Chapter 2: Table of Contents
Notes:
Hi! I'm adding a table of contents to this mostly for my own convenience but maybe yours, too! Yay.
Chapter Text
Table of Contents
Day 1 - Guardian and Ghost - Crow and the Guardian discuss the Eliksni and the Endless Night.
Day 2 - Last City - Guardian and Ghost discuss the state of the Last City and the Light.
Day 3 - Living Without the Light - Osiris copes with the loss of Sagira.
Day 4 - Little Joys - Crow is worried about the Guardian.
Day 5 - Black and White - Crow and Saint talk about birds.
Day 6 - In the Vanguard - Ikora and Zavala discuss Lakshmi and the threat to the Eliksni
Day 7 - Say My Name - The Guardian and Eido discuss the Eliksni, Guardians, and the Darkness.
Day 8 - Legacy of the Golden Age - The Guardian and Elizabeth Bray get trapped in a storm on Europa.
Day 9 - A Long Shadow - Saint and the Guardian discuss the Darkness and the Light
Day 10 - What is Worth Fighting For - Scorn attack the Guardian in the Eliksni Quarter.
Day 11 - Knowledge is Power - Saint convinces Osiris to take a break.
Day 12 - Last Man Standing - Shiro-4 visits the Last City.
Day 13 - Enemies of Humanity - A Guardian defends a group of Eliksni from an attack at a pub.
Day 14 - Chosen Undead - Stressed by the Endless Night, the Guardian receives some advice from Osiris.
Day 15 - Forged in Battle - Shiro and the Iron Wolves defend the Iron Temple from a Hive attack.
Day 16 - Who Guards the Guardians? - Ghost speaks to Osiris and contemplates Light and Dark.
Day 17 - Past Days - The Guardian dreams of a mission on Phobos, so long ago.
Day 18 - Dancing is What to Do - Saint and Osiris celebrate the first morning after so long spent in Darkness.
Day 19 - Worthy Weapon - Saint and the Guardian discuss the Guardian's choice to wield Stasis.
Day 20 - Where's My Warmind? - Ana and Rasputin discuss what it is to be human as Rasputin adjusts to his new Exo body.
Day 21 - High Stakes - The Guardian infiltrates the corrupted Vex network.
Day 22 - Drifter's Gambit - Drifter comforts the Guardian after Savathûn's most recent advance.
Day 23 - Royalty - Crow and the Guardian look at old guns.
Day 24 - Taken on Me - Drifter helps the Guardian deal with an injury from a Taken blight.
Day 25 - Gift - Saint and Osiris reconnect after a long time apart.
Day 26 - Sweet Dreams - Osiris and Saint visit Prague.
Day 27 - Voices in My Head - Crow, Glint, and Ghost help the Guardian through some anxieties.
Day 28 - Ironborn - Saladin comforts Shiro after a long day.
Day 29 - Curse - The Guardian doubts Osiris
Day 30 - New Vistas - Saint-14 throws a party.
Chapter 2: Guardian and Ghost
Summary:
Crow and the Guardian discuss the Eliksni and the Endless Night.
Notes:
This piece builds off of this piece of lore about Crow and Glint. Go check it out!
Chapter Text
No one had ever looked after Crow the way Glint had. For years, Glint had been everything to him, his whole world, the only thing in his entire life that looked at him with kindness. No ulterior motive, no desire for revenge, no attempt to use him for some greater purpose. Even if he’d been brought back to protect the Traveler, Glint just wanted him to live. To be happy. To escape the Spider’s brutality and to finally have a life of his own, a place where he could make his own choices. He had that now, but it wasn’t all he’d dreamed it would be.
It was to be expected, of course. Living amongst Guardians meant living amongst their anger, bearing the face of one who’d wronged them in the past and paying the price over and over again for another man’s misdeeds. Some of them had gotten past it. The Guardian helped him where they could. Osiris treated him with respect, looked out for him even if he wouldn’t admit it. Zavala and Ikora both accepted them, even when the Guardian and Osiris had hidden the truth from both of them for too long. But on top of all of his problems, he and Glint were now at odds, and he couldn’t accept that.
The events from the night before played on repeat in his mind. The humans, sabotaging the Eliksni camp, destroying their ether tanks. He’d aimed his gun at them, threatened to shoot, and later, once they’d gone, Glint had questioned him about it.
“You wouldn’t really have shot them, right?” He’d asked.
“They needed to know I was serious, Glint.” Crow had responded.
“But you weren’t,” Glint had insisted. Then, hesitantly, “Tell me you weren’t serious…were you?”
Was he?
In all honestly, Crow had no idea. He had no idea what he’d have done if the humans had fought back. If they’d tested him, called him on his bluff. Was it a bluff at all? To kill civilians, the crime was atrocious for any Guardian, but after what they’d done? He couldn’t let them hurt the Eliksni, not when they couldn’t protect themselves. If the Eliksni fought back against civilians, they’d be shunned even further, perhaps even thrown from the City. Their hands were tied, someone had to protect them, but how would it look if Crow was the one to hurt them instead? After everything his past self had done?
Crow let out a quiet sigh, raking his hands through his hair as he paced within his quarters on the HELM. Glint was gone, Crow had told him he wanted to be alone, and had released the Ghost to his own devices. They both should have already gotten back out into the wilds, returned to scouting, to the task the Vanguard had given him. But he couldn’t, not when the Eliksni were so vulnerable.
The Eliksni…he’d never met the House of Light properly, but Eliksni had been far kinder to him than most humans had been. They’d never attacked him just because his face happened to be the same as a man they once knew. He couldn’t help but feel a greater loyalty towards them than towards the citizens of the last city, even when he knew how precarious that placed his footing regarding the political unrest surrounding the whole situation.
It made the whole situation a sort of minefield around him, one he couldn’t hope to come out of unscathed.
His heavy sigh filled the room as he collapsed onto his bed.
“Long day?”
Crow pushed himself up onto his elbows to find the source of the voice, his eyes settling on the Guardian as they leaned in the doorway, watching him with crossed arms.
“You could say that.” Crow managed, dropping back down to lay back on the bed, reaching up to tuck his hands beneath his head.
He’d spent the day watching the Eliksni settlement, hidden within the rubble leftover from the battles within the sector. He’d watched them through the scope of his sniper rifle, seeing who’d come and gone from the settlement, vigilant for any more attacks on the encampment, though he doubted anyone would have the gall to attack while everyone within was awake. He’d seen the Guardian there too, they’d come to speak to Mithrax, to check up on the House after the attack the night before. He’d seen their worry and exhaustion even from so far away. They were doing well to hide it now, their posture relaxed and nonchalant, but he knew it lingered. He could feel the edge of it in their Light.
“What about you?” He asked, propping himself up once more, now sitting up enough to lean back on his hands. “I heard you were attacking the Vex network all day.” They’d been fully armed when they’d visited Mithrax. He wasn’t even sure they’d stopped to eat before they’d gone back to battle.
The Guardian’s face pinched when he mentioned the network, and they shifted to come away from the doorframe, standing on their own now, though they stayed out of the room even still.
“Yeah,” They confirmed. “I’ve been doing whatever I can to end this night.” Their eyes flicked over the threads of the Vex simulation visible all around them. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for the people in the City, to constantly be in darkness. I can feel it weighing on everyone. Osiris suggested I keep away from the City when I can, so that it won’t drain me but…” they shook their head. “I couldn’t stay away. Not if everyone else has to suffer through this.”
He watched their eyes drop down; their face pinched in a frown. He didn’t know much about Vex simulations, but fighting all day only to return to a city riddled with tensions and brimming with conflict didn’t seem like a good idea. Still, he could understand the Guardian’s morality. They wouldn’t let innocents suffer while they remained protected from the harm. Trying to catch their gaze with his own, he reached out and patted the space on the bed beside him, a wordless invitation into the room. Ever since the Guardian had rescued him from the Spider, they’d never once set foot in his space without his permission. He could barely understand it, but he appreciated it all the same.
The invitation seemed to be enough though, because they caught his gaze briefly enough to understand, then stepped into the room, sinking down on the bed beside him with a quiet sigh.
“I’m surprised you’re not still out there.” He confessed. The weapons were gone from their usual resting places, the holster on their thigh empty of their sidearm, and the sword and scout rifle nowhere in sight, either. Even if they were still in their armor, it was as clear a signal as any that they were done for the day.
“Saint ordered me to get some rest.” They admitted quietly, and Crow smiled a little, glad someone was looking out for them. “But enough about me.” They said, sitting up a little straighter. “What were you so upset about before I came in?”
It was Crow’s turn to frown, worrying his lip with his teeth as he considered how to explain to them.
“I- You saw what happened to the Eliksni camp last night, right?” He asked quietly.
The Guardian nodded. “I’ve already asked Variks to keep an eye out for any Servitors that want to flee House Salvation. I know it won’t solve the problem, but it feels like a good start.” Crow had seen the ether tank the humans had sabotaged in their attack the night before. Having another Servitor to produce ether wouldn’t make the relationship between the humans and the Eliksni any better, but it would give the Eliksni a bit more breathing room when it came to ether. It would make the blow the humans had dealt less crippling.
Crow nodded. “I’m sure they’d appreciate that.” He told them, the Guardian nodded, and his gaze lifted to theirs before he sighed quietly and forged ahead. “I was there. I pulled a gun on the humans that did it.” He confessed. “I don’t know what I was going to do, but I threatened them, made them leave. But I don’t know what I’d have done if they’d tried to fight me.”
The Guardian said nothing, only watched him as he stared down at his hands.
“Glint asked me if I was serious.” He murmured. “I couldn’t tell him I wasn’t.”
A hand settled on his shoulder gently, and when he relaxed into it, their grip tightened a little.
“I understand how you feel.” They told him quietly, and he glanced over at them, his brows furrowed.
“You do?” He questioned quietly, and they nodded.
“When the Eliksni first arrived, I asked Mithrax if he’s let me stay with them the first few nights they were here, just to be safe. I’m a little surprised he agreed to it, but he did, and I camped out near the entrance to the quarter. During the middle of the night, some humans came by. I think they were drunk. They started throwing rocks and bottles. I tried to keep them away from the Eliksni, but I didn’t want to hurt them, and there were so many of them. One of the hatchlings got hurt. I heard them crying.” They shook their head. “The guy who hurt them, he threw a bottle at them and the glass cut them. I gave him a concussion, almost broke his jaw. He had to go to the hospital. The hatchling was okay, but Zavala nearly had my head.”
Crow watched as they let out a long, heavy sigh. “I don’t mind that I hit the guy. That doesn’t bother me. What bothers me is that I know why these people are afraid. I’ve died at Eliksni hands more times than I can count. I’m better at killing them than they are at killing me, but I’m still afraid of them. I still have nightmares about Eramis and House Salvation, and about all the Eliksni I’ve faced before. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what they did with SIVA.” They shuddered, and Crow lamented the hand that slipped off his shoulder as they shifted to hold their elbows.
“I just…” They drew in a deep breath. “I know what these people are afraid of. I understand their fears. But I don’t understand why they can’t see reason, why I can’t get them to understand. Guardians understand their fears better than anybody, so why can’t they trust us on this?”
Crow wasn’t sure if they really wanted an answer. He wasn’t sure he had an answer to provide, even if he and Glint had discussed the callous civilians more times than he could remember.
“I think you should try talking to Amanda about this whole thing.” He suggested after a moment, and the Guardian frowned at him.
“Why?” They questioned.
“Amanda has a pretty good handle on the differences between Guardian and civilian outlooks.” He explained, “She and I talked about the Eliksni over drinks when they first came to the City. As a nonguardian who lived in the wilds for a time, she understands the powerlessness the civilians feel when it comes to the Eliksni, but she’s been considerate enough to give them a chance and trust them.”
The Guardian sighed.
“I’ve fought for years to try to make the civilians feel like they’re not powerless. After Ghaul…things had to change. But short of putting a rifle in their hands and sending them out to the front, I’m not sure what else I can do. But it seems twisted that the civilians would be angry at the Eliksni because they’ve been forced to learn to fight for their lives.”
Crow glanced up at a little flash of Light, the Guardian’s Ghost materializing beside them.
“They probably feel betrayed that you’ve brought people so much stronger than them into their city. Even Guardians don’t live among the civilians the way we wanted the Eliksni to.” The Ghost said, and the Guardian frowned. “Still, the Eliksni are in many ways just as powerless as the civilians are. The civilians can harass and attack the Eliksni with little to no consequence. They would have to do something extreme in order for anyone to even consider throwing the civilians out of the City, but for the Eliksni, that threat seems to loom always. Public opinion of them is frightfully low, and even if they have a good deal of important people on their side, if the Vanguard allows them to stay without the people’s support, our government will fall to a tyrannical system ruled by the powerful.”
“Both your attacks and threats against the civilians support that tyranny.” The Ghost finished, a tad quieter.
The Guardian let out a loud huff.
“Thanks, Ghost, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” They shot back; their voice laced with bitterness.
“That doesn’t mean you both are in the wrong.” The Ghost cut in, dropping lower to hover in front of them and Crow. He pivoted his shell to look at Crow. “You have to understand where Glint is coming from. Attacking civilians is a bad idea, even if they’re doing something wrong.”
Crow dropped his head. Perhaps he shouldn’t have even brought this all up.
“But,” the Ghost continued, “Glint has to understand that the Eliksni need protecting too, and someone has to do it. Intimidating a few civilians if better than letting the Eliksni die at their hands.”
Crow let out his breath quietly. He felt marginally better at that, but of course not entirely. No amount of Ghost reasoning could make this situation not complicated or horribly politically charged.
“What about me?” The Guardian asked from beside him.
“You need to stick with defensive measures. Anyone else could have likely gotten away with acting as you did, but you’re too large of a name in our situation for your actions to be excusable. If not for you, the Eliksni wouldn’t be in the City in the first place. Now you’ve attacked civilians. It doesn’t bode well, even if you’re doing everything you can to stop the endless night.”
Crow set a hand of the Guardian’s shoulder as the truth of the words rang clear.
“Still, I understand why you did it.” The Ghost added. “If I were in your place, I probably would have acted the same way. And you showed an impressive amount of restraint when you were fighting them.”
The Guardian gave a humorless smile, and they raised their hand for their Ghost, who quickly moved to hover in their palm.
“I can speak to Glint if you’d like.” He suggested to Crow. “I find an outside perspective can be incredibly valuable sometimes, but I’d understand if this is something you’d like to keep between the two of you.”
“I’ll speak to him.” Crow answered. “You can speak to him if you’d like, but you don’t have to speak on my behalf.” The Ghost nodded, disappearing from sight in a little flash of light as the Guardian reluctantly rose to their feet.
“Well, I should get some rest. I’ve got a long day of collapsing the vex network ahead of me.” They told Crow, offering him a weak smile. Crow nodded, rising as they headed for the door.
“Guardian,” He said quickly, just as they’d reached the door and stepped through the open doorway. He thought back to what they’d said about understanding the civilian’s fears. “If you ever want to talk about those nightmares…I’m here for you.”
The Guardian’s eyes rested on him for a moment before they nodded. “Thanks, Crow. I’m here for you, too.” They promised, and without another word, they slipped down the hall and left Crow alone in his quarters.
Chapter 3: Last City
Summary:
Guardian and Ghost discuss the state of the Last City and the Light.
Notes:
This probably would fit much better under yesterday's prompt of Guardian and Ghost, but it's too late now. I took some significant style liberties here, but I think it introduced a really interesting element to the story. I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter Text
The Last City is quieter than it has ever been. The Guardian has never seen it like this. The people are being drained by the endless night, that much is clear. Tensions run high, the silence interrupted by shouts or cries, people angry or upset more than they look content or happy. They swear the people look at them differently when they pass now. Instead of representing a shot at their salvation, the sight of their armor now represents something the others can’t have. Only Guardians leave the City anymore. Only Guardians have seen the sun in the long weeks the City has spent shrouded in darkness. Their Light, their Ghost, they tell the people that they possess something the others don’t have, cannot have. The people look upon them with intense envy.
The Guardian tries to stay away from the City proper. If only to keep out of the way of the civilians, to not offer another hardship into their days. They try to stay out of the Eliksni settlement, too. They know their presence brings more fear than reassurance, but to all the Eliksni that venture beyond its battered walls, they offer whatever protection they can provide. The people of the City have never been so vicious. The Eliksni are not the cause of their problems, far from it, but they are unfamiliar, to be feared. They are a prime target for the people’s anger.
Instead, the Guardian lingers on the outskirts of the Eliksni Quarter, tucked within the rubble, they keep watch over the newcomers for hours at a time, just in case another attack is to come. Their eyes drift over the damaged ether tanks and the remains of graffiti from the last attempt.
“This city was built as a monument of hope.” The Guardian breathed to only being close enough to hear them. Their Ghost settled close to their shoulder.
“It was built because we banded together against the forces of Darkness.” They continued. Their Ghost dipped a little lower, brushing against their armored shoulder.
“Back then, the Eliksni were still our enemies.” The Ghost remined quietly. “Distrust often keeps people safe.”
“We cannot end this night without their help.” The Guardian answered. “Our peoples are one in the same. Those seeking shelter from the Darkness under the protection of the Traveler.”
“Under the protection of the Guardians.” The Ghost added.
“Yes. But we would not be able to protect others without the Traveler’s blessing.”
Ghost nodded in acceptance, its eye shifting to survey the camp with its Guardian once more.
“The people must understand they are playing into the Darkness’ grasp.” The Lightbearer murmured, their eyes back on the graffiti once more.
“The people are being drained by this endless night. Perhaps in ways unnatural. I wonder if they might lack proper sight because of this.” A beam of the Ghost’s assessing gaze swept over the false night surrounding them. Even without the simulation it would be dark. The clocks that now served as the only thing maintaining some semblance of order within the City read just after two o’clock.
“Distrust often keeps people safe.” The machine repeated quietly.
“Indeed.” The Guardian murmured. Having their gun ready, falling back on old prejudices had saved their life more times than they could count. Their trigger finger still itched when the Eliksni would surprise them throughout the City or the Tower, old fear motivating them more than anything else. It was difficult to let go of.
“Perhaps the Vex’s goal is not to evolve the simulation. Perhaps they only seek to take us down from the inside out.” The Guardian reached out to the night, as though they might touch the threads of technology holding the darkness in place over the city.
“There have been rumors of a House Salvation spy hidden within the House of Light.” The Ghost’s voice was soft, in volume and in tone.
“Even House Salvation would never ally with the Vex.” The Guardian answered, their voice bearing firm conviction.
“No.” The Ghost confirmed. “But they may be…capitalizing on an opportunity. Despite the loss of Eramis and her inner circle, the House remains strong. They desire revenge.”
“They should take such issues up with me. Not the City.” Anger bled into the Lightbearer’s tone.
“They do not bind themselves to an honorable approach. We must ask Mithrax to be cautious.” The Ghost asserted. The Guardian eyed them sideways.
“How does one differentiate between a deserter and a loyalist if they wear the same clothing?”
“How does one tell a wolf from a sheep?” The Ghost’s gaze remained fixed on the settlement. “The wolf bites where the sheep will flee.”
“Even sheep will protect themselves if need be.” The Guardian’s tone chided. “Prey animals often have the most dangerous kicks. We will not attack our guests. Even if House Salvation will abuse such kindness.”
The Ghost let the silence settle between the two of them, sinking a little lower beside their Guardian.
“The lanyards the Eliksni wear to gain access to the Tower say ‘temporary.’” The machine said after a long moment.
“This is a transitional time.” The Guardian reasoned.
“Perhaps.” Came the reply. “But will we ever be trusting enough of the Eliksni to allow them into our military operations?”
“We already have.” The Guardian reminded. Mithrax was holding a more important role in the current military operation than even Commander Zavala. “But we do not allow the Lightless to serve in the same way as the Guardians. The Eliksni would be under our protection. Their aid in any conflict would have to be voluntary, and even then, there would be restrictions enacted for their safety.”
“Do you truly believe such things?”
“I do.”
“Then you are more idealistic than most. Though, I cannot understand why.”
The Guardian eyed their Ghost a second time.
“Why is that?” They asked, almost cautious.
“I have seen all the times you have been butchered at Eliksni hands. We cannot treat them all the same way, but I believe you are overcoming a great deal of traumatic experiences in a remarkably short time.” The little Light did not look towards their charge.
“You believe I am lying to them? That my acceptance and well-meaning is false?”
“I know the nightmares have been getting worse.”
The Lightbearer’s eyes left their Ghost as they drew in a breath. There was great truth in the words.
“These Eliksni have given me no reason to fear them.” They answered after an incriminating pause.
“And yet it was Mithrax’s hand that held your throat last night.” The Ghost recalled the details of the most recent dream. It was not the worst event they could have mentioned. Still, the Guardian shuddered.
“The mind is a powerful thing.” They managed weakly. They had not stepped within ten feet of the Kell in days.
“Indeed.” The Ghost agreed.
“I will not allow my fears to taint my view of reality.” The Guardian asserted.
“Then you are braver than most.” The Ghost responded. “You would still be wise to learn from them. If the battlefield has taught you anything, it is that caution can save your life.”
“The battlefield has also taught me that sometimes, when we rely on caution, we fail to save others.” The Lightbearer’s words were sharp. “I will not value my own life above others.”
“So you would have Mithrax destroy you while he lived on?”
“It will not come to that. Those fears are irrational. Twisted memories of enemies past. Nothing more.”
“The Traveler has sent you visions before.”
“You insult me by insinuating that I cannot tell the difference between vision and nightmare.”
“Perhaps there is no difference.”
“Your fears dominate you.”
“My fears have kept me safe.”
“There is no growth without discomfort.” The Guardian reminded, drawing a deep breath into their lungs, letting the oxygen calm and root them.
“A great deal of discomfort does not lend favorable results. You should know this.”
“I have felt more pain than you ever will.” The Guardian told the Ghost. “I refuse to allow it to hold power over me.”
“Then you are foolish. Your stupidity will be your downfall.” The Ghost’s shell narrowed around its eye. The Guardian smiled.
“Perhaps.”
The Ghost said nothing, and the Guardian sat back against the rubble they had been seated amongst for the past few hours, offering their hand out to their Ghost.
“You don’t expect me to believe that you wish for me to fear these Eliksni? That I should be hostile towards them?” They asked the little Light as it came to hover in their palm. “I would sooner rip my own Light out and leap from the Tower’s courtyard than join Lakshmi and her band of sycophants.”
The Ghost’s shell shifted into what the Guardian knew to be a frown. “The city is not what it used to be.” They told their charge. “I only advise caution. I believe these Eliksni’s intentions to be true, but your fears are still valid, and they come from a very real place.”
The Guardian smiled softly. “I appreciate the concern, Ghost. Thank you.”
The Ghost nodded. “The next time you have nightmare, instead of trying to ignore it, I think you should examine it, and ponder over what brought it to mind. I don’t believe Mithrax will ever strangle or beat you to death, but there is a reason you fear him doing to.”
“I don’t believe he would, either, but you’re right.” The Guardian admitted. “Perhaps I am not giving my fears the attention they deserve.”
The frown faded from the Ghost’s shell, and they floated just a little higher.
“Thank you, Guardian.”
The Guardian nodded in return before rising to their feet.
“Come on then, it’s late, we should get some rest.”
The Ghost’s gaze lingered over the endless night above them, but they still felt lighter as they followed their Guardian back towards the Tower, shining like a beacon over the City. “Indeed.”
Chapter 4: Living Without the Light
Summary:
Osiris copes with the loss of Sagira.
Notes:
Hi! So I got my 2nd COVID vaccine yesterday and felt really not great today so I dug up an old piece that I never quite finished to use for this prompt and I wrote a little newer piece. First piece is sad, second piece is happy(ish?). Enjoy!
Also! Some important lore for these; the Immolant Pt. 2 lore which is what the first piece is a retelling of, and the Tomb Rider lore which introduces the orange candies (candy corn) with Saint though they're somewhat of a recurring element.
Chapter Text
The High Celebrant’s voice rattles his bones as it echoes within his head.
“Die well, Osiris.” The knight tells him, disappearing from view while Osiris writhes in agony below the sword. The Light tearing out of his skin draws his blood with it, and even as the agony is so much clearer now, he would live in it without question if it meant preventing what he knows comes next.
He shuts his eyes tight trying to block out the sensations. He breathes deep, trying to remind himself that he’s already experienced this before. Many times before.
But the dream holds him fast, and visions of himself flash through his mind’s eye. A warrior, a watchman, an elder. In one of the visions, he finds happiness and peace. It hurts him even more to see it now, to feel how unattainable it really is. It hurts to see that the conflicts will truly never stop, that as long as he lives he will be fighting wars, on one front or another.
