glyph yells at them, panicked.

The issue, Kel thinks, wasn’t that they couldn’t damage it—but that they didn’t have the time to figure out how. Was that hubris? He doesn’t care.

Reaching for his belt quickly Kel lobs a tripmine up onto the stone that towers above him, the explosive beeping only once before its sensor picks up the Knight and explodes. The Knight stumbles, and a furious roar that sounds less like a creature and more like a force of nature follows them as they push forward.

“Glyph, where is she?” Cayde slows slightly to raise his gun and fire off a few shots at the thrall that had picked an awful time to come swarming from the shadows.

“Dead ahead, but there’s more knights!”

Poor word choice.

The exo swears, word nearly lost to the horde of screaming thrall blocking their way forward and the heavy, lumbering steps of the Knight giving chase behind. “Luke, we need a path!” Cayde calls out.

Kel expects Luke to let out a whoop and a jubilant ‘let’s rock n’ roll!’, but the warlock is instead silent as electricity flares up around him, flying from his open palms and ripping through the horde of thrall before them.

It’s unnerving to see Luke without the gusto everyone knew him for, but Kel doesn’t have time to wallow in self-loathing at the fact he’d been the one to dampen it.

He and Cayde follow after Luke, single shots from their pair of hand cannons picking off whatever Hive escaped from the warlock’s raging storm. Kel turns around once to fire a shot at the Abyssal Knight still pursuing them, hoping to find some weakness, but the bullet doesn’t so much as cause it to stumble.

Echo beeps at him to get his attention just as he turns away and he pauses, watching as though in slow motion as something incandescent wavers around the Knight’s gargantuan form; an image flashes in his mind of a dead titan in a Crucible arena.

The Knight’s body shifts as it moves to strike down and Kel dives out of the way, rolling back into gear and taking off after the other two.

They can see more of the Abyssal Knights ahead, clear of the screaming thrall that Luke had successfully reduced to smoking ash. Something glows brightly in the darkness of the Ascendant Plane right in the middle of the three monsters, and both Kel and Luke immediately recognize the opaque white shield unique to their teammate.

One of the knights rears back with its weapon and slams it down on the shield, scattering the sound of cracking glass on the wind around them. Quinn lets out a scream of helpless fear from within the shield’s dome.

“Cayde, we can kill these things, do you have a barrage ready?”

“Hold on, what?” Luke demands.

There’s no hesitation in Cayde’s answer. “I do.”

The easy, unflinching trust for him to give an affirmative without even knowing what his plan was, after everything he’d done and nearly done, punches Kel in the chest. He sequesters that feeling for later, a weapon to use against Thorn when it tries to press into the depths of his mind for an advantage.

Nine bullets in Thorn’s magazine. Three Abyssal Knights.

He takes aim—three shots each, a full magazine of hungry, caustic bullets that do exactly as he had hoped they would. The three knights stumble when the rounds chew through whatever paracausal shields they had and shatter them, massive weapons slamming to the ground and making it rumble under their feet.

Cayde takes to the air with his light burning wild and unleashes a barrage of fiery knives that erupt violently over the carapace of the now defenseless goliaths, leaving them to howl as the fire of Cayde’s light rips them to shreds and turns them to ash that’s swept away by the wind.

Immediate threat to the one they came here to save out of the way, the three of them turn for the last Knight still lumbering heavily towards them. Kel reloads quickly and empties the full clip into it, his teammates hailing it with even more the moment its shields are destroyed.

Nothing but the roaring silence of the storm around them follows. It’s a reprieve and nothing more, Kel knows this even without the hissing laughter he hears cut through his thoughts.

Cayde doesn’t hesitate, immediately turning and bolting back for the center of the massive open platform they find themselves on. The opaque shield they’d seen, so similar and yet so different from a titan’s at the same time, dissipates and reveals Quinn lying prone on the crumbling stone within a small divot.

The knights had been hammering at her shield for longer than they’d been witness to, it seems.

He and Luke join Cayde.

“Hey, sunshine,” he’s saying as they approach, Ace gently set on the ground next to him as he reaches for her, “you’re alright. You’re alright.”

It seems more like he’s trying to convince himself rather than her, but Kel doesn’t mention it.

She’s pale as a sheet and there are dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes, that much more pronounced with how white she looks, and there’s a thin sheen of sweat visible over her skin even in the desaturated colors of the Plane.

Her chest heaves with exertion and she shakes with something he can’t tell between weariness or unfiltered relief that they’d found her; morbidly, Kel wonders whether Oryx would’ve become unstoppable if they’d gotten here too late, for he knew now that that is why he wanted all of them here, deep in his realm.

Power feeds power. Blade versus flesh. Blade versus Eternity. There can be no survival without teeth.

Thorn’s laughter grows louder and Kel goes stiff as he fights with himself, suddenly struggling not to lift the barrel of the gun and fire off three very specific shots.

Weight hits him and nearly throws him off balance, and Kel only realizes that someone’s embraced him when the contact somehow pushes the dark static from his mind and leaves his thoughts clear again. He blinks, looking down and seeing Quinn with her arms tight around his back and face pressed against his chestplate.

His throat feels tight; he wasn’t deserving of the silent thank you she was projecting to him, not at all, but he hesitantly wraps an arm around her back in return.

“Can you move?” He asks her, following Cayde’s line of sight when he lifts Ace at the ready. Already the Taken were swarming again. They couldn’t stay here.

She looks like she might pass out at any moment, but when she steps back he spends a moment wondering at the sheer force of will the woman had to be able to keep upright after being trapped here for so long, after an ordeal that must have drained her to the brink.

She nods, pausing when Glyph materializes briefly to shift from Cayde to her.

“Good, that’s good, because there are a lot of bad guys heading our way,” Luke says, already hop-stepping back in the direction they’d come.

“Kel, take point again. Quinn, stick close. Luke, you ‘n me bring up the rear. Move!” Cayde barks out quickly, and all of them—all four of them—take off, hoping that their path would remain clear as they’d made it.

He didn’t hold out hope, knowing that now Oryx had them where he wanted them they weren’t going to leave easy. Part of him wants to argue Cayde’s order for Quinn to stick close to him with Thorn’s possessive, dark whispering growing disorientingly loud and demanding, but he doesn’t.

It was a double-edged sword, grasping at his mind greedily and testing every ounce of his carefully honed restraint, but the only weapon among them that could damage the powerful creatures that he hoped could only exist within this realm.

Instead, Kel took solace in knowing that Cayde still trusted him to maintain his control over something that could be both their and and salvation here.

Taken swarm at them from all sides as they run, the King of this world throwing oceans of screaming and howling thrall and knights and acolytes at them to slow them down and tire them out. To stop them from leaving.

Kel understands now why the disastrous mission that Gil died on went the way it had.

It’s nothing but sheer luck that sees the four of them back to the beginning, back to the passage they’d come through and out of the choking void.

They weren’t safe, far from it—if Gil’s death had told them anything, things were about to get even more difficult.

The moment they’re out of the tight passage and into the cavernous halls and suspended platforms filled with rock and chitinous growths and writhing worms that made up the Dreadnaught, they stop for nothing, slowing only to push back against the waves and waves of enemies Oryx furiously throws at them.

By the time they make it back to the transmat zone and are pulled into the confines of Cayde’s ship all of them are exhausted—though, he imagines, nowhere near to the state Quinn likely is—and Sundance immediately sends the ship into flight away from Oryx and his throne and the Taken.

The ship makes it into hyperspace and it’s only then that all of them allow themselves to catch their breath and relax.

“How long was I gone?” Quinn asks quietly from where she’d collapsed against the hull of the ship, hands hanging limply on the ground on either side of her and legs bent unevenly where they stretch out in front of her.

“Almost two months.” Sundance answers her from within the ship’s systems, her voice soothing and gentle.

There are tears in her eyes. “It felt like so much longer.” She whispers, and then the first sob wracks her body.

Cayde is at her side instantly, pulling her against him and settling his chin on top of her head, jaw lights flashing erratically while they’re caught somewhere between his choking relief and concern. “You’re alright now, sunshine.” He says, rocking her gently while she clutches at him and cries. “You’re alright. We’re taking you home.”

Kel looks away, unable to stop the feeling that he was an intruder to the scene and wordlessly moving for the rear of the ship. He doesn’t belong here with either of them, not while the corrupting grasp of the Darkness claws at him and tells him to just end her suffering.

Somewhere between there and Earth she falls asleep, too exhausted from her ordeal to remain awake, and she stays that way even when they arrive at the Tower and are transmatted down into the hangar. Cayde carries her all the way to the medical ward, Luke and Kel both following and remaining outside while they wait to hear how she is.

The silence between them is stifling.

It’s comfortable enough for Kel, but it leaves Luke twitching and fidgeting restlessly until he speaks up.

“I don’t think even Gil could’ve held up a ward against those things after a month of...all that.” He says, the statement seemingly more to himself than to anyone else, but Kel’s helmet tilts up to him just slightly and the warlock freezes as though only just remembering he was even there.

Kel stares at him for a length, Thorn clawing at his thoughts after hours of silence and telling him to get up, to reach out and strangle Luke for daring to speak Gil’s name. Instead, he nods and evenly replies: “No, he couldn’t have.”

The look of shock on Luke’s face is absolutely worth the pain of acknowledging a still raw wound.

He won’t stay in the City. He can’t. Gil had been the only reason Kel had ever agreed to work as part of a team, the only reason he’d grown to enjoy someone always having his back while he was out in the wild.

He’d miss Quinn. He has to hope she wouldn’t lose the bright personality that had wiggled its way under his skin, and she was one of the few that acutely understood why he found solace in silence and solitude.

Deep down, he’ll miss Luke and his obnoxious, optimistic energy, too; he knows he can’t keep blaming the warlock forever, and it’s only the sharp sting of loss and Thorn’s desperate, hungry whispering that has him pointing the finger of blame in his direction.

Cayde, Ikora, Zavala, Banshee, he’d miss all of them. Shaxx, too, though he’s sure the feeling wasn’t going to be returned.

At least with Quinn back in the Vanguard’s hands, Kel could be satisfied in knowing Gil’s death wasn’t in vain.

Maybe once the wound has healed he’ll come back.

Maybe.

His thumb drags along the grip of Thorn, still hissing at the back of his skull, still urging him to rip open Luke and drink in the light he’ll bleed. It was furious at his careful restraint, frantic that it was being ignored by him ever since the debacle in the war room.

That had been the first time Kel had lost control of himself and snapped in hundreds of years since the phantoms from his first life had begun to plague him, and Kel swears to himself that it was going to be the last.

He speaks with Quinn once she’s awake again, quietly and evenly, just as she remembers.

Cayde stands nearby, unwilling to leave her side and relaying his messages and report to the other Vanguard members through Sundance. He doesn’t mention how close Kel had come to putting down the only other remaining member of their fireteam, nor does he watch Kel like a hawk as though expecting that buried rage to reappear, and Kel appreciates it more than he’ll ever be able to put into words.

She’ll find out, eventually. Luke has too big of a mouth for her not to, and once he vanishes from the Tower he knows she’ll wonder why.

When he leaves the ward and heads back through the Tower he figures it’s well enough that her last impression of him before he left for who knew how long is just the same as before the loss of his best friend ripped open old wounds and nearly changed him for the worse.

She needs the stability right now, and while that implies him needing to stay he knows he can’t. Cayde and Luke were fixed enough points on their own, and they could fill in where he’d never be able to so long as Thorn was at his side.

Eris Morn is out in the sunlight of the plaza for once and Kel stops in his path to stare at her.

She’s watching him expectantly.

“There’s no coming back.” It’s more of a statement than a question. He already knows the answer.

“Not fully.” She says, her head tilting slightly. The answer as well as her covered, glowing gaze are surprisingly lucid. “The corruption digs in, burrows into the fiber of your bones as tenaciously as we cling to this dead rock of a planet. You yet hold the weapon. It is still trying. It will continue. It will get worse.”

Worse, implying that killing another guardian and gunning for his own teammate after only a few weeks with the weapon wasn’t that bad. He supposes, compared to the pain and torment she’d suffered at the hands of the Hive, it wasn’t.

They had stolen her eyes and poured corruption into her veins.

She had stolen theirs in return, and used that corruption to exact retribution in spite of the Light now shirking her.

He nods in response; he can still feel it at the back of his mind, insistent and angry. Whatever evil the Hive had planted in the weapon, it didn’t like being ignored.

Kel glances into the distance, his eyes settling on the gargantuan form of the Traveler hovering over the Last City on Earth. “You said there was a way to sever its connection to the Hive magic controlling it. I haven’t found it yet.”

“Xyor. The moon. Slay her.” She offers him, and he looks over at her, both of them sharing a quiet moment of understanding. As he turns away what she says next causes him to stop in his tracks again. “Perhaps you will get to keep your eyes when she is gone.”

Had she just made a joke?

He blinks at her, and her head simply tilts the other way. “You will also be free of the worm wearing a dead girl’s face.”

Anyone else might have jerked back in surprise, but Kel simply curls his hands into fists at his sides. “How—?”

It’s a stupid question; all three of her stolen eyes blink slowly at him.

“I’ll silence it.” He says after a pause, wondering for a moment at just how wrong he may have been about Eris. “And I’ll make sure it doesn’t dig its claws into anyone else.” He’s not sure yet if it’ll even be possible for him to maintain control of it. But he will.

Her lips twitch into a smile so slight and so brief that Kel might have missed it. “Conviction. Eriana would have liked you.” She says, and as she returns to the Vanguard hall she leaves him with one more piece of advice: “Do not let it consume your light, and you may become something even the Hive fear.”

He watches her leave, then looks up at the silent Traveler in the distance, taking in the sight of it for just one more time.

Echo chirps at him cheerfully, confidently, and Kel leaves the Tower and the City behind.

[phantomwarrior12]

Dire Need (Ch. 2)

Chapter 1 (Desperation)

When she opens her eyes, the sun is just beginning to creep through the shattered window. For a moment, she forgets where she is, but the firm chest against her cheek swiftly reminds her who she's with.

He's so much more comfortable than sleeping on the ground.

His arms are wound around her, cradling her close as his head is propped against hers. She doesn't dare move for fear of waking him, but some part of her longs to look up. He still has his helmet on, but it's...a comfort, of sorts, to see it above her. He's sleeping so soundly and she rues the moment she'll have to wake him - or perhaps her Ghost will do that for her.

He rams against her shoulder, pointed edge jabbing between her pauldron and chest plate.

"Rise and shine, Guardian! We need to go!"

"What's going on?" Lord Shaxx mumbles softly, slowly lifting his head from hers and she tries to hide her disappointment as she sits a little more upright, cuddling up against his chest, head tucked under his chin as his arms tighten around her and hold her close.

"We need to get going before the Cabal figure out we're hiding out here." Ghost advises.

She wishes he were wrong and she could stay curled up in her Titan's arms. He's so warm and for a moment, she forgets they're on the ground in an abandoned building without their Light - wait. He's still injured, isn't he?

He's still injured!

She jerks back quickly, startling Lord Shaxx as her eyes search his torso for any blood.

"Guardian, what's wrong?"

She gestures to his ribs in a panic, remembering his Ghost had mentioned there being something about cracked ribs. Why hadn't she remembered that last night? Surely that would be the first thing she'd recall before she slept on him. Oh Traveler, no. She might have made things worse.