He was not revived to live in peace. He was revived to be an instrument of violence. A protector, yes, but a fighter, always. As much as he is a scholar and a scientist, his life would be obsolete without conflict. Even when he was trying to prevent conflicts he was still doing so through violence. Serving conflict through violence. Xivu Arath knew as much.
His heart breaks to hear Sagira’s whisper again, but it reaches his ears all the same.
“I’m not letting them take you.”
But she should have. Should have let him fall so that she could go on to continue her life, to commune with the Traveler, and then maybe to find another worthy of its gifts, even if it would hurt him to know that she might live at someone else’s side. She should have been the one to survive. She was everything he could never be, everything he isn’t. Where he is cold and bitter, closed off and brutal, she was warm and kind, bright and vibrant. She was inspiring and emboldening, she knew what to say and do, and she was always smarter than he ever gave her credit for, but she never wielded it against him.
It’s a testament to her kindness that he’s around to relive this moment, just as his next words, his utter disregard for hers, serve as a testament to his callousness.
“Give Saint...my private drive.”
Because in his last moments, he wanted Saint to have his poetry, to have some little shred of proof that he was trying again, for them, for him. But since then, he hasn’t tried much at all. He’s stopped writing the poems, he hasn’t read any of Saint’s messages, he’s avoiding him as much as possible because he can’t bear to see him, to look his failures in the eye and recognize that he chose not to be happy. To admit to himself that he saw the future in which he and Saint were happy, and he decided it was unattainable. To look Saint in the eye and tell him that he’s given up.
The agony intensifies, and he feels he’s nearing his last few breaths as he speaks again.
“Sagira. For as many lives as we had...you were always my better.”
“Osiris, why don’t you ever listen to me?”
He listens now, recognizes it as the last time she will ever say his name. He wishes he couldn’t listen, that if she hadn’t spoken the words, then maybe she’d still be around to speak.
He opens his eyes as he voices his confusion, and it hurts worse than the Light hemorrhaging through his skin to see her again, for what he knows is the last time, drifting over him.
“What are y--”
She cuts him off before he can finish, and he wishes she hadn’t. Wishes she’d just let him die there, and he could at least die knowing he saved her.
“Shut up! Listen to my words!”
They drive a dagger into his heart, but he listens.
“There are great things still left for you; don’t lose hope in the darkness.”
But what can he do? He has no hope left. He has no great things waiting for him. He has wars and politics and darkness and death. There is nothing left for him now. He has insured that himself.
“No.” He breathes, but it does nothing to stop her when she splits apart, and her Light burns through all the Darkness in the room, cleansing the room of Xivu Arath’s presence, of the cryptolith and sigil.
Osiris is alone when still warm blood drips down from the sword above his head, drawn to it when his Light was wrapped there. It beads on his forehead, dripping down his face to mingle with his sweat and tears, and Osiris feels the dream finally begin to release its grip.
His face is wet with his tears when he wakes. His whole body trembles as they build to sobs, and he cries so hard he fears he might suffocate with the force of the sobs raking through him. He hopes he will. It’s not the first time he has longed to join Sagira beyond this life, and the pain deep in his chest tells him it won’t be the last.
Osiris could not bear to go with Saint to Prague. He reasons that it is his fear for the City. That should he and Saint leave, something disastrous could befall the City as a result of their negligence. Though they are close enough to the truth for him to hide behind, such reasonings are false. The reality is far harder to face.
To Osiris, Prague seems to exist in a world he can no longer access. A world that was ripped from him when Xivu Arath tore out his Light. In that world, he and Saint are much younger. They stroll through the ruins of the magnificent city with joined hands. Sagira and Geppetto zip through the ruins, racing each other or investigating this ancient ruin or that. Sagira’s shriek of laughter bounces off of ancient stone walls.
To try to go there now would be to acknowledge that pain. He knows it must come eventually, but as well as Osiris can look ahead of the current time and the current time frames for his plans and schemes, doing so for himself and his emotions is difficult. He can barely imagine a time ahead of him when the pain of losing Sagira is no longer a sharp, stabbing, debilitating pain, but rather an ache that comes and goes, one that he does not often remember to feel.
Still, not for the first time, he lets himself feel that pain, taps into it, uses it. Sagira would not want him to wallow in his agony for weeks or months or years. Sagira would want him to be happy, even if it takes him a while to get there. Prague is too large of a step, he knows as much, but he has spent months pushing Saint away, longer even. He’s hidden from his pain for so long he has no idea where to even start.
The idea comes to him late one night, but he rises before he can lose his nerve. It takes him hours to find what he is searching for. The season isn’t right for what he hopes to find, but he eventually makes it to Saint’s door with a bag of triangular orange candies.
His hand shakes when he knocks. It’s a stupid gift, meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Saint had given him so many bags of these candies, and threatened to send more, much to Osiris’ displeasure. There may even be a bag in his ship still, not that he bothered checking. Even his ship serves as a reminder of what he’s lost, though he returns to it out of necessity more often than he would wish.
Saint takes so long to reach the door he almost flees, but the door is drawn open and Osiris is illuminated by the soft purple glow of Saint’s lights. All the words he’d thought of saying vanish from his brain, but the bag of candies is still in his hand.
“Osiris,” Saint murmurs in surprise, though his eyes follow Osiris’s down to the bag he’s currently clutching like a lifeline.
Osiris pushes the bag towards him too roughly. Now, it feels more like a cry for help than anything else. Is that what he had intended?
Saint blinks, but he takes the bag Osiris pushes against his chest and examines it.
What was he doing? What did he hope to achieve from this? If by some measure this is a start, an infinitesimal step forwards, where is he to go from here? What does he expect Saint to do with a bag of candies?
Shame burns though him at the weakness of his effort, but he cannot take anything more. He turns to leave, just as Saint coughs.
“I…cannot eat all of these by myself.” The Titan says, and Osiris watches him, still half facing away. “Perhaps you could come in and help me with them?”
Osiris’ gaze wavers between Saint and the bag of candies in his hand. He recognizes Saint has placed the cards into his hands, recognizes the offer without suffocating expectations. He sees the space Saint has allowed him, and he breathes into it.
“They are terrible candies.” Osiris has never eaten anything more overwhelmingly sweet. Saint cracks a small smile, his lights brightening in the darkness.
“That is why I need your help.” He tells Osiris, and despite himself, despite how long he’s been pushing Saint away, Osiris turns back to face him.
“It would be…rude of me to force you to suffer through them alone.” He manages slowly. Saint nods, watching as Osiris returns to stand before Saint in the doorway. The exo moves back to open the door further.
“Come in.” He tells him gently, and Osiris does.
Chapter 5: Little Joys
Summary:
Crow is worried about the Guardian.
Notes:
Loose follow up to chapter 1.
Chapter Text
In such times of great turmoil, the Guardian knows they must take what happiness they can find. Count their blessings, one might say, look upon the Traveler and remember that they are still breathing, even with the Darkness pressing in on all sides. It is, of course, much easier said than done.
In other circumstances, the alliance with the Eliksni would be something joyful. It is now, but at the same time it is causing the Guardian and the City a great deal more stress than thankfulness. The people of the City have turned ravenous. They are a pack of wolves fighting claw and tooth to defend their own from the threat they feel pressing down on them, only they have yet to recognize that they are targeting the wrong group. Lakshmi-2 directs their attention towards the Eliksni, but the Guardian knows if they put half as much effort into supporting the Eliksni and the Guardians in their fight against the Vex, perhaps they’d be seeing results by now.
Instead, the Vanguard’s attention is torn between dealing with the endless night and keeping their guests from being destroyed at the hands of those they are trying so hard to save. With all of that weighing on the Guardian’s consciousness, little joys are hard to find.
Spending more time with the Eliksni has had a considerable impact on their mentality. Fighting is harder now, even with the vex. The muscle memory that they’ve relied on for years now seems twisted, wrong somehow. They can’t practice Stasis without feeling guilt twist their stomach, even when they know being afraid of the power will only give it greater influence. They’ve never used their Light more carefully. It’s been weeks since they’ve done anything just for the fun of it. Weeks since they’ve played Crucible or Gambit. The stress of the conflict, of the Endless Night weighs on them more than they’d care to admit.
The feelings must be more obvious than they thought, however, because they’re seated in the common area of the quarters within the HELM when Crow finds them, worry pinching his face. They have a set of guns spread across the table before them, laid atop a cloth they’d spread to protect the table below, but they piece the gun they’d been cleaning back together in a matter of seconds when they see his expression.
“What’s wrong?” They ask, rising to their feet, the gun in hand. Anytime anyone finds them recently, it seems another crisis is unfolding. One of the Guardians they worked with on Europa found them the other day to tell them about an Eliksni who’d gotten attacked trying to find his missing brother. The Guardian isn’t sure how many more attacks they can stomach.
“Nothing.” Crow responds quickly, his hands raised and empty. “Everything’s fine. It’s okay.”
His words do little to quell the unease that seems to linger with them everywhere, but the Guardian narrows their eyes, assessing Crow with their gaze before they set the gun back down on the table and return to their seat. Crow takes the seat across from them after a moment’s hesitation.
“Actually, I’m worried about you.” Crow tells them, folding his hands on the table. He watches as they deconstruct the gun again with well-practiced ease.
The Guardian eyes him over their project. The gun is a new one, an auto rifle the Eliksni helped them put together. It’s quickly climbed the ranks to one of their favorites. They’ve already infused it with Light and gotten Banshees help to perfect it. Still, they pull their attention back to Crow’s words. More often than not, the worry is the other way around, with the Guardian concerned about Crow and his wellbeing. Having a dozen some angry Guardians after you whenever you show your face isn’t something that comforts the mind.
“You’re worried about me?” They ask, eyeing him skeptically. “Why?”
If they’ve learned anything over their time being the Traveler’s chosen, it’s that they have to be in top shape all the time. The City needs them, the Vanguard needs them, humanity needs them. They can’t afford to be benched from the conflicts that threaten the system, and they can’t afford to have others concerned about their wellbeing.
“This night is stressing everyone out.” Crow explains. “I’m worried its putting too much pressure on you. I know Lakshmi blames Mithrax for the lack of progress taking down the Vex simulation…but I know you blame yourself. And I know you shouldn’t.”
The Guardian purses their lips, just as their Ghost consciousness butts into theirs long enough to say; he has a point, you know.
They push the Light from their mind. If you want to join the conversation, do it in person. They shoot back, but their Ghost stays tucked away within their Light, and the Guardian is left to face Crow alone.
“Maybe.” They murmur, shaking their head to themself. “I still think there’s more I could be doing.”
Crow frowns at them, “Like what?”
“Running Override missions, or taking down their network from the inside out.” They suggest. “No one else can do it.”
“Mithrax can only sort though so much data at once.” Crow points out. He’s become as familiar with the situation as the Guardian is—though not at the Vanguard’s request. Crow is and should still be handling his own Vanguard tasks, but the Guardian has made him aware of the situation as best they can. They have a bad feeling in their stomach that his expertise with the Eliksni will be sorely needed sometime sooner or later.
“Then I could help him sort through that, too.” The Guardian suggests, never mind the fact that they probably wouldn’t know up from down when dealing with Vex data.
“And then what? You’d work until you drop?” Crow questions. “You need rest, Guardian. Time off. You can’t keep working at this pace. You’ll burn out.”
“I don’t have the luxury of time off.” The Guardian points out, anger bleeding into their tone. The only reason they’re here now is because Mithrax is too busy to see them through the Vex network. “The City will destroy itself while I’m lounging around and it will be my fault. We might already be too late at this rate.”
“You’re doing everything you can.” Crow presses, even as he’s recoiling from their tone.
The Guardian can’t help it as they drop the piece of the gun on the table and gesture towards the city beyond the windows.
“Look around you, Crow. It’s still not good enough! I’m not good enough.” They brace their hands on the table. “There has to be more I can do.”
Crow leans back in his chair, arms crossed as he watches them. “Where’s Mithrax?” He asks after a long moment. The Guardian lets out a huff, retuning to cleaning their gun.
“I don’t know. Resting. Taking care of his people.” They respond, their tone sharp.
“When’s the last time you’ve gotten any rest?” Crow asks, and the Guardian rolls their eyes in annoyance.
“That’s not what this is about.” They tell him, pointedly ignoring his gaze as they focus on their gun.
“It’s not a hard question to answer.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does.”
The Guardian closes their eyes, leaning back in their own chair and drawing in a deep breath.
“You told me you’ve been having nightmares.” Crow says, his voice softer now. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”
They shake their head, but they still can’t meet his gaze. “I sleep on my ship. In between missions.”
Crow frowns. “That’s not a lot of downtime.” He points out.
“It’s enough.” Crow opens his mouth to speak but the Guardian meets his gaze before he can. “The nightmares don’t help anything, but I’m worried if I waste time sleeping, something bad will happen, something I could have prevented.”
“You won’t be able to prevent anything if you don’t take care of yourself.” Crow points out.
“I’ll manage just fine. It’s not me I’m worried about.”
“Well, someone has to.” Crow mutters, almost too quiet to hear. He gets to his feet quickly, rounding the table and offering his hand to the Guardian. “Come with me.”
“Where?” The Guardian asks, even as they set their gun down and take his hand, letting him pull them to their feet.
“To your quarters. You need rest.”
“I don’t-“
Crow’s frown quiets them quickly enough.
“Humor me?” He asks, his tone still bearing an edge of sharpness. The Guardian relents with a sigh.
“Fine.” They murmurer, and Crow’s relief is clear in his sigh as he leads them away.
Crow guides them down familiar hallways and corridors until they reach the set of quarters within the HELM, steering the Guardian into their own, he pauses at the door, but the Guardian holds his hand tight.
“Stay.” They breathe. “Please.”
They watch Crows eyes flicker over them before he nods, following them inside silently. His hands are gentle when he helps them out of their armor, and they collapse into the Guardians bed with little preamble. The stress of the Endless Night weighs heavy on them all, but tucked within Crow’s arms, the Guardian finds a little joy still exists as well.
Chapter 6: Black and White
Summary:
Crow and Saint talk about birds.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Why are they colored like this?”
“Hmm?” Saint looked up from where he’d been checking over his data screens, ensuring the simulations that would run the trials were in their proper order for the matches to come that weekend. Crow, crouched on the ground nearby, looked up at him from within a circle of pigeons
“The birds. Why are they colored like this?” He delicately ran a finger over the wing of one of the birds at his feet the way Saint had shown him.
“You mean the gray?” Saint asked, setting aside the tablet in his hand and bending down to gently scoop a pigeon into his hands. “Or the colors on their necks?”
Crow frowned at the birds around him, studying them for a moment. “Both I guess.” He said at last. “I was expecting them to be more…white. I’ve seen birds like this in the EDZ, but they were white.”
Saint hummed thoughtfully. Despite being named after a bird himself, Crow still had much to learn about the species. Saint was always happy to offer up what knowledge he could, of course.
“Those birds were likely doves,” he told Crow, gently stroking the pigeon in his palm while he moved to stand beside Crow, now distributing birdseed to the pigeons around him. “These are pigeons, they are of the same family, but different.”
“What do you mean the same family?” Crow asked. Saint could see the confusion, having already pointed out to Crow which pigeons were of what family, which birds had come to him with their young in tow during the springtime.
“Family like group, not blood related but close in breed. Pigeons are within the dove family, they bear similar features, like head shape, or the size of their bodies.” Saint explained carefully, “The birds you saw before looked more like this, no?”
He crouched down to set the bird he’d been holding back onto the floor, moving to point to one of the more distinct pigeons, colored white with little flecks of brown across its body. Crow followed his gaze and nodded.
“Is that one a dove?” He asked, carefully moving to sit down on the hangar floor, taking a handful of bird seed and letting the pigeons pick it out of his hand.
“Perhaps.” Saint said, returning to standing once more, though he was careful not to catch any pigeons underfoot. “Though likely it is just another pigeon with a mutation or special trait to give it its coloring.”
Crow hummed in understanding, his eyes still down on the birds around him. Saint watched him laugh as a few of the birds leapt onto his arm and shoulders to get closer to the birdseed in his palm. When they began to swarm a little more fervently, Saint reached into the bag of seed to take a handful, spreading it off to the side of Crow to lessen the hoard. Crow gently guided one of the birds down from the perch it had taken atop his head.
“What about crows?” He asked after a moment, looking up at Saint in a way he would almost call sheepish.
“You’ve never seen one?” The Titan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I don’t know. I can’t seem to remember seeing one.” Crow answered, his shoulders hunching a little as though he were retreating beneath his cloak. “I know they’re black.” He offered after a moment.
“You might have seen them in the dead zone before.” Saint told him, “They are bigger than pigeons, feistier, too. They make a great squawking noise, nothing like the pigeon.”
“Really?” Crow asked, turning to look up at Saint. The pigeons had already picked his palm clean of birdseed.
“Yes.” Saint confirmed. “They are very smart birds. Always getting into trouble, like someone I know.” He grinned down at Crow, who smiled, lowering his chin in the same sheepish way. “They gave us all kinds of trouble when we were establishing the City. They would always steal our food. They learned what the containers looked like and would steal them to get the food inside.”
“Wow.” Crow murmured, and Saint smiled.
“Yes. Some say they are the smartest bird. I believe there are some in the City as well, I will have to point them out to you.” He told Crow, who hummed in agreement.
“Do you think crows are sacred to the Traveler?” He asked, carefully lifting a pigeon that had climbed onto his lap. “When the Guardian and I forged Hawkmoon, the Traveler appeared to us as a hawk, but do you think crows could be sacred to it as well?”
Saint pondered this for a moment. It was true that he’d seen the repeating element of birds around the Tower, between his gray pigeon, Osiris as the phoenix, the various guns named after birds, and now Crow. The repetition certainly deserved attention.
“The Guardian tells me they were saved during the Red War by Hawthorne’s falcon.” Saint told Crow after a moment. “They believe it was the will of the Traveler that brought the bird to find them. And the Traveler protects the pigeons here in the city just as it protects the people. I suppose it could be possible that all birds are sacred to it.”
“You think so?” Crow asked, sitting up a little straighter to look at Saint. His tone seemed so…hopeful, it was almost worrying.
“I do not see why not.” Saint answered, then stepped close enough to reach down and set a hand on Crow’s shoulder. “Crow, Spider may have been the one to name you, but you are the one who makes the name yours. Spider no longer matters. You are Crow, not because Spider told you so, but because the name belongs to you now. Understand?”
Crow nodded, and Saint could see in his eyes that he understood. “Yes. Thank you, Saint.”
Saint nodded back, squeezing Crow’s shoulder before releasing him and standing upright once more.
“If all birds are sacred to the Traveler, you have a leg up on Osiris.” He told Crow.
“Why is that?”
“Because the phoenix is not a real bird.”
Crow frowned in consideration. “Maybe that just means Osiris is the only one. Which makes him all the more special.”
Saint looked down at Crow with a smile. “I like the way you think, little bird.”
Notes:
If there's a lore tab or something that mentions Crow seeing a crow please yell at me about it in the comments. No I did not do my bird research.
Chapter 7: In the Vanguard
Summary:
Ikora and Zavala discuss Lakshmi and the threat to the Eliksni.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ikora’s blood was boiling. Anger thrummed through her very bones, her Light a wreathing fire within her as she stormed towards the Tower hangar, where she would finally have a much-needed discussion with Lakshmi-2. She never should have delayed this long. Lakshmi had been stoking the fire of the people’s anger towards the Eliksni. Now, the Eliksni had been burned, and Ikora could only think of Lakshmi to blame.
Fury coursed through her anew as she thought back to the event, seeing the damage that had been, the destroyed ether tanks, the tattered house barrier. The civilians had made it clear that they didn’t welcome the Eliksni within the city. Radicals, she told herself, those were the actions of a few radical civilians, they didn’t represent the most held opinion, even if their actions spoke the loudest. Still, a frightful number of civilians had taken up arms in Lakshmi’s name. If she wasn’t stopped, it would only be a matter of time before they took more drastic actions.
“Ikora!”
She paused, the voice pulling her out of her thoughts as she stopped. To her right, Zavala hurried towards her from his post, catching her in the center of the courtyard, just below the ramp that led up to the open space where the Guardians transmatted in.
“Ikora,” he said again when he reached her. “You were going to speak to Lakshmi?”
Ikora nodded. “Her broadcasts have gone on long enough.” She studied Zavala carefully, though her anger still roared at the back of her mind. His face was pinched with stress and worry—not surprising, it seemed to always be that way these days—but there was something about it that caught her off guard. It almost seemed to be directed towards something current, towards her.
“I agree.” Zavala said, “But, before you go, may I have a word?” He gestured a hand towards the bazaar, back the way Ikora had come.
She opened her mouth to refuse, but Zavala spoke up quickly.
“The Guardian just contacted me. I’m afraid it’s important.”
More important than stopping Lakshmi from destroying the city from the inside? She didn’t ask, Zavala looked worried enough. She would hear him out.
“Alright.” She said with a nod. “Your office?” Zavala nodded in confirmation, and she fell into step beside him as they headed towards the catwalk that bridged the gap between the courtyard and the hallway that led towards the bazaar.
What could the Guardian have reported? She’d just seen them not long ago, had sent them down to the Eliksni quarter to aid and calm the Eliksni. Had something gone wrong? Zavala would have immediately contacted her Ghost if something important had happened, rather than waiting to contact her in person, but if it was confidential enough that they had to discuss the topic in Zavala’s office, it must be important.
They took the elevator down to the lower catwalk, rather than taking the winding path of staircases down to reach the office. Ikora let the sound of the fountain in the hallway relax her as she followed Zavala into the office, stepping further in as he shut the door behind them.
“What did the Guardian contact you about?” She asked him as he descended the steps to the center of the office, where she stood.
“The Guardian is concerned about our dealings with Lakshmi.” The Titan explained, and Ikora frowned.
“In what way?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Apparently Lakshmi sent out a message to the city about how we—you—have been withholding information from the people of the city. She insinuated that the House of Light and the House of Salvation were members of the same group, cohorts, and told civilians that you had allowed the Eliksni into the city despite this information.” Zavala explained, and Ikora pursed her lips. The oversimplification of the complex situation that had occurred on Europa would only cause more fear within the city.
“All the more reason to deal with Lakshmi now.” She told Zavala. She’d heard most, if not all of Lakshmi’s broadcasts. All stoked the same fire. Why would Zavala stop her to tell her this information?
“She suggests our leadership strays from the will of the people. That we have abandoned the consensus in favor of holding control as tyrants.” Ikora’s anger swelled once more. “The Guardian told me they don’t agree with those statements.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t expect them to.” Ikora turned to face him fully. What was he getting at?
“They also expressed their…concerns about something you had said.” She felt her brows furrow as she waited for him to go on. “Apparently when you told them you were going to speak to Lakshmi, they felt like it sounded as though you were going to ‘shut her up.’” Zavala explained. “They’re worried if we respond too harshly to these messages, we will become what Lakshmi has accused us of being.”
Anger roared in Ikora’s head once more, and she had to physically reign in a scowl.
“If we do not respond strongly to these messages, we will allow the House of Light to be destroyed.” She retorted.
“I agree. But the Guardian makes an important point. If we become the tyrants Lakshmi makes us out to be, there will be no one left to support the Eliksni. We will effectively carve a rift between guardians and all those we have sworn to protect.”
Ikora let out a huff of breath, turning away from him sharply. She faced the windows, staring out towards the city and the endless night hovering above.
“What do you suggest we do?” She asked her fellow vanguard, refusing to turn to face him.
“Perhaps there is a compromise we could reach. Or a way to show the civilians that the Eliksni are not to be feared.” He suggested, and she furrowed her brows in frustration.
“Half measures will get us nowhere, Zavala.” She told him. “If we compromise, we admit Lakshmi’s fearmongering has merit.”
“The people of the city deserve to be heard. Lakshmi must be allowed to speak, regardless of what she says.” Zavala’s voice had shifted, almost as though he was pleading with her. She didn’t realize how much her Light was roiling until she felt his, calm and steady. “If we silence the voices of those who speak against us, we are nothing better than the warlords of old.”
She turned back to face him, her anger deflating to frustration. “You cannot expect me to accept a compromise with Lakshmi, not after everything her words have caused.”
“If I knew of another way, I would suggest it.” Zavala told her. “I’m sorry, Ikora.”
She closed her eyes, letting out a long, quiet sigh.
“Speak to Mithrax. He must know we still support the House of Light, regardless of what Lakshmi or the people of the city do. Tell Lakshmi to stop inciting conflict. Perhaps you can reason with her, show her this conflict from our point of view.”
“We will never end this night without Mithrax’s help. And we cannot have our city divided for the storm that is to come next.” She sent Zavala a knowing look, and he nodded at the unspoken words, the threat they both knew to be looming on the horizon. Savathun would not wait for their city to piece itself together once more. Ikora only prayed they’d be ready by the time she struck.
Notes:
Anybody else get some uh-oh vibes when Ikora told us she was going to go deal with Lakshmi? I hate to say it, but I see a lot of truth in what she's saying. (but also I love Mithrax so what does she know)
Also thanks Byf, if I wasn't scared about Savathun before I certainly am now :))))
Chapter 8: Say My Name
Summary:
The Guardian and Eido discuss the Eliksni, Guardians, and the Darkness.
Notes:
Forgot I hadn't finished this and then played Destiny for three hours #whoops
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Guardian sat on the ground within the Eliksni quarter, their legs crossed, hands braced on their knees as they stared at the figure seated across from them.
“Try again.” The figure told them, first in English, then again in the Eliksni language. “Try again. Misraaks.”
The Guardian studied the scribe’s mouth as she spoke, not that it was of any use. The Guardian already knew her name well, her namesake being one they were familiar with. Instead, they’d asked her to help them learn the Eliksni language, starting with the proper pronunciation of Mithrax’s name. Misraaks.
“Mees-raks.” The guardian said slowly, and Eido shook her head.
“Misraaks.” She repeated.
“Mesraks.”
“Misraaks.”
“Misraks.”
“No.” Eido leaned back, shaking her head once more. “Misraaks.”
“Mis-raaks?” The Guardian attempted slowly. Eido nodded.
“Better.” She allowed. “Humans often find our language to be difficult.” She told them, “Your mouths are not shaped to make such sounds.”
“But the Awoken have learned your language before, haven’t they?” The Guardian questioned. They’d heard her speak of her time studying with the Awoken. Surely the Awoken must’ve known the Eliksni language in order to teach their own.
“They have. But humans and Awoken always possess an accent when speaking Eliksni, and often fail to properly enunciate certain sounds.” Eido explained, and the Guardian hummed.
“Regardless,” She continued, leaning back on her lower hands, “it is not a language you will be able to learn quickly. It will take time and practice.”
“I know.” They said quietly, slouching over with a sigh. “I just want to get along with your people better. I want to be able to call Mithrax by his real name. …Mesraaks.”
“Misraaks.” Eido corrected.
“Right.” The Guardian sighed again. “Mis-raaks.” They repeated slowly.
“You’ll get there.” Eido promised. The Guardian nodded, trying to believe her words. They’d gone over basic Eliksni before they’d tried learning Mithrax’s name. Misraakskel, the Guardian knew, but they thought they’d start simpler.
“I was a little surprised you agreed to help me.” They told Eido after a long moment of silence.
“I want to help you. My father and I want to see the Eliksni and humanity as allies. Sharing a language is an important step in that process.” She told them, and they nodded.
“I know, I just meant…” They trailed off, looking towards the heart of the settlement, towards the graffiti and the sabotaged ether tanks. “After everything that’s happened to your people…I’m surprised you’re still willing to trust me. Trust humanity.”
The Guardian watched Eido chitter, then sigh, the ether visible on her breath in the low light.
“My father and I have discussed the attack on us by the humans. While Lakshmi refuses to acknowledge any attempt at peace we make, it’s true that the humans have reasons to be afraid of us.” Eido explained. She’d said as much in the messages she’d left them around the camp.
“Sure, but you all have plenty of reason to be afraid of us, too.” They pointed out. “Your father told me what your people think of Saint. I know I haven’t crusaded against them but…I know I’ve killed too many of your people” Their voice grew soft with guilt.
“You spared my father’s life. We are all trying to make amends.”
The Guardian nodded, their eyes down.
“I know, I just…” They shook their head, “I guess I’m not used to this. Your people have been my enemy for years. I…I know trusting you is the right thing to do but…It’s hard sometimes. And it’s hard believing that you all have any reason to trust me.”
“You’ve protected us before.” Eido reminded, “I believe you’ll do it again, regardless of the past.”
The Guardian certainly appreciated the faith, even if it felt unfounded.
“Besides,” Eido continued. “Now, it would seem we have no choice. The attackers robbed us of what little we had”
Something in the Guardian’s eyes guttered.
“I know. I’m sorry.” They couldn’t raise their eyes to meet Eido’s.
“You are not used to being in a position like this.” She observed. They looked up a little at that. “Of powerlessness.”
“I-“ They cut themself off with a frown. “I guess not. I can only remember my life as a Guardian. In that time, when something big happens, the Vanguard sends me to deal with it. City politics has never been my place, so I’ve never gotten involved in it before. Still, knowing you and your people are in danger and not being able to fight back against it…hurts.”
Eido hummed, nodding at their words.
“What’s worse is that all of this plays into the Vex’s hands. And…whoever’s controlling them.” The Guardian had heard Savathun’s song plenty of times before, but ever since Lakshmi had sang it to them, they hadn’t been able to get it out of their head. To know it was infesting the city at this scale was chilling. Nauseating.
“Yes.” Eido agreed. “I have heard of the witch queen throughout my studies. If she truly is the one controlling the Vex, we will not survive her assault as a divided, infighting people.”
“We might not survive even if she doesn’t attack.”
“The Light will provide.” Eido told them, then eyed them sideways. “Though it would seem you’ve already begun amassing other types of weapons, should it fail to do so.”
The Guardian pursed their lips. “I believe in the Light.” They told Eido. “In the Traveler, but…I can’t deny Stasis is effective. And being afraid of the power will only cause it to overwhelm us. If we can understand it, we can use it to our advantage.”
“What is it that you Guardians say? Another weapon of some sort?”
“Darkness is just another weapon, what matters is how you use it.” The Guardian filled in. “We have people that are policing the use of Stasis. Guardians that hunt down those who’ve been corrupted by the Darkness.”
“A Guardian hunting other Guardians?” Eido asked, “That sounds like a terrible mission.”
The Guardian nodded. “It must be. But the woman whose doing it is strong. Aunor Mahal, a Warlock of the Praxic Order.”
“Only one woman for all the Guardians that have been corrupted?” Eido questioned, frowning.
“I don’t think anyone anticipated too many Guardians falling to the Darkness.” The Guardian answered, trying not to be too defensive. “But as far as I know, it’s just her. It’s a tight knit operation, after all.”
Eido hummed. “I suppose so.” She pushed off her lower hands to sit up straight. “And you truly believe Stasis to be worth the cost?”
The Guardian let out their breath. “I didn’t at first.” They told Eido. “I thought it was too risky, I was afraid of what it could do to me and those around me. But when I tried to fight Eramis and her forces without it—trying to fight anyone using Stasis without it—it’s just too much. It’s overpowering. I would have needed a whole team of Guardians to do what I could have done on my own. If we could afford that, then maybe it wouldn’t be worth it, but until we find another way to be stronger than our enemies, Stasis will have to do.”
“So you believe Eramis is to blame?” The Guardian frowned at Eido.
“No. Eramis was the reason I took on Stasis when I did, but if she hadn’t been the one to utilize it, someone else would have, and we’d have wound up here eventually.” They reasoned, and Eido sat back, satisfied. “I know many in your house feel that we’re betraying the Light by wielding Darkness, but what are your thoughts on it? As a scribe, you seem to have a different perspective on a lot of things.”
Eido considered for a moment, lifting her gaze to the Traveler looming above. It was just as breathtaking as it had been when she’d first seen it, the City’s massive protector. It was the Traveler’s will that her people had come to be here.
“I’m not sure.” She answered at last. “You cast aside the Light by wielding the Darkness, yet you protect the Traveler and the City when you use it against the enemies of the Light. Guardians have even used it to protect my people, but at the same time you use it to slaughter one another. It is…. complicated.” She decided. The Guardian chuckled humorlessly.
“Everything is complicated these days.” They murmured.
“These are trying times.” Eido replied. The Guardian smiled without warmth.
“And the end is nowhere in sight.”
Notes:
If any of the Savathun stuff doesn't make sense, I highly recommend checking out My name is Byf on youtube!
Chapter 9: Legacy of the Golden Age
Summary:
The Guardian and Elizabeth Bray get trapped in a storm on Europa
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Europa is a place of nightmares. The white, barren wasteland burns the color from their vision. The cold infects their body, first their fingers and toes, then the rest of their limbs, creeping up until they collapse and freeze to death, over and over again. Stasis is a nightmare on its own. The power fills them with cold. It offers no solace or reprieve to the icy wasteland surrounding them, it only speeds up the process as they freeze, ice taking root in their core just as it does in their hands.
They’re on the brink of death—again, how many times has it been, now? —when footsteps sound nearby, and they peel open eyes that feel frozen shut as a figure pushes through the storm that seems to have been following them for hours. A firm hand shoves them onto their back, and their eyes open to slits as blinding blue light glares at them through the darkness. The figure says something before the world lurches around them and suddenly they’re hanging off of a hard metal frame, draped over the figure’s shoulder. The storm pelts them even harder higher up, and they shut their eyes once more. They don’t even realize they’ve been saved before consciousness fades again.
The first thing they notice when they wake is warmth. A splitting headache, too, but warmth. There are soft weights on their chest, in between their legs, under their arms, all emanating warmth, and what feels like a heavy pile of blankets atop that. Their eyes won’t open, but they know the air around them is warm, too. And not nearly so dark from the storm. Shelter. They must’ve been brought to shelter. But where?
When they finally peel open their eyes, bright, warm light meets them, and they find their eyes immediately shutting against it. It takes what feels like hours to adjust them to the light of the room, even if it’s only been moments. When they do, they roll their head to the side enough to make out an exo seated by their bedside. Elizabeth Bray, they recognize her quickly, how did she find them?
“It’s good to see you awake, Guardian.” She tells them, standing and walking over to a table in the center of the large room that is her camp. She picks up what looks like a tea kettle and pours hot water into a mug.
“Where’s your Ghost?” She asks when she returns to their side. “I haven’t seen him since I found you.”
She sets the mug aside and reaches down to help the Guardian sit up, guiding them to rest their back against the padded wall of the bunk. When she’s confident they won’t fall over, she picks up the mug and sets it in their hands.
“I-“ The Guardian swallows, their attempt at speech no more than a rasp. Their mouth is so dry. They lift the mug to their lips with shaky hands, grateful to find the tea within is just cool enough to not burn as they take a sip.
“I sent him to get help.” They explain once they lower the mug. They try to reach out with their Light, but the distance between them makes the bond difficult to access, and they’re already so weak.
“I’ll see if I can get a message to him through the radio.” Elizabeth tells them, and they nod in thanks. “What were you doing out there in the first place? How did you get stuck in the storm?”
“Fighting House Salvation,” they explain, their voice still raspy, “Helmet broke, the storm came, Ghost couldn’t get any signals through it. I tried to get out of it on foot but I—” They took another sip from the tea mug. “Froze to death. I sent Ghost to get help.”
Elizabeth nodded. “The storms are sudden on Europa.” She agreed. “This one was worse than most.”
“How did you find me?” The Guardian asked, reaching a hand down to adjust the various heading pads across their body.
“I picked up an anomaly on my scans, repeated signatures of Light at nearly the exact same coordinates. I assume it was the signatures left behind from your resurrections. I went to investigate and I found you.” She explained.
The Guardian watched as she rose from her seat once more and moved to where the radio sat against one wall. They watched her adjust it for a few moments.
“Thank you for saving me.” They told her quietly. “I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”
“Freeze to death, I assume. Your Ghost would’ve found your body and resurrected you after the storm. But I assumed that to be a rather unfavorable alternative.” She said, and the Guardian nodded.
“Yeah. Unfavorable.” Of all the deaths they’d lived through, freezing to death ranked fairly high as one of the worst.
“I can’t get a clear signal on the radio from in here. I’m going to go outside and see if it gets any better.” Elizabeth said, turning back to look at them as the hefted the large radio. “Try to get some rest. It might take me a while to get through to him.”
The Guardian watched her go, holding their tea mug in their hands, letting the warmth soak into their fingers. Despite the warmth around them, the heating pads warming their blood, they could still feel the phantom chill of the ice. How their face wasn’t frostbitten, they had no idea. Perhaps Elizabeth hadn’t found them too long after their last resurrection, or perhaps some Light lingered with them still, healed them even with their Ghost away. They prayed he was alright. He had to be alright.
They didn’t have the strength to finish their tea. Instead, they set the mug aside with shaky hands and slid back down into the bed. They tucked the heating pads against themself once more, placing them on the largest veins, as Elizabeth had, and nestled under the blankets. Sleep was quick to find them.
When they awoke again, their headache was gone. Only to be replaced by a physical pain when something hard smacked into their forehead.
“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” A familiar voice fretted. “Sorry, that was too hard, I’m just so glad to see you! When I couldn’t find you, I got so worried, I thought maybe Eramis and her forces had kidnapped you or maybe the Clovis Bray AI got…”
The Guardian could barely hear the words as the Ghost prattled on, instead, they focused on opening their eyes, taking in the room around them and the Ghost hovering just inches from their forehead. Their Ghost.
“It’s good to see you too, Ghost.” They reached out to gently take the Ghost in their palm, the little machine floating down to rest in their hand, its shell shifted into what they knew to be a smile. A healing glow took over the Guardian and they sighed into it.
A gentle, false cough cut in a moment later.
“As nice as this reunion is, we still have the storm to worry about. It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.” Elizabeth told them. When the Guardian looked up, she was standing in front of the doors to the camp, the panels locked shut. “And it’s getting worse.”
“Well…couldn’t we just transmatt out?” They asked. “We could go to my ship, wait out the storm.”
“I still can’t get any signals through.” The Ghost explained. “I went to Elizabeth for help but found her campsite empty, then I went back through the storm to where you were. When I didn’t find you there, I went to Variks, and then I came back here and found you.”
“Do you think the camp won’t hold?” The Guardian glanced at the inner walls of the shelter. It might have been lightweight, but it looked sturdy enough.
“No, it’ll hold. The generator is about to run out of fuel.” The Guardian frowned. “Without the generator, we won’t have heat.”
“I might be able to hold us over with solar light until we can get more fuel.” The Guardian suggested. “Or we could try to walk to Variks.”
“After what happened to you the last time you went out there?” Elizabeth questioned. “Absolutely not. How much Light do you have left anyways? You must need to rest at some point.”
Their Ghost butted against their consciousness as if to express their concern as well, and the Guardian frowned.
“We’ll wait it out. The blankets will keep you warm enough for now, and I have enough supplies to last us a few days.” The exo continued, just as the lights flickered out.
She walked to the doors once more to peer out them. The world beyond was a sheen of white.
“Settle in. It looks like we’ll be here a while.”
Notes:
I planned on using this to talk about exos and such and thus acknowledge the prompt but I really burnt out at the end of it. oops.
Chapter 10: A Long Shadow
Summary:
Saint and the Guardian discuss the Darkness and the Light.
Notes:
The 2018 destcember prompt for today was dumb (it was They See Me Rollin, sorry, it's dumb) so I'm swapping it out with a different one from the 2019 list.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Lakshmi will continue to tell the civilians of the City that there has been no progress against the Endless Night. She is wrong.”
The Guardian looked up from where they were seated on the hangar floor, carefully petting the pigeons spread out at Saint’s feet. The Titan was dusting the birdseed from his hands, then set them on his hips and fixed his gaze on the Guardian below.
“You must not trouble yourself with her lies.” He told them, and the Guardian tried to rid the worry from their features—though they didn’t succeed whatsoever.
They’d started coming to Saint since Mithrax had shared the story of how the Eliksni viewed Saint. They discussed the Eliksni, the endless night, the tensions within the City. The Guardian had even gone so far as to try to explain what Mithrax was teaching them in their splicer training, a task probably better left to Osiris, given the plethora of vex technology they hardly understood.
“I can’t help it. It feels like she’s right. What progress have we even made?” The Guardian gestured to the false night around them, still as present as ever. The people of the City had been suffering through this for weeks. The weight it was putting on everyone was immense. It was a wonder all the civilians were still capable of working.
“Look around you.” Saint gestured to the open space above them. “The simulation is fraying. Unravelling like piece of cloth.” He pointed to the little threads of vex technology visible in the sky. It was true that the simulation had been subtler weeks ago.
“But no results. The simulation is still draining the City’s energy. And the people.” They pointed out; their face still contorted in worry.
Over half of the city was having trouble sleeping. There had been plans to try to run a large amount of the city’s lights during what would have been daylight hours, and reduce to minimal lighting during night hours, but they hardly had the energy to keep on essential lighting half the time. There wasn’t nearly enough to simulate day time.
“Perhaps. But we must take our victories where we can.” Saint told them, and they nodded to themself. “Osiris and Mithrax are already looking for the mind responsible for the simulation. It will only be a matter of time before they find it.”
“But what if it’s not a vex mind at all?” The Guardian worried. “What if I can’t defeat it? What if it’s too strong? What if Savathun really is behind all of this?”
They drew their knees up to their chest, wrapping their arms around their legs as they curled in on themself. They could feel their worries spiraling, but it was hard not to listen. It was hard not to think of that song all the civilians were singing now. How had the chant spread so far? How could it have gotten into the city if not for Savathun’s influence? What would happen when she finally called upon it? How could they defeat a threat so large?
“Guardian.” They flinched when Saint’s hand landed on their shoulder. He’d come to kneel beside them while they’d been lost in their own head, and he gripped their shoulder tightly, forcing them to focus on him.
“We have allies now. The Eliksni are here to help us.” He reminded. “Mithrax and his splicers will help you end this night, and if the threat becomes too much for you to face, you have the strength of all the Guardians at your back.”
The Guardian forced in a deep breath, forced themselves to listen to his words, to hear them for all they were and recognize the truth within.
“Nothing has ever truly defeated the Light.” Saint told them quietly. “The Guardians are strong. You are strong. We will survive this, I know it.”
“Even if it’s Savathun?” The Guardian asked, their voice soft, tentative.
“Remind me, what is it that Mithrax says about the Light?” Saint asked instead. The Guardian lowered their head.
“The Light will provide.” They recalled quietly. Did it make them unfaithful not to believe in it? Mithrax hadn’t felt the Red War the way they had. He hadn’t felt the Light ripped from their very being like they were being carved in two. But he also hadn’t seen the Light unleash itself on Ghaul during what could have been the Guardian’s final hour. Perhaps they were wrong to question it, but how could they know whether or not the Traveler could hold up to the witch queen’s attacks?
“The Speakers used to preach that the Traveler would leave us.” They said after a long moment. “Did he ever tell you about that? It’s one of their tenants. The Traveler is a force of benevolence. The Traveler is a sentient being with free will, hopes and fears. The Traveler will save us. The Traveler will leave us.” They recited the tenants, their eyes down on the birds still milling around them.
“The Speakers stopped preaching the last tenant because it frightened the people. I think the fallout will be worse when it does leave, now that people aren’t expecting it.” They murmured. Saint shook his head.
“The Traveler will not leave us. The Traveler chose us.” Saint declared. The Guardian frowned at him.
“Wasn’t the Speaker your father? Do you not believe him?” They questioned. Saint dropped his hand from their shoulder.
“He did not preach such ideas.”
“But he must have believed it. All the other speakers did.”
“He believed the final tenant predicted the collapse. That it was misinterpreted.”
“The tenant didn’t decree that the Traveler would leave and return. We have to assume the Traveler just hasn’t left us yet.”
“The Traveler will not leave us.” Saint said again. The Guardian sighed quietly.
“My point is, what if the Light doesn’t provide? The Eliksni believe so strongly that the Light will provide, but the Traveler abandoned them to die, and there have been times when the Light was not strong enough to fight the battles we needed it to before.” The chewed their lip. “I’m just saying, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if we prepared and relied on more than just the Light.”
As they spoke, Saint got to his feet and began to pace. The Guardian watched him.
“You sound no better than those who have been corrupted by the Darkness.” He told them, though he did not meet their gaze. The Guardian pushed themself to their feet, throwing their arms wide.
“Would you rather we all die?” They demanded sharply.
“If the Traveler decides it is my time to die, I will go willingly.” Saint told them. “If the Traveler decides I must continue living, I will do so.”
“And what about the people of the City? They don’t get a choice.”
Saint opened his mouth to reply when hurried footsteps sounded nearby, and Osiris strode up to them, looking worried. The Guardian hadn’t even heard his approach across the near empty hangar.
“What’s going on here?” He questioned, his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the two Guardians critically.
It was Saint who answered, the Guardian turning around as they pressed their palms to their eyes, a headache beginning to pound behind them.
“We were discussing the Darkness. And the final tenant of the speakers.” He told Osiris. The former Warlock hummed.
“The Traveler will leave us.” He recited. The Guardian peeled a hand off of their eye to look at him.
“I’m worried if Savathun is behind the Endless Night, we may need to be prepared for the possibility that the Light won’t be strong enough to protect us.” They explained. Surely Osiris would understand. He’d been called a heretic in his day for having foresight into the forces that would plague humanity. Forewarned is forearmed, as he would say.
“You need not worry about such possibilities.” He told them. “We are not the Eliksni. The Traveler will do no such thing.”
The Guardian tried to hide their surprise.
“Your worries are getting the better of you. This night has been draining on all of us.” Osiris told them. “You’ve been fighting the Vex all day. You will feel better once you rest.”
The Guardian glanced to Saint before nodding, if only to hide their growing suspicions. Something wasn’t right. If Osiris and Saint couldn’t see it, maybe someone else would.
Notes:
Me: *gets introduced to the Osiris is Savathun in disguise theory*
Me: Thanks, I hate it!
Me: *proceeds to put it in my writing*
Chapter 11: What is Worth Fighting For
Summary:
Scorn attack the Guardian in the Eliksni Quarter.
Notes:
I wasn't able to finish this one yesterday but hopefully I'll be able to post two today so that I'm back on track!
Chapter Text
There are times when being a Guardian doesn’t seem worth it. When the nightmares are all they can think about, and the foes they have to face seem like unconquerable forces. When performing the task they’ve been chosen for feels like they’re throwing themself at death until it sticks. When the Traveler’s blessing feels more like a curse.
There are other times when they know they’d face death more times than they can count for their city. For its people. When they see them hang the flower baskets as summer returns to the city. When their friends take them out dancing on a rare day off. When they see the children laughing in the streets, safe with their families.
Visiting the Eliksni quarter seems to be a mix of both. Mostly, it’s the latter. Seeing the Eliksni as allies is arguably one of the most fulfilling things they’ve contributed to in their time as a Guardian. It’s a little surprising, given the plethora of incredibly dangerous enemies they’ve killed—Hive gods, hive kings, Cabal leaders and champions, SIVA monstrosities, the list goes on—but a step towards peace is something that settles their heart. It says, maybe I am good at more than just killing.
But other days aren’t so lucky. Some days, the Eliksni quarter is a place of nightmares, where it isn’t the House of Light that lives within the City’s walls, but the old houses, the houses that the Guardian has fought with since their rebirth. Some days, Mithrax is the old archon they killed to get their first jump ship in order to reach the last city. Other days, they wander through the quarter and think they see Eramis or her inner circle. Sometimes they see the Devil splicers. Other times, the Eliksni twist into the scarred, twisted forms of Scorn, and they run at the Guardian and remind them of all they’ve been running from after their hunt across the Tangled Shore.
The longer the false night goes on, the more often the bad days happen.
They’re doing a nighttime patrol when it happens again, picking their way through the rubble beyond the center of the Eliksni camp, they search for any more saboteurs that might hope to launch another attack on the Eliksni, to finished what they started in their first attempt. Their scout rifle isn’t in their hands. They’re too accustomed to the fight for that. They might see a civilian and shoot them on instinct alone, not realizing what they’ve done until after the body has collapsed on the ground. Instead, their rifle is resting on their back, their sidearm in the holster at their thigh, and they rest their left hand on the handle of a knife at their belt as they wield a flashlight in their right.
They pick their way carefully across the rubble. At the very edge of the space dedicated to the Eliksni, they’re far from any sounds but the hum of the city in the distance and the whisper of the wind across the rubble. In some of the pockets of space within, it reverberates and hums, off and on, like a song only for the Guardian’s ears.
A flash of movement catches their eye at the top of the rubble pile, and they turn their flashlight to it quickly, hoping to spot only an animal fleeing back to their home. They’re surprised more rats haven’t made homes within the heap.
When they can’t see anything, they frown, lifting their hand off their knife and using it for balance as they hurry up the rubble, leaping carefully from piece to piece as they will the pile not to crumble under their weight. They haul themself up onto the top of the heap, using their flashlight to examine all the space around them. Still nothing. They sweep the flashlight beam over the far side of the space, then walk along the top of the rubble, searching all of the areas they can see.
“Maybe it was just a rock or something.” They murmur, finally deciding they won’t find anything more. They pace back over to the spot they’d climbed up at.