"Settle down, my little Hunter." His hands firmly rest on either one of her shoulders to hold her in place, forcing her gaze to his features. "I'm alright. You didn't hurt me, Guardian. I promise."

She nods shakily, gaze darting back to his torso before leaning forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him as tightly as she dares. He locks a firm arm around her lower back, his other hand rubbing back and forth between her shoulder blades to soothe her.

She can't lose him.

It's as of he can hear what she's thinking because he gives her a squeeze, adjusting his head so his chin rests atop her shoulder, leaning his head against hers, "It will take more than a building to extinguish my Light, my little Hunter. I'm not going anywhere."

Her fingers ball into fists around the fur along the back of his neck, pressing just a bit closer to his frame as if to affirm that he better not.

"Well...we should probably go somewhere that isn't here." Ghost interjects awkwardly and his Guardian can't help her smile.

"He is right. Do you think you'll let me stand this time?" Shaxx teases the Young Wolf gently as she sits back on her heels.

If she weren't wearing her helmet, she'd give him a chiding look. But she settles for the lightest of punches - more so just pressing her fist against his shoulder with a fraction of a push - in response. She gets to her feet, picking her cloak up off of his lap and securing it in place before she offers him her hand.

"I am not made of glass. Next time, punch like you mean it." He chuckles, taking her hand and allows her to try and help him to his feet - the attempt is in vain. It is no small task to get a Titan up off the ground when they've been severely injured. She grips his hand tightly, trying to pull him up but when it has no effect and it's clear that Lord Shaxx lacks the physical capacity to get to his feet on his own. She moves to his side and kneels down, slinging his arm over her shoulders and grips his wrist tightly as her other arm locks around his waist.

"Perhaps you should just go get some help?" Shaxx suggests, concern building in his voice.

"There isn't any time," her Ghost argues. "Are you ready, Guardian?"

She nods solemnly as she glares straight ahead and braces herself.

"On three," Ghost supplies, more than aware that his Guardian would never leave Shaxx behind, even with the intent of returning. "One...two..three!"

The Young Wolf strains, her quads and calves burning and screaming in protest beneath the weight. She recalls a similar struggle to lift his unconscious frame inside this building the night before. Though, it's not as though she's doing it without any assistance this time. Shaxx is pushing up with his other arm, trying to engage  any of his stiffened muscles until, at last, he's upright, leaning on her as he clutches at his ribcage with a soft cry of pain.

Her legs are trembling but she sets her jaw as she looks up at him.

"I'm alright. Just--"

"Take a moment," his Ghost orders firmly.

"We need to leave," Shaxx protests until the Young Wolf leans her head against his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

She nods, catching her breath from the exertion, fingers flexing and easing their hold on his frame for a fraction of a second. In truth, she's ready to collapse. She's so tired, everything feels wrong, so very wrong without her Light.

But she won't tell him that. He has enough to concern himself with - primarily staying alive and not succumbing to any injuries they've missed. Instead, she straightens up, tucking closer to his side to offer more support and guides him toward the door.

He falls silent, only the occasional grunt and huff coming from the towering Titan - the very same sounds she'd been begging for the night before. It's comforting, in a way. He's alive. He's right here. She listened to his heartbeat all night, clung to him as though he were life itself.

They'll be alright, so long as he stays alive.

The trek through the city ruins is long and feels as though it lasts an eternity. Lord Shaxx is in no condition to travel, but they don't have a choice. With the Young Wolf bracing his every step, the two Guardians' Ghosts are relegated to scouting duty. There are still Cabal patrols in the region and there is nothing stealthy about the way they're moving through the streets.

He needs to take a break, she knows that. He hasn't complained but his breathing has become increasingly labored. In all honesty, she could use a break herself, her own injuries aggravated from supporting the Titan. But they can't rest - not until they're outside the city, they'll be safe there...at least, it's what she tells herself.

So when they cross that final border, stepping through the gate of the crumbling walls, she almost smiles. They're in the clear, at least for a little while. Now, now they find somewhere to rest and she'll search for something for them to eat. She's a Hunter, after all. Scavenging for food comes with the territory.

She's jolted from her thoughts when Shaxx stumbles, lurching forward with enough force that he takes both of them down to their knees. He barely braces himself with a hand pressed firmly into earth as the other curls tightly around her pauldron.

Her knees scream in protest from the abrupt collision but she ignores it as she readjusts,  looking over to him immediately. He'd tripped over a rock in his exhaustion, she doesn't blame him in the slightest but what does concern her is the fact he hasn't spoken since they fell. She readjusts her footing, one leg poised in a tucked position against her chest to give her some semblance of stability as she gingerly removes his hand from around her shoulders.

She shifts to sit in front of him, hands cupping the sides of his helmet as she carefully tilts his head up. His chest is heaving, his arms trembling as they struggle to keep him upright.

"I'm alright, Guardian," he manages after a moment, pulling away from her touch to sit back on his heels.

He's not alright. She can see the fabric along his side slowly staining a deep shade of crimson. She needs to get him to cover so she can dress his wounds or he won't last out here. Forcing down the unsettled burn in her chest, her gaze scans the area, finally settling on a cave further into the forest and she gestures toward it.

His eyes follow the movement and clearly, he catches on. "Just a bit further?" He sounds like he's trying to make a joke, though the strain in his voice eliminates any semblance of comedy. He sounds exhausted and in agony all at once. She's never heard his voice waver and crack like it does on that last word.

Oh, Shaxx...

She offers what she can for reassurance: a solitary nod and a subtle tilt to her head. He takes a deep, wavering breath before lifting his arm and she settles at his side once more.

There's an unspoken countdown before they're struggling to their feet. She can't keep doing this. She'll let him rest in the cave for tonight.

Night.

Her eyes lift to the sky and sure enough, the sun is setting. Moving through the city must have taken longer than she thought. They made good time once they were beyond the walls but it's still later than she'd like. More miles between them and the city would be ideal but there's no chance they'll make it much further than this cave in their current state.

Shaxx needs to rest. She needs to tend to his injuries. Hell, she needs to rest, but something tells her she'll be up most the night again. Either keeping watch or ensuring her Warlord doesn't stop breathing in the middle of the night.

It's better than the alternative.

Ghaul's words still echo through her mind, taunting and shattering her dreams. She can't linger on them and yet, it's all she can do. She should have been able to stop him. Zavala's champion. Cayde's favorite Guardian. Shaxx's...well, she won't get into what she is to him. For all the good it's done her, she couldn't protect the Traveler and she couldn't protect her Titan.

As she helps him settle against the wall of the cave, she can't quite help the pang of guilt that tears through her when he growls in pain. He has an uncanny capacity for sensing her emotions as she's cone to find out. Yet, it still startles her when his hand snaps upward, bunching up the material of her cloak along her shoulder within his fist as he lifts his head.

There are no words that slip off his tongue, just a steady, even gaze through visors. She almost feels as though she's being reprimanded before she gathers her wits and gently shifts from her crouched position to kneeling beside him.

She pats his hand on her shoulder and his grip eases, frame going slack against the wall behind him. She begins to remove his chest plate, laying it aside before detaching his pauldrons. If she's going to get to his injuries, she'll have to remove the entire upper portion of his armor and he's in no condition to assist her.

"I always imagined this would occur in a far different scenario," Shaxx mumbles, "You, removing my armor." A soft, raspy laugh slips past his lips and she smiles.

She nods her agreement, gently lifting his right hand, bracing the back of the appendage against her chest plate as she works at the straps holding the gauntlet in place. It all feels...intimate, almost. The way her fingers deftly work over the leather straps, the slow removal of the gauntlet with one hand as the other brushes tenderly along his sleeve, fingertips ghosting over fabric. She can feel his eyes on her as she sets it aside, her fingers entwine with his. Her eyes fixate on the point of contact, hands locked tightly around one another and she squeezes.

"It's alright," he reassures her, squeezing her hand back. It's not nearly as tightly as he usually does, his strength waning in the late hour. It's almost enough to make her forget about the reality of this situation, but the moment is fleeting and vanishing as she realizes she needs to dress his wound sooner than later.

She releases his hand, removing the other gauntlet before helping him work his shirt up over of his head. It's slow going, gingerly working fabric over aching muscles and lacerations - the horn on his helmet is the most difficult to maneuver. It'd be easier if he just took the damned thing off. She should check to see if he has a concussion at the very least but something tells her she won't be prying that metal bucket off his head anytime soon - not out here. He used to remove it, in the Tower. When the sun had set and she's curled up in his bed, he'd press in behind her. His forehead pressed against her shoulder as he held her close against him.

It occurs to her that she hasn't seen his face beyond moonlight. The most she'd make out were the ridges of scars along his torso.

She used to spend hours tracing along the scars. It was the quickest way to fall asleep in his embrace. Sometimes she'd wonder who was more tired - at the speed Shaxx fell asleep, she often assumed it was him.

Her eyes flit along the scars littering his chest and abdomen briefly - the stories he tells her flaring in the back of her mind. Battles alongside Iron Lords, Twilight’s Gap and victories that span lifetimes. He's told her some of them, enthralled her for hours as she'd sit and stare up at him with an awestruck grin behind her helmet in the Tower. He's a good storyteller - animated and loud...she wishes she could hear that same energy now. Instead, he's struggling to remain awake.

She can't think about that right now.

Her eyes dart to the injury along his side, taking in the extent of the damage. It doesn’t appear to be infected, thankfully. She leans back on her heels before tearing off a portion of her cloak, wadding it up and pressing it against the deep laceration. Lord Shaxx jerks with a violent inhalation and she flinches. His hand grips her wrist, harsher than before as he regains his ability to breathe.

She leans her helmet against his, waiting patiently for him to settle so she can continue.  His grip on her wrist is desperate and pleading all at once. Some part of her longs to kiss him, if only to distract the Warlord from the agony singing along his nerves, through his veins. Instead, she pulls her free hand away from the makeshift bandage, resting it firmly on top of Shaxx’s curled around her wrist. His head lifts, shifting from her hand atop his to her visor. He understands all at once and his fingers ease their vice grip, allowing her to adjust the cloth against his side. She gingerly lifts his hand from  her wrist and presses it against the bandage encouragingly.

He needs to hold it in place for this to work.

“I wonder, Guardian, when you’ll just tell me what you want me to do,” he snorts softly, holding the cloth in place.

She tilts her head in an almost playful manner before tearing off another few strips of her cloak.

“I’ll be sure to get you a new one when we regain the Tower,” Shaxx manages, staring at the material in her lap.

She waves him off in an almost dismissive manner before lifting herself up onto his lap. She presses one end of the makeshift bandages to his hand and he grips it, holding it in place so she can begin to wind it around his torso. The Young Wolf has never been one to shy away from close proximity, especially not when it comes to him, but this all feels odd. It’s never this unbalanced - him, half-dressed and her, fully armored. She supposes she can add this to the list of things that feel incredibly wrong after losing her Light.

That’s the other piece she misses in this dynamic. With the Light, she can sense him, feel him through it. Without it, there’s a void that’s disquieting, gnawing and aching all at once in her chest. She can feel him - physically, but not in the same way.

Ghaul will pay for this.

By the time she’s finished patching him up,  Lord Shaxx has drifted off. She watches as his chest rises and falls, a welcome sight after last night’s...well, nightmare.  She can see the physical rise and fall of his chest and that, more than anything, soothes her nerves.

He’s alive.

They’ll be alright.

As she moves to get to her feet, his hand snaps upward, catching hold of her forearm - he was asleep, wasn’t he?

“I need you, not to fight, Guardian - I need you to stay.”

She looks from his grip on her arm to his helmet. He sounds half-coherent, barely conscious. She needs to find supplies...but she cannot refuse him - not now, not ever. So, she sinks back down onto his lap, removing her cloak and draping it over his chest, tucking the frayed edge under his chin. And then she lays her head on his shoulder, cool metal resting cautiously against marred skin. It’s only then that his grip falters and his arms wrap around her feebly.

“Get some sleep,” he coaxes softly, gloved fingers digging into the fabric around her back plates and she presses closer. He must be cold or delirious by this point, but she’ll stay, ensure he rests easily and there are no complications. Ghost will keep watch, he always keeps watch.

So as Lord Shaxx's breathing evens out and his heartbeat thrums beneath her head, the Young Wolf closes her eyes. They’ve always slept the most in one another’s embrace, she only wishes he didn’t always insist on being her bed. It’s not good for his injuries, he should - his grip tightens, his helmet lulling to lean against hers and any reprimanding fades from her mind.

I suppose it’s alright...

She’ll find what they need in the morning, he can rest. It’ll be fine. So long as he’s alive, they’ll be fine.

Sleep well, my Titan.

—————————————

Chapter 3 (Evade)

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Forevers: @halo-2 @reaped-winnower @genken64 @sugarcoated44 @cayde-6 Shaxx's Guardians: @ataraxia101 @squirrel-stars @rain-wolf

[i-do-trash-fanfictions]

The Wolf's Howl Ch.2

She followed the hunter Vanguard out of the Hangar, and took the time to look at everything. He was patient with her and let her look and inspect anything she wanted. Together Cayde and her Ghost answered any question she had.

"Zavala's in his office right now. We can go to him in a minute. First, let's head to Ikora. She's the Warlock Vanguard, and one of the greatest Crucible players to ever be rezzed." Cayde told her.

"What's the Crucible?" The Guardian asked.

"It's run by this former Warlord called Lord Shaxx. It's where Guardians duel on the field to gain practice with their light and weapons." Ghost explained.

"Do you die?"

"Yes, but that's what Ghosts are for, right kid? It's pretty fun, especially when you've got glimmer on the line, just to raise the stakes." Said Cayde.

They entered the Bazaar, and the Guardian caught eyes with a dark-skinned woman who turned around as they walked in. She had on purple robes and wore a kind smile on her face as the two approached.

"A new light?" She asked with a kind voice.

Cayde nodded. "The kid just got brought in. I'm showing her around."

"You have a wonderful view from right here." The Guardian stated.

"It is beautiful isn't it?" She said before asking, "Have you picked a class yet?"

"A class?"

She sighed. "Cayde didn't tell you the classes?"

Cayde averted his gaze from Ikora's sheepishly as the Guardian shook her head.

"There's Hunter, Cayde's class, Warlock, my class, and Titan, Zavala's class. Hunter specializes in stealth and athletics. Warlocks have their knowledge, and Titans have their strength." Ikora quickly explained.

"Shown from the fighting you did, I think you would make either a good TItan or hunter." Ghost added.

The Guardian thought for a moment. She wasn't quite sure what she was good at yet. She hadn't been around for long enough to find out.

"If I pick now can I change it? If I find it's not the right class for me?"

Ikora nodded. "Of course."

"I think I'll learn the ways of the hunter. For now anyway. I'll see if that sticks."

Cayde pumped his fist in the air. "Yessssss!"

The Guardian smiled.

"You had better go meet Commander Zavala now." Then Ikora reminded, "And Cayde, don't forget to teach her about her subclasses and such. Since she's chosen hunter she's your responsibility."

Cayde gave a fun little salute and then the Guardian and he headed out of the Bazaar. On the way he explained the solar, void, and arc subclasses, what they did, etc. The Guardian payed attention to every detail.