They leap down to the first somewhat flat spot on the pile of rubble, but one of the rocks gives way under their foot in a way that feels entirely wrong. They shine their flashlight down to find their foot buried inside the bloodied body of a scorn, ether and blood curling around their foot.
Their shriek echoes throughout the quarter, and they launch themself back, off the rock pile, landing unsteadily on the ground below, only to stumble backwards and collide with another form. They whirl, finding a scorn chieftain snarling down at them. The chieftain lunges as their hand goes for their sidearm, and the scramble to dodge, lunging into a roll a few feet away. The guardian comes up in a crouch, grappling for the ammo tucked in their belt, they scramble to load the sidearm. A second chieftain advances from their right, throwing a punch towards them with two arms. The Guardian buries a knife in the scorn’s chest, ducking and whirling to shoot the first scorn as it advances.
The two hit the ground, blood spilling from their wounds, and the Guardian lowers their gun with a quiet sigh, trying to quell their trembling. They can hardly hear over the pounding of their heart and the blood roaring past their ears. They’re reaching for their sidearm again when something slams into their back, sending them flying into the pile of rubble.
They hit the rocks hard, the sidearm flying from their grip. They scramble onto their side in time to see it slide into one of the gaps in the pile. When they look back towards their attacker, the Fanatic stalks towards them.
“Hello, dead thing.” Fikrul growls, hunched over his staff as he approaches them.
The Guardian scrambles upright on the pile of rubble, grabbing their scout rifle from their back, loading it as fast as their hands will allow.
“How did you get here?” They demand sharply, lining up their riffle with Fikrul’s head. If the scorn are here, if they’re about to have a battle inside the city, they’ll need more Guardians. But maybe the Eliksni will be able to help them until they can get reinforcements.
They’re still half laying on the rubble, seated upright but unable to get their feet under them in the shifting rubble without the help of their hands. If Fikrul attacks, they’re a sitting duck. They won’t be able to move away in time.
“You invited us here.” He answers, as though its obvious. “Scorn are Fallen…” He wheezes, “welcome here.”
“The House of Light is welcome here.” The Guardian snaps, trying and failing to stand as the rubble gives way under their foot. “You killed my friend!”
“Father killed Cayde-6.” Fikrul rasps. “You killed Father, Father kill scorn, you take Father.”
“He’s not your father anymore!” The Guardian shouts, “Leave this city before I kill you again!”
“I cannot die.” The scorn replies, lifting his staff. The Guardian scrambles to shoot as lightning crackles in the air. They fire three shots before they let go of their rifle with one hand, throwing themself to their feet and lunging forward, off the rock, just as lightning slams into the spot they were sitting.
The blast flings them to the ground, but they hold tight to their rifle, rolling with it until they stop and scramble to line their gun up again. They fire a volley of shots, but none of them stop the Fanatic as he advances towards them in large strides. They scramble backwards, but he swings with his staff, catching their torso and launching them sideways, into one of the shelled-out buildings.
They collide with the wall so hard their helmet cracks, their head swimming. Fikrul advances on them again, now followed by a group of scorn on his heels, their guns raised. They can hardly see them past their broken helmet, their vision swimming as they reach up to pull the broken husk off their head, blood overwhelming their senses. They grab around for their gun but find nothing, only rocks and rubble. They draw a knife as the Fanatic advances on them.
“Guardian!” Someone shouts, but the voice isn’t Fikrul’s, it’s someone else’s. “Guardian, look at me.”
Hands grip them tight, and they blink their eyes hard, four blue eyes looming in their vision. Mithrax.
“Guardian.”
One of his four hands comes up to cradle the back of their bleeding head, and they hiss in pain, sitting up as much as they can.
“Fikrul is here! The scorn!” They tell him quickly, squirming as they try to sit up, fighting to move past him. “We have to warn the city! We have to get more Guardians!”
“Guardian!” Mithrax’s hands move to grip their shoulders. “There are no scorn. You’re safe. Look around.” He shifts enough for them to look past him, and the see the group of scorn they thought they saw are now a group of Eliksni, worriedly giving them space while still trying to see what’s going on.
“We heard your shots and worried something attacked. We came and found you here.” Mithrax continued. “You say the scorn attacked you, yet there are none here. I fear this Endless Night is weighing on us in ways we do not yet understand.”
Mithrax shook his head to himself, shifting back to grip the Guardian’s elbows.
“Can you stand?” He asked, and the Guardian nodded, allowing Mithrax to help them to their feet.
Mithrax was right, there was no Fikrul, no scorn, only their blood and weapons, scattered across the space. The Guardian raised their eyes to the Endless Night, praying they could stop it before it destroyed them.
Chapter 12: Knowledge is Power
Summary:
Saint convinces Osiris to take a break.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sagira might not have been the best at reminding or convincing Osiris to take breaks in his studies to rest or eat, but without her Osiris has descended to another level of personal negligence. He eats so little his clothes now hang off his body. His muscle definition is fading from lack of use, without the infinite forest to explore day in and day out. The deep bags under his eyes grow with every hour without sleep, and the Endless Night throws off the balance of his body even further as it eliminates any daily rhythm he might have unconsciously depended on.
Whether or not Ikora and Zavala take notice of it, they give no indication, but he knows his student well enough to expect her pointed remarks should such conditions go on long enough. The Guardian is less subtle, eyeing him critically the few times they have met up in person, and Saint is the least silent of all. The Titan has never been one to hide his opinion, all the more so when his opinion concerns Osiris’ health. He gave Osiris all the space he wanted after Sagira’s death, but since Osiris had reconnected them, he’s come to rely on Saint’s—for lack of a better word—badgering.
He’s seated at his desk in his study in the apartment he and Saint now share. Adjustments had been made to their living arrangements in the past few weeks, namely Osiris moving into Saint’s apartment and taking over the once spare bedroom for his study. Osiris would never admit it, but the noise of Saint ambling around the apartment is a blessing he never would have seen coming before Sagira passed. Without Sagira around, living alone had been far too silent an experience, even in the Last City.
All of the new adjustments leave his study more of a box fort than a study, but he has a desk littered with data tablets and a suitable screen to work at, so the boxes can stay until after the current crisis has been averted. Amidst his boxes, he’s pouring over the most recent batch of vex data, tracing the patterns in the hopes of pointing the data towards the mind responsible for the simulation holding the Last City captive. He’s already poured over the numbers three times already, but nothing is damaged in double--or quadruple--checking, and he took a break to eat only four hours ago.
Still, as intent as he is on his work, he still hears the telltale whoosh of a ghost appearing in the room behind him, but before he can address his visitor, Geppetto is gone. A moment later, Saint’s voice rumbles through the apartment.
“Still working?” He asks, Geppetto’s response lost to Osiris’ ears in the distance between them. Saint’s sigh and plodding steps, however, reach him clearly through the half open office door.
Osiris doesn’t look up from his tablet as Saint enters the room, instead waiting until strong metal hands have settled on his shoulders and thumbs knead the muscles framing his spine. He can’t help but groan at the attention, his head lifting up and dropping back as he lifts his face to the ceiling. He hadn’t realized how tense he was.
“You must take breaks, Osiris.” Saint tells him gently, and Osiris hums noncommittally. Saint’s hands on his shoulders feel too good to dismiss, even if he doesn’t want to agree with his point right away. “Come, you are done for the day.”
“How do you know I’ve finished what I need to?” Osiris asks, and Saint shakes his head.
“I know you too well, Osiris.” He answers. “How many times have you gone over that set of data?” He gestures to the data tablet on Osiris’ desk, and Osiris feels seen enough to not want to answer the question. When he remains silent, Saint laughs.
“You see? I know you too well.” He tells him, then lifts his hands off his shoulders—much to Osiris’ disappointment, though he doesn’t comment—and instead moves to grip the former Warlock’s hand in his own. “Come. It is time to eat.”
Osiris glances at the clock on his desk and frowns, even as he climbs to his feet. “It’s nine thirty.” He points out. PM, technically night time, not that there is anything else these days.
“I was busy.” Saint replies. “Come.” He repeats. “Late dinner is better than no dinner at all.”
However reluctant, Osiris agrees, and he follows Saint out of the study and down the hall towards the kitchen and living room.
“Did you make dinner?” He asks. He hadn’t smelled anything coming from the kitchen—not that he’d been paying much attention. Take-out would have been far easier.
Saint nods with a hum. “Soup.” He answers. There are already bowls on the counter beside the stove when they arrive in the kitchen, and place settings for two have been set at the small table between the kitchen and the living room.
“Thank you.” Osiris tells him, reaching down to take his hand once more. Saint’s warm smile is enough that Osiris nearly has to look away—guilt stabs into his chest whenever he sees the effects of how long he’s left Saint on his own since recovering him—but he covers it up by reaching for one of the bowls and ladling himself some soup.
He steps out of the kitchen to the table, sitting down at his usual seat as Saint gets himself some soup and comes to join him. Osiris can’t help but notice the large glass of water Saint has already filled and set at his placemat, a pitcher set at the center of the table. Saint gives him a sly smile as he takes the drink and takes a large swallow as the Titan seats himself across from him.
The soup is wonderful, as always—Saint has always been an excellent cook—and their meal passes in mostly companionable silence. Osiris washes the dishes while Saint clears the table and puts away all the remaining food. When they’re done, they settle onto the couch, turning on the TV to play some program neither of them will pay much attention to.
“You work too much.” Saint tells him, his voice rumbling low through Osiris as he lays back against Saint’s chest.
“We all must do what we can to end this night.” Osiris answers, even if he knows it’s not the answer Saint is looking for. He’s never been one to shy away from telling the truth.
“You said the same thing about the situation with Caiatl.” Saint points out. “And you will say the same thing whenever the next crisis arises. Boundaries are important, Osiris, especially in times of emergency.”
“I cannot be negligent if I could do more to help.” Osiris points out.
“I am not asking you to.” Saint promised. “Perhaps you could review your data three times instead of four. As a start.”
Osiris smiles. Only Sagira knew him better than Saint, but it’s clear Saint knows him well enough.
“Alright.” He allows, nestling closer against Saint’s chest. “I will try.”
Saint kisses him on the top of the head gently. “Good. That is all I ask.”
Notes:
Got a job, start tomorrow. Hopefully I'll be able to keep this up.
Chapter 13: Last Man Standing
Summary:
Shiro-4 visits the Last City.
Notes:
I couldn't work with the prompt for today (again). It was Let it Snow and I'm not about that right now so I changed it. Whoops.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The City isn’t the same without his fireteam. Nothing is, really. He’s not sure why he came back, if only to walk the streets with his hood drawn over his head and hope no one recognizes him. If pressed, he’d say it was because Saladin was here. When the Iron Lord leaves the temple and comes to the City to host Iron Banner, or to help with whatever crisis the City is currently suffering through, the temple is lonely while he’s gone. It’s just Shiro and the wolves. But he likes the quiet, most of the time. So why would he leave the temple after staying there for so long? After hiding from the City for so long?
The last time he’d been here…it had been shortly after Cayde’s death. He’d come for the celebration they’d held to honor Cayde’s life, to celebrate all he’d been for them, all he’d given them. Being back again, especially under such circumstances…it’s more odd than anything else. Still, underneath layers and layers of forced numbness, pain still lingers.
He gets ramen for old times sake. If he weren’t an exo, he might’ve cried. And if there wasn’t an Eliksni seated on the stool beside him, wearing a Vanguard lanyard that read TEMPORARY. Saladin had told him about the decision to allow the House of Light into the City walls, he knew they would be there when he came to the City, but he’s still on edge as he eats. He tries not to think about the Devil Splicers. Or any other Devils, for that matter. He’s been cleaning them out of Old Russia for years now. He tries not to think about Taniks.
He’s exhausted when he returns to his ship, even if he’s hardly been in the city for a matter of hours. He sets course for the Iron Temple and leaves his Ghost in control of the ship, collapsing into the little bunk once the ship is in the air and headed away from the City. He tosses off his armor and throws an arm over his eyes, sighing quietly. He feels like he’s been on the brink of breaking down since he left the ramen shop. How many times had he gone there with Cayde and Andal?
His Ghost cuts off the line of thought as they duck into the open space within the ship. Shiro lifts his arm odd his eyes and rolls his head to the side to look at them.
“Lord Saladin is trying to contact you.” The Ghost tells him and Shiro sighs quietly. Not because it’s Saladin, he just really doesn’t want to talk right now. Not when his body is starting to produce extra fluids because it thinks something’s caught in his systems. It’s the closest alternative he has to crying.
“Patch him through.” He tells the Ghost, drawing in a deep breath as his Ghost connects the coms.
“Shiro,” Saladin greets. “Your Ghost informed me you left the temple today. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah.” He answers, then coughs, finding his voice isn’t as steady as he wants it to be. Not that the cough will help anything. “I went to the city. I had to take care of some…” He trails off. Some what? What was he even doing there, anyways? “Errands.” He says at last. Saladin’s hum shows just how convincing the words were.
“I see.” Saladin answers after a long moment. “And were you successful?”
Shiro frowns, feeling his lights flicker.
“I…think so.” He answers after a few moments. “How did Iron Banner go today?”
“Well.” Saladin replies. “All things considering of course. I’m not sure how much you saw of the City, but even the Guardians are fatigued by this simulation.” Saladin tells him. “The banner serves as a distraction from these times, as well as a training tactic.”
Shiro hums. “I saw how it was effecting the people. They look tired. I almost feel bad for leaving.” He tells Saladin; his voice soft.
“Did you see the Fallen?”
“Yeah.” He murmurs. He shifts his head to stare up at the ceiling of his bunk.
“What do you think of them?”
The question isn’t one he expects from Saladin, but he considers it anyway. What does he think of them? He’s spent his whole life fighting Fallen—Eliksni—but he can still recognize it’s unfair to judge them all in the same ways, to deem them all killers and monsters when realistically not all of them can possibly be the same. Still, all the ones he has met have been less than pleasant. The Eliksni at the ramen shop hadn’t done anything wrong, though. At least not in the time that Shiro had been seated next to him.
“They bring back painful memories.” He answers at last. “But I trust the Vanguard. If Ikora and Zavala trust the House of Light, then I’ll respect their judgement.”
“They remind you of the Devils?” Saladin asks him. Shiro purses his lips, or tries to anyways, resulting in metal plates slightly offset from their original position. Since when has Saladin had all this time to speak to him, to grill him with so many personal questions? Especially when he’s supposed to be running the banner. Even when they’re at the temple he’s usually busy, or at least less talkative.
“Taniks.” He corrects. “When I was down in the city, I kept thinking of Taniks.”
“They say this Endless Night drains the people of the city. Supposedly it affects those that live under it. Perhaps in ways not yet understood.” Saladin tells him.
“I don’t think so.” Shiro murmurs, and when Saladin is silent, he feels like he has to go on. “I went and got ramen, something Cayde and Andal and I always did. I was thinking about them, and then there was this…vandal, on the seat next to me.” He shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face, not that it does anything for him.
“I don’t think it was the night. It was just where my thoughts were.” He concludes. He can feel a headache pounding within his systems. All he wants to do is sleep.
“I’m sorry. I know they meant a lot to you.” Shiro knows Saladin’s been through a great deal. His sympathy—though unasked for—means a great deal.
“Yeah, well. I don’t think he’s coming back to kill me. Uldren might, though.”
Saladin is quiet for a long time.
“How do you mean?” He asks at last.
“A few months ago, I got a few reports from Guardians, saying they’d seen him on the Tangled Shore.” He explains to Saladin. He huffs out a sigh. “They must’ve been crazy. He’d have to be a Guardian to survive what the Young Wolf and Petra Venj did to him.”
Saladin hums. “Indeed.”
No one speaks for a few moments before Saladin clears his throat.
“Are you headed back to the temple now?” He asks.
“I am.” He confirms. “I didn’t want to leave Skadi alone too long.”
Skadi is the largest of the female Iron Wolves, currently pregnant, a few weeks off her due date. Births are so rare among the wolves, Shiro and Saladin have been pampering her as much as she’ll accept. She’s practically a pet now adays, sleeping on a bed of furs beside the roaring fire within the temple and in addition to the meat she hunts, or more recently the meat the other wolves bring for her, she eats a great deal of scraps that Saladin and Shiro give to her whenever they eat meals.
“That’s good of you.” Saladin tells him, and Shiro shrugs, even though he knows Saladin can’t see it.
“It’s the least I can do. If the Iron Wolves are to survive, we need all the pups we can get.” He replies. Taking care of the wolves is also more rewarding than needlessly patrolling whatever is left of the Plaugelands.
Saladin’s voice suddenly comes through the coms muffled, enough that Shiro can’t make out what he’s saying, he can only guess he’s speaking to someone on his side of their coms. After a moment or so, his voice is clear once more.
“I’m sorry, Shiro, I must go.” Saladin says. “Zavala and I are to have a meeting. Good luck with Skadi at the temple. Contact me if anything unexpected occurs.”
“Of course,” Shiro answers, “Good luck with Iron Banner.”
Saladin disconnects their comms with a click, and alone once more, Shiro burrows his way further into his bed, tugging the blankets up around him. Despite how difficult it can be to talk to Saladin sometimes, despite their frequent differences in opinion, he’s still thankful to have the man around. He looks after him in a way few do anymore, because Shiro has so few friends left. He’s no replacement for his fireteam, but sometimes, sometimes, Saladin can make him forget he’s the last man standing.
Notes:
My booooyyyy. How have I never written about my boy before? Bungo, give me more Shiro content.
Chapter 14: Enemies of Humanity
Summary:
A Guardian defends a group of Eliksni from an attack at a pub.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Hunter watches from their seat at the bar at one of the less popular pubs in the city, eyeing a group of civilians as they mutter darkly about a group of Eliksni tucked into the corner of the room. The Eliksni are minding their own business. They have a couple of baskets of food on the table and have even all bought drinks—though they don’t all seem to be enjoying them.
The civilians, however, are far from minding their own. They lean out of their booth every so often, and they glare at the Eliksni clearly over the rims of their drinks. The Hunter just hopes the situation won’t escalate, but they doubt that will come to pass. They’d been planning on leaving by now, but if a fight does start, they’re not just going to let the Eliksni go undefended.
The Guardian tenses when one of the humans stand, first they’re alone, moving towards the back of the restaurant, then a second joins them, then a third. They push their drink to the side, half turning on their stool to follow the humans with their eyes.
Their words are lost in the loud music and talking taking up the pub, but they see the way the Eliksni at the edge of the table hunches over themself. The Eliksni murmurs something back, the others around them leaning close to catch the conversation. Still, the human only gets more upset, and when the Eliksni stands to speak to them, four hands raised in an obvious attempt to appear unthreatening, the other two humans behind the first begin shouting.
The Eliksni avoids the first punch when its thrown, but the second has them stumbling. The Hunter lunges to their feet just as a beer bottle smashes on the wall above the Eliksni’s booth. More patrons are standing up now, shouting taking over the pub as the Hunter shoves their way through the crowd. They grab the humans still throwing punches and haul them back, placing themselves in front of the Eliksni. A second beer bottle sails through the air just as they reach the Eliksni, and they catch it on the armor covering their forearm, the bottle shattering and raining glass down on their face. They light their hand in solar light and raise it high into the air for all the patrons to see, letting their fist burn bright like a torch.
The patrons stop, and suddenly, all is quiet except for the music, then that quiets too.
“The House of Light have never taken up arms against humanity.” They call out to the pub, their fist still raised high. “These Eliksni are not our enemies. They fight alongside the Guardians to end this night.”
The Hunter sweeps their eyes over the crowd before them. The humans backed off at the sight of their Light. Even if the threat isn’t direct, the display of power is clear enough.
“By attacking them, we play right into the Vex’s hands.” The Hunter continues. “The Endless Night was designed to destroy us from the inside. Resist it.”
They lower their fist, letting the Light fade back into their body. Still, they stay by the Eliksni’s side as they give the humans a death glare, and nod to their vacated table. They watch them grumble and move back towards it before they face the Eliksni.
“Is anyone hurt?” They ask the group. One of the Eliknsi has glass on their shoulders. The Hunter watches as the others carefully pick off the shards and set them on the table. There’s glass in some of the food, too.
“What is happening?” One of the Eliksni asks instead of answering, pointing to something over the Hunter’s shoulder.
The Hunter follows their gaze to the table where the Humans returned to, now being pulled out of the booth by what must’ve been the manager, being less than kindly guided towards the exit.
“They’re throwing them out.” The Hunter explained, and they felt relief bloom in their chest. “It was wrong of them to start a fight, especially in here.”
“They should not. Humans have reason to be afraid.” The Eliksni still standing tells the Hunter, shaking their head.
“They have no reason to attack you.” The Hunter answers, just as a waiter approaches the table.
“I’m so sorry about that.” The worker tells them. “Is there anything I can get you? More food or drinks?” Their eyes catch on the basket with glass inside along with the food. “I’ll replace this right away. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Water.” One of the Eliksni requests, as the worker pulls the basket off the table and sweeps the remaining glass into it with a cloth. They nod to the Eliksni’s request, turning to head back towards the kitchen though they pause with a hand on the Hunter’s shoulder.
“You’re bleeding, Guardian.” The waiter tells them, “Do you need any help?”
The Hunter shakes their head, sending a silent request to their Ghost through their bond. They hadn’t realized they’d been injured; likely cut by the glass they broke on their armor. A healing glow takes over them and a moment later the gash is gone, and they wipe away the blood with their glove. The Eliksni gape at them. The Guardian realizes with a start that they’ve likely never seen the Traveler’s gifts in action in a nonaggressive way before.
“Are you all going to be alright?” The Hunter asks, pushing the thoughts to the back of their mind as they make their gut twist. “I can stay with you until you’re ready to leave and walk you back to the Eliksni quarter if you’d like.”
The Eliksni that had been standing seats themself in the booth once more. “No, we will be okay.” They tell the Guardian. “Many thanks.” They give the Guardian a respectful nod, and the Guardian returns it.
They ask again if the Eliksni will be alright without them, and they assure them that they will be. Still, the Hunter stays until the waiter has returned with a few more baskets of food—on the house, they insist—and the waters the Eliknsi ask for. When the little group seems to relax again, the Guardian gives the bartender their information and asks that they contact them if anything more occurs. Finally, they head back to the Tower and hope that they’ve convinced someone in that pub that the Eliksni are no longer enemies of humanity.
Notes:
Work tiring. Originality gone. Writing meh.
Chapter 15: Chosen Undead
Summary:
Stressed by the Endless Night, the Guardian receives some advice from Osiris.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Guardian never asked to be the Travler’s chosen. Sure, it’s fulfilling, empowering, it feels good to have a destiny and there’s no one else in the world quite like them, but there are times when that isn’t what they want. The Guardian has been at the forefront of so many conflicts, they don’t even know how to live their life without conflicts. They don’t know what to do with themself when they’re not focused on a problem currently plaguing humanity. A moment of peace fills them with so much anxiety it threatens to break them apart.
There are other moments where they’d give anything to not be the Traveler’s chosen. To not be the fighter that’s always thrown to the forefront of whatever problem arises. They’re the go-to, always, but no one ever considers what they might do if the Guardian isn’t capable of facing the threats they’re sent after, because there is no alternative.
The worries hit mostly at night, when they’re alone in their ship or their quarters in the HELM or wherever they’ve been staying, and they worry that maybe they’re just throwing themself at death until it sticks. It seems to happen on the HELM most often. They collapse one night after a difficult run through the vex network in an expunge mission, and it isn’t triumph they feel, but doubt.
The expunge missions have been getting progressively harder. They’re becoming progressively better at splicing, but they worry that won’t be enough in the long run. The stress of the Endless Night doesn’t help anything either, and it all weighs down on them until they come to a breaking point. They send their Ghost away and collapse into their bed, heaving under the weight of their sobs. When a knock sounds at their door, they quiet themself quickly, praying whoever it is will go away, but when the knock comes again a few moments later, they know they haven’t fooled whoever is on the other side of their door.
Reluctantly, they drag themself out of their bed and slump towards the door, opening it just a crack.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, I—” They break off when they recognize the figure standing in front of them.
They’re not sure who they were expecting. Saint, or one of the Eliksni, maybe? Someone who frequents the HELM often enough to have heard their cries and been annoyed enough to ask them to quiet down. They certainly weren’t expecting Osiris, standing before them dressed in his familiar robes, his face bearing an expression of…concern?
“Are you alright, Guardian?” He asks them, and their shocked silence is interrupted by one of the involuntary gasping breaths that comes after sobbing.
“I-I’m fine.” They manage quickly, their face is flushed with embarrassment, and they already want to start crying again. Osiris has caught them crying, what another great event to add to their day. Still, they know their words won’t fool Osiris, so they opt for the truth instead, and hope he respects it. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“While if I were in your position, I would feel the same, at this moment in time I believe talking might actually help you.” Osiris tells them, and they feel their lip wobble. A plea forms on their lips but they bite it back.
After a long few moments of indecision, and considerable internal debate about whether or not they could get away with closing the door on the former Warlock, the Guardian nods, drawing open the door further and allowing him inside.
Osiris steps past them, into the room, and seats himself on their desk chair, turning it around to face the rest of the room. The Guardian shuts the door gently, then seats themself on their bed, just across from him.
“You’ve been under a lot of stress lately.” Osiris observes once their both seated. The Guardian nods, their lip wobbling even more now. They reach back and grab a pillow, holding it in their arms and tucking their face into it if only to give them something to do.
“Is this…stress related?” He asks them, nodding to their current state.
The Guardian shrugs weakly.
“I don’t know.” They murmur. “I guess. I’m worried about the Endless Night, and the Vex.” They tell him, their voice quiet. “I’m worried I don’t have what it takes to defeat them.”
Hurt flashes across Osiris’ face as he speaks. “Trust your judgement. If you feel that you are not strong enough on your own, we will send you in with a team of Guardians. It is much better to be overprepared than underprepared.”
“This Endless Night has all of us stumped. The City is at its breaking point.” They respond, pausing to sniffle loudly, wiping at the tears that begin to slip down their cheeks once more. “What more will a few more Guardians even do?”
“On your own you’ve proven to be incredibly powerful, but think back.” Osiris advises. “With a team, you have destroyed gods, overcome utter abominations of power. Whatever it is that plagues us this time, you will be able to handle it.”
“But we haven’t even found the mind responsible for the simulation. What if we won’t be able to find it?” The Guardian questioned, their fears and stresses now taking a turn towards desperation. “What if the city destroys itself before we can? Or if the simulation drains us of everything we have?”
Osiris sighs, shifting his gaze away from the Guardian for a moment. He stares out the window of their little room, to the city below.
“I know I was not with you during the Red War, but if humanity was able to survive a disaster as great as that, we will survive this. We will find the means if necessary. But it will not come to that.” His voice is firm with conviction. The Guardian lowers their gaze.
“The Endless Night is putting a great weight on all of us, Guardian.” He tells them, rising from the desk chair to set a hand on his shoulder. “We will take these problems as they come. Do not try to shoulder more than your share of this burden.”
The Guardian looks back up to meet his gaze as he speaks, but they say nothing after he finishes, only manage a small nod and watch him silently depart the room.
When the door closes behind him, they shift their gaze back out to the city, staring at the glow of the vex simulation hovering over it, shrouding it in ever present darkness. Osiris is right of course, not all of this is their burden to bear, but they’ve been taking on so much weight over the years, they’re not sure they know where to stop. They just hope they won’t crumble before they can save the city from itself.
Notes:
Meant to post this one yesterday but work was long and tiring. I have today and tomorrow off so I was able to get it done this morning. Hopefully I'll post two today.
Chapter 16: Forged in Battle
Summary:
Shiro and the Iron Wolves defend the Iron Temple.
Notes:
Loose follow up to chapter 12.
This one was really long so it took me a while to finish it.
Chapter Text
The Iron Temple is cold when Saladin is gone. The temple is cold all the time, but Saladin lights and tends to the fires almost religiously, which manages to stave off the cold enough that Shiro doesn’t notice it so much in his exo body. Without him there, Shiro doesn’t remember to light the all the fires until the temple is colder than the mountain face outside, and by then, he’d rather just camp out in the main area of the temple where the central fire lives, not to be extinguished until all the Iron Lords are gone.
Now, however, he has more than just himself to worry about, so he’s more than diligent about keeping the temple warm. Skadi, one of the Iron Wolves, has been pregnant for some time, and from Saladin’s estimate, she’s hardly weeks from her due date, fast approaching. Another life—or a number of lives, rather—in Shiro’s hands is enough for him to be diligent, not that the Iron Wolf couldn’t survive the cold, but he’d rather the heavily pregnant female be more comfortable than not. Short of having her sleep on his bed and feeding her out of his hands, he’s been pampering her silly without remorse.
He fully intends to keep doing so as he makes his way down the hall that leads off the main entrance to the temple, finding his way into the room that’s become Skadi’s den of sorts. Furs and blankets cover the floor, and Shiro’s already installed the pen she and her puppies will spend most of their time in; a sort of box of wooden slats with a rim around it to insure Skadi doesn’t accidentally crush one of her puppies against the side of it when laying down. His arms are laden with firewood, and he sets the logs down on the floor beside the fireplace before greeting Skadi, the wolf rising from a pile of furs to tread over to him, wagging her tail softly as she gives him a sniff.
She’s more affectionate than he suspected she would be. When Saladin took notice of the signs and pointed out the wolf was pregnant, Shiro had been sure he’d have to navigate a myriad of overprotective pack members and have to deal with the mother herself being defensive and aggressive towards him. Oddly enough, it wasn’t as much of a problem as he thought it would be. As far as the wolves are concerned, he and Saladin are pack members, even if they hunt and fight differently, and live just a bit more separate from them. It isn’t to say he’s never dealt with aggression before, but short of her reacting when he touches the wolf in a way she doesn’t like, or fusses over her for too long at one time, he hasn’t had to deal with any hostility, and all that he has dealt with have been warnings at most.
She’s even sought him out on a few occasions, laying against him on particularly cold nights, drinking in the heat of his Light, or asking him for food and scratches. After months of looking after her, Shiro’s pretty sure if anyone came to the temple and started trying to interact with Skadi, they’d have to deal with his overprotectiveness.
He kneels down when he comes over to him, scratching her head and behind her ears, working his fingers into her thick fur the way he knows she likes as he smiles at her.
“Hey, girl.” He greets warmly. “Did you sleep well?”
He’s obviously not expecting a response, but she leans her head into his hand as he scratches her, and he grins, moving to scratch her with both his hands. She closes her eyes, putting a little more weight into his hands and he laughs lightly. Of course, she gets tired of his attention eventually and returns to her pile of furs, but she looks quite content as she lays down on them. Shiro’s smile stays as he throws logs onto the low burning fire, filling the fireplace to heat the room for a good while. He has a bit of patrolling to do today, and Skadi can’t exactly add the logs on herself, though she could nest up in all the furs until the cold doesn’t bother her. She could also go outside and sleep in the snow and she’d be perfectly fine too, but he’s content to pamper her.
He’s on his way out of the room, his Ghost transmatting on his armor and weapons when he hears barking; harsh, angry, deep barking. Skadi perks up immediately, and his eyes shoot back to her before he runs for the temple entrance. The Iron Wolves aren’t exactly known for attacking the Devils that occasionally find their way up the mountain landscape, but they patrol their territory often and they patrol it well. Everything in the territory is marked by scents, enough so that the Eliksni senses could pick it up and know to stay away. All of this, Shiro knows and relies on, which is why the barking has him worried. The only times he’s ever heard the wolves bark like that is when they get into intense disagreements, reestablishing the pack order and ranks, but in those cases, it’s only one or two wolves barking back and forth. Now, it sounds like all of them, a myriad of anger.
He bounds up the steps three at a time, making it out of the temple and onto the front walkway in a matter of seconds. The wolves are spread in the space in front of the temple, split across the various walkways, staircases and open spaces on the hillside, all facing down a hoard of Hive. They’ve broken through the gate at the far end of the bridge, and they take up all of the space on the other side of it, the old observatory now overrun with Hive. What Shiro wouldn’t do to have a crucible match going on there now.
“Call Saladin!” He barks to his Ghost, just as the Hive spot him standing before the heavy temple doors. Fire begins to rain down on him and he scrambles to yank them shut, catching sight of Skadi hurrying to the doors after him just before they clang shut. She’ll hate him for locking her in, he knows, but it’s for her own safety.
“Right away!” His Ghost answers, and Shiro looks back to the courtyard below to see the wolves have already launched themselves into the battle, racing across the bridge to stop the Hive forces where they stand. Shiro races to follow them.
Shriekers roar to life in the open air to the right and left of the bride, and Shiro focuses his fire on them first, drawing their fire to himself before they can focus on the wolves racing past him. He dodges and weaves around the attacks, but the wolves are holding the bridge well, even tearing into the space beyond it, and without the Hive on him, two shriekers are no problem. They split apart under the force of Shiro’s fire and fall in pieces to the cliffs below. As soon as he rushes forward, into the Hive’s range, however, he’s faced with worse problems.
Wizards fly across the gap between the peaks with ease, and it isn’t long before he finds himself surrounded, battling four wizards at once in the center of the open temple courtyard.
“Shiro.” Saladin’s voice fills his helmet, nearly causing him to jump in surprise. He scrambles away from a poison cloud one of the wizards throws at him. “Your Ghost says there’s a battle. What’s going on?”
“Hive!” Shiro shouts back, though he knows logically he doesn’t have to shout, given the microphone in his helmet that is transmitting his voice to Saladin, away at the Tower running the Iron Banner. “They’re storming the front gate from the observatory. I don’t know why none of my sensors picked them up.”
He scrambles to explain while he fights, though he breaks off when a wizard nails him in the back with a blast of arc orbs. He stumbles forward and grits his teeth, drawing a hand cannon and infusing it with solar light in a flash. He fires a shot into three of the wizards, melting them into solar light.
“The wolves are fighting with me but there’s a ton of them.” Shiro tells Saladin, switching back to a scout rifle as he focuses on the last wizard. “At least four wizards. It could be a whole brood.”
He nails the final wizard in the head with a flaming knife and it collapses, and he takes off at a sprint towards the bridge. If he can lure the Hive away from the temple—
“What are they after?” Saladin demands.
“I was going to ask you the same question.” He answers, his voice strained as he leaps over the wolves to get ahead of them. If he can lure the Hive away from the Temple it might allow the wolves to pick them off one by one from the rear. It isn’t exactly how they hunt, but it’s similar enough that it could give them an edge in the conflict.
He tears across the observatory, shooting and throwing grenades as he goes. Thankfully for him, the Hive take the bait.
“Is there anything in the temple that could be of value to the Hive?” He asks Saladin. He’s been living in it for years, but if he’s learned anything by now, it’s that it can take a lifetime to learn all the Iron Temple’s secrets.
“Space, perhaps?” Saladin suggests. “With Guardians retuning to the Cosmodrome, it’s possible that the Hive are being driven out of land they’ve occupied for years. The Cabal also made it clear that the cosmodrome was no longer safe for the Hive.”
“But all the way up here?” Shiro asks, sliding to avoid an ogre that tries to smash him with its fists as he hurries past. An ogre! They have an ogre up here! “Whatever! We’ll figure out that later. Are you still running the banner? Can you send a group of Guardians here to help me get this under control?”
“I have a group inbound to Twilight Gap. I’ll reroute them to the observatory now.” Saladin tells him. Even as he keeps running, Shiro breathes a little sigh of relief.
“Warn them about the wolves. I won’t be able to get them out before they get here.” He tells Saladin.
“I will.” Saladin promises. “Where is Skadi?”
“Inside.” Shiro answers, finally stopping his run near the gondola.
The Hive have amassed into a group behind him, larger than anything he’s fought all at once, but the wolves are following his lead, attacking them from the rear in a frenzy. They still won’t be enough on their own.
“I locked her inside.” He tells Saladin. “She’ll be pissed at me, but she’ll be alright.”
“Good.” Saladin answers, then goes silent as Shiro battles the onslaught. He’s no doubt briefing the Guardians coming to the observatory, and not for the first time, Shiro thanks the Traveler jump ships are so fast.
Shiro scrambles to dodge the ogre’s eye blast, the beast having finally turned round and gotten an angle on the Hunter once more, and he whips out an arc staff in a bolt of Light, scrambling to deflect the blast away from himself. As he fights, his Ghost sets to marking all the wolves on his display with blue dots and labels above them. The whole pack has come down to join the fight, likely motivated by Skadi’s vulnerability, even the older wolves are in the fight, just over twenty of them scattered across the observatory grounds.
“The Guardians are arriving now.” Saladin informs him, just as the roar of jump ships sound close by. Flashes of Light appear all around him as twelve guardians transmat into the space. Through their bond, he asks his Ghost to send the information marking the wolves to the other Guardian’s Ghosts, which they do quickly.
The Guardians hit the ground running, all twelve of them fanning out, away from Shiro to take on the Hive. A few of them join the wolves at the rear of the space, pressuring the Hive from all sides. They attack the group in a mass of furry and Light, and in minutes, there’s nothing left of the Hive forces but chitin.
As soon as the Hive are gone, Shiro connects his coms with the rest of the Guardians, ordering them to fan out and check the wolves for injuries. He hurries to join them, and the Guardians help him carry the injured wolves back to the temple steps, where a few of them stay to help him dress their wounds. Thankfully, no one is too worse for wear. A few of them need stitches, one of them has a broken hind leg, but it’s nothing Shiro can’t handle as he tends to them at the top of the temple steps. What he doesn’t want to handle, however, is opening the doors and facing Skadi’s wrath at being locked inside.
“Saladin, the Temple is clear and the injured have been taken care of.” He tells the other man once all the Guardians have departed. “I’m going to go check on Skadi now.” He leaves the injured wolves lying in the sun atop the temple steps, guarded by their packmates as he heads for the main temple doors.
He’s only opened one of them a crack when Skadi shoots out from the space he’s allowed, and he turns to watch as she hurries over to the rest of the pack, checking over the injured and assessing them all carefully. The other wolves are happy to greet her, licking the corners of her mouth and letting her lick their ears and sniff them, until she turns and stares expectantly back at Shiro.
“That’s good to hear.” Saladin answers. “I’m on the last few matches of the day, so I’ll be back in a few hours.” Shiro had nearly forgotten it was Saladin’s last day running the banner, but he nods to himself as he makes his way over to Skadi and the wolves lying together in a pile.
“Alright. I’ll see you then. Thanks for sending the Guardians.” He tells the Iron Lord.
“Of course.” Saladin answers, and their coms disconnect as Shiro settles in with his pack. He might not be flesh and blood like the rest of them, but they inspect him for injuries all the same, and when they’re content, he settles into the pile with the rest of them and lets the bright sun fill him with warmth, just as his pack around him does.
Chapter 17: Who Guards the Guardians?
Summary:
Ghost speaks to Osiris and contemplates Light and Dark.
Notes:
Precursor/follow up to chapter 14. (Order doesn't really matter?? but they go together.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Ghost doesn’t like to see his Guardian upset.
They sent him away after a particularly difficult expunge mission, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Instead, he stayed hidden within the Light and watched in silence as his Guardian cried. He wanted more than anything to comfort them, but they had asked for him to go. It would be rude of him to linger for too long. As close as the relationship was between Guardian and Ghost, he didn’t want to invade their privacy.
He was just ducking out into the hall, heading towards the main area of the HELM, when he nearly flew straight into Osiris. The Ghost jumped back in surprise.
“Ghost,” the former Warlock greeted, his face drawn with concern. “Is everything alright?” He glanced behind the Ghost towards the door to the Guardian’s quarters. Their cries could be heard even here, from out in the hallway.
“I—” Ghost stammered, furrowing his shell. “They sent me away. You probably don’t want to go in there.”
“They are not injured?” Osiris questioned. He didn’t seem to believe that they were, but the Guardian got injured so often he supposed it wouldn’t be wrong of Osiris to check.
“No.” Ghost answered quickly. “Just stressed. They wanted to be alone.”
“I see.” Osiris answered, “They did not wish for you to comfort them?” He asked after a moment. The Guardian’s sobs were still sounding from the other side of the door, muffled slightly. Listening to them caused a near physical ache within the Ghost.
“No.” He said again. “I tried to, but…Sometimes my Guardian believes that all the problems of humanity are theirs to bear. They don’t listen when I try to tell them not everything is their fault.
Osiris was silent for a few moments. Beyond them, the Guardian’s sobs broke off into ragged gasps, and Ghost tightened his shell around himself. He wanted nothing more than to go back in to that little room, to press himself against his Guardian and comfort them. He could hum until they fell asleep, as he often did in the quiet of their ship, when the Guardian couldn’t sleep without some ambient noise to lull them, or he could tell them that they were enough, that they did enough for the city. Anything would feel better than staying out here, listening to them suffer while doing nothing about it.
“I know what that is like.” Osiris said, pulling Ghost from his thoughts. “There was a time when I believed that any advancement made by the Vex was a personal failing.” Ghost watched his eyes drift over the Vex simulation around them. “Sometimes I still feel that way.” His voice was soft.
“I’m sorry.” Ghost murmured.
Osiris sighed, shaking his head. “It is not your problem to bear. It would seem you have your own troubles to deal with.” He nodded towards the closed door, just as the Guardians gasps gave way to sobs once more. They’d grown a little quieter, but it wasn’t a comfort to Ghost.
“They don’t want me there.” He told Osiris. “They…don’t like to cry in front of me.”
Osiris’s brows furrowed, but Ghost spoke again before the former Warlock could respond.
“Do you have news for the Guardian?” He asked. “I haven’t seen you on the HELM much lately.”
“I checking over old information from our run in with Empress Caiatl. I wanted to make sure all of our records were in order.” He explained, “I was going to leave when I heard your Guardian. I thought I might speak to them.”
Ghost frowned to himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the gesture, but he knew his Guardian, and having Osiris run into them now would feel more like an ambush than anything else.
“I’m not sure they’re in the talking mood.” He told Osiris quietly.
“I think they could use a reminder that none of this is their fault.” Osiris gestured to the false night around them. “If they will not take it from you, perhaps they will listen to me.”
Ghost continued to frown. Osiris was making good points, for sure, but he still wasn’t sure his Guardian would really appreciate the gesture. Having one of the people that gave you orders on a regular basis see you in such a state…it stripped back a layer of privacy he knew his Guardian used as a layer of protection.
“Your Guardian does a great deal for this city and its people. They deserve to have their grievances heard by more than just those immediately close to them.” Osiris told Ghost. “Please, it is the least I can do.”
Ghost looked between the door and the former Warlock standing before him. If the Guardian really didn’t want to speak, they could just send Osiris away. He relented with a little mechanical sigh, releasing the tension in his frame and letting his fins droop slightly.
“Alright.” He said at last. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
A little over a half hour later, Ghost hovered over the sleeping form of his Guardian. Osiris had not spoken to them long. After he had left, they’d shucked off their remaining armor and under armor, and had dressed themselves in sleep clothes before collapsing into their bed. Tired out from their day of fighting and from their cries, they’d crashed almost immediately, leaving Ghost to wander about their room in the darkness.
Your Guardian does a great deal for this city and its people. Osiris had told him. The words echoed through him as he looked out over the Guardian, curled in their blankets. It was true, Ghost knew there were only a few people that could rival his Guardian with their contributions towards keeping the city safe. With a chill, he thought back to what the Darkness had spoken to his Guardian months ago, taking his voice as their own.
The Light believes you thankless. Nothing more than a soldier asked again and again to do its bidding.
The amount of agreement he and his Guardian had felt towards the words had torn them both up inside. They were warriors of the Light, meant to serve it. They both wanted to, but there was no one quite like his Guardian. Most Guardians served in one or two major conflicts in their lifetimes. Being at the forefront of these major conflicts was also rare, but to be the most important player in every single conflict since the Black Garden? It was unheard of for anyone but his Guardian. The Light had never asked so much of anyone.
And all it gave his Guardian in return was him. He would give his entire being to his Guardian in a heartbeat, but would that ever be enough? When the Guardians are discussed, the question that circles around in response is always; who guards the Guardians? The answer is always in a similar field, the Ghosts, the Traveler, the Light, other Guardians, but will that ever be enough? Maybe for a regular Guardian it could be, but how can the Traveler expect him to protect his Guardian from every major conflict they are faced with? He can’t. He couldn’t protect them from Ghaul, he can’t protect them from the Darkness. It overcomes his being every time they’re faced with it. He couldn’t even offer them enough to not have to take it, to have to weaponize their very enemy in order to defeat those that would see the city reduced to rubble.
His Guardian worries that they won’t be enough to stop the conflicts plaguing humanity, but Ghost knows he’s already failed. He’ll never be enough.
Notes:
WHoops! Ghost angst! OOps. Didn't mean for that to happen.
Also tense in this thing is going wild. Idk what's happening there.
Chapter 18: Past Days
Summary:
The Guardian dreams of a mission on Phobos, so long ago.
Chapter Text
The Guardian isn’t one to reminisce about the good old days. They know the good old days are only a fabrication of hindsight. Nothing in their past was ever really as good in the moment as it is in memory. They’ve been fighting for all their lives, nothing about that is enjoyable unless it comes with the triumph of defending others, of saving lives. More than often it just comes with the stark relief that the city would survive another day; that they could go home at least mostly unscathed.
Still, they can’t deny the past days were simper. Better, even. When the black fleet hadn’t found the Traveler yet, when they hadn’t lost friends in the Red War, when they didn’t know the name Savathûn. They long for those days now more than ever. But those days still weren’t all good.
Now, they reach those days only in dreams, and like most in their life, those dreams are rarely good.
They recognize the base on Phobos almost instantly, the shouting alarms a dirge they remember well, though their mind doesn’t catch up to why its out of place. In their time, the moon still orbits the empty well of space where Mars should be, but in their dream, the red planet looms above them like it’s ready to swallow them whole.
They watch the Cabal flee the base as they descend the steep cliffside on which they landed. Explosions rupture from the base and fires dot the landscape, ships racing to take off before it’s too late. Legionaries collapse just beyond the heavy metal doors, bleeding thick, dark oil. The Guardian feels compelled to move to them, and they do, picking their way across the moon’s rocky surface until they stand upon the metal cabal walkways. They kneel beside the one of the legionaries. Blood paints their bare hands black. Their mind doesn’t register why they should be wearing gloves, they only feel the heat of the liquid against their skin.
The compelling feeling is back, and their head lifts as if pulled by a string; another feels tied around one of the ribs in their center, on their left side, tugging them into the base. They follow without question. They move through a room covered in the bodies of the Cabal just as whispers begin to reach them. They’re soothing.
Everything will be alright. The whispers tell them. You’re safe now.
They continue further into the base, past portals of swirling energy. They hum at the Guardian as they pass, low and warm.
An elevator crashes through the shaft on their right. Ahead of them, a centurion embraces the dark portal, welcoming its hold.
We will keep you safe.
Oryx greets them like an old friend when he appears in a vast, circular chamber. Syrok, Word of Oryx, beckons them to follow. They do, warmth emanating from him as he leads them further into the base. The mission is scrubbed, but they can’t leave. They follow Syrok down hallways and corridors. A hoard of glowing creatures follows behind them like acolytes.
Syrok leads them out to the airfield, more of the glowing creatures follow them as they make their way towards the center platform. Their ship hovers above the back of the platform, but they can’t leave now. Oryx hovers over them, shimmering and dark, he reaches towards them as Syrok gestures to them. The Taken around them kneel, but they stay standing, staring towards Oryx.
He reaches out towards them, a hand offered, warm and kind. They reach back, but their hand floods with cold. They frown, drawing back their hand, and Oryx snarls.
No. Come to me. His voice isn’t as deep as it should be, and the Guardian stumbles backwards, straight into the hold of two Knights. Oryx’s form shifts until he looks more like a wizard, long flowing robes, and his face is… different.
I see you.
Crawling around my domain like insects.
This realm answers to only one master.
You are nothing.
You know nothing of power.
Thrashing around like a wounded animal…
Unaware that you are already dead.
Your failure is written in time.
I have seen your grave.
I see you.
Rest asunder…
Broken…
Taken.
The Guardian’s eyes shoot open to darkness, pierced by rogue threads of vex technology. For a moment, it feels like the threads are wrapped around their throat, a noose created by Savathûn herself, just as her words echo through their head. They gasp, winded by the dream as though they’ve been punched in the gut, and terror hold them for long moments.
But their Ghost forms, hovering above them, piercing the Darkness with Light, and they realize it was only a dream. Even in dreams, they can never go back to their past days.
Notes:
I tried to do this from memory but nope. Couldn't do it. Also, the italics at the end come from the little messages from Savathun in this week's expunge mission. I thought those were super cool. Unfortunately I was using wirewalker at the time so I didn't see all of them but people on youtube pulled through for me.
Chapter 19: Dancing is What to Do
Summary:
Saint and Osiris celebrate the first morning after so long spent in darkness.
Notes:
I was going to switch out the prompt again so I could write some somewhat angst O14, but then I thought, what if I don't do that? So now we have soft O14 dancing. Enjoy!
(A bit of a fix-it fic. Please disregard any Osiris-Savathun theories for maximum enjoyment.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s been a long time since Saint’s been to a celebration. He’s been around for the dawning in the city for two years now. First, when he first arrived at the Tower after Osiris and the Guardian rescued him—Guardians brought him platefuls of lavender cookies, much to his delight—and again the following year after, though after losing Sagira, and dealing with the Darkness in greater force, Saint found little reason to celebrate.