On the way down the elevator that led to Commander Zavala's office Cayde asked, "You know, I've been calling you kid all this time. You picked out a name for yourself yet?"

"Pick out a name?"

"Yeah. Guardians don't remember anything from their past life, not even their name, unless you've got something to go by like a name engraved on your headstone or something."

"Um," A single thing crossed her mind the second he had mentioned name. Thera. It just . . . clicked. That was it. That was her name. And she knew it. "My name's Thera."

"Huh, Thera. What's it mean?" He asked.

Thera shrugged. "I don't know. It's just my name. I know it is."

They got off the elevator and headed down the hallway. Cayde knocked on the double doors emblazoned with the Vanguard symbol and a deep voice answered from the other side.

"Come in."

The doors opened and leaning over a desk was an Awoken man. He looked up to see Cayde and Thera, then straightened.

"Got a newbie here for ya. Thought she might need to meet the Titan Vanguard, even though she is a hunter. Thera, meet Commander Zavala."

He walked around the desk and gave her hand a shake. "Has Cayde been showing you the ropes, as he puts it?"

"Yes, sir." She wasn't sure why, but she felt she should address him with formality. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself? The way he spoke maybe?

"Good. He'll take you to get you settled in one of the rooms here in the Tower. Armor will be given to you sometime tomorrow morning, and your training will begin then. For now, enjoy your tour around the Tower, and if you need anything at all, feel free to get ahold of either Cayde, Ikora, or me." He told her with a simple smile.

She nodded and smiled back.

"I have work to go back to, so Cayde, show her around the rest of the Tower then take her to find one of the apartments here. And don't get her into trouble on her first day."

"No promises Commander."

And with that, they left to tour the Tower.

[coldkryptonitecupcake]

“Risen”, Ch. 18

  "So tell me again how you thought trying to stab an angry, magicked-up half-Ogre was a good idea?," Poppy inquired jokingly as she and Sienna did their best to relax in the Trickster's cave, each nursing their own wounds. "Or was it more of a spur-of-the-moment thing?"

  "The big guy said he needed a distraction, and that's what came to mind. Besides, it's not like I could strike up a conversation with the thing, I could barely stand to look at it," Sienna chuckled before wincing in pain. "Ah! Ooh, that smarts." She clutched her side and looked to Harrier. "Nothing you can do about that, little Light?" The Ghost shook his shell, a hint of guilt in his eye.

  The cave was silent for a moment, and the pair sat, each lost in their own thoughts. "Incoming message from Banshee. He says he's got something Narvuk might like, but he didn't get his feed earlier," Sonni piped up, snapping Poppy out of her daze.

  "Huh? Oh, thanks, Sonni. Tell him I'll be by to pick it up soon. Make sure he knows that it's me coming, not the big guy. Though maybe leave out the part about the Shore, yeah? We don't need him accidentally telling anyone about... y'know," she told her Ghost, who nodded and began composing the reply.

  "So what - nh! - what now?," Sienna asked as she sat up, looking around the cave like she was trying to memorize each and every crack. "Are we just gonna sit here and wait until Narvuk gets back here?"

"We don't have much choice, girl. He'll be back when he's done. Until then, we're kinda stuck here. I just hope no one shows up looking for trouble."

  "Too llate for that," a familiar growling voice sounded from the entrance. Narvuk leaned against the door as as though exhausted, a tiny smirk on his face. "Though the feeling iss appreciated, my friend," he said, walking down the steps to join his friends.

  They looked at him, puzzled and curious. "Your friend DeMarcus decided to stop by, some of his friends as wwell. Nothing to worry about." He shrugged as he seated himself at the base of the rock in the center of the cave, forming a triangle with the girls. "He and I had... words." Poppy and Sienna gaped for a full ten seconds, looking at each other and at Narvuk, before they launched a barrage of questions his way.

"What do you mean 'had words'?"

"How did he even find us?"

"He brought friends?!"

"Why didn't you call us?"

  The questions continued for several minutes before Narvuk threw up a hand. "Enough, please! My ears can only take sso much before I go mad!," he cried, silencing the others mid-sentence, their mouths, still open. "He found us through yyou, Sienna. You're the only one he got close enough to for it to make sense. I could not call ffor you because they threatened Zivath. Yes, he brought friends. The same ones from the hangar, before you ask."

  "Oh, cos that makes us feel so much better! You come back after almost two hours and tell us you were all but attacked, they threatened your Ghost, you won't explain what happened, and somehow they found you through me! And you're here just trying to brush it off?," Sienna exclaimed incredulously. "We haven't even been here for a day and we've already been discovered! We'll have to move you again, probably Nessus, Failsafe is good at keeping secrets..."

  Poppy laid a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Take it easy, girl. There's no guarantee anything will come of this. Hang on, what is" - she plucked something from Sienna's armor, a small red blinking light on it - "this... a bug. Of course. He had your coordinates the whole time." She crushed the device in her hand and let the pieces fall to the floor of the cave. Sienna balked at the pieces, confusion written all over her face.

  "Wha- how? I didn't even notice... guess I need to brush up on my counter-tracking skills. Wait, if he knows where we are, he could tell Zavala!," the Hunter realized, her head shooting up. "Hell, he could be telling him right now! Harrier, wipe the last travel data on the ship's warp drive, see if you can replace it somehow." Harrier nodded, and he turned away as he started working.

  "Sienna, there's no reason to think he'll tell anyone. If he does, he gets thrown to the Praxics for trying to kill another Guardian and all his friends are suddenly under direct Vanguard supervision," Poppy explained, gesturing for her friend to calm down. "Besides, the humiliation alone is enough reason for him to keep quiet. He'd never live it down." She turned to Narvuk, a question already on her lips. "Narvuk, you said Edal stopped DeMarcus, right? Or at the very least, he spoke up?," she asked, and the Knight nodded.

  "He also told me to call hhim if DeMarcus tried again. Perhaps we are still safe here. That is, I will be ffine for now. You two should get bback to the Tower, you'll be missed before too long. Besides I have much to think on after what we discovered," Narvuk explained, waving thegirls away.

  "I'll be back soon, Banshee said he had something for you. 'Til then, stay in here and try to stay out of any more trouble, yeah?," Poppy half-joked as she helped Sienna stand, pulling her to her feet. "I think there's been enough for a few days at least." Narvuk nodded, grinning. The girls left the cave, Sienna's limp not quite as noticeable as she went. After the sound of their footsteps had faded, Zivath materialized and turned to her Guardian.

  "Y'know, I had a thought when we were coming back here. If we can get ahead of the whole 'Great Disaster' situation, the reactions might be better than if we let others find out for themselves. It'll make a better impression, you'll come off as open about your past," she suggested, her shell shifting around her eye as she hovered. Narvuk's eyes flicked to his Ghost for a moment before going to his Cleaver. He was silent for a few long minutes, and Zivath was growing concerned. She was about to say something when he spoke.

  "On one hand, I think you're right about this. Openness is valued in Human culture, to a degree. Hhowever, we must consider consequences. To freely admit invvolvement in such a thing, one that, if Sienna is to be believed, left scars that have yet to heal..."

  "What're you getting at, Narvuk?"

  "Some might see it as a chance to avenge the lost, but my concern is for those like Eris. To take revenge is not her way, I think, but it might cause rifts between those who do not wish to fight," Narvuk thought out loud, the only visible sign of tension his fist clenching on his sword. "Perhaps it'd be better if we stayed out here."

  "What are you on about, big guy? The Vanguard need every Guardian they can get after the Red War, and it's not like you're completely without friends. Sure, some people might be angry. Let them! If even some can move on, the rest have no excuse. We've all lost people. Most of them weren't even alive for the Great Disaster! Shaxx and Zavala are probably the last Guardians who were, and they already made it clear that you're fine by them," Zivath half-lectured, her shell whirling in agitation. Narvuk huffed and waved her away, but it lacked any enthusiasm. "Look, I understand, I do. These last few days have been pretty hectic, and you haven't had a lot of time to process all the changes. Maybe... maybe we should stay here, at least until you can figure some stuff out. I'm sorry I didn't think of it sooner, you've been all over the place--"

  "It's alright, little shell," Narvuk interrupted his Ghost's rambling apology. "We hhave time to learn from each other. Where shall we begin?" A small smile formed on his face as Zivath's shell slowed and stopped.

  "Wellll, let's start with the different political factions in the City..."

[a-heart-in-spades]

"Oh, and good job, Cayde. I'm sure it wasn't easy."

Zavala's hand is on his shoulder, and Cayde feels to exhausted to even snap at him. He just nods once, and waits until the big man leaves him alone in the waiting room.

Now there's no one around to witness him lose his composure. He puts his head between his hands, the lights on his mouth blinking erratically.

It's hard to feel victorious when his clothes are still covered in Ayla's blood.

Her condition is stable. She'll do a full recovery; Will be up and healed in time to hear her sentence of a life in prison.

He feels nauseous.

No way he's letting Aunor dig her claws into Ayla. He needs to ask Ikora to do the interrogation herself. If Ayla tells them enough names her sentence will be shortened and-

Fuck. FUCK.

Why she had to go and fuck with the corps. The Sov lost too much glimmer and territory thanks to her and the people she worked with. Many greedy folks will try to make an example out of her.

Zavala's promise of giving her witness protection if she tells them everything is worth shit. They couldn't protect Andal, couldn't help Maeve or Cas. If they can't even save their own what hope is for Ayla, a street-rat with nothing on her name but trouble?

None.

She's fucking dead. And Cayde might as well have put a bullet between her eyes for the way he had betrayed her.

uuuuugh I love this so much. Y'all really know how to hit that pain so well.

hopefully the fluff in ch 31 is enough to combat all the angst we have been bringing to the table recently xD

[soft-butch-cassidy]

Value of Scrap (ch 5)

Summary: Mikris, a nobody, a Marauder, a dispensable underling, might have just made the most unlikely and powerful friend in the universe.

Tags/Warnings: OCs, canon-typical violence, temporary character death, confessions

A/N:  This takes place as an alternative to the Thief of Thieves adventure on Titan, with my Hunter Aurora-11. Her Ghost is named Saffron.

Ch 1/2/3/4 AO3

She hunched in a corner, invisible, hardly breathing for fear of the sound. 

Boots landed soft, too quiet on metal.

She watched her from shadow, wanting to throw herself in the ocean.

“Mickie?” Aurora called. “Mikris, my love?”

There was a panicked static to her voice.

Slowly, Mikris crept forward, letting her stealth ripple away.

She flinched back at the snap of the Guardian’s helmet. 

Aurora’s vocal modulator made a glitched sound and she rushed forward. Her knees must have hurt with how hard she fell to them, but she didn’t react, instead, reaching out for Mikris. 

“I’m so sorry,” Aurora started. Her voice glitched and hissed. “I d-didn’t know-know it was you and your-your crew! I got here early-ly, and I wanted to find you, but-but Sloane said there was… that… she needed my-my help. The control center… the whole… it-it all could’ve sunk.”

Mikris curled tight into herself. “We weren’t looking for that,” she whispered. 

“The methane reactor?” Aurora guessed.

Mikris nodded. 

“Why?”

“Ether.”

“But… how… how can that… work?”

“Connect to Servitor. Could make… twice as much Ether. More.”

Aurora stared at her silently for a few long seconds. “Are you afraid of me?”

Mikris wrapped her arms around her knees. 

Aurora drew back, a terrible sound from her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m putting you in even more-more danger. I wanted to protect you… I… I nearly…”

“I said before,” Mikris rasped. “I’m just a Marauder. Nobody. Fallen number millions, and I am just one.”

“No, it’s not true, you’re not nobody,” Aurora said.

“But you didn’t see me,” Mikris mumbled. “Just a Marauder. Just Fallen.”

“And it’s my fault, I was so caught-caught up and stupid and I should’ve just-just tried talking, but Sloane and-and Zavala were both on the comms-- I’m sorry. I’ll never let it happen again. I love you.”

Mikris looked up at her.

Aurora tugged off her helmet. Her eyes were flickering colors. “I mean it. I do. I love you, Mikris. How can I tell you that in Eliksni?”

Mikris felt her Ether lodged in her throat.

Slowly, she crawled forward into Aurora’s arms. She was cold, nearly as cool as herself now, and there wasn’t that smoke-scent anymore when she buried her face into Aurora’s armor as best she could without removing her rebreather. It was something more like metal, something that made her think of the old, deep forests of Earth she’d only been to a few times many years ago. She didn’t know what it was. 

Aurora pulled her close, fingers shaking, the machinery in her chest humming and catching. 

“Come with me,” Aurora murmured. “I want to keep you safe.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ll get Ether for you.”

“I’m the only one of my Captain’s crew who knows English. He needs me.”

“Can I help you, then?”

Mikris tightened her claws a little bit into Aurora’s cloak. “I don’t know. Irksi is looking for the location of the reactor…”

Aurora stilled. 

“Sloane needs it.”

Mikris drew back. “What?”

“We don’t have enough power. For the resistance here. We can’t keep the rig floating without it. But… but you need Ether…”

“This whole place will sink?”

“I don’t know. But she said that we can’t keep up. She’s going to want me to go get it when we get the location of it, too.” Aurora cupped Mikris’ helmet in her hands. “I don’t want to hurt your crew.”

“I can’t stop them from going for the reactor,” Mikris said. “I have to follow orders. My Captain is kind, but there is only so much I can do. But… I… I think ensuring humanity can defeat the Cabal… we can deal with our Ether rations now.”

“It isn’t fair,” Aurora whispered. 

“No. Eliksni have always suffered for the betterment of others.” Mikris shrugged. “But we can’t do anything about it.”

“But it’s not fair.” Aurora pulled her close again. “All I want is for you to be safe.”

“We’ve never known safety,” Mikris murmured, pressing into the Hunter. “I don’t think we ever will.”

“What if I talk to him? To your Captain? We can arrange something, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“What can I do?” She sounded helpless, her voice hissing static again.

Mikris let a hand cup Aurora’s face. “We’re looking for the reactor in the data we pulled,” she said softly. “We’ll have the entire crew go in and look for it. It’s likely surrounded by Hive, and everyone’s terrified after you showed up. There will be Servitors with barricades. He may even want to use his High Servitor.”

“I don’t want to break all your Servitors. You need those.”

“He might be willing to talk…” Mikris shook her head. “But getting you to him without either of us being hurt…”

“It’s okay if I do, I can come back. You can’t. And I won’t let you get hurt.”

“But I don’t care if you can come back. I don’t want you hurt, either.”

Aurora’s hands were gentle on her back, gripping Mikris’ feeble excuse for armor. “You’re such a good person,” she said softly. “You care so much about everyone. Even if I’m immortal… even when you’re afraid… I don’t want you to be afraid of me, love.”

“I think I’ll always be scared of everything,” Mikris admitted.

“I won’t hurt you. If I can get the reactor for Sloane… maybe we can find more somewhere on the rig. If we can work together… we use this one to stabilize it and make sure we don’t sink, and then we can find another way to make Ether. I don’t think Sloane would like it, she’s never been a fan of the Eliksni after Twilight Gap, but… I also don’t care. No one will say no to me when I’m the only chance we have.”

Mikris tightened her claws in Aurora’s cloak. “Do you think that could work?”

“I’ll make it work. I’m a Guardian, damn it. I’ve killed gods. I can find a way to help you make Ether.” Aurora sounded determined.

She couldn’t think of anything to say. She pressed herself close, curling into Aurora’s touch, seeking her comfort. 

She’d missed her. 

And she was still afraid, but the tenderness and little tremble to her fingertips… Aurora really was shaken by what happened. For all her strength in her Light, Aurora was alive, and Aurora cared about her.

Finally she had a question to ask. “Aurora?”

“Yes, love?”

“You’re cold. Why?”

“I’m cold?”

“The last time we were together, you were very warm. Now you feel more like me.” She drew back just enough to knit their fingers together. “And you smell different.”

“I… smell different?”

“Yes.” Mikris blinked. “Is that unusual?”

“I dunno. I didn’t think I really smelled like anything?”

“Everyone does… oh, you cannot smell as strong as we can?”

“Huh. Weird… cool, though. What do I smell like?”

“Forests. Cold, crisp weather. Nighttime.”

“The void.”

Mikris could taste the air, and the unpleasantness of Titan’s atmosphere seemed almost fuzzy for a moment. 

Aurora took her hand back and held it out. She curled her fingers, and deep shadows swirled in her palm, coiling around her, misty and glowing violet from within.

“What… what is… that’s void?” Mikris asked, hushed.

Aurora closed her fingers around it. “Yes,” she said softly. “I found it again. Ikora helped me find it again.”

“Why do you prefer it over fire? Or… you called it solar, right?”

She nodded. “It’s comforting, in a way. It… my best friend is a Voidwalker. A Warlock who uses the void. It tells him things, shows him things. Secrets, prophecies. A long time ago, he showed it to me. I was… in a bad spot, at the time. Lotta guilt.” She let her hand fall to her lap. “I let a lot of people die. Fire couldn’t save them. I couldn’t save them. But… I don’t fight alone. I’m a Nightstalker. That’s what they call us, Hunters who touch the void. We strike from the shadows, pin down our enemies before they can see us, before they can strike first.”

She wasn’t sure what that all meant, but Aurora spoke of it with a strange tone. Nearly reverent; the way one might speak of their Prime. Great respect, something not quite like love, and something not quite like fear. 

Aurora looked at her. “Does that make you more afraid? A lot of Guardians are uneasy with the Void. Hunters, especially. I can already tell it’s different.”

“If it what makes you feel most--”

“No, no, darling, not me.” Aurora took Mikris’s upper hands in both of hers. “You. I don’t want to frighten you, to make you feel like you’re in danger when you’re with me.”

Mikris slowly rubbed her thumb over Aurora’s hand as she thought. “I… don’t know,” she admitted finally. “I don’t think I’ve had enough experience with Light yet. But your Light… it… it gives me hope.” 

She set her hand on Aurora’s chest, closer to her throat. She could feel the whir of the machinery beneath her fingers, the steady beat of a mechanical heart. “And you, too. I know you are dangerous. And I am afraid. But I care about you. And perhaps it’s selfish of me to want to be with you, but… I don’t think I care. I feel hope for myself, for my people. I feel… like I am someone when you look at me. When you feel this strongly when you didn’t recognize me at first. When you spend time talking with me, listening to me, even though I’ve never done anything nearly as incredible as anything you’ve ever done. My life has always been… mundane.” She scoffed softly, fingers curling a little, limp against Aurora.

“Really,” Mikris went on, quieter, “the most interesting thing that happened to me before I met you was the murder of my sister. And even that is not entirely out of the expected for Fallen.”

“Mickie,” Aurora said, catching her wrist loosely. “You’re not special ‘cause of me. You’re special just ‘cause of you! I mean, you stared down a Guardian and asked me to help you. You’re so brave! Even if you’re afraid, you can still be brave. And… well, you say all these things about me… if you’ve got the ‘legendary Guardian’ just so absolutely smitten…”

Mikris chirped with a flush. Aurora laughed softly and leaned in to press her forehead to Mikris’ helmet. 

“We’ll get through this, Mickie, I promise,” Aurora said softly. “Together.”

Mikris nodded and let Aurora pull her in for another embrace. “Maybe you can talk to my Captain,” she murmured. “If we tell him that without the reactor, the rig could sink…”

“If that weren’t the case, I’d be more than happy to get it for you all, but… I’d rather this last front not get swallowed up by the sea.” Aurora shook her head. “But not now. Not yet. I just want to spend time with you. I missed you so much.”

Mikris burrowed her face into Aurora’s cloak. “You were out being a hero.”

“Yeah, but without you!”

She chittered. “We are together now.”

“We are,” Aurora agreed.

Mikris jumped back with a trill. “I just remembered! I have something for you!”

Aurora blinked in surprise. “You do?”

Mikris nodded. “Yes! But I had to hide it.” She jumped to her feet and held out two hands. “Come with me?”

Aurora took her hands. “Lead the way.”

Mikris lead Aurora through the rig for the stash she’d been keeping well hidden. She had to duck around corners a few times when she heard chatter of her Housemates wandering past on patrols. Eventually, though, Mikris was tugging open the door to the tiny room hiding her little cache. 

She grabbed the box secured to a shelf and crouched to dig through it, holding her secondary hands out for balance, until she pulled out a heap of violet fabric. She straightened and looked at Aurora with a little chirp. 

“I know cloaks are important for Hunters. You were very sentimental about yours. I cannot replace it, but… you are Eliksni to me. You are my hope for myself and my people. I am not sure if I am able to welcome you on behalf of all of us, but I will anyway.”

Mikris held out the cloak she had made.

Aurora slowly reached out and took it. Her eyes were wide. She ran her fingers over the cloth and then looked up at Mikris. “You made me a cloak, love?” she asked. 

Mikris nodded, a little shy.

Aurora found the hood of it and shook out the cloak to look at it better. Mikris wasn’t the best at fashioning armor, but she did her best, and she hoped it would be good. 

“Oh, it’s so good, Mickie, I love it!” Aurora exclaimed, lights bright. She moved quickly to swap her cloaks, letting the Dusk-violet fabric fall along her back. She drew up the hood and adjusted the fur collar. “It’s wonderful!”

Mikris trilled. “I’m glad you like it!”

Aurora threw her arms around Mikris in an eager embrace. “It means a lot,” she said, softer now. “Cloaks are a big deal for us. It’s not just fashion or anything.”

“I thought as much,” Mikris said, letting her hands settle under the cloak, on Aurora’s back, a little rumble starting in her chest. “Like our banners. I’m welcoming you as one of us.”

Aurora spoke Eliksni in her response. “I’m honored.”

[creative-frequency]

Cayde-6 x Reader: The Trigger Ch. 3

Word count: 1904 Pairing: Cayde-6 (Destiny) x Female Reader Contains: Rating eventually up to mature/explicit. Cayde being Cayde, hunting, trips into the EDZ, bickering

Previous Chapter | My Writing Masterlist

Confidence usually grew with experience and experience was more valuable than Glimmer outside the walls of the Last City. The inhabitants of the wilds only traded in lives.

The bow string tensed in a swift, fluid motion with no time for thoughts to surface. Sharp gaze found its target quickly and stayed on it. There was almost nothing that could stop the predator about to pounce on its prey. And success always felt good.

Success, when your life literally depended on it, felt even better. The sweet rush of adrenaline, all instincts strained to their maximum capability. The focus. Your quickened but steady heartbeats were the foundation of the effort. Your body was the actor.

For the time of an exhale, the forest around you was still and silent. Only the sharpest ears could’ve been able to hear the air splitting. The mild pumping of adrenaline pounded in your ears with each beat as you waited.

Cayde’s admiring inhale of surprise was the first sign that your arrow had hit its mark. Not surprising, but satisfying nonetheless. The deer was taking its last breath as Cayde hurried to release it from its suffering.

“Nice shot!” he complimented and you saw how he eyed the bow in your hands with a glint in his optics. The background noise returned with a snap.

“Thanks,” you said quietly and looked over at the animal. It was a female of average size, probably a bit on the older side. Its movements had been slower than of the one from before. An easy kill, but it was probably for the best. Some other predator would’ve soon snuffed its life out.

As usual, you clicked on the communication device in your ear and waited for someone to answer. After the Guardian had made rounds around the EDZ, the connections had gotten a lot better. Begrudgingly you had to admit things would’ve been a lot worse without her. It was hard not to be thankful, especially since everyone around you, Suraya included, seemed to worship her.

“Come in,” a familiar voice from the survey unit replied. He wasn’t a Guardian, but he had worked at the Tower before the invasion attack. That didn’t make you like him more.

“Ready for transmatting,” you said as you eyed the deer. It was a good catch. You had been lucky.

“Copy that. Just a moment…”

You waited for a few seconds, trying to ignore the look on Cayde’s face. His gaze was glued to the bow in your hand and his head was tilted in a thoughtful gesture.

“Ready to receive whenever.” A hint of an amused chuckle got through the coms. “You were quick today.”

You didn’t reply but drew in a sigh.

Cayde’s Ghost circled around the animal and projected a transmat beam over it.

“Transmatting now,” Sundance said.

The comm device buzzed and clicked once in your ear before the clearance order got through. It was another thing that was hard to admit but having a Ghost along in the wilds did have its benefits. Unfortunately, it was always a package deal with a Guardian.

You let your posture relax and turned to Cayde.

He jumped to his feet from the ground and cheered. “We’re a good team! High-five! No? Okay. No high-five.”

You left him hanging and continued walking. A small pool of blood was all that was left of the deer and you felt relieved in a sense. It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t find anything else to hunt that day. Your daily quota had been hit for several upcoming days.

“Alright, that’s it then?” Cayde asked in a hopeful tone and swept dirt off his backside.

You bit your lip and let your eyes wander around the forest. The sun was still high, and the sky was clear. It would be a shame to waste such a clear day but staying in the wilds with Cayde wasn’t tempting either. Going back early for a proper rest wouldn’t be so bad once in a while. The Farm had nothing to worry about food-wise so there was no sense in trying to find more prey than what was currently needed.

“I guess,” you said when you couldn’t think of anything better to imply the hunt was concluded for the time being.

“Sooo, we go back now?” Cayde inquired.

You shrugged while walking. “You can stay here if you want.”

He hurried after you. “I know I said it already, but I’ll say it again: Great team. Us.”

“I don’t really do team,” you replied dubiously. It almost felt bad to shoot Cayde’s enthusiasm down like that, but you weren’t up for a bonding session with a Guardian.

“Okay, let’s just stay in the basics, then. I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine. That sort of thing.” He wasn’t ready to give up and as annoying as it was, it was slightly moving.

“I won’t hesitate to leave you to the wolves.”

“Ouch!”

Almost a full minute of walking in silence ensued with Cayde grinning behind your back.

“Can I say something else?” he asked, definitely not about to wait for your permission, “It’s been kinda rough for these past few days, but you’re making it hella lot easier for a lot of people.”

You cast a sideways glance at his sincere tone.

“Right. Where’s this coming from?” you asked.

Cayde shook his head, amused. “Can’t take a compliment, can you?”

“Not really.”

“Anyways, this was great. I’m looking forward to the next trip already. Now how far is the Farm? I’m craving a sandwich…” Cayde babbled, his voice trailing off in your ears as you focused on finding the right path.

Having someone cheer for you had left an unknown sense of warmth. You didn’t know how to deal with something like that. You quickly settled into the familiarity of ignoring most of what Cayde was saying, but his presence no longer felt like having a pebble in your shoe. It was almost comforting to hear someone talking as you trekked through the woods. And he didn’t expect you to reply anything besides the occasional mumble.

It was weird. As if he was constantly trying to cheer you up.

After walking for over an uneventful hour, Cayde began to pester you about taking a break.

“Oh man, my legs are killing me!”

He slumped onto the trunk of a fallen tree. You gingerly followed him, leaving a wide gap between you two.

“I don’t know how you do this every day,” he continued, blue optics fixated into you.

The forest around you was still and silent. Apart from the occasional chirping and faint rustling, the gentle wind blowing between the trees was the only sound. The midday wasn’t popular time for animals to be moving around.

You stretched your legs, reaching your fingertips towards your toes. “You’re just out of shape, Mister Vanguard.”

“Oi! That’s unnecessary and rude. Aaand probably true,” Cayde admitted with a chuckle that you joined into without realizing it.

It was good to stop to just breathe the fresh air once in a while. It was rejuvenating. You reached your arms up towards the sky and breathed in deeply.

Cayde cleared his throat.

“There’s something I wanted to ask.”

You turned to look at the Exo, brows lightly scrunched in suspicion. “Then ask.”

“What if…” Cayde began in a sly tone and it already drew a slight sigh out of you.

“Yeees?”

“Let’s say I wanted to, uhh, pull my weight here. What should I do?” He stared at you, completely, uncharacteristically serious.

“Stay out of my way,” you wanted to say but bit your tongue. If the Guardian really wanted to make himself useful, you shouldn’t shoot him down. Or Suraya would shoot you down as soon as she would hear about it.

Cayde looked at you intently, waiting for a reply.

“You need a bow,” you finally said.

“YES!”

“Talk to Hawthorne about it. Tell her I said so.”

“I will. Thanks.” He pointed finger guns at you and you rolled your eyes, hard. “Y’know how I said I’ve missed going out? They can never make me go back in.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” you asked, though the answer obviously included the Vanguard Commander.

Cayde shrugged. “Zavala and Ikora, I guess? Okay it hasn’t been that bad, but still…” Cayde looked up to the sun peeking behind the treetops.

Your gaze lingered on the happy expression on his face. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Hey, are you hungry? I think I still have a snack bar in here somewhere…” Cayde shoved his hands into his pockets and pulled out something wrapped in bright green. “Wanna share?”

You cast a dubious look at him. “Is that what you eat in the City these days? ‘Cause I’d rather starve.”

“What? Oh no, we do have real food. Like… ramen!” Cayde suddenly looked dreamily at the sky, the snack bar still hanging in his hand. “Man, I miss ramen.”

“So I’ve heard. Like a nine thousand times during these past few days,” you quipped.

Cayde turned to look at you and snapped the bar in half. He offered the food to you. “Well, if things turn out as well as they should, I’ll treat you a bowl when this is over.”

You were taken aback by his sudden offer and the wistful tone. Maybe he really did consider you a some sort of friend? You accepted the bar. It tasted like paper, so no surprise there.

“You think it’ll go down in your favor? Things are looking pretty bad for you guys…” you asked quietly as you munched the snack bar.

“Of course! You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Cayde said instantly, “Zavala is on it. Ikora too… And we have the Guardian. We could really have a shot at turning this around. Don’t you think?”

You cast your eyes to the forest floor and pursed your mouth into a thin line. You shouldn’t have asked. The snack bar was crumbling in your grip.

Cayde squinted at you. “What?”

Your eyes snapped up to look at him, realizing your reaction had been utterly suspicious. “Huh?”

“What’s with the long face?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t like Guardians but–”

“That’s not it!” you yelped. “I do want you to get the City back.”

“More room for you in the forest, eh?” Cayde tossed the leftovers of the bar into his mouth. He didn’t sound too convinced. “I don’t know who rubbed you in the wrong way, but not all Guardians are that bad. Look at me, for example! I’m great!” He pointed at himself with a thumb.

“’Not all Guardians…’” you muttered under your breath. Cayde was right, of course, but you really didn’t want to continue talking about it.