This time, however, there is great reason.
Quaria had been defeated. The Guardian had yet to even arrive back at the Tower, but Savathûn’s grip on the Last City has been severed…at least as far as they know. The vex simulation is gone, and most importantly, the sun is returning.
Saint watches from within the Eliksni Quarter of the city as the sky begins to weep beautiful orange, golds, and pinks across the sky. It paints their happiness into the clouds as crowds gather in the streets to watch. In the Eliksni Quarter, it’s a blend of Guardians, Eliksni, and civilians. Saint spots Guardians holding hands with Eliksni, civilians weep in delight. A few of the Guardians are on their knees, relief so thorough all they can do is bask in it.
Saint wanders the quarter, searching for as long as he dares take his eyes off the sky. Everyone is waiting for the moment it peaks above the rubble and the walls far beyond, waiting to set their eyes on the sun they’ve missed for so long. It’s already so much brighter than Saint is used to. Many of the humans are shielding their eyes.
He looks back towards the east almost frantically. Where is he? Where is Osiris? He might have been on coms while they were taking down Quaria, but he’s already seen Mithrax and Ikora down in the Eliksni quarter, so where is he?
“Saint!”
Oddly enough, the sound of his Warlock calling his name sends a bolt of anxiety through him, as if the electricity running through his veins were suddenly dialed to eleven. He worries something is wrong, but as he turns back to the source and his worries fade instantly. All he can see is the small smile on Osiris’s face, and it’s almost as though his phoenix is the sun they were all waiting to see.
“Osiris,” he responds as the former Warlock reaches him. “I was worried you’d miss it.” He tells Osiris, turning his face away from the east to look at the other man.
“If you continue talking, you will.” Osiris tells him, his face just briefly turning towards him before he looks back towards the east. “Look.” He points forward and Saint fallows his arm just as the entire quarter around them goes silent.
A burning sliver peaks out over the rubble, orange and glowing, lighting the whole sky up. If Saint could cry, he would. The Quarter watches in silence as the sliver grows, climbing higher and higher. They squint at the sphere as it forms, but the burn in their vision is perhaps the best they’ve ever experienced. Saint listens to the silence until the sphere is entirely visible above the rubble.
Noise washes over them as soon as its visible. People cheer and laugh, whooping and hollering. Music starts somewhere, and the next thing Saint knows, people are whirling and dancing around them. Eliksni hold the hands of civilians, hatchlings are lifted into the air by human and Eliksni hands. Saint laughs when a human reaches for him, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the line of people dancing, spinning around in large circles. He grabs for Osiris on instinct, reaching to pull him along.
“Saint, I don’t—”
Osiris starts, but Saint’s hold is firm, and he drags him along into the circle before his protests can lodge. An Eliksni grabs onto Osiris’s arm, and Saint laughs as Osiris tries to excuse himself, only for the Eliksni to grab his hand with two of their own.
They spin for long minutes, laughing and trying not to trip over their feet or others, until finally they break off into smaller groups. He and Osiris are separated when the group pulls apart, and Saint frantically searches the area before his Warlock can get to far. He finds him quickly moving to the edge of the group, though he lingers on the outskirts, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Osiris.” Saint has to wind around a little family to get to them, two parents holding their child’s hands as they jump and dance in happy circles.
Osiris looks up at him when he reaches him, and Saint offers his hand to the other man.
“Dance with me?”
Osiris flushes, and Saint sees the excuse on the tip of his tongue, but he falters, a little embarrassed smile forming on his lips. Finally, he nods, and Saint grins as Osiris takes his hand.
The music isn’t exactly right for it, but Saint pulls Osiris close to his chest, and they wrap their arms around one another, peering up at the sun as it steadily climbs into the sky.
“I’m proud of you.” Osiris tells him, catching Saint so off guard he can’t respond. “I know all of this has been hard for you. As much as you have done to the Eliksni, they have done a great deal to you as well. Not many would be able to move past such actions as you have.”
“It…has been difficult.” Saint admits. He doesn’t need to go into detail. Osiris was with him when he lived as the Kellbreaker, he knows the Eliksni left him scarred too, and knowing how scarred he left the Eliksni—particularly the innocent among them—hurts even more. “I hope for a time when these children will not fear my name.”
“That time will come, Saint. I’m sure.” Osiris promises, and Saint leans down to press a kiss to his forehead in thanks. Osiris hums.
“I am proud of you as well.” Saint tells him after he’s pulled away. “All of your knowledge on the Vex was vital to our success. We would not have gotten here without you.”
“I only wish this were the last we’d see of Savathûn.” Osiris responds, his expression darkening.
“We will deal with her when she arrives.” Saint promises. “Think how much stronger we will be with our new allies by our side? Mithrax and the House of Light will not leave us in our time of need. We will be ready.”
He peers down at Osiris as the other man contemplates his words, his gaze still turned towards the sun. The light makes his golden helm blaze brighter, and Saint nearly has to squint to look at it.
“You’re right.” Osiris admits finally. “Besides, this is a time for celebration. Savathûn will not recover so quickly.” He says, and Saint’s brow plates raise.
“Who are you and what have you done with Osiris?” He gests, but laughs as he pulls Osiris closer against him. “It is good to see you giving yourself time to relax and enjoy yourself. You work so hard so often; I worry for you.”
Osiris lowers his head, his voice growing soft. “After Sagira…I realized I should be taking more time, enjoying those I care for.” His hands tighten their grip on Saint’s armor. “I’m sorry I left you alone for so long.”
“No.” Saint responds, though he makes an effort to keep his voice soft as well. “No apologies. You needed time. I was happy to give it to you. I will wait for as long as you need me to.”
“I don’t want you to wait anymore.” Osiris lifts his head back up to look into Saint’s eyes.
Saint smiles at his Warlock. “Then I am done waiting.”
Osiris nods, drawing in an almost shaky breath. “Thank you.” He murmurs, resting his head against Saint’s chest. Saint leans slightly to kiss the top of Osiris’s head, even if his metal lips only meet Osiris’ golden helm.
“Always.” Saint murmurs back, turning his face towards the east once more.
The celebration goes on around them, but they stay tucked within each other’s arms, watching the sun rise over the City after so long spent in darkness.
Notes:
I was thinking about the Osiris-Savathun theories though, what if Savathun is actually pretending to be Ikora? I think some of the things Ikora has said lately has been a little sketch, but it's still subtler which is more of Savathun's way to go. Plus bungie does a bit of fourth-wall breaking when it comes to Savathun and I think the switching of Ikora's voice actress would fit really well into that (even if it's just a happy coincidence that the timing happened then). But anyways, those are my conspiracy theories. Thoughts?
Chapter 20: Worthy Weapon
Summary:
Saint and the Guardian discuss the Guardian's choice to wield Stasis.
Notes:
Follow up to Chapter 9, here!
Chapter Text
“You sound no better than those who have been corrupted by the Darkness.”
Saint’s words have rung through the Guardian’s head for days now, but they can’t for the life of them let the conversation go. Saint compared them to the Guardians that have fallen to the Darkness in the past few months, and while the comparison isn’t completely unfounded—they are using the Darkness, and quite often at that—the accusation still stings. They need Saint to understand them, to understand that they’re still trying to be the Guardian he once looked up to.
The accusation fills them with a sort of defensiveness that isn’t entirely unfamiliar. Only, usually they feel such defensiveness on the battlefield, when they’re heading further and further into danger, but haven’t quite committed to drawing their gun. But this isn’t the battlefield. Saint is their friend. He has to understand.
They feel abnormally timid as they make their way to his Gray Pigeon, finding the Titan standing at his usual place below his ship. How do they start this conversation? Can they even explain it to him in a way he’ll understand? What will he accept? How can they prove to him that they aren’t corrupted by the Darkness? Their worries spiral until Saint clears his throat loudly, catching their attention so abruptly they flinch.
“Guardian?” He questions, and they worry their lip between their teeth.
“Hi, Saint.” They greet him quietly, now wringing their hands in front of them. “I was…wondering if we could talk. If you’re not busy.” They manage, their face shifting to a worried look. Saint nods, beckoning them closer
“Of course.” He answers, “Anything. What is it you wanted to talk about?”
They step closer, drawing in a deep breath. Why is this conversation so hard? They’ve sorted through and considered their actions more times than they can count. It was hard explaining them to even themself, but once they came to terms with it, they relaxed, so why is it so hard to explain now?
“The other day, when I mentioned the Darkness, you said I sounded like the Guardians that had been corrupted by it.” Their words are slow, cautious. “I wanted to talk about that.”
Saint’s face shifts into a frown. “I worry for you, Guardian.”
“I just…I was hoping you would let me explain.” They tell him. “You don’t have to change your mind; I just didn’t want you to judge me without hearing my side of the story.” Saint’s face softens.
“I am sorry.” He tells them, “That was wrong of me.”
“It’s alright.” They answer quickly. “I heard about what’s been happening to you in the trails. You have every right to be suspicious.”
Apparently, Saint had witnessed Guardians torturing other Guardians while running the Trials of Osiris. He’d had to intervene, and the results of the corrupted Guardian’s actions had been rather ugly. Their own teammates had put the Guardian out of their misery before the torture went on for too long.
“You are not them.” Saint reminds. “It is unfair to judge you based off of their actions.”
“I…appreciate that. Thank you.” Their voice is soft again. It takes a considerable effort to keep speaking.
“When I was on Europa, trying to take down Eramis and her forces, when she first started giving her followers Stasis, I had no defense against it. They chased me out of their base. Froze me and killed me and did it all over again. I couldn’t fight them all at once, my Light wasn’t any use against it no matter how hard I tried. But I still didn’t want to use Stasis.” They glance up so Saint’s face. He’s gone silent, watching them closely.
“The Darkness beckoned me. It pointed out how much I do for the Light…and how little it gives me in return.” They can’t look at him as they speak, their eyes down on their boots. “I didn’t entirely agree, but it offered Stasis as a gift for me to utilize how I might. I knew the Darkness was prone to corrupting Guardians, so I only agreed to use it after I knew I would be working under Eris, Drifter, and the Stranger’s guidance. They agreed that if the Darkness corrupted me, they would do whatever it took to get it out of my hands, or to kill me if needed. But they also made me realize that if I was afraid of the Darkness, I would only give it power.”
Saint’s face is still bent into a frown, but he listens closely as the Guardian continues.
“The Stranger believes we should practice with Stasis, master it so that the Darkness will have no hold over us when we use it. Watching each other’s backs, I think that’s the safest option for us. If we don’t learn how to use Stasis, to master it, it will take advantage of us when we need it the most. I can’t let that happen.”
They let out a quiet sigh. There was more they could tell him, of course, but for now, they hoped they’d gotten the most of their meaning across.
“You still believe the Darkness to be a dangerous weapon? One not to be trifled with?” Saint questions.
“Yes.” They answer firmly. “Of course. Stasis is dangerous. I wouldn’t use it if I didn’t believe it was necessary.”
“And what do you use it for?” He asks them.
“To protect the Traveler. Humanity, always.”
Saint nods, leaning back slightly, seeming satisfied with their answer.
“Then I trust you.” He tells them setting a hand on their shoulder. “I acted out of anger when I spoke the other day. You have much more clarity behind your eyes than those that have been corrupted. Your intentions seem true, and just. I know I can trust you to do what is right. And it is good to hear you have others looking out for you.”
“Thank you, Saint.” They reply. “I just…didn’t want you to think less of me.”
“You will do whatever must be done to protect the Last City.” Saint points out. “You are very brave. I admire that.”
The Guardian nods in thanks, unable to say anything more. Saint drops his hand from their shoulder and rolls his shoulders as though he is ridding the tensions of the conversation from his body.
“Now, enough talk of Darkness.” He tells them. “It has been a while since I fed the pigeons. They are getting impatient. Would you like to help me? You could practice holding them if you wish.”
The Guardian nods eagerly, and with the conversation about the Darkness now behind them, they let out their breath and join Saint as he dumps birdseed into their hands.
Chapter 21: Where's My Warmind?
Summary:
Ana and Rasputin discuss what it is to be human as Rasputin adjusts to his new Exo body.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Rasputin’s new body is interesting. After so long of being able to live and interact only within the virtual world, living within the material world is a development that takes some getting used to. Ana is ecstatic when he finally comes online and stays on, and he can understand why. Her failed attempts are catalogued well within the data cores that are now his mind. For a time, he watched through Exo eyes, unable to respond as she tried and tried to graft him into a body in a way that he would be able to communicate with her.
Even after he was physically capable of responding to her, it took him a good while to contemplate the world around him, to consider it long enough to be able to free up his processing power for the here and now. His mind feels so dampened in this body. He’s confused quickly, or as close to it as he can come. It takes him milliseconds to comprehend and understand what Ana says to him, rather than the micro or nanoseconds he’s used to. Time moves faster in this body as well. He despises the way he cannot act quickly. He is like Ana now, bound to inputting information into consoles or other pieces of technology. Ana is working on making a sort of port that will allow him to connect directly to the internet, but until then, his physical body binds him.
The bonds are perhaps what he despises the most. He no longer possesses the reach he used to. He cannot reach across the solar system with a mere thought, leaping from stations on Earth to Mars to the moon. There is no data for him to receive or project to those places. Some of those places no longer exist.
Still, his new physical body is not all bad. He’s well aware of the flaws within humans, but Ana is happy to introduce him to what it means to have a body, and to help him adjust to one. She’s explained to him that physical contact is incredibly important to humans and their psyche. While he is not human, he does exist as the only Exo to have come from an inhuman source. Because of such ideas, he and Ana have been conducting various experiments, judging what his exo mind requires in this new body. Ana isn’t sure that he can continue to live as he is used to within his new body. She believes some adjustments to his behavior may be required.
Now, he and Ana are seated on stools within the room that has become Ana’s lab. Discarded wires and circuit boards are strewn everywhere, processing chips and other various items that might belong in a computer are heaped around the room. She even has a full Exo digestive system sitting on a table, having built much of his body from pieces of others. He would compare himself to Frankenstein’s monster, but he’d rather not himself or Ana meet such fates. Still, it looks as though Ana has made a hobby of ripping apart old Exo bodies.
They’re seated across from one another, Ana is holding his metal hand in her own of flesh. It’s the most contact they’ve had in a number of days. His reception of physical touch has been largely overwhelming, especially when Ana’s body heat is added into the equation. The stimulation simply contains too many variables for him to process at once. His brain gets caught up paying attention to every stimulus, where humans would simply tune out such distractions. He has not even worked his way up to wearing clothes yet, though Ana does not seem to mind despite how such actions go against her culture and general understanding of social order and politeness. It is likely that she understands he knows nothing of modesty.
Ana runs her thumb along the back of his metal hand and he shivers, aborting the action to pull away before he can properly start it. Ana balances a data tablet on her knee and taps on it. When she is done, she studies him again. She’s been taking notes of these sessions in order to tweak his systems later. If she is able to turn down the stimulation that his flowing into his brain at breakneck speed, his adjustment will go all that much quicker. For his own safety, Ana has hardly allowed him to move from room to room within her apartment, though he does not mind. It feels more like protection than confinement, and the lapses in control over his hands and body that left Ana’s own bones broken proved that there is little she could do to keep him here if he truly wanted to leave.
“How do you feel?” She asks him. She speaks in English, though he responds in Russian out of preference alone, as he always does.
“Bad.” He tells her simply in his own language. It’s his usual response in these situations, though he’ll follow up with a more precise explanation if she requests one. He understands the purpose of these experiments, but he wishes she would stop touching him. He wishes her skin were not so hot against his metal and silicon.
She runs her thumb over the back of his hand again and he makes a noise entirely involuntarily. Her brows raise at him, and he realizes it was somewhat of a whine. He mimics the way he’s heard her sigh, a puff of air running through his artificial lungs, fans blowing the gas down to the heated systems within him.
“What does this do for you?” He asks her. “Why is this good for humans?”
Ana considers their joined hands. “It makes me feel good.” She explains after a too long moment, though Rasputin recognizes he’s simply being impatient. “Humans are pack animals, so it’s good for us to know that there are others that care for us. It tells us that we’re not alone. Physical touch is something that tells us that. It’s not painful and it keeps our loved ones close.”
“Is this the human reason for intercourse?” He questions, and Ana recoils slightly. He recalls it is her human custom to not discuss intercourse directly, even when discussing similar veins. Still, Ana does her best to answer him regardless.
“Not exactly. That’s certainly a part of it, but sex is…a lot more complicated than that.” She explains, her words slow enough to annoy him—which is not saying much. “Pleasure is a big part of it. It has to do with hormones, but there can also be manipulation and bad things that goes along with it and a lot of other complicated factors.”
Rasputin hums, recognizing it is as much of an answer as he will get from Ana, at least for now.
“Your reaction to touching changes based on the individual interacting with you, yes?” He asks, steering the conversation away from intercourse in the hopes of relaxing her.
“Yes.” She confirms, “Their intention also matters, as well as where they’re touching. People generally don’t like to be touched by strangers, and there are places that only certain individuals are allowed to touch, and only under specific circumstances.”
He nods, she is discussing intercourse once more, even as she dodges around saying such outright.
“Who might do this?” He nods to their joined hands.
“Friends.” She suggests, “Family, even lovers. Parents will hold their children’s hands to keep them under control, but holding hands is also reassuring for children when they’re navigating unfamiliar situations.” She glances at him almost skeptically. “It doesn’t feel good at all?”
“No.” He answers. He would argue that he is far more intelligent than a child, but he knows that is besides Ana’s point. She’s reasoned that he is adjusting to the world similar ways as children do. She’s already compared a few of his meltdowns from overstimulation to that of children’s meltdowns and tantrums. He doesn’t quite appreciate the comparisons, but he understands them well enough.
“I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever I can to make this better for you.” She tells him, squeezing his hand. He stares down at their hands as he weathers the sensation.
“Why do you say such things?” He asks her once the feeling has passed. “I am aware of the efforts you are making.”
Ana nods. “Humans like to be reassured.” She explained. “Part of my job here is to acclimate you to the way you’ll be interacted with by others.”
Rasputin hums again.
“I see.” He answers. “Continue.”
“I hope you feel better.” She tells him.
“Frivolity.”
Ana’s little laugh moves their hands, and Rasputin studies her before trying to replicate the sound.
“It might be a little frivolous, but humans aren’t the best at communicating, so its nice when we make our feelings clear.” She explains, and he frowns, an expression she's taught him.
“What is it that humans do not understand?”
“We often get so caught up in our own emotions, we have a hard time really paying attention to how the people around us feel.” She explains. “We confuse ourselves because we overcomplicate situations and overthink things when we’re in emotional states.”
“Such as what is troubling the city now?” Rasputin thinks back to the trouble with the Eliksni within the City. Rasputin has seen little of it himself, but Ana has explained it as best she can. Many of the civilians cannot understand that the House of Light has not harmed them and that their fears are entirely irrational. Even when listening to what the Exo Lakshmi-2 has been saying, it is statistically unlikely that the future she has witnessed will come to pass.
“Yes.” Ana answers. “The people are suspicious. It’s hard to convince them they have no reason to be.”
Rasputin mimics her sigh once more and Ana smiles at him.
“You’re getting better at that.” She points out, and Rasputin nods at the frivolous statement.
“You humans are far too inefficient.” He tells her. “However, it is commendable that you were able to create others that no longer possessed your flaws.”
“A lot of humans would say that it’s our emotions and flaws that make us human.”
A timer goes off quietly behind her, indicating that the five-minute handholding experiment is over, and Rasputin mimics her laugh once more as he draws his hand back, away from her.
“It would seem I am less human than you thought.”
He’s not sure why she frowns when she nods, but he doesn’t trouble himself with it as he picks up a data tablet from where he’d set it on her table and returns his mind to far more useful tasks.
Notes:
A very little girl held my hand at work the other day and it was the purest interaction of my life so that's what inspired Rasputin and Ana holding hands.
Chapter 22: High Stakes
Summary:
The Guardian infiltrates the corrupted Vex network.
Notes:
Just me messing around with the messages from the expunge mission again.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The coms are quiet when the Guardian goes into the expunge mission. They’re not sure why, Osiris greets them when they first splice their way into the network, but after that, all is silent. He tells them not to be distracted by their senses, but their mind nudges them with uncomfortable feelings. They feel almost…sick, unwell. It draws their attention away from the task at hand, just as Osiris told them not to allow, but they can’t help it. Words nudge their way into their mind.
I see you.
The voice has no defining characteristics. They can’t recall if it is high or low, dark or bright, full or thin. Even as they listen to it, they can discern nothing of its features.
Crawling around my domain like insects.
The voice grates against their bones, and yet it lilts by as if on a breeze at the same time. They hear Lakshmi’s voice, singing; rise up as one, march towards the sun.
This realm answers to only one master.
Splicing comes like second nature to them now, with all the training they’ve been doing with Mithrax. It’s simply another action on the battlefield, muscle memory. All they have to do is begin and the actions are always with them. Still, the voice feels right in a way they cannot hope to understand. They know they aren’t the ruler here, they only hope to manipulate, to exploit.
You are nothing.
They feel small. The words make them small. The voiceless voice presses them into the vex domain, crushing them into fractals of data.
You know nothing of power.
It’s true. They die over and over again hoping to make change, but at the end of the day, they are nothing more than a component in an endless cycle of death and destruction. They are powerless to stop it. They will kill and Savathûn will take and the worms will always be fed but never satisfied.
Thrashing around like a wounded animal.
The voice impales them with its words. It twists their insides, carves them apart with knives and teeth. They feel something inside shrieking, crying out, and yet they continue running. They continue deeper and deeper into the simulation as if nothing has changed. As if nothing is tearing them apart.
Unaware that you are already dead.
They miss a jump. Their body careens into a moving part of the simulation and they’re dead before they’ve settled on the floor. The voice is back the moment their Ghost has them standing again.
Your failure is written in time.
The Guardian doesn’t know how that could be, but they don’t doubt it. They’ve failed many times before. They couldn’t keep the Cabal from attacking the City. They couldn’t keep the cage off the Traveler. They couldn’t rescue Cayde, they couldn’t keep the curse off the dreaming City. They couldn’t defend the moon from the Black Fleet. They couldn’t keep the Darkness from finding the Traveler. They couldn’t keep the Black Fleet from taking the planets. They couldn’t keep Eramis from taking the Darkness. They couldn’t defeat her with their Light. They couldn’t keep Sagira alive, they couldn’t keep Crow from the torture of Spider. They couldn’t keep the Darkness from their doorstep. They couldn’t keep the City from suffering. The question is not whether or not they will fail at all, the question is which failure is the one written?
I have seen your grave.
As have they, oddly enough. And they heard Saint-14’s voice echoing around it as he spoke of them. Has she been there too? Was she the one to kill them? It seems likely. She certainly has the power to do so. It is a wonder they are still alive. What does she seek from them?
I see you.
Indeed, they see her too. They see her in their mind’s eye, reaching out towards them, beckoning them closer. She offers them a gift.
Rest asunder…
Oh, how they long to rest. They are bone weary. They’ve been fighting for so long they don’t know how to not fight anymore. They don’t know how to put down their weapons. Rest. They long to rest.
Broken…
Yes, they ache. Their bones feel split, they rub against one another, fractures and bone spurs poke and prod at them with every movement. But she can fix them. She can release them from the prison that is their flesh and bone. She can take away the pain, take away the fears, the weights, the responsibilities.
Taken.
The world explodes before their eyes, first in a flash of color, then in darkness. The Vex domain is before them, the haze is gone from their vision, the voice is gone too. The infernal grips on their soul have released, leaving gouging claws that drag their attention to the here and now.
But clarity…it’s so much worse. Around them lie Taken blights like no other. They recognize them clearly, the telltale swirls and rings that mark them as those of Savathûn. She is here, or her influence is. Her presence plagues the Vex network like a virus, cells being forced to replicate it, to do its bidding and die after they’ve completed the task. The Vex might be monsters, but they’re slaves too, just what the Guardian will become if they don’t win here.
“Guardian?” A voice sounds in their ear. Their Ghost. He doesn’t dare show himself in the presence of such Darkness. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s her.” They breathe. “She’s here.”
Notes:
I'm getting my wisdom teeth out tomorrow so don't expect a post (if any of you are even reading this on a day to day). It might happen but don't expect it.
Edit: Just realized the message is 'Rent asunder...' instead of 'Rest asunder...', not sure how to fix that section though.
Chapter 23: Drifter's Gambit
Summary:
Drifter comforts the Guardian after Savathun's most recent advance.