“I’m curious, y’know,” he said in a vain attempt at making you talk, but it only made anxiety rise bile into your throat.

“I bet you are.” You hopped off the log and shook your legs a bit. “Let’s go.”

“What? Already? It’s been like three minutes since we sat down!” Cayde whined but jumped down too. He didn’t really have a choice. Or he did, but that one was to anger Zavala by getting separated from you and getting lost in the wilds of the EDZ. And Cayde was rather fond of the last life the Light had left him.

“Okay, wait up! I’m coming!”

Next Chapter - Coming Soon!

Tagging: @bleucommelhiver @lucianhuntress @singlebecauseofthechocobros@sherniwrites @owlwrites @toastyfiction @sevansheart @xcayde6

[waterdeep]

ZAVALA in DESTINY 2: SEASON OF THE HAUNTED.

Is that what I've become? Have the years whittled away my nerve?

[fox-fic-and-ink]

Bam! Cayde/Zavala. Short and sweet. Consider it spiritually a missing scene from ch 20 of TKoS

[void-bunny]

Data Requisition

Ch 11 of Immortalia is now available.

Read it here or at this link on AO3

A massive Captain, decked out in banners and gold painted armor, looked up from what he was doing as his crew motioned at the Guardian, trapped for the moment behind the glass. They finished up what they were doing, and the Captain signaled for his crew to make a swift exit through another door. “Just a bit too late, Guardian.” He said, though Sloane and Zavala wouldn’t know that. Bunny slammed a fist on the polycarbonate, wishing the cracks in it would give and she could stop him. He had no idea what he was messing with, how dead he would be if Sloane and Zavala decided to send a more competent Guardian after him.

Just go in and chase them off, yeah right, Bunny thought, did Sloane have any idea how the Fallen actually operated? Chasing them off was near synonymous with ‘kill them’ when it came to Guardians. Granted-- she peered around a corner-- she did have a little bit more than just her gun to maybe help her chase them off in the literal sense. Maybe she could just ask them to leave? What if they told her to take a hike, though? She pushed a stuck door open, and stepped into a small control center for… something? Everything was so gummed up with Hive detritus that it was impossible to tell what it was. A familiar sounding hiss startled her out of her thoughts, and she pressed her hand against the cracked polycarbonate window.

A massive Captain, decked out in banners and gold painted armor, looked up from what he was doing as his crew motioned at the Guardian, trapped for the moment behind the glass. They finished up what they were doing, and the Captain signaled for his crew to make a swift exit through another door. “Just a bit too late, Guardian.” He said, though Sloane and Zavala wouldn’t know that. Bunny slammed a fist on the polycarbonate, wishing the cracks in it would give and she could stop him. He had no idea what he was messing with, how dead he would be if Sloane and Zavala decided to send a more competent Guardian after him.

They only sent her because— the door beside her opened with a loud crack, snapping some of the Hive gunk off its gears as it rolled open. Bunny shook her head, they sent her because she volunteered, she had butted into the conversation and asked specifically to be sent alone after this Captain. And he was taunting her, she was going to slap him.

“They just… left.” Hemlock said, and Sloane sighed on the other end. Bunny examined the hastily constructed Fallen terminal, and Hemlock appeared to take a closer look. “Oh, looks like they just wanted data— that’s strange for them.”

“See what you can find.” Zavala said, and Bunny found a spot to sit while Hemlock worked. She wondered why the Captain had said anything to her, though she supposed he assumed she wouldn’t understand him, or wouldn’t care enough to translate what he had said, but why was she just a bit too late?

“Alright,” Hemlock beeped, “Everything the Fallen got, we’ve got.” Bunny slid off her perch, and the door she had come through slid closed. “Oh.” Hemlock disappeared back into her robes. She should have expected that, it was never as simple as it needed to be. The Hive had apparently been alerted to something in one of their spots, and Bunny had to find another spot to take cover from a bunch of angry thrall quickly. She punched her way through an acolyte, and set Hemlock to work on the door again, maybe it could force the locks.

Fortunately the Hive seemed to only be offering a token effort to remove her, and she climbed out of the disgusting control center. “We’re out, I hope this data’s worth it.”

“Come by when you can, we’ll take a look at what you got.” Sloane said, and Bunny had to wonder if Sloane was aware that she had pretty much just given her permission to do whatever she liked for as long as she liked, but, she went back towards the command center anyways.

Hemlock shut down their outside communication, “So…” It said, “What are you going to do if Sloane asks about what that Captain said?”

Bunny gave her Ghost a look, “I’m not gonna say anything about it, if she asks I’ll just shrug.” She said, and climbed up the side of part of one of the command centers buildings to hop a small gap to the door that lead back up to Sloane. “Besides,” Bunny said, pausing next to the door, “We did what she wanted, we ‘chased’ them off.” Bunny went up the stairs, and Hemlock floated next to her, delivering the data to Sloane.

The Deputy Commander sent her off without much else, and Bunny decided to just hang around, watching crews of Fallen pick apart the Arcology, or try to, they seemed to hit a lot of roadblocks— or… more accurately, Hive-blocks. She shot a Knight to death as it ran toward a Captain, who looked far less regal than the one she’d just run into, and the Captain looked up at her, taking aim at her with their gun, but she was just out of range, so they turned away, focusing on the other Hive they were fighting. Bunny found a spot to sit, and let her legs hang over the side, over the propane ocean.

“You’re already trying to find an excuse to make friends with that one, aren’t you?” Hemlock asked, hovering over her lap, “Isn’t one enough? Maliks is more than enough, even.”

“But…” Bunny had to admit, that was a good point, her… what was he? Boyfriend? They didn’t have a word for it in their language besides ‘mate.’ “What if Zavala, or Sloane, thinks that he’s a serious threat? He was looking for some kind of data, he’s obviously smarter than some of the Captain’s we’ve encountered.” Hemlock watched her closely.

“I’m going to tell him you think he’s stupid.”

“Don’t you dare! He’s not stupid! He just values the strength of a fist over trying to talk his way out of things!”

“So he’s just like you.”

“Hemlock!” Bunny swatted at her Ghost, “I thought you were my partner! You’re so mean!” Hemlock twirled it’s shell at her, she had changed it since Maliks had given her one, stating that it was just too conspicuous to have a Ghost looking like a servitor. He had understood, but been just slightly annoyed by the choice, still, he would affectionately poke Hemlock from time to time.

She smiled at her Ghost, “I never said that was a bad thing! Both of you are sticks in the mud, though, I’m amazed either of you manage to ever get things done when you’re together.” Bunny snorted, they argued sometimes, that was true. Maliks didn’t like the idea of taking in more strays, not after Narak and Phyrik had tried to mutiny, and not after the loss of Ysyvkos, who had definitely deserved better, but Bunny often pressured him into it, didn’t they deserve to be part of a crew that wasn’t one of Salzen’s? Where they wouldn’t suffer? He usually just acquiesced and hauled the wounded dregs into his skiff, snarling at them that they were his crew now, and they had better make themselves useful.

“He knows I’m right, sometimes.” She said, watching the Captain she had saved from the Knight kick a thrall off the side of the rig, they turned to look at her again, and she waved, blowing a kiss at them. To her surprise, the Captain stood up a bit straighter, and then gestured rudely with two of their hands. Bunny frowned, though her surprise quickly faded, of course, why had she even tried that?

Hemlock shook itself, “Not all of them are going to be your friend.”

“I know.” She said, and got up. She didn’t have to sit there and be mocked by a Captain, who was now mimicking a dance that had no doubt been witnessed from another Guardian, and their crew was eating it up, hooting and hollering and laughing at her expense. She glided down to where she had initially climbed up from, and walked toward the Arcology itself, casually slipping past other crews and clusters of Fallen.

Eliksni, she corrected herself, she could so easily separate Maliks and his crew from other Eliksni, but they weren’t Fallen. Fallen was… it sounded mean, harsh in her ears, a subtle insult. They were all Eliksni.

She slid into the shattered ceramic tiles, and climbed up to a spot where the Hive couldn’t reach her, sitting down to wait for Sloane or Zavala to call her back, and either explain the data she’d nabbed or something else.

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Corrupt [1]

Come, oh bearer mine, and show them that even a rose can be deadly.

SERIES: Destiny WORD COUNT: 8,410 SHIP: N/A CHARACTERS: kel, luke, cayde-6, lord shaxx, eris morn, ikora, zavala

He should have been there.

It’s a thought that’s plagued him ever since Luke had returned alone from the Dreadnaught, both of the teammates that had gone with him missing. He’d been frantic and shaking, a far cry from the endlessly optimistic and unapologetically cheerful guardian everyone in the tower knew him for.

It had taken time for them to get him to even speak of what had happened, explain why he was alone—Kel had thought that maybe it was simply a case of the team uncovering something that they desperately needed backup on and Gil had taken the risk of being down one team member to send Luke for that backup.

But it was worse.

They’d been overrun. Whether it had been due to the simple fact they were intruding on Oryx’s turf or that Quinn—font of light herself, so different and enigmatic than her fellows, that she was—had been with them and had drawn the attention of the Taken King, they didn’t know. They’d been boxed in, cornered, and swarmed; first by the Hive and then by Oryx’s Taken.

Luke, somewhat lost in what had happened, had speculated that the assumption that Oryx had taken interest in the tower’s resident anomaly was the correct one—the Taken had immediately zeroed in on her once they’d appeared, attempting to cut her off from them.

They’d pushed, and pushed, and pushed, but they’d begun to run low on ammo and strength.

And now Luke was all that was left.

Quinn, ripped through a portal into another plane of existence and presumably lost to them forever. Gil had sacrificed himself to give Luke enough of an opening to flee and seek help or to simply alert the Vanguard of the mission failure and loss.

It was probably the latter, Kel thinks bitterly. Luke’s ghost, Gibson, had solemnly confirmed that Gil’s light signature had been erased entirely. Quinn’s signature was faint but still there—but too far out of reach for them to help her inasmuch as any of them could figure out.

The Ascendant Plane was a vast expanse of void and they could spend an eternity searching for her within it, but without a point of entry and something to home in on her, it would be ultimately fruitless and a waste of resources to try and search for her. Just pulling an Ascendant soul from one of Oryx’s soldiers and hopping into the void after her wasn’t good enough; with how many guardians they had already lost trying to find Oryx’s throne world and failing, I wasn’t a risk they could take.

Even Cayde had admitted it, pain evident in the utter lack of his usual affable attitude as he did so.

And so it was that Kel was down two teammates, the loss stinging far more than anyone around him could understand. None of them knew of the phantoms that plagued him. None of them knew that this was a loss that only added to the number of ghosts haunting his steps.

A memorial is held.

It’s a short affair because even with as well-known and respected as Gil was among his fellow guardians, even with as quickly as Quinn had wormed her way into their hearts—they’re in the middle of a war on four fronts and they don’t have the time or resources to spare.

It’s rare that any lost guardian winds up with a memorial service, but Gil was tantamount to a hero within City walls, having fought at the sides of the Vanguard members hundreds of years past. Defending the walls as they were built and holding off the siege of the Fallen at Six Fronts, saving lives at the battle of Twilight Gap, respected mentor alongside Shaxx to newly risen guardians for many, many years.

He was one of the best guardians the City probably ever had or will have, and as a result a decently large crowd gathers to show their respect.

He was gruff and abrasive, but loved and respected.

Yet still only moments after saying their solemn farewells, Cayde and Ikora are already leaving the plaza discussing the next step in the war against the Taken King. Zavala paces a few steps ahead of them, looking a fair bit more solemn than usual, as they all retreat for the Vanguard hall.

Kel’s fairly certain Cayde is trying to find some way to rescue Quinn on the side of his work, but Kel had heard of Toland the Shattered, and he doesn’t hold out hope.

The loss hurts them all, but the Vanguard has already moved on and before long Kel is the only one left standing in the plaza, for the first time in centuries feeling the prickling sensation of being overwhelmed by the mere presence of others.

None of them have time to mourn. To truly mourn. Humanity has clung to the tails of survival for thousands of years, and mourning the loss of a single guardian was a luxury they couldn’t afford. Not even for Gil, and certainly not for one that had only been a presence for under a decade.

Kel leaves the City.

He vanishes because he’s tired of the condolences from the older guardians that knew him as the hero that always fought at Gil’s side, at his friend’s side, and the apartment the team shared is too quiet with both him and Quinn gone and with Luke as withdrawn as he’s become.

The silence is driving him mad and it’s a feeling he’s unfamiliar with. Silence had been his balm for so long that Kel couldn’t begin to pinpoint the place in time that he’d grown fond of having a team at his back—at hearing Quinn and Luke’s cheerful laughter and jokes as they checked off another victory for Fireteam Ward, at Gil’s fond looks when he thought no one was looking, at how his ghosts were silenced when he sat down in quiet solidarity with Quinn who struggled to hear her ghosts.

He leaves for the wilds and it’s the first time he’s been on his own for nearly two centuries. Kel can’t decide if he hates the sudden isolation or the fact that Gil had convinced him to be part of a team in the first place more.

In the first week he skirts the plaguelands, takes down half a dozen groups of Fallen holed up just within its borders. He feels empty. Nothing.

In the second he tears a bloody path through the Cosmodrome, clearing out Rasputin’s bunker (just in case) and wreaking havoc on the forces of Hive as pure vengeance for what they’d wrought on his team. Still, nothing.

By the third week he hesitantly makes his way to the final battleground of Twilight Gap, the memories of fighting by his old friend’s side and the few, rare laughs Kel had ever had after being resurrected making him want to raze the entire memorial to the ground. He doesn’t have the raw power of a Titan or the capability for devastation like a Warlock, so he makes do with firing a few rockets at the creaking and rusted artillery and watches them tumble down the cliffs with a numb disinterest.

Echo stopped trying to speak with him after the first week, instead opting to ping messages onto his heads-up display whenever Luke tried to contact him or the Vanguard attempted to deliver updates or request missions he was in the area for. Cayde confirms Kel’s theory that he’d been researching for the purpose of hunting Quinn by sending him updates on said research.

He’s not feeling particularly endeared to the Vanguard these days and he disregards both the updates and the assignments. Quinn was gone just as assuredly as Gil was gone and he wasn’t about to get his hopes up.

He’d had enough loss. In both of his lives.

He had no reason to return to the City. None.

Uncharted territory is where he finds himself by the end of the third week, somewhere across the sea as he sought even more distance from the place he’d so foolishly called home for the last few hundred years. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s looking for or why he’s looking for it, but there’s an indescribable pull that’s carving his path as he treks through the ravines and forests by foot.

He wonders if it’s a Hunter instinct or just a Kel instinct—or something else entirely.

He comes upon a swathe of ruins nearly reclaimed by nature, evidence of a post-Collapse civilization making itself known in the form of ancient buildings rebuilt with scrap and anything the people back then could pull together for shelter. It was empty, a ghost town with some kind of dangerous heaviness settled thick enough to choke over it.

Something happened here. Something tantamount to cataclysmic that had nothing to do with the onset of the Collapse. Something final.

He can see a pair of massive Hive seeds, one crashed through an old, rotting building and another cracking up through what remains of a paved street. Only a pair, and he can’t see any telltale signs of the Hive repurposing the area for their own gain—just an isolated group, then, lingering to feed on the remaining light and darkness trapped within the energy of the place before they moved on.

A pair of Knights notice him.

Kel stands there as they roar and open fire on him, the glow of the heated weapons the Hive used reflecting in his visor as they paint a violent slash of color through the air towards him.

He considers not moving. He truly does—considers not moving, ordering his ghost to abandon him and to head back to the tower without him.

She chirps at him in alarm, as vocal as she’s been in weeks.

Kel knows that’s not how it works. He’s seen the ghost shells, broken and forlorn, scattered along the coasts and ruins of pre-Collapse civilization. Their light had run out before they could find their guardian, or they’d been attacked and damaged by the monsters that saw the little creatures as a light-filled treat to feast on. Or they’d simply given up.

He may feel like one of those broken and empty shells, but he won’t suffer Echo the same fate. She was perhaps the one thing he thought he had left that he wouldn’t forsake like that.

Kel dives, feels the heat of the bolts of Hive fire boil the air where he’d been standing seconds ago; he wonders if his cloak, already ripped and worn from hundreds of years of battle and survival, had been singed by the close call. Whirling into action his auto rifle coughs out bullets as fast as he can aim and pull the trigger.

His shields drop far enough that he’s forced to seek cover, slipping under a broken garage door and into one of the ramshackle buildings lining the ruined street. The Knights and Thrall howl for his blood and light, seeking him as he slips away from them.

He finds a place to recuperate, eyes slipping to the indicator Echo provides for him for the status of his shields as he reloads. Once it blinks and disappears he leaves the building, sweeping the new street slowly and carefully. He can still hear the Hive somewhere around the corner, unaware of his presence.

Good—he can flank them.

As his eyes sweep the other direction he freezes, taking in the sight of a body slumped there before him. Bones, nothing but dust and rags, and Kel would have mistaken it for any poor soul lost when this settlement had been overrun or abandoned—but Echo makes a noise of surprise, telling him that there’s the faintest signature of light emanating from these bones.

Light that felt…different.

Next to the body rests a gun. Revolver. Custom. It looks like it had been warped, swallowed alive by something dark and vile and spat back out; black and sharp and sickly green, and though it must have been abandoned for decades if not longer and was partially covered by growing weeds and grass it looks as though it had been sitting there for just a few days.

It pulses with dark green light almost eagerly. Almost like it had been waiting for him to stumble upon it and it was happy he was here. And there, again, was the pull he had been feeling. The pull that had led him here.

Shouldering his rifle Kel kneels and digs the handgun out from the weeds grasping at it, wrapping his fingers around the grip of the handgun and hefting it lightly to test its balance.

Echo makes a noise of disapproval as though telling him to leave it.

Kel looks up from the body before him and sees a little girl with blonde curls and a pink dress standing on the opposite side of the street staring at him with unblinking, bright blue eyes. He goes rigid. When he blinks, the little girl vanishes.

His grip tightens on the handgun and he brushes the unbidden vision aside at the same time something whispers in his head.

My name is Thorn, oh bearer mine I will bring ruin to those who wronged you.

This, too, he brushes aside; it isn’t the first time he’s dealt with whispers and shadows in the back of his mind and vision, and he knows this is no different. A lot is on his mind and he hasn’t been sleeping well.

Just hallucinations. Nothing more.

Shaking his head, Kel turns away from the sun-bleached bones of the poor soul whose name he’ll never know.

When he returns to finish off the Hive still clawing at the door he’d vanished through the bullets that bite through their chitinous forms comes from a vile handgun that purrs at the back of his mind, pleased with the carnage and the way the Hive corrode and collapse under the gun’s fire.

He feels ill.

It’s the first thing he’s felt since his brother in arms died.

When he returns to the tower, Kel thinks he shouldn’t have come back at all.

He has no idea what even drove him to come back, but the way people greet him with concern and ask him how he’s doing as though he weren’t just an empty shell who remembers too much feels too much hurts too much, or greet him as though nothing has changed, it grates on his already frayed nerves. As though his best friend isn’t dead, as though he cares for their idle chatter and words.

When he blinks stonily at them, knowing they can’t see his eyes, he stares until they get uncomfortable and turn away. He sees the little blonde girl with curls and a pretty dress staring back at him when they move out of the way.

They don’t see her. It’s been hundreds of years since he has.

Kel makes his way to the Vanguard hall, feels Eris Morn’s three stolen eyes burn into his back and Shaxx’s sharp gaze follow him as he passes, and when he moves down the steps towards the Vanguard’s war table all three members stop to stare at him.

He doesn’t bother to address it, though he feels his skin crawl with frustration at the response.

Moving to stand in front of Cayde—why was he still here, if he was so sure Quinn was still alive? Why wasn’t he actually doing anything? It’s been a month, is she dead?—as though the wary, concerned looks from the other two weren’t making a deep anger he hasn’t felt in years stir inside him.

“Been gone a long time, guardian,” Cayde drawls, one hand still resting idly on his maps and papers spread in front of him. Kel supposes that when you’re on the brink of extinction and fighting an impossible war, a month could be considered a long time. “What’d you find?”

Everyone knows about the Dare. Everyone knows how Cayde-6 became Hunter Vanguard.

Andal Brask had been a good man.

The whispering and aggravation at the back of his mind quiets with relief that Cayde, at least, seems to understand the desire to avoid speaking of the dead and lost. “Mapped out some territory.” Kel replies evenly; in his periphery he can see the way Zavala shifts in irritation.

No ventures into dark zones without fireteams. Ever.

Cayde however steps to one side and gestures to the archaic map he has spread across the table. “Show me.”

So Kel does, pointing to parts of the map and indicating where he found a Fallen Ketch docked, or Hive seeds—that old city in the dark zone he had combed through. Explains what he saw and what he thinks of it, what might be going on or whether it was worth looking into further.

He does this not because it’s his duty to but because something pulled him back to the City just as it had pulled him away, and without the friend that had been helping to guide him for centuries Kel has fallen back into that old Hunter habit of following the paths that call to him. He’s not sure what it was or why, so for now he’s simply going through the familiar motions he’d gotten used to while working as part of a fireteam even though it no longer felt like he had one.

When he finally looks up from the map, done with recounting his travels, he freezes as his eyes land once more on the little girl, standing on the other side of the table and seemingly standing on her toes to try and reach up for Ikora’s ghost.

“Was that all you found?” Cayde asks. Kel hears the caution in it, the double meaning, and understands Cayde’s intent for asking it.

The little girl looks towards the entrance of the hall and Kel follows her gaze. Standing there is Luke, halfway down the steps and staring at him. Kel’s fingers twitch in search for the handgun he’d found.

He blinks. The little girl vanishes. “Yes. That was all I found.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Kel turns away from the table and heads for the stairs at a pace that could just barely be considered a rush, his shoulder bumping against Luke’s roughly and nearly knocking the Warlock off-balance.

Luke tries to say something to him as he leaves, but the whispering is back and Luke’s voice is lost somewhere in the red-hot static boiling in Kel’s veins. He’s close to the burning fire of a Golden Gun let loose and Kel knows that if he doesn’t leave the hall behind, that Golden Gun will be turned on Luke.

Much as something dark and hateful clamors for that exact thing, Kel doesn’t want it.

Maybe if he says it enough he’ll convince himself.

It’s as he reaches the steps to ascend into the plaza that Eris finally decides to insert herself in his way, stopping him and sidestepping to block him every time he tries to move around her. “You found one.”

“I found a few ‘ones’ while out there.” Kel replies, irritated. Another step to the side, blocked again by the woman warped by darkness and Hive, teetering somewhere between the Dark and the Light and leaving his skin crawling—something he’s never felt in her presence before. “Be more specific or get out of my way.”

“It’s whispering to you.” She says, her gauze-covered eyes glowing through the thin fabric and dripping with ichor focused intently on his face as though she could catch his own eyes through his visor. And maybe she could. “I can hear it, too. Where did you find it?”

Shaxx is watching the exchange from further back in the hall.

Kel doesn’t answer, still blocked from moving forward, and he’s tempted to shove her aside as he had done with Luke; he hasn’t felt this openly aggressive in a long time but he’s falling back into it easily as though he’d never stopped.

It felt good. It takes all his willpower to ignore the urge.

“A sorrowful weapon, bleak and dripping with carnage and hate. What does it promise you? Does it promise you vengeance? Purpose? Freedom? They are all lies. You will find no true answers from its treacherous mouth, guardian.” Her voice is thick with spite and venom, growing thicker with every word, and it occurs to Kel that he’s never heard Eris so emotive before.

Ironic, considering his own behavior.

The little girl is back, pouting up at her with furrowed brows.

I promise you solace, oh bearer mine. I promise you certainty.

His lips twitch. More hallucinations. He’ll feel better once he’s gotten some rest—that’s all he needs.

“It speaks to you now,” Eris breathes, her fingers curling around the gently glowing soul stone she carries and her lips pull back in a feral snarl, “do not listen to it! It is hungry and it lies.”

I promise you vindication. I promise you vengeance. All that exists struggles to exist. Blade versus flesh. Blade versus eternity. You know this. You have seen it. You have suffered it. In death and in Life.

My name is Thorn, and I promise you the power to continue existing.

Kel’s skin crawls with illness again, and something soot-blackened and dark and full of sickeningly sweet comfort curls claws around his thoughts; he gives in to his urge and finally pushes past Eris Morn with her haunting call following his rapidly retreating form.

“Do not lose yourself, guardian! Your light yet burns!”

He enters the Crucible at Shaxx’s insistence. He represents no faction, plays with those far from lacking in skill; game of choice is Rumble. He still doesn’t feel like playing as part of a team, not when what was left of his was the one responsible for the other half being lost.

Shaxx says it’ll clear his head, get his mind focused forward instead of stuck in the past. Stuck on events that couldn’t be changed.

He indulges in his old friend’s suggestion, not because he thinks it’ll clear his head (it won’t) but because a deep, darkened part of his soul craves the mind-numbing violence he’s dirtied his boots with for centuries, craves the ability to let loose, put his anger and emptiness outward rather than holding it in for a change.

He wants blood. Wants to see the light bleed from his peers as he shows them how far from his level they are, to prove to them and himself that if he had been on that mission in the Dreadnaught—

He shakes his head and steps around a corner with his auto rifle at the ready, firing a hail of bullets into the back of an unprepared Warlock. The Warlock’s ghost blinks at him balefully, facets spreading around the glowing orb of light that represented the creature’s light and life as it works on reviving its guardian.

The only reason Kel doesn’t glare back at it is because he’s at the top of the scoreboard and doesn’t have the time nor the care.

He’s leaps and bounds ahead of the other participants and on a killstreak, much to Shaxx’s delight, and it’s likely why the other participants seemed to have abandoned their crosshairs being aimed at each other and instead pointed them all in his direction.

He didn’t mind. It just gave him more chance to prove his skill.

He normally didn’t enjoy the Crucible, caring only for its ability to hone team coordination and personal skill—but now, now he was enjoying it. He can’t point to what changed, but he can’t say it was a bad one.

It was…thrilling, he supposed. It made him feel alive.

He ducks under a natural archway in the Venusian landscape, glancing at the radar in his HUD.

He sees the flash of red on his radar a split second too late; something solid slams into his side and he just barely catches himself before it throws him from his feet and knocks him prone. His rifle isn’t so lucky—it goes flying out of his hands, sliding to a halt a few yards away.

The Titan that had slammed into him gives him no time to recover, closing the small distance his shoulder charge had created and snapping an elbow into Kel’s helmet before he can block it. The strike leaves a nasty ringing in his ears and this finally throws him off-balance and his knee brushes the ground.

Kel tips over and rolls with the motion away from the Titan, ignoring the vertigo the action causes. He hears a shotgun round rip through the air, lodging into the course gravel of the landscape he’d just vacated.

He bounds away from the Titan, using a pulse of his light to propel himself further with a jump—another shotgun blast shatters his shields and Echo beeps a sharp warning at him as he retreats.

Somewhere in the scattered rocks and Vex monoliths in the arena he loses the Titan and he circles back around to where he’d dropped his rifle with Echo’s assistance; the Titan had the same idea as soon as he’d lost sight of him, apparently, and Kel is forced to duck back under cover when he appears in sight, booted feet planting firmly on the ground right next to the rifle.

He was waiting.

Kel’s shields had recovered, but that shotgun had a quick firing rate and it would bite through them faster than he’d be able to grab his gun and take the Titan down. The moment he got within range, if the first shot didn’t knock him out of the running the second would, and Kel would still have to aim and fire.

Point blank range or not, rifles didn’t have the same kind of close-range stopping power.

He needed to think of something fast. It wouldn’t be long before the other combatants caught up to them and joined the fray, and Kel didn’t hold out hope that they’d end their grudge and go after each other rather than eliminate the one in first place and then return to the regular slaughter.

The handgun he’d found. It was still in his inventory—

He grimaces. No, he’s got a solar-fueled grenade ready and a throwing knife still on his belt, he could make use of those.

But—

Fingers twitching, Kel orders Echo to summon the hand cannon, spins out of cover, and takes aim.

The first shot knocks out most of the Titan’s shields, and something sick and corrosive eats away at the rest before he even fires a second time; Kel frowns. When he fires again the shot snaps through the Titan’s helmet and he drops like a stone, the heavy thud drowned out by Shaxx calling an end to the match.

He thought there’d been at least another minute left on the timer and he frowns at the empty HUD on his visor. Had he reached the point cap? Why was the Titan’s ghost not visible and working on a revive?

His ghost is quiet.

He’s won either way and he decides it doesn’t matter much. Leisurely and with a heavy exhale he moves to retrieve his auto rifle; considering it for a moment, he glances at the jagged thorn of a weapon in his other hand. Echo chirps her disapproval in his ear, but obediently stows the rifle and transmats a holster onto his thigh for the hand cannon.

Kel returns to the tower to see if there are any open bounties on the board in the plaza. He may as well go out and do his duty to the City while he got used to the new weapon.

He’d been wrong—the match had helped him feel better.

You are strong. The rest are weak. You need to show them. This is the way it should be. This is the way it is.

The whispers are getting louder. Clearer. More insistent. Something about this one in particular gives him pause, but when he tries to grasp the cause it slips through his fingers like sand. He dismisses it, thumbing the grip of the gun holstered on his thigh.

He’s been dealing with the hallucinations for hundreds of years. They’d gotten worse after Demi’s death. They were worse now, after losing Gil. He knows what to expect.

They’ll fade with time. They always do.

When Kel approaches the war room a few days later it’s much louder than he ever remembers it being; their voices are at a volume that he can hear, indistinct and muffled, as far back as the stairs Eris liked to hover by.

Her typical haunt is devoid of her heavy presence.

Shaxx, too, is absent from his usual spot in the Vanguard hall, the space conspicuously and unnervingly empty with the large Titan and his even larger energy gone.

Kel’s footsteps pause momentarily when he catches Arcite, Shaxx’s quartermaster frame, staring at him. He stares back wordlessly until the frame returns to work, muttering in displeasure at whatever messages it’s receiving from the various factions invested in the upcoming Crucible season.

And then he notices the war room’s doors are closed.

It’s an unfamiliar sight—Kel can only recall one time in his hundreds of years of undeath that those doors had ever closed: the crisis on the moon. Humanity’s first contact and war with the Hive, and the First Fireteam to have descended into the Hellmouth. The Vanguard had always adopted an open-door policy from its formation to the modern day, and he wonders what kind of cataclysm must have occurred to force them to close their doors to discuss it.