(Spoilers for week VII)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When the Guardian first saw the blights over the Tower, they nearly vomited. Their ship hadn’t even brought them within ten miles of the city before they sensed something was wrong, but when they transmatted out into the courtyard, when they saw Savathun’s blights hanging over the Tower… it was sickening. Everything about it felt wrong. What was the Traveler for if not to protect them from things like this? It looked so dark as it hung in the sky above them. Never before had they seen it like this. For the first time in all their lives, the moon was the brightest thing in sight.
They couldn’t stay there. They couldn’t bear to be within the sight of those blights. They knew they should be checking on the other parts of the Tower, on the Eliksni quarter and the HELM, just to see how far the corruption had spread, but they couldn’t. They didn’t even try throwing their Light at blights to try to destroy them, they just leapt back into their ship and fled. The cowardice of the action stung, but it wasn’t nearly enough to keep them from doing it.
They flew without their mind entirely present, flew until suddenly they found their ship drawing up to the Haul, slipping around it to get to the Derelict. They had their coms activated before they realized what they were doing.
The coms clicked, indicating they were connected, but they had no idea what to say. They had no idea what they were even doing here. They’d hardly spoken to Drifter in weeks, why come to him now?
“Hello?” Drifter’s voice crackled through the speakers, filling up their ship with his voice, and the Guardian couldn’t help their quiet little gasp. Still, they didn’t speak.
“Hero, I see your ship out there.” He said a few moments later, and the Guardian sat up, leaning forward in their chair to peer into the open bay of the Derelict.
“C’mon aboard.” He told them, his voice softening. “I reckon’ after what you just saw, you’re gonna need some company.”
The Guardian glanced to their Ghost when he appeared beside them, but where they expected disapproval, the Ghost only nodded.
“Go.” The little Light told them softly. “I think he can help you.”
The Guardian felt themself draw in a deep breath before they stood up from their chair, heading towards the rear of the ship. They clenched their hands into fists to quell their shaking before they gave their Ghost a small nod.
A flash of Light later, and they were standing on the deck of the Derelict, in between the two transmatt bays. They glanced up to where Drifter stood on the catwalk jutting out above them.
“Hey.” He murmured; his voice uncharacteristically soft.
“Hey.” They murmured back, unable to say anything more.
“C’mere.” He told them, gesturing for them to come closer. The Guardian sniffled lightly as they turned their eyes away, making their way over to the ramp that would lead them up to where Drifter stood. He held out his arms for them when they reached him, and the Guardian had little control over their body as they walked straight to him, planting their head against his chest, their body going slack against him. They didn’t even have the strength to wrap their arms around him. They couldn’t even care about how pathetic they probably looked.
Drifter chuckled as he wrapped his arms around them, running soothing hands across their back.
“Oh, Guardian.” He murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to their temple. How long had it been since either of them had been physically affectionate towards one another? The Guardian had withdrawn after Europa, but they’d never exactly had a relationship. It was the wrong word for them. Still, they fell back into old postures so easily.
The Guardian wiped at their face as tears began to leak from their eyes, but they only cried harder, leaning closer, fisting their hands in Drifter’s robes.
“I don’t know what to do.” They hiccupped into his chest, their hands trembling against Drifter’s chest. “Is the Traveler dead?”
“You still feel it in here, don’t you?” Drifter pushed them back enough to slide his right hand to slip over their shoulder and rest his palm on their upper left chest, just below their collarbone.
They nodded sheepishly, but what did that matter? Why wasn’t the Traveler protecting itself? Did Savathûn already have a grip on it somehow?
“Is it possible the Light could be Taken?” They asked instead. “That we could be Taken?”
Drifter studied them for a long while. He kept his hands on them, his left hand moving to hold their right hip while his left stayed resting on their chest.
“I dunno, kid.” He told them. “I know stickin’ your hand in a blight is no picnic, but I don’t know if a Guardian could be Taken. But,” he shifted both of his hands to grip their shoulders, leaning down to look them in the eyes. “If anyone could withstand it, it’s you.”
The Guardian shook their head, looking away from Drifter’s eyes.
“Oryx didn’t want to take me because he liked the challenge I presented to him.” They explained quietly. “But Savathûn plans everything differently. What if she doesn’t need me to be a challenge for her? What if she wants to use me for her own motives?”
“She won’t.” Drifter told them firmly, but the Guardian shook their head again, drawing back sharply. Drifter held onto them even still, his hands sliding down to grip their elbows.
“But what if she does?” They demanded, tears flowing down their cheeks. “What if she uses me to take down the Light? I’ve already almost mastered Stasis, what if she uses that to her advantage?”
Drifter frowned at them. “Is this where you make me promise to kill you?”
“If it comes to that.” They managed quietly. Drifter shook his head.
“If it comes to that, I’m not sure what I’ll do.” He confessed. The Guardian opened their mouth to protest but he kept going. “More than anything, I’d want to get you back. We all would. You’d have all of Humanity, hell, even the Eliksni fighting to get you back onto the side of the Light. If that failed, someone would have to kill you, but we’d exhaust all other options before it came to that and you know it.”
The Guardian seemed to relax just a little at the idea of a plan, at the idea that he was actually putting thought into the situation.
“But,” Drifter continued. “I think right now, you’re letting her get into your head.” He reached out and lifted the Guardian’s chin gently. “She wants you to be scared right now. But we have allies, we still have the Eliksni, and all the Guardians on our side. The City hasn’t fallen apart yet, and we’re so close to finding Quaria.” He wiped away a few stray tears with his thumbs, cupping their face with his hands. “Just breathe, Guardian. You’re alright.”
The Guardian let their eyes close, drawing in a deep breath as Drifter had instructed. They let it out slowly, then did it again, and again. When they finally felt at least a little bit calmer, they opened their eyes and met Drifter’s gaze once again.
“Okay.” They breathed, and they leaned forward to rest their forehead against his. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Drifter murmured, “Now c’mon. You look like you could use a nap.”
The Guardian hummed in response, and they let Drifter take them by the hand, leading them back, deeper into the Derelict until they reached his little shipping container room. They shed their armor once they were inside, shedding their clothes until they wore only their thin underlayers. Drifter pulled them down into the bed with them, and together they curled into his heavy sleeping bag, wrapped around one another where Savathûn couldn’t reach them.
Notes:
I just want you all to know, getting your wisdom teeth out hurts, 10/10 would not recommend. Ouchie.
Also this is apparently my one Drifter/Guardian move. Drifter comforts the Guardian on the Derelict. Same place, same ending. Every. Time.
Chapter 24: Royalty
Summary:
Crow and the Guardian look at old guns.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The differences between Crow and Uldren were profound. At least, the differences between Crow and what the Guardian had known of Uldren. They certainly hadn’t been best pals with Uldren, they’d never really interacted with him enough to actually know him, but every time they had, he’d rubbed them the wrong way. What they knew of Uldren from personal experience was that he was a stuck up, annoying prick that had murdered their mentor and friend. What they knew from outside sources, however, was that Uldren had been beloved by his people. As the Awoken prince, he’d been willing to do anything for them, his loyalty to his sister and to his people unmatched. Even if he hadn’t been the kindest to them and to the other Guardians, his corruption had been a true tragedy.
Considering all of that, of course, the differences between Crow and Uldren didn’t seem so profound.
If anyone had known tragedy, had known torture and hardship, it was Crow, and yet he’d never been anything but kind. The Guardian could hardly understand it. The Guardian had gone through more traumatic situations than they could count—just like Crow—but they found themself callous, distrusting, brutal. Crow had never been like that, though they didn’t know enough to say the same for Uldren.
The contrasts rang out particularly heavily from time to time, when Uldren is on their mind but Crow finds them instead. One of these times, they’re seated on their bed in their quarters in the HELM, the Ace of Spades in their lap as they dutifully clean the weapon. Their door is open, but Crow still surprises them when he slips inside near soundlessly, and they don’t look up until he speaks, standing beside the bed.
“That’s a beautiful weapon.” He says, and the Guardian flinches so hard they’re glad the hand cannon is unloaded as the fumble with the weapon in their hands. “Sorry.” Crow says, his voice softer now as he sinks down beside them on the bed. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t, I was just…” They trail off, Crow gives them a look. “Alright, you did. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Sorry.” He tells them again, “I got back early from scouting. I thought I’d say hello before I crashed.”
“Are you tired?” The Guardian asks. They can’t help but conceal the gun a little with the rag spread over their lap, hiding behind the conversation in the same way as they turn the focus back on Crow.
He shrugs. “It’s been a long day.” He answers. “I could eat something, though.”
The Guardian hums, looking down at the gun as they make to put it away.
“But maybe not just yet.” Crow continues. “Tell me about that gun. I’ve seen it before. You clearly care about it a lot.”
They almost don’t want to uncover the piece in his sight. Not when his flesh and blood used this very gun to kill their mentor in front of them. Their gut twists, but they uncover it anyways. Crow doesn’t reach for it or invade the Guardian’s space in any way, he only watches from where he’s seated respectfully beside them, peering down at the gun with them.
“It belonged to a…friend.” They tell him. “He was killed. The killer took the gun, but I was able to get it back.” They turn the gun over in their hand, showing Crow the way the light shines off of it. “It was damaged when I got it back, but Banshee helped me fix it up. Since then, I swore to take good care of it. It’s…one of the few things I have to remember him by.”
“It seems like Guardians have a lot of important hand cannons.” Crow comments, and the Guardian smiles. They hadn’t even shown Crow Last Word, Thorn, or Lumina, let alone all the other prized guns they kept tucked away in their vault.
“You have no idea.” They murmur, rising from their seat on the bed. They cross the room to their desk, tucked against the wall, and set the gun down atop it. “I actually found something I thought you should have.” They say, glancing back to look at him as their Ghost summons a second gun to rest on the desk’s surface.
“It’s not a hand cannon, but I think you’ll like it anyways.” They pick up Vestian Dynasty from the desk, an old gun they’d dug out of their vault. They’d infused it just for him, though they had spent a great deal of time wondering about whether or not it was an appropriate gift to give him, considering his past. “It’s a Reef made weapon.” They tell him. “Petra Venj and the other Corsairs carry weapons just like it, not that you have to be a Corsair to wield one. It’s a great gun.” They manage, tripping over their words now. They pause, drawing in a deep breath and turning back to Crow with the gun in their hands.
“Here.” They offer it out to him. “It’s called Vestian Dynasty. It’s gotten me out of some tough spots, to say the least. I think you should have it.”
Crow studies them for a moment before he reaches out and took the weapon from their hands. To say the least, it looks more at home in his grasp than it had ever looked in theirs, the starlight in his skin dancing across the weapon as he holds it in his grip.
“Thank you,” Crow tells them quietly, studying the gun in his hand. “But why?”
The Guardain shrugs. “I figured with you being Awoken, you should have more from the Reef than the scars that you took away from it.”
Crow bows his head as he looks down. His hood is off, his mask gone, the yellow light of his eyes and the shimmering starlight below his skin dancing over the gun in his hands.
“That’s…thoughtful of you.” He tells them, the gun in the holster at his thigh vanishing into a transmat to make room for the new weapon. “Thank you.” He says again, and the Guardian nods, turning back to the desk to pick up the Ace of Spades.
“Here,” They offer it towards him. “I don’t think I can give this one away anytime soon, but you can look at it if you’d like.”
Crow handles the weapon like glass, holding it so gently the Guardian can almost forget the old blood it had spilled between them.
Notes:
Hopefully I'll be posting two chapters today to catch up, if not, I took the day off of work tomorrow as well so I might try to catch up then. Sorry this one is short. The idea for it dissolved around the second paragraph and the rest was just me trying to make it work.
Chapter 25: Taken on Me
Summary:
Drifter helps the Guardian deal with an injury from a Taken blight.
Notes:
Swapped out prompts again, instead of 'Praise the Sun, Void and Arc' I'm using the 2019 prompt 'Taken on Me'
Chapter Text
“Easy, Guardian, easy!”
Despite the warning, the Guardian slips on the slick walkway, stumbling and winding up face-down on in a puddle on the Tower walkway. What normally would have been a funny situation ends up being rather pitiful as the Guardian rolls onto their side and lets out a whine of pain, a hand clutching their side, still burned from a tussle with a blight that the Guardian certainly didn’t win.
Drifter glances around the walkway quickly as he stoops to heave the Guardian to their feet once more. Thankfully, the walkway is empty of anyone but them, the blights overhead and the rain coming down at a downpour on top of them serving as an effective deterrent for prying eyes. Still, the Guardian’s whine could’ve drawn attention, and Drifter isn’t pleased to realize that with the blights in the Tower, whoever put them there could be lurking close by, meaning the Guardian isn’t even safe in the Tower.
“C’mon, up.” He tells them, helping them to their knees before he slings one of their arms over his shoulder and continues across the walkway that will lead them to the stairs that will take them to the Bazaar. They’re still so far from the Annex, where he’s trying to take them, but they’ll have to manage.
The Guardian whines again when Drifter drags them upright, and he shoots another look around, his heart beating loudly in his chest. He doesn’t shush the Guardian, but his unease must be apparent even in their pained state as they clamp their lips shut and make an effort to quiet themself. He takes a step forward carefully, eyes down on the Guardian’s legs as they stumble to follow him. This is a recipe for disaster, he knows. The Guardian just came from running their missions through the corrupted vex network—meaning they were already exhausted—then Drifter watched in the shadows as they attacked the blights over the Tower for at least an hour, until they fell into one and earned the burn now marring their side.
Without sufficient Light to heal it right away, Drifter chose that moment to extract the Guardian. He’d swear even the Commander sent him a grateful look, but it’s been a long day for him, too.
The Guardian’s legs fail to properly hold their weight, and Drifter lets out a quiet sigh as he shifts his arms in preparation to pick them up. The Guardian’s Ghost must be paying attention, because their weapons transmat away in a flash of light, as well as their bulkier armor. Drifter still grunts as he heaves them into his arms, but his hold is strong and sturdy and he descends the stairs with much more ease than he would have letting the Guardian walk themself.
He avoids the stares as he carries the Guardian down the hall and into the Bazaar. The idea that the witch queen could be anywhere has him more alert than ever, his Light feeling around for any trace of her hidden form. Still, he doesn’t look at anyone as he walks, he keeps his gaze focused directly ahead.
The lights flicker on and off as he descends the stairs into the annex, off more often than on, as unhelpful as that is. Thankfully, he’s made a point to learn his surroundings in his time here, and he navigates the stairs in the dark well enough, though the just barely glowing eyes of the Eliksni at the bottom of the stairs do serve as a good point of reference for him as he makes his way down. He shifts the Guardian in his arms as he rounds the final corner towards his little setup, and he feels their entire body tense as they bite down on a cry.
“Easy.” He murmurs, shifting again to try to relieve whatever pain he sparked. From the Guardian’s fist clenching in his robes, he’s not sure he’s successful. “Almost there.” He manages.
He kicks the grate closed behind them, carrying the Guardian to the back of the space, towards a table he has set up, covered in data tablets and papers that he’d been pouring over in an attempt to understand the Endless Night. He hasn’t exactly been successful, so he has no qualms about setting the Guardian on the edge of the table and sweeping the contents aside before he guides the Guardian to lay down.
“Didn’t your Ghost ever tell you not to take on blights when you’re outta Light?” He asks them, his hands already fumbling over the Guardian’s armor.
He reckons they don’t run out of Light often. Only Guardians in intense Darkness, fighting for hours on end run out of Light to the point where it becomes a problem. On second thought, the Guardian fits into those categories much more than most, but he’s also never met a Guardian with stronger Light than the one before him.
“He must not have—” They break off with a shaky gasp as Drifter rips away the under armor partially covering the wound, the fabric half eaten by the blight. He shoves the fabric up to bunch around the Guardian’s ribs, tugging down the waist of their leg armor and under armor to leave most of their hip and part of their lower ribs bare. “Mentioned it.” They finish through gritted teeth. Drifter tears off his gloves.
Darkness burns are one of the more gruesome wounds a Guardian can receive. Because of their physical bond with the Light, coming into contact with Darkness as pure as blights causes a great deal of damage. Light is torn up through the Guardian’s skin, consumed by the Darkness while the blight sets on the Guardian’s skin like an infection, staining their skin an inky black as it swirls out, into their veins, crawling further along the Guardian’s body.
“Well, I’m sure you’re not going to forget it after this.” Drifter tells them, already drawing his own Light up from his core. The Guardian’s face shifts to one of great concern, just as Drifter looks around for an untainted scrap of fabric, and ultimately drags his headband off his head.
“What are you going to—”
“Bite on this.” He tells them, shoving the fabric into their hands. “Brace yourself.” His hands are already hot with Solar Light, but he pulls more of it from his core, laying it over onto his palms, urging the power hotter, forcing the Light to be more potent.
The Guardian grimaces, but they comply quickly, clamping their teeth down on the fabric and dropping back down onto the table to lay on their back. Drifter waits until they’ve exhaled before he presses his palms against the stain of Darkness.
The Guardian does well to muffle their cries, but they squirm enough that Drifter has to force a forearm down on their torso to pin them as he pours more Light into their wound. The Darkness thrashes back at him, the blight defending its hold on the Guardian as best it can. When Drifter’s Light singes it even greater, it skirts away from him, hoping to escape the onslaught of his Light, to hide somewhere he won’t find it. Drifter pursues, letting his Light flood the Guardian’s body, burning out the Darkness while it fills every other part of them with only warmth. He pours his power into them through his hands until he feels the last of the Darkness’s hold on the Guardian wither and die, and the Guardian’s body goes slack below him.
It takes him a minute to spool the remaining Light back into his body, but his hands are warm with only his body heat as he sets a hand over the wound, the Guardian now bleeding below him. One of the Ghosts has already placed a heap of first aid supplies on the table, and he takes a few pieces of gauze in his hands, setting them across the Guardian’s wound before he bandages it carefully. When he ties it off and looks back up to the Guardian’s face, they’ve removed the headband from their mouth and hold it loosely in a hand, tears silently flowing from their eyes to slide down onto the table below them.
“Hey,” He murmurs quietly, reaching out to cup their cheek with the hand that has less blood smeared on it. “You alright?”
The Guardian nods, their eyes still closed.
“Yeah.” They breathe. Their body shakes just a little as they shift to lay more comfortably on their back, one of their hands hovering over their now bandaged side. “Thank you.”
Drifter doesn’t acknowledge their words; he only sets about cleaning up.
“You need to be more careful.” He tells them. “Savathûn could be in this city. In the Tower, even. If she sees you vulnerable like that, she might not hesitate.”
“I know,” The Guardian peels their eyes open, carefully rolling onto their side. Drifter helps them sit up as they throw their legs over the side of the table. “I’ll be more careful. It’s just with these blights…” They shake their head. “I never thought anything like that could get so close to the Traveler.”
Drifter nods. “This simulation could’ve been draining the Traveler this whole time.” He points out. The Guardian grimaces.
“Where do you think all that energy is going?” They wonder aloud.
“I’m not sure it matters.” He answers. “Maybe to some weapon or somethin’, but it’s probably more important to Savathûn that we don’t have it. She’s already dealt a crippling blow as it is.”
The Guardian shakes their head to themself, staring numbly down at their hands, clasped in their lap.
“What are we going to do?” They breathe. Drifter reaches out to give their shoulder a tight squeeze.
“Only thing we can do.” He tells them. “Take it day by day. Don’t back down.”
The Guardian lets out their breath in a quiet sigh, but it’s as much of an answer as they’ll get from anyone. At least Drifter has the gall to be honest. It’s true they don’t have a lot of options. Their only hope relies on taking out Quria, if they can even get to her.
Chapter 26: Gift
Summary:
Saint and Osiris reconnect after a long time apart.
Notes:
Immediate follow up to the second half of chapter 3, here!
Chapter Text
“Come in.” Saint’s words ring a little too loudly though his head, despite the Titan’s soft tone of voice.
Osiris stands on the doorstep for long moments, breathing into that space, wondering how much of this interaction he can take. It’s not that it’s Saint standing before him—it is, but it’s more than that. Osiris hasn’t interacted with another being on a personal level in what feels like weeks. Not since Sagira died, up until now, with Saint staring at him like he’s a real phoenix that just graced the Exo with his presence. Osiris nearly withers under the gaze.
He wants to turn. He wants to run. He’s already made a step tonight; can he really make anymore? He wants to slap that look off Saint’s face. He wants the Titan to stop looking at him like some kind of savior and see him for what he really is. Every ugly part of himself.
But…another part of him wants nothing more than Saint. He wants the comfort that the Titan is so willing to provide. He wants to hoard all the other man’s love and care until he’s smothered in it and nothing else can reach him, good or bad. He wants to cease to exist, held within the circle of Saint’s arms.
Both of those are too drastic options for him, but the logical part of his brain kicks on and reminds him that there is still progress to be made here. And for once, the selfish part of Osiris is also the kind part of him, because when he nods at Saint—finally, finally—the other man’s face crumples with relief.
Saint doesn’t touch him as he steps past him, inside. He closes the door to the apartment behind him, and turns back to lead Osiris further into the home, the former Warlock having been waiting awkwardly in the entryway. He leads him out into a little kitchen, not at all far from the door, and he sets Osiris’ gift on the breakfast bar before the counter.
“Shall I make tea?” The Titan asks, and somehow his voice sounds indifferent enough for Osiris to almost believe him, though he knows his Titan too well.
“Please.” Osiris answers, sliding into one of the tall chairs set before the breakfast bar. The cool of the City’s night has left him chilled without his Light, and despite the time commitment that tea hits at, Saint makes wonderful tea.
Saint fills the kettle and turns it on with a click, the sound of it heating up filling the space with a low roar. Osiris watches as he sets out two mugs and a little bowl of sugar. He even brings over a basket of teas for Osiris to choose from.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Osiris tells him before the basket can hit the counter in front of him, and Saint blinks before taking the basket back and drawing out two tea bags, setting them beside the mugs. He draws out a bowl, and Osiris hands over the bag of candies from the counter as he picks up a pair of scissors.
Osiris eyes the candies as they clink their way into the bowl, and Saint sets the bowl before him once it’s full. He takes a small handful and eats a few.
“Are they as bad as you remember?” Osiris asks, and Saint smiles.
“Worse.” He tells Osiris, eating a few more. “I jest. They are quite good. Have some.”
Osiris eyes him with false skepticism, but he takes a few and eats them regardless. They’re just as sweet as he remembered, but the sensation is not so overwhelming now. In fact, rather than adding to the anxieties and unease surrounding him, it seems to draw him out of his head a little, if only for a moment.
“The tea will taste bitter if we eat too many.” Saint cautions, just as the kettle clicks off. He turns back to the mugs and drops the tea bags into them. “Though, I suppose your tea is always bitter.”
Osiris rolls his eyes, eating another candy.
“You only think so because you drown your tea in sugar.” He points out, eyeing the bowl in front of him. “Perhaps you could throw a few of the candies in with yours.” He suggests. Saint makes a remarkably accurate gagging noise and Osiris smiles for the first time in a while.
Saint sets Osiris’s mug in front of him before spooning a few scoops of sugar into his own mug. Osiris lifts the mug towards his face and inhales deeply.
“Peach?” He questions, and Saint nods. Peach tea has been Saint’s bedtime ritual for as long as Osiris can remember. The familiarity of it eases his wounds like salve on a burn.
Saint slides around the counter, moving behind Osiris to seat himself on the stool beside him. He draws the bowl of candies between them and pops a few into his mouth while he waits for his tea to cool. Osiris can’t help but watch.
His gaze falls back down to his mug as Saint chews, and he reaches in to take the corner of his teabag between his fingertips, lifting the bag up and dropping it back down in the hot water. For a tea like this, it isn’t necessary, but it gives him something to do as he drifts back into his head. He owes Saint an explanation after all of this, certainly.
“Saint, I—” He starts, lifting his head, only for the other man to take one of his hands in his own and drop a few candies into it.
“You don’t have to explain.” The Titan tells him, and Osiris frowns with what feels like helplessness. Saint says nothing more, he only gives Osiris’s hand back to him and takes a candy from the bowl for himself.
“Why not?” He breathes at last, his hand still half closed around the candies.
“Because.” Saint answers simply. “I know such things are hard for you to discuss. Do not speak until you are ready.”
“But you—” Osiris shakes his head. Saint has always been extraordinary to him, beyond that, even, but he cannot wrap his mind around this. Shouldn’t Saint be demanding an explanation? How can he be so lenient? So patient with him? “I should—”
“Quiet your mouth.” Saint tells him, just as he had that day in the Hangar so long ago. Osiris listens. His hand shakes when he places one of the candies into his mouth.
“I will wait until you are ready.” Saint tells him. “You owe me nothing, and I do not want to force you. These things take time, Osiris. I understand.”
Osiris swallows hard.
“But, if you wanted to talk about it, I will listen.” Saint finishes, and Osiris nods because it’s all he can do.