Did the new war with the Taken warrant such a closed-door meeting?

Kel resumes his walk to the door and pauses just before it, the voices beyond still muffled but more distinct now.

“—he’s not fit for active duty. Is that what you’re saying, Shaxx?” Zavala asks.

Shaxx’s voice, easily the loudest in the room as was the norm for the Titan, answers with a kind of fury Kel hasn’t heard in many years. “I’m saying he’s not fit to be within the City walls, much less on active duty or participating with either the skilled or the under-trained in my Crucible.”

“May I remind you, Lord Shaxx, that you are the one that invited him to participate in that match in the first place.” Ikora says calmly.

“I don’t need to be reminded!” Shaxx responds, the statement punctuated by what sounds like a fist slamming down onto a solid surface. “Had I any idea that he had a weapon that could cause true death, I never would have! Do you think I would ever willingly invite another Red Death incident?”

There’s a heavy beat of silence and Kel’s frown deepens; he remembers the incident well. Everyone had heard of it. Everyone had talked about it. A small massacre caused by a gun prototype found in the wild whose designs had immediately been confiscated and destroyed.

“Don’t think that’s what Ikora was saying, Shaxx,” he hears Cayde’s voice, a parallel to Ikora’s in its even calm—rare, for the typically aloof and jovial hunter, “none of us want a repeat of that.”

“So what is it you’re suggesting, Shaxx? Banishment is a heavy punishment, and what happened could have been an accident.” Zavala, again, now sounding uneasy.

No one had been banished from the City since Osiris—and he, as far as Kel was aware, was one of only two in the history of the City that had ever suffered such a punishment. It was far from a light punishment to consider.

Who the hell was the subject of their conversation?

The next voice that speaks up catches Kel off guard and sends a wave of anger roiling through him, his fists clenching at his sides. “Why is banishment even on the table? He’s just—he’s just messed up from what happened, right? He couldn’t have meant it.” Within the same sentence Luke’s tone wavers between desperately upset to insistent. “He just needs time—”

“To kill more guardians?” Shaxx demands, voice rising another level in volume. “Absolutely not. I will not have more deaths in my Crucible, and I refuse to simply ignore a threat to guardians outside of it either.”

Zavala’s responding tone is sharp and unyielding, a reminder to Shaxx that though he was a valued voice to the Vanguard he wasn’t in a place to state what he just had. “This isn’t a decision for you to make on your own, Lord Shaxx. It will be brought to the Consensus, and it’s why we’re having this discussion in the first place.”

Something is purring at the back of his mind again and Kel glances down at the hand cannon strapped to his thigh. If he believed in weapons with personalities (just tools. Just dead things. just like guardians.) then he might have believed it enjoyed all this heightened emotion.

Whether or not Shaxx intended to respond to Zavala’s warning, Cayde interrupts them both—Kel wonders if it’s to attempt to diffuse the argument before it grew violent. “You said he was usin’ a new gun, Shaxx.” His voice is again eerily calm and even. It’s rare that Cayde was the level-headed one out of the three. “What did it look like?”

“Hand cannon.” Shaxx huffs, either cowed by Zavala or sufficiently distracted by the topic change. “Black and green. Sharp ridges along the barrel, glowing between the seams. It looked sick. Vile. Like the Darkness itself spat it out.”

Kel realizes, then, that they’re talking about him.

“You got a recording of it?”

“I did.”

“Show me.”

Silence follows and Kel twitches impatiently, agitated.

Eyes are on his back again; when he turns around, Arcite’s glowing, unblinking eyes are once again burning holes into him. It’s only because he doesn’t want to alert the people inside the war room to his presence that he doesn’t demand the frame minds its own business.

Bristling, Kel ignores it.

“What is that?” Ikora breathes, so quiet Kel almost misses it.

“Thorn,” Is Cayde’s simple, assured response. His voice is so caustic that it shocks him—he’s never heard the Exo sound so full of raw hatred.

“You can’t be serious, Cayde,” Ikora says. “Dredgen Yor vanished centuries ago—no one knows what happened to him, what are the chances that the fabled weapon none of us could ever confirm even existed shows up in the hands of one of our own?”

He knows that name. Like with the Red Death incident, every guardian does—but unlike Red Death, no one knew the story behind the hushed way it was mentioned, only that it was as feared as any of the enemies they faced in the wilds.

“Tell me, Ikora,” Cayde replies, “where did the fables come from? That gun’s as real as the one that killed its owner and the man that wields it. And that—that is Thorn. That’s the gun that killed Pahanin and Jaren Ward. The one that killed dozens more guardians before ‘em.”

Zavala sounds unconvinced. “And you know this for a fact?”

“I do.”

“And you never brought this anonymous guardian up or the connection of Pahanin’s and Jared Ward’s disappearances to us why?”

“Ain’t a guardian, just a man with a Golden Gun.” Cayde corrects Ikora, clearly unconcerned with either her or Zavala’s skepticism. “And the man likes his privacy, doesn’t want anything to do with our politics. It doesn’t matter. What matters is Thorn’s on our doorstep, a guardian killer, in the hands of a troubled guardian that ain’t thinkin’ clearly.”

The whispering at the back of Kel’s head intensifies, almost a hissing. He finds his lips pulling back in a snarl; he wasn’t troubled, and the gun he had found was just that—a gun. What vile deeds may or may not have been performed with it didn’t change the fact that it was nothing but a tool.

“Hunger…it is hungry. It has been so long and he is so angry…” Eris mutters from somewhere within; he has to lean forward to hear her clearly.

His snarl turns into a sneer; Eris Morn saw evil in everything, and he doesn’t find it hard to believe that she’s simply projecting her losses onto everything she can. Damn the truth, the Hive had warped her and her thoughts, twisted her into something that straddled the line between the Light and the Dark.

How the Vanguard could see her opinion as credible was beyond him.

But a stray thought occurs to him and briefly stifles his building anger—hadn’t she lost her friends and allies in the Hellmouth? Hadn’t she suffered the same painful loss he had?

“So we force him to turn it over and we destroy it.” Zavala says after a heavy pause as they all considered Eris’s words. “And we take him off active duty until his head is cleared.”

Static washes through his thoughts and swats aside the thought that gave him pause, replacing it with that same wash of tidal rage. His fists curl even tighter and he feels his light spark with electricity rather than warm flame for the first time in centuries.

The whispers, the hissing, the hallucinations crescendo into a near roar between his ears, insistent and angry. He feels fingers wrap around his palm and looks down.

The little girl with blonde curls and bright, open blue eyes stares up at him. Her mouth doesn’t move but he can hear her speaking to him, the voice so familiar but distant from his memories. Indistinct, but clear enough that he knows it’s her.

They don’t understand, oh father mine. You are strong. That guardian was weak. This universe eats the weak. You could make them understand. All of them. Do you understand?

He should be afraid. He should be terrified. He killed someone, whether intentionally or not. He killed a fellow guardian when there were already such a small number of them compared to the innumerable enemies they faced.

Deep down, he feels that terror mixing with the anger and the ill feeling that had overcome him when he first found the weapon.

A dark undercurrent accompanies his long-lost daughter’s voice when she wordlessly speaks again.

Teach them, oh father mine. Start with the one who wronged you.

Everything else is drowned out by the roaring in his mind, a cold grasp of fury urging him to finally step forward and shove the doors to the war room open.

Shaxx is next to Ikora, both closest to the doors, and Zavala is on the other end of the long table. Eris is apart from the group, halfway between Cayde and Zavala. Cayde stands in his usual place in front of his maps and in the middle of the table.

Luke is next to him.

All eyes are on Kel. Wary, guarded, surprised—and in Cayde’s case, uncharacteristically empty.

His movements careful and measured, Kel moves down the steps towards them and if he realizes that his little girl’s fingers have become the solid grip of a black hand cannon, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “My head is cleared.” He snaps. “If anyone needs to be taken off active duty, it’s him.”

If Kel had been there instead of Luke, Gil would still be there. Quinn wouldn’t be gone. Luke wasn’t fit to be in the field, on a team, responsible for the lives of his fellow guardians. Gil had taken him under his wing and now Gil was dead.

Luke blinks at the open aggression Kel willingly displays, eyebrows lifting in confusion. “…Me?”

Though his eyes are settled rigidly on Luke, Kel is aware that everyone’s attention is on him. Save for Cayde, who has turned away from him and is leaning with his palms flat on the table and eyes focused but unseeing on the maps under them, everyone in the room is ready to intervene, ready to stop him.

From what?

Shaxx’s fury would make anyone else buckle under the weight of it, but not Kel. He knows Shaxx, has known him for hundreds of years, and though he’s not fool enough to underestimate the Titan nor holds any belief that he could square off against him in a fair fight Kel isn’t afraid of the man.

He doesn’t fear anyone in this room—fears utterly nothing he can recall.

He had been there during the Collapse a lifetime ago. Nothing had frightened him since.

Luke shifts uncomfortably under Kel’s malevolent, heavy stare, shuffling slightly back and away from him even though Kel stops several feet away. Then he freezes and recognition dawns in his eyes, followed by pain and resignation. “Kel, if this is about Gil—”

His shoulder twitches as though he were going to draw up his gun and fire. Right into Luke’s skull. It would only take two shots. Just two. “Don’t.”

“I did what I could! He told me to r—”

Kel disappears in a blink and reappears right next to Luke, ozone tinting the air in the room from the crackle of arc energy; he spins and wraps his fingers around Luke’s throat, forcing him back against the surface of the table and cutting off his protest.

Thorn snaps up from where it had rested uneasily at his hip, barrel settling firmly against the Warlock’s forehead.

He doesn’t flinch when the sound of weapons readying around the room reaches his ears. Neither Cayde nor Eris has moved, but everyone else now had a gun trained on him.

“You ran, right? You’re a coward that let him die.” His voice is frigid. The green light under Thorn’s twisted frame pulses as though eager.

“There was an army of Taken, Kel. They took Quinn, I couldn’t—”

He pulls the hammer back on his hand cannon with a click that firmly and finally silences his teammate.

Cayde speaks up, then, calm despite the scene occurring right next to him. “Eris, that thing’s evil I take it?”

Her responds is a plagued, dreadful moan. “Fingers in my brain.”

“Right.” Cayde moves so fast, then, that Kel doesn’t even see it happen; his head tips to one side when the barrel of Cayde’s Ace of Spades is pressed to the side of his helmet. When the Exo speaks again, eyes unwavering from Kel, it’s directed to the others in the hall. “Rest of you ‘cept for Eris, leave for just a minute. And yes, Zavala, that means you.”

No one moves immediately. Ikora is the first to nod in acceptance and turn to leave, Zavala following after. Shaxx takes the longest to abide the request but he goes as well, shutting the war room’s doors behind him.

Cayde waits for a beat before speaking again. “Let him go, guardian.”

Kel doesn’t take his eyes off Luke. “No.” His finger is on the trigger. The whispering has grown into a hum, some kind of dreadfully beautiful melody, one that calls for him to finish it—to let it consume the light of the traitor standing in front of him.

The urge gnaws at the gray matter of his brain, the undead cells of his body given new life by the Traveler. It burns through his every nerve and his fingers are curled so tightly around the gun’s grip that it’s nearly painful.

He is weak. You are strong. Show them the law and the Logic. Show them the truth.

He wants to. Kel wants to. Luke had left Gil to die—Gil, the man that had considered the young Warlock something of a son, the man Kel had considered his closest friend and brother in arms for hundreds of years. It was Luke’s fault that Gil was dead, Luke’s fault that Quinn was gone. The loss of Demi had been decades ago, around the same time Luke had joined the team, and Kel knows it must have been his fault, too.

Their team had shrunk from five to two. It was his fault.

Wasn’t it?

It was only fair. Put a bullet in his skull. Vengeance. Vindication. Not just for Demi and Quinn and Gil, but also for the wife and daughter Kel shouldn’t even remember. For the rebirth he had never asked for and the war he never wanted to fight.

If he did, Cayde wouldn’t hesitate to put him down. He knew this; rare as it was, Cayde was every bit the leader Zavala and Ikora were, no matter how much he denied it and claimed he wasn’t cut out for the station he’d fallen into. He knew when to be merciful, and he knew exactly when to show no mercy.

Echo wouldn’t be allowed to revive him—she’d be stopped if she tried to. It would be a true death, one Kel wouldn’t be able to come back from just like the Titan he had unwittingly killed in the Crucible, just like Luke should he pull the trigger.

Death upon death upon death.

His blood chills as he finally recognizes the hum at the back of his mind, the words indistinct through the roaring of whispers and demands and promises but no less familiar in their finality.

It was a lure to release—to freedom from an endless existence of nothing but loss and pain, from an existence he had never asked for and a return to the peaceful silence of death and to the ghosts had he left behind in his first life. Freedom from the Traveler’s war and the losing, hopeless battle they’d all been forced into fighting.

But it wasn’t a hopeless fight. Though it seemed that way so often that it was hard to see otherwise, there was a difference between a lost cause and a hopeless one, and the difference was in keeping that hope alive long enough to turn to the tide.

Gil wouldn’t have ordered Luke to flee the battle if he didn’t think there was a chance to turn that tide. Kel knew his friend too well to think that he didn’t.

He knew the difference. Why had it taken Kel so long to see the difference himself?

He feels a phantom tug on the hem of his cloak, sees the little girl in the edge of his vision, and he grits his teeth. The hand holding Thorn suddenly begins to shake, nearly imperceptibly. Was it from rage? Or was he more afraid than he was willing to admit to himself?

“You aren’t the first guardian to lose a partner, hunter.” Cayde’s voice is still calm and even but filled with the kind of tranquil fury that the Hunter Vanguard hid behind jokes and good humor. A calculated coldness that only a handful of other guardians that knew him had ever seen or heard.

He hears the click of Cayde dropping the hammer on Ace, just as Kel had moments ago. “Last chance. Put it down.”

Kel doesn’t move, and it takes him a long moment to get any words out. “Is Quinn still alive?” He asks. His jaw grinds and he tells himself to focus on something else, anything else, other than the scratching in his skull telling him how much easier it would be to just pull the trigger and finish it. It’s not his own.

The ghost wearing his daughter’s face was no hallucination anymore. It was a gun, and it was hungry.

If the question catches Cayde off guard it doesn’t show. “I know she is.”

He still doesn’t move. Kel stares at Luke for one, two, three heartbeats; Luke stares back and it’s the solemn acceptance in his face that eventually breaks the spell Kel could now see being cast. Luke blamed himself for the team’s loss.

Finally he drops Thorn to his side and steps back, releasing Luke from his hold.

Cayde lowers his gun as well but doesn’t holster it. His gaze is unblinking. “Gimme the gun, guardian. So that we can get you back out there.” He says, a little bit more of his usual warmth back in his voice.

Kel ignores him and instead turns to Eris. Surprisingly, she’s looking back like she had expected him to. “Is there a way to shut it up?” He asks.

“Sever the bond.” She says, but as he turns away she adds: “Hive magic warped that weapon, and it has been soaked in countless deaths and drank the light of many. It will never be clean. Never be silenced. And you will listen to it.”

He stares at her, and it takes him a moment to understand what she truly meant—not that should he hold onto the weapon it’ll eventually take full hold of him, but that if he ever underestimated it, it would succeed in dragging him into the same kind of end Dredgen Yor must have suffered.

He looks at Cayde, then, both of them quiet in light of Eris’s words. Cayde seems to pick up on the fact that Kel had no intention of turning the gun over, finally holstering Ace and stepping back.

Kel briefly considers asking Eris if the gun could be destroyed as Zavala had suggested earlier but he decides against it. He won’t take that risk, not with knowing how quickly and easily Thorn had gotten into his head, even considering how poorly he responded to Gil’s death.

Even now, he could hear it howling in rage at his denial of it. Hear it demanding that he pull the trigger, finish the job, let it consume the light of Luke and Eris and Cayde and feed whatever dark magic powered it.

One thing was for certain: he couldn’t trust himself within the City’s walls so long as he held onto it.

He mutes his helmet comms long enough to tell Echo to ready his ship for transmat, and then he holsters Thorn back into place on his thigh, meeting Cayde’s gaze and ignoring Luke’s confused stare. “Contact me when you plan to get her back.” He says.

The engines of his ship roar as it flies over the tower and Echo transmats him into its confines before he hears Cayde’s response.

He leaves the City behind again—this time, somehow, with an even heavier heart than before.

[i-do-trash-fanfictions]

A Wolf's Howl Ch. 5

It was over four months later when the two hunters met again, this time when they got matched on the same team in a Crucible match of Elimination. She noticed him first, still wearing the same armor he had that time ago. He noticed her staring.

"I know you?" He asked with a tilt of his head.

"Thera. I beat your ass at a pistol duel a day after my rez."

"Shoot, yeah I remember you! Shaxx should just call the match right now with us as the winners if we've got you on our team."

"This is that new light who beat you in the Crucible?" Asked the other team member, a warlock in black and pink robes.

"That's her. Sh-"

A shot fired from the enemy team, all three swarming at them. During the conversation, they had totally forgotten where they were at.

Thera aimed her newly made submachine gun and fired, with the help of Zane's hand cannon, an enemy went down. The warlock took one down on her own using her shotgun and then used her void light on the other. Zane cut him down quickly after that.

"Amazing teamwork!" Came Shaxx's booming voice.

The next round started, and it wasn't long before they were four to nothing.

The three bolted as the final round began. The warlock knew where the other team would start, so they split up. Zane would take middle, Thera would take right, and the warlock would take left. They covered their ground quickly, and Zane jumped from the high ledge he was on, right into the center of the three on the opposite team just as Thera and the warlock came in. A hunter fired at the warlock, but she slid and fired with her shotgun. The hunter was down. Zane stabbed into one's chest, then shot them with his handcanon, while Thera threw a flaming dagger at one and shot them with her own handcanon. They had won the match.

"We won five to nothin!" Exclaimed Zane-2 as he raised a hand to Thera.

She returned the high-five.

He pointed to the warlock. "Alright Sora, you said you'd pay for drinks if we ever won 5 to nothin! And she's included in that." Zane threw his arm around Thera's shoulders casually.

She sighed, though there was a bit of a chuckle in there, as if she would have brought her along even if Zane didn't offer. "Fine."

It was ten minutes later that Thera was in her small room, preparing for her trip to a restaurant and bar down in the City. She had never had an alcoholic drink before, well, not that she could remember, so she honestly hoped they didn't expect her to drink anything too strong. They had decided on a place and a time, that time being thirty minutes from now so the three could get ready.

With the help of her Ghost, she decided to wear a pair of black jeans, a white t-shirt with the hunter sigil on the left breast pocket, and a leather jacket. Also a pair of combat boots. She took one look into the full length mirror on the wall, then decided she looked good enough. A quick brush of her hair, and then another look, this time at her face. She had visited nearly all the stores in the City, yet never thought to buy makeup. Why would she? She didn't expect to go to a bar with two old-lights that were impressed with her prowess in a Crucible match.

Thera now wished she had. No, wait, or would makeup like eyeshadow or eyeliner be too fancy? What would Sora and Zane even be wearing? Would they show up in something fancy? Thera took another look at her clothes.

"Thera, it's the fighting and thinking skills that make a Guardian. Not their clothes, and not their looks. Come on. You stand in the mirror any longer and we'll be late, and we wouldn't want that." Her Ghost said.

Avoiding another glance at the mirror, Thera left her room and began her walk to the city below.

Zane-2 and Sora were already there. She was quite surprised to find that they did not stick to a certain style, the two of them. Zane wore grey sweatpants and a hoodie with the hunter sigil square in the middle of it, while Sora on the other hand had on a tight, sparkly, dark purple skirt with slits down the thigh, black tights, black heels, and a dark purple (minus the glitter on this one) v-neck shirt with cold-shoulder sleeves. She even had on earrings, a necklace, and Thera saw the glare of a bracelet.

Zane waved her over, and Thera sat at the rounded table with them. She took a moment to look around and examine the place. The bar wasn't empty, but it wasn't full either. There were a few groups, all gathered around their own tables. A few people were sitting at the bar nearby. The lights were dimly lit, and music played from the speakers in the ceiling.

"Ever been to a bar before, kid?" Zane-2 asked.

Thera shook her head.

"Then I suppose you haven't had a drink yet." He said.

"You don't have to get an alcoholic drink if you don't want to." Sora assured her, lowering her menu. "And I'll get any food you want from the menu too."

"Okay." Thera smiled.

She picked up the menu in front of her and perused through it for a second before Zane said, "Can I make a suggestion?"

Thera lowered her menu to the table.

"What about just an appetizer? Like cheese sticks or fries or somethin?" He said.

"That's alright with me. Thera?" Sora asked, turning to the young guardian.

"Cheesticks sound good." She nodded.

"Alright. And hey, I heard Pimm's is a great drink to order for someone who's new to drinking. You want that?" Zane asked her.

"Sure."

He called a waiter over and placed an order. Soon the appetizer and drinks arrived. Sora got a cocktail, while Zane ordered simple whiskey. It didn't take long for Sora and Zane to start conversing. They began talking about their separate patrols, then their two missions, one of which scouting, in which they worked together on. Then they began on the subject of Zane's sparrow, still in repairs after his last race.

It was then Sora realized Thera hadn't said a word, and had only taken sips of her drink and helped herself to the cheese sticks in front of her.

"You don't seem to talk too much. How about you tell us about your day?" She attempted to get the three-month-old guardian to talk.

"I only went on three patrols, went for a fly in my ship for a bit, then completed a few bounties for the Crucible." Thera shrugged.

"Man, you haven't been going on many interesting missions huh?" Zane commented.

"Zavala explained that I'm still too young of a Guardian to go on any big missions, unless I can get a few older Guardians to go with me."

"Do you want to go on bigger missions?" Sora asked.

Thera nodded, then said, "I've been sneaking out some to go check out some of the areas where Cayde's told me some enemies have been causing trouble. Places the Ikora and Zavala aren't too worried about."

"Good old Cayde. Always directing his hunters to where the action is." Zane said.

"Which he shouldn't do." Sora pointed out. "One of these days those new lights are going to get hurt, going out on their own in places crawling with enemies like the hive and the fallen."

"They haven't been too hard for me. I can fight well and I'm a good shot. Cayde said so."

"You know," Sora said after she and Zane shared a look. "We've been hoping to make our fireteam of two into a fireteam of three. You'd make a great addition to our team."

"Really?!"

She nodded. "Yes. Zane told me about your fighting skills in the Crucible, and has been asking Cayde about you. You seem like the perfect fit. We were looking for a titan, but I believe another hunter will do, especially one with your skillset."

Thera grinned ear to ear.

"So kid, what do ya say?" Zane asked her as he raised his glass to her.

"I'll join!"

"Woo! To a new fireteam member!" Exclaimed Zane as the three clinked glasses.

[coldkryptonitecupcake]

“Abomination”, Ch. 12

  Back at the Tower, Narvuk awoke in the Hangar,  on a pile of empty crates with Zivath and Ikora on either side of him, checking him over. "Welcome back, Narvuk. You've been out for a while." Ikora greeted him, concern in her eyes. "Most of your wounds have already healed, thanks to both your Ghost and the natural regenerative abilities your people have," she noted. "There is one crack, however, that runs a bit too deep for Zivath here to fix. I'm sure we could reinforce it someh--"

"Lleave it. Scars are trophies of ssurvival." Narvuk cut her off. Ikora nodded and typed something into her datapad. Zivath ran another scan to confirm they hadn't missed anything, then nodded to Ikora.

"That's everything. Are we good?"

"Yeah, how's the big guy doin?" Poppy's voice called from the stairs to the Courtyard. "I was hoping to spend some time with our new fireteam member, maybe get a bit of shopping done." She grinned as she crossed the Hangar floor. "Sienna should be finishing up her AAR to Zavala soon, so she might be joining us, if you think you can deal with her," Poppy teased, her grin widening.

  Ikora rolled her eyes, but Poppy's smile was contagious. "He's cleared, but I recommend he take it easy for a while. Patrol sorties and small missions only." She nodded to Narvuk, who returned the gesture, and walked away. Poppy turned to Narvuk and put her hands on her hips.

  "So are you gonna get up, or am I carrying you up the stairs? 'Cause that's not gonna be pleasant for anyone involved," she joked. The Knight shook his head, grinned, then carefully pushed himself up, using his sword to brace himself. He stumbled a bit at his apex and Poppy darted forward to try and catch him, but his sword carried his weight well enough that he did not fall. Poppy smiled at him ruefully, and after a moment, he smiled back.

"Sso where to, friend?"

"We're gonna go see Banshee about getting you something with a range longer than two feet."

"Banshee?"

"Banshee-44, our gunsmith," Poppy explained as they slowly made their way up the stairs. "Normally, he makes weapons for Guardians, well, my size. But I'm sure he can fix something up for you. He's good at that sort of thing."

  Narvuk hmmed in understanding, then grunted as he pushed himself up the final set of stairs. Once they reached the Courtyard, he leaned against a will with one hand. "Ggive me... a mmoment. Still feel... weak." Poppy turned and walked back.

"You're still recovering from that strike, this is normal. You were out for a few hours, and you're still not done healing. It's gonna feel like this for a while, big guy. Might as well get used to it while you can," she consoled, patting his stone-like arm. "You think you can walk? There's no more stairs, I promise." Narvuk nodded and pushed off the wall after another pause. "There we go. Look, Banshee's right over there." The Warlock pointed at a booth with two Guardians in front of it, one hooded and the other broad-shouldered. When they walked away chatting, Narvuk could see an Exo behind the counter with a blue and yellow face and eyes colored a blue so bright, Narvuk could see which way they were facing.

  Poppy mock-pushed Narvuk forward, not really even moving him. "Well, go on. You're the one asking him for something, not me." He looked back with a pleading look in his eyes, but she simply jerked her head towards the booth, as if to say Well, go on. His shoulders slumped for a moment, then he squared them and walked over to the booth.

  The Exo looked up from the auto rifle he was working on as Narvuk approached the counter. "So you're the Knight Shaxx was talking about. Name's Banshee, I do all the weapon repairs around here. Waddya need?"

"I wwas looking for... I don't really knnow. Something my size that isn't thhis." He raised his sword slightly, and Banshee's gaze shot to it. "That a real Cleaver? Haven't seen one of those in... well, it's been a while. Looks like it's seen better days. Shaxx knows more about 'em than I do. But you said you needed somethin that wasn't a sword. Y'want somethin long or medium range, I'm guessin?" Banshee cocked an "eyebrow" at Narvuk, who nodded, mouth slightly agape.

  "Hm. Come back later, I'll see what I can scrounge up." As Narvuk turned to go, he found the broad-shouldered Guardian he had seen earlier blocking his path, arms folded. He was human, with dark skin and green eyes. He was taller than most, coming up to about Narvuk's sternum.

"Really? You're the Knight that's got the Vanguard all worked up? You don't look so tough. In fact" - he gave Narvuk a contemptuous look up and down - "you look about the same as every other Knight I've ever killed." He stepped closer and jabbed a finger into Narvuk's shoulder. "So don't go thinking you're anything special, hear me? Fuckin bug." And he stepped back and spat in Narvuk's face.

  Narvuk just stared at the Titan. "What? Nothin to say, stoneskin? You scared?," the man taunted. Narvuk jerked his chin at something behind the man, who turned around to see... and received a right hook from Poppy, who had made her way over as the man was talking. He staggered back, one hand on his jaw. "Gah, what the hell-"

"Wanna say that again, DeMarcus?! Huh? Go ahead, I dare you!" Poppy challenged, fists raised and ready. DeMarcus raised himself up and balled his fists.

"What the hell is wrong with you, girl? That... thing doesn't belong here! You, of all of us, should be on my side here!"

"Two days ago, I would've been. But Narvuk is one of us, and frankly, he's already a better teammate than you were. Now back the hell off, unless you want worse than a bruised chin."

  Seeing that he was outnumbered, DeMarcus unclenched his hands. "Fine. Just don't come crying when he stabs you in the back," he spat before marching off towards the Bazaar with what remained of his pride. From that same direction came Sienna, who was shouldered aside by the Titan as he passed. She gave him a vulgar gesture behind his back, then strode over to Narvuk and Poppy.

  "I'd ask what his problem is, but I'm pretty sure I already know. So, you feelin any better, big man?" She gestured to what was left of Narvuk's wounds. "You took some nasty hits earlier."

"I still ache, but ggetting better," he replied, his hand drifting near the unfilled crack on his side. Poppy caught his wrist and shook her head. He nodded in thanks and dropped his hand back to his side.

  "Glad to hear it, big guy. Eris says to, and I quote, 'take the care befitting a Knight, not act like a hungry Thrall'," Sienna said, making exaggerated quotation marks and laughing when Narvuk looked offended. "I'm kidding! ...I made that up just now. But I did talk to Eris about that name we heard on Titan, the 'Black Needle'?" Narvuk and Poppy quickly corralled their laughter, though Poppy retained a small smile.

"She said it's a title for one of the Hive pantheon, some ancient Wizard named Savathun." Narvuk hissed what was most likely a curse through his teeth. The girls' eyes shot to him. "Something wrong, big guy?"

"Savathun and I... are ffamily."  

[curioos]

🎁 Curated Gift Guide #2: For the city hopper, Bowie fans, pandas lovers, and more!

Who doesn't love the holidays? We sure do! And the best part is, with the help of our artists, we get to help you find the perfect gifts. Your one-stop holiday shop is here: just scroll down 🎁

For the film lovers. French artist Alizée Lafon never disappoints with her vintage-inspired designs inspired your favorite films.

It's not a bottle of Chanel No. 5, it's one hundred times better. Inspired by your favorite scents, Sixto-Juan Zavala creates a visual olfactory experience.

Ch-ch-changes (to your home decor). Show your Bowie-loving friends you care with this collection that is sure to make you look at the stars differently tonight.

Show love by giving love. No one does it better that Balász Solti and his team of adorable pandas, available on prints, cozy blankets, and more.

For the comic lover and music nerd. Butcher Billy creates the perfect mashup, now available on All-Over Tees!

For the friend who just got their first apartment. Elisabeth Fredriksson's geometric, patterned pillows are the antidote to the barest of spaces.