“Thank you.” He breathes when he’s recovered enough to speak. Saint only nods in acknowledgement, taking a sip from his tea.
Osiris picks up his own mug, blowing on it softly, the liquid inside still hot to the point where the mug is uncomfortably warm against his fingers. He draws a sip once it’s cooled a bit. He and Saint have lapsed into comfortable silence by the time he speaks again.
“I’m sorry for making you wait so long.”
Saint pauses beside him, lowering his mug back down to the counter below him.
“I would wait for an eternity for you, Osiris.”
It’s the unabashed vulnerability that has Osiris cracking. It hits him like a punch to the gut, and the tears that have been burning below his eyelids fight their way to the surface. He slides off his stool, and Saint turns with him, just in time to face him as Osiris steps into his embrace and hides his tears against his Titan’s chest. Saint is still for a stunned moment before his arms wrap around Osiris, but when they do, he holds him tight. Osiris’s tears come with more force, but tucked within Saint’s arms, he finally feels like there is something left in the world for him after all.
Chapter 27: Sweet Dreams
Summary:
Osiris and Saint visit Prague.
Notes:
Just some more gay birds because I love them.
Very minor spoiler- I’m calling the Eliksni Fallen in this piece as reference to the time frame it takes place in, but even though this is fictional I definitely support calling people by the names they wish to be called by, so yeah. Just a heads up I guess.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The streets of Prague are so much quieter than the Last City. With both of their duties, with the burden of the Vanguard weighing down so heavily and Osiris’s studies taking up so much of his time, it’s rare that the two of them get any time off. When they’re not in the City, they’re on this battlefield or that. Saint is leading the charge against the Fallen savages tearing at civilian settlements and Osiris is chasing and taking apart Vex in search of data. When they get time off, it’s rarely together, and they rarely have the energy to do anything but collapse in their bed. Prague is a blessing; one Osiris holds very dear to his heart.
The old city might have been unnerving to some. It paints the picture of post-apocalypse; buildings crumpled and rubble thrown through the streets. They step over shards of glass and wander amid destroyed streets and old structures. Shells of cars line the outsides of the city, a mass exodus that never quite came to fruition. Skeletons can be seen occasionally, within cars or caught under rubble, some even lie on the edges of the streets. Osiris and Saint have already walked past a few mass graves, marked by rubble and shoddy headstones.
But the city isn’t all bad. Over all of the rubble, new life has sprung. Summer is just around the corner, and wildflowers have found their way through the old concrete and along the sides of the roads and buildings. Ivy and moss covers the ground and the buildings, and Osiris’s eyes are drawn down to the greenery peeking through cobbled streets. The nature seems to follow them, as well. Deer mill through the streets with no fear of them—having been out of contact with humanity for so long—birds chirp and squirrels chitter, following them along their path as Saint leaves a literal trail of breadcrumbs behind him.
Osiris has already told Saint it isn’t good to feed the wildlife, but their trips to the city are infrequent enough that Saint doesn’t believe it will be of consequence. Osiris can’t find it in himself to continue to argue when he stops to examine some ruins and turns back to find his Titan laughing as a flock of birds perch over his arms and shoulders, devouring bread from his palms.
They walk until they reach what must have been a park once, and they set up in the shade of a great tree, letting its leaves block the hot sun as wind ruffles its branches ever so gently. Saint sets their picnic basket down as Osiris spreads a thick blanket below them.
“I hope you saved enough bread for us.” The Warlock remarks, eyeing the Titan warily. At least half the loaf is gone, but it’s still enough for them to make sandwiches left, though Osiris wouldn’t mind having a little more. The loaf was fresh when they picked it up from a bakery in the City this morning.
Saint notes his gaze and smiles. “I am sorry, my bird. There will be enough for our sandwiches, I’m sure. But I can buy you some more once we return to the City.” He moves over to Osiris as he straightens from laying out the blanket. A small smile reaches Osiris’s face when Saint steps up behind him and his arms wrap around the Warlock’s torso. “Perhaps I was being unfair with my distribution. You are much bigger than they are.” He nods to a bird in front of them, his chin on Osiris’s shoulder. It’s a dove, having followed Saint along their walk to ask for more crumbs.
Osiris hums, laying his arms over Saint’s on his torso.
“Just don’t give them any of our turkey.” Osiris tells Saint, who chuckles against him.
“No, of course not.” He promises, then considers the basket with a tilt of his head. “They might like the cheese, though.”
“Saint.”
The Titan’s laugh rumbles through Osiris’s back, and can’t help but miss him as he draws away, stepping around Osiris to seat himself on the blanket below them.
“Do not worry, Osiris.” He tells the Warlock. “You can have all the cheese you want.”
Osiris lets out a quiet ‘humph,’ but drops down on the blanket beside Saint without complaint.
Saint draws the basket towards them and starts distributing the contents of it across the blanket while Osiris takes a knife and sets to cutting up the remains of the loaf of bread for their sandwiches. Eager to get out to the old city, they brought all of the contents for sandwiches without actually making them, along with a good amount of fruit bought fresh from a City market. Assembling sandwiches is of course no problem, and Saint takes the bread from Osiris and sets to making their sandwiches while Osiris slices up the fruit, dropping it carefully into a little container set on the blanket in front of him. They’ve just finished assembling the lunch when Saint reaches into the basket and draws out a glass bottle.
Osiris’s brows lift. “Wine?” He questions, though he’s well aware of the contents of the bottle. Saint hums in confirmation, turning the label towards him to read as he draws out two plastic cups.
“I thought this was a good occasion.” He tells Osiris simply, and Osiris’ gaze shifts over the label before Saint draws it back and sets to opening the bottle. It’s clearly a more expensive wine, not one they’ve had on their shelves for months—Osiris doesn’t recognize it other than noting the winery is one they both quite like.
“I suppose so.” He responds, considering the occasion with a small smile. If there’s anything he’s learned from the recent hardships, it’s that spending time with loved ones is a good occasion for anything.
But what hardships? Shouldn’t they save it for something special?
A sudden shriek of laughter startles Osiris out of his thoughts, and he jerks his head up just as Sagira and Geppetto zip overhead, followed by a swarm of insects.
“We found bees!” Sagira exclaims, leading the swarm above them into the trees where she and Geppetto crash into leaves, bubbling with laughter.
“Did you harass them?” Osiris questions, meanwhile Saint laughs from beside him.
“I wanted to scan them!” Sagira shouts, and Osiris watches as she narrowly avoids crashing into a tree branch. Geppetto bounces off of it behind her.
“She broke the hive!” Geppetto fills in, and Saint’s brow plates lift.
“I did not!” Sagira shouts, circling back over towards them to plead her case. Osiris cringes at the hoard that follows. “Maybe I damaged it, maybe, but I didn’t mean to! And I didn’t break it.”
Saint quickly shifts to cover Osiris’ exposed skin as Sagira gets closer, the swarm of bees just behind her.
“Lie in the grass until they give up. We can check on the hive once we finish lunch.” The Titan tells her while Osiris drags a metal palm off of his face.
Thankfully, the Ghosts do as instructed, putting enough distance between them that the bees give Osiris and Saint no trouble as they return to their lunch. Saint pours the wine with a small chuckle, watching the ghosts flop face down into the grass, then roll themselves over until their shells are face up.
Osiris’ eyes linger on Sagira. It’s been so long since he’s heard her laugh.
But it hasn’t been? In fact, he’s near sick of her laughter. During a consensus meeting just days ago she spent the whole time filling their bond with poor jokes and ruckus laughter.
“Osiris?”
The Warlock blinks as Saint extends a cup towards him, filled halfway with the expensive wine. Osiris takes the cup, but the liquid looks so red through the plastic. Pain sparks in his gut as he stares into it.
“Osiris?” It’s Saint’s voice, but Osiris looks to Sagira anyways, lurching to his feet so suddenly he spills the contents of his cup. The dark liquid sinks into the blanket below them like blood.
“Osiris!”
Sagira shrieks his name and suddenly the world is tilting sideways. Darkness crashes down on him and Osiris gasps awake with Sagira’s name on his lips.
Firm arms tighten around him and Osiris blinks until he can see, taking in the semi-familiar bedroom around him. Saint presses his face against Osiris’s back just as it begins to shake from tears.
“Osiris?” His Titan’s voice is muffled with sleep. The former Warlock only shakes his head, and Saint grips Osiris’ shoulders, guiding him to turn around to face him. “It was only a dream, my bird. It is alright.”
Osiris shakes his head again, but he tucks himself into Saint’s arms regardless. He doesn’t realize that’s what’s wrong; that it was all only a dream.
Notes:
Sorry it turned sad.
Chapter 28: Voices in My Head
Summary:
Crow, Glint, and Ghost help the Guardian through some anxieties.
Notes:
Disclaimer: This piece might have some potentially triggering language/discussions about anxiety. I have not been diagnosed with anxiety and I haven't done my research therefore I do not know what I'm talking about, but in this piece I'm basically trying to explain my own dealings with anxious bouts in order to apply those to the Guardian. If that stuff could potentially be hard for you to read, I recommend skipping the first few paragraphs.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Guardian can’t sleep. Anxiety eats at them like an acid, wearing them down from the inside out, burning through their flesh, singeing it as it devours them whole. They can’t sleep, they can’t eat. They want to fight but they’re too exhausted and fatigued to do anything, yet they find it in them to pace their room, tears streaming down their cheeks as they tremble and shake.
They don’t know why it’s happening. These fits, these episodes, these attacks; they’ve been becoming more frequent recently, but there’s no reason for them. Other than the threats to humanity getting worse and worse—which really is a pretty apparent cause. Still, there’s nothing in their personal life that should have set them off this time. They have nothing to be anxious about, at least not currently. On days like these, their Ghost helps them compile a list of everything they can think of that they could possibly need to do. Their Ghost thinks of everything, and as usual, every box on the list is checked off.
Their Ghost has tried comforting them, but the sounds and lights set them off to the point where most of what they can do is pace in the darkness or lay on their bed and breathe. Mostly, they’re just unable to accept their Ghost’s comfort. They just want to be alone, to ride out the wave of emotions until they crash, exhausted.
Someone has other plans, however, as a gentle knock sounds on their door, and they sit up from where their curled up on their bed with a grimace.
“Guardian?” A voice sounds through the sliding metal door. They’re in their quarters on the HELM, the walls aren’t exactly thick enough to make it a fully private room. “It’s me, Crow. Can I come in?”
The Guardian sniffles hard, looking to their Ghost as he appears beside them.
“Should I…?” The Ghost trails off, looking between the door and his Guardian.
“Sure.” The Guardian mumbles, their voice weak and tired.
The Ghost floats to the door, and a button flashes green when he directs a beam of light at it, the door sliding open to reveal Crow and Glint in the doorway.
“Hey.” Crow greets, his voice low and soft. “You okay?”
The Guardian wipes at their eyes as Crow enters the room. Glint drifts over to them, flying low enough to hover in front of their face. The Guardian closes their eyes when Glint presses his shell to their cheek gently.
“Hey,” Crow murmurs again, crouched in front of the Guardian now. He sets a hand on their knee, and they look at him with tears in their eyes as they reach out to take his other hand. “What’s wrong?
The Guardian shakes their head, holding out their free hand for their Ghost, who comes to hover in their palm. They look to the Ghost with pleading eyes, and he shifts to look at Crow.
“They’ve been…” The Ghost furrows his shell. “Experiencing some anxiety. More so recently.”
Crow’s expression shifts quickly to understanding, and he nods to them. “I get that sometimes.” He tells them. His eyes shift over them, their breathing is still shaky, tears still sliding down their cheeks. “Glint…helps me calm down sometimes. Maybe we could show you what we do?”
The Guardian glances to their Ghost, who shifts his shell in an imitation of a shrug.
“Okay.” They tell Crow, and he smiles sympathetically at how broken their voice sounds.
“Here, I’ll show you first.” He tells them, standing up to seat himself beside them on the bed. He slides off his cloak and his outermost layer, leaving him in a tight black undershirt. “Normally I’ll lie back, and Glint will come and sit right here. I try to shed most of my layers to get a clearer sensation, but you might want something to muffle the feeling a bit when you’re first starting out.”
He shifts to lay back on the bed, his knees bent over the end so his feet rest on the floor while his upper body is pillowed against the soft surface. The Guardian turns to look at him as he taps his fingers against his sternum at the center of his chest. Glint quickly follows, tucking himself into the spot when Crow moves his hand.
“Then, he starts humming. Here, you can feel it.” A low buzz registers in the lower reaches of the Guardian’s hearing range as Crow reaches out and takes their hand setting it down to splay over his chest. As Crow’s chest rises and falls beneath their hand with his breathing, they can feel a soft rumble moving steadily through it. “The sensation can be a little overwhelming at first, but it helps me focus a lot more on myself and my surroundings than whatever is going on in my head. And it can make you sleepy.”
The Guardian looks to their Ghost, who’s hovering in the air beside them. The Ghost shrugs again, sliding back out of the way as Crow sits up, lifting Glint with him until the Ghost rises to float on his own.
“What do you think, do you want to try it?” The Hunter questions.
The Guardian mostly isn’t crying anymore. Thankfully, Crow’s soft words have soothed them enough that their cries have mostly died down. Their body still shakes and their breathing is still unsteady, but it’s much better than it was. Still, it certainly couldn’t hurt to try it out, and Ghost and Guardian share a look before the Guardian nods, lying down on their back.
Crow is quick to join them, lying beside them as the Ghosts hover closer. They settle onto their respective Guardians’ chests. The Guardian shuts their eyes as their Ghost begins to hum.
At first, the sensation borders on uncomfortable. They feel tingly and twitchy, and would rather move themselves or their Ghost, but after they draw in a deep breath, some of the tensions straining their mind seem to seep out. Still, they adjust their Ghost with a gentle nudge until he’s in the best place on their chest, and they practice breathing deep for a few moments before they really settle into it. Crow’s right, of course, the sensation draws their attention towards their body rather than their mind, and even as they sit with it for longer it almost seems to massage out the tensions within their body. Slowly, their mind quiets.
“How is it?” Crow asks, his head lulling to the side to look at them.
“Good.” The Guardian mumbles, reaching out a hand to brush their fingers against their Ghost’s shell in thanks. The little Light flutters against their chest. They can already feel themself growing tired.
“Thank you.” They murmur. Crow rolls over onto his side, leaning over to press a light kiss to their temple.
“Of course.” He murmurs in response, reaching out a hand to ruffle their hair lightly. “I’m going to go. Get some sleep, Guardian.
The Guardian squeezes his hand before he leaves, the thanks evident in their eyes when they meet. Once the Hunter is gone, they manage to strip themself of their armor and drag themself a little further onto the bed, but their Ghost settles against them once more and sleep claims them quickly after.
Notes:
I genuinely cannot remember if I read about Glint humming to Crow in the lore or if that's just something @paravin or someone else came up with. If it is, so sorry I stole your thing! I just thought it was super cute.
Chapter 29: Ironborn
Summary:
Saladin comforts Shiro after a long day.
Chapter Text
Shiro is more relieved than anything when Saladin returns to the Temple. Between his painful trip to the City and the attack on the Temple hours before, stress has him tight as wire and there’s little he can do to ease it. He’s pacing like a patrolling guard when Saladin returns; walking along the open corridor before the temple with a scout rifle in his hands. He pauses when Saladin’s ship passes overhead, the Iron Lord transmatting out to land on the steps in front of him.
Shiro opens his mouth to greet him, but he’s honestly not sure what to say. Instead, he stands still as Saladin walks towards him, watching the Iron Lord’s eyes sweep over the space around them. A few of the wolves are lounged around the space, though Shiro’s tension is clearly spreading to them as they eye him warily. Skadi and the injured wolves are inside by the fire, but the click of nails on stone already sounds behind Shiro as a few of them come out to greet the Iron Lord.
Saladin eyes Shiro before the wolves reach him, kneeling down to pet them and receive their kisses of welcome. A few of them cry and whine at him as he pets them, upset at him for leaving but ever happy to have him back once again. The noise and the fuss eventually dies down, and Saladin stands again, walking towards Shiro once more.
“Shiro.” He greets, pausing in front of him. Shiro almost can’t look him in the eye. He can’t understand why.
“Hey.” Shiro murmurs in response, his eyes down as if Saladin’s chestplate has suddenly become all the more interesting.
“Are you alright?” Saladin asks him quietly. When Shiro doesn’t respond, Saladin reaches out to grip his shoulder.
Shiro sighs heavily.
“I’m just…tired.” Shiro answers quietly. “I’m worried about the hive attack. I don’t want them coming back.”
“They won’t.” Saladin tells him, and his voice holds the same authority it always does.
“Maybe, but…” Shiro trails off, shaking his head. He steps back, placing his scout rifle on his back with a sigh. “I’m tired.”
Saladin’s eyes sweep over him, the Iron Lord assessing him for a long moment before he nods.
“Then let’s get some rest.”
Saladin’s hand slides off his shoulder, leading him towards the staircase that will lead them down into the area of the temple built into the mountain. Shiro follows silently, the tension still held tight in his body. He wants to cry. He wants to collapse. He wants Saladin to hold him until he passes out from exhaustion, yet at the same time, he can’t bear the thought of not moving. If he stops, the thoughts will all come creeping in. At least, more than they already are.
Saladin leads him down the stairs, a few of the wolves at their heels, and together they wind their way towards their familiar quarters. Cold embraces the room, having taken over the room in place of the fires Shiro let die.
Shiro sets his weapons down on the floor and his Ghost transmats them away. He sheds his armor next, stowing it in the closet before he turns back to leave the room.
“Where are you going?” Saladin asks him, not unkindly, though he halts him before he can make it halfway to the door.
“I was going to go restart the fires. And Skadi needs to be fed.” He tells Saladin, already moving to step around him. Exhaustion lies heavy in his tone. It covers his entire body in weight.
Saladin stops him, gripping his shoulders with both hands.
“I can handle that. Go take a shower, you’ve had a long day.” He tells Shiro, and the Hunter peers up into the Iron Lord’s face as if to ask him if he’s sure. “Go.” Saladin presses, and Shiro caves quickly.
The showers are perhaps one of Shiro’s favorite parts of the Temple. The rooms within don’t have their own bathrooms, but there’s no one for Shiro to have to work around as he makes his way to the closest of the large bathrooms. The showers themselves are set in the rear of the space, cut into the stone of the mountain, the showers take up their own small room, a row of showerheads built into the wall in a line. There’s no room for privacy, so the original owners might not have enjoyed the arrangement quite so much, but it’s never been a problem for him and Saladin.
Shiro hangs his towel on one of the hooks beside the open doorway, turning on the three centermost showers and aiming them all towards one point. He strips off his clothes as the ice water pours out of the pipes, and steps under the spray just as the room begins to fill with steam.
By the time he returns to his and Saladin’s room, the Iron Lord has shed his own armor, and he looks up from where he’s crouched by the low fire as Shiro enters the room.
“How do you feel?” Saladin asks him, dusting off his hands and standing up. When he steps close to Shiro, the exo breathes in the scent of woodsmoke and sighs.
“Tired.” He tells Saladin for the third time that night. Saladin frowns.
“Shiro.” It’s as clear of a request for more information as Saladin will give, and Shiro sighs again as he steps past Saladin, tugging open a drawer on his dresser too roughly.
“I just want to go to bed, Saladin.” He doesn’t want to talk, he wants to cry and sleep, not that he can even do half of that. Even if he could, he wouldn’t want to crumble in front of Saladin.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Saladin commands, and Shiro can’t help but ball the shirt he’s pulled from the dresser into a tight fist.
He draws in a trembling breath, his lights guttering as he finally faces Saladin at last.
“I miss him.” He says quietly. “Cayde. I miss Cayde. And Andal.” As painful as it was, he’s mostly come to terms with Andal’s death. He and Cayde had gotten through that together, and if asked on any other day, he probably would have said he’d come to terms with Cayde’s death too, but today that isn’t true. Today, the ache that he normally feels over Cayde’s death is now a jagged wound with no hopes of closing. It hurts worse than all the shots and scrapes he’d received from the Hive combined.
“That’s why you went into the City?” Saladin asks. Shiro drops his head.
“I don’t know.” He breathes. “I guess so. I was already on edge after I came back, but the Hive attack just pushed me over it.” He explains. He lifts his head up and back to look at Saladin when the Iron Lord stands in front of him. “I’m tired, Saladin.” He breathes, and the Iron Lord’s face softens.
“Okay.” Saladin says at last. He leans forward, a hand coming up to Shiro’s back while he presses his lips to Shiro’s metal forehead. “Go to bed. I’ll join you shortly.”
Saladin moves to slip away but it’s Shiro who stops him this time, holding onto his hand to draw the Iron Lord’s eyes back towards him as he turns to leave.
“Promise?” He asks quietly. He knows Saladin is just as much of a workaholic as any of the other Guardians still around from the time of the City’s establishment and before, and there’s a flash of knowing guilt in Saladin’s eyes before he nods, squeezing Shiro’s hand.
“I promise.” Saladin promises. “I’ll check on Skadi and join you after I shower.”
Shiro gives him a look, but releases him with a nod, turning back to his dresser once the Iron Lord is gone. He dresses minimally for bed—despite the cold, Saladin’s solar Light is furnace to Shiro’s arc—and he crawls into bed and burrows deep into the blankets.
He’s nearly dozed off when the door creaks with Saladin’s return, and moments later the man settles in behind him, drawing Shiro against his chest with practiced ease, moving him as though his heavy metal frame weighs nothing.
“Thank you.” Shiro breathes into the darkness, and Saladin kisses the back of his neck, one of his hands knotting itself gently in Shiro’s shirt.
Saladin isn’t the best at expressing his love in words, but his actions speak louder than anything else as he draws Shiro against his chest and holds him firmly, soothing away his pains with gentleness so uncharacteristic of him. Shiro settles back into his chest and finally lets himself drift to sleep within Saladin’s embrace.
Notes:
Not too familiar with this ship but I guess I like it enough to write three little shorts about it? I think they're sweet.
Chapter 30: Curse
Summary:
The Guardian doubts Osiris.
(Spoilers for week VIII)
Notes:
The reason for the lack of post yesterday was pure laziness. But I'm making it up to all of you (hopefully) by doing two today. First one is longer than usual. Enjoy!
Edit: 02/27/23 and I'm finally fixing the accidental tense jump at the end of this...whoops.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Doubt is a writhing curse within the Guardian as they drop into the Vex network and hear Osiris’ voice crackling through their coms. Just like the curse Savathûn placed on the Dreaming City, a curse lingers deep within them, conjured by the very thought of the witch queen’s possible presence. Guilt eats them up as well, because what if they’re wrong? Their suspicions false, and Osiris is perfectly innocent of all wrongdoing, only speaking in a way that the paranoid, traumatized Guardian can somehow view as suspicious. If they’re wrong, then they’ve become exactly like the ignorant people that cast the former Warlock from the city years ago.
“When you first stole into this domain, I did not believe you could achieve what you have. Invading a domain of vex consciousness like this.” Osiris tells them. They force themself to start running, to get on with the mission, glad not for the first time that they’ve come to be accepted as mostly mute, at least during missions. “Yet here you are, embodiment of the impossible.”
“Somehow, in spite of everything you’ve accomplished, I’ve managed to underestimate you.” The Guardian tenses, leaping down a long chasm within the network. “I won’t make that mistake again.” Their feet hit the ground hard.
They hope Osiris—or whoever wears his skin—can’t feel the fear that swells from his words. They’ve been operating under the assumption that Osiris could be the witch queen for weeks now. Their mind has run away with the possibility. They can’t help but wonder if the Endless Night is twisting their suspicions into untamable fears, or if they’ve done it all themself.
They stop by the Tower before they go to fight Quria. They refuel their ship and gather their best weapons, infusing everything with Light before they go. They can’t fight her unprepared, but the battle-calm that they usually drop into before fighting a major foe doesn’t exist here. It doesn’t come for them the way it usually does. They’re tense and jumpy when they return to Europa and the Vex network.
Ikora’s voice is music to their ears when she speaks to them over the coms, as is Mithrax’s, and Saint’s, though their relief turns to worry once more when Osiris speaks. The Guardian can’t help but wonder what Savathûn thinks of them infiltrating her network if she really is on coms with them, hidden away within Osiris.
Quria is formidable. More than that, she kills them over and over again. They die to her barriers ten times alone before they can get the hang of avoiding them. The idea that Savathûn is watching them as they struggle and stumble and die and die and die…it fills their gut with unease. But Quria finally falls, and the Guardian listens intently to their coms.
“Unbelievable.” Osiris says, just as the Guardian dodges pieces of the Vex Mind’s body falling apart. “Quria is…gone.”
Their foe’s head rolls to a stop at their feet, and the Guardian looks down at it as their gut continues to twist with worry. This is a victory, but relief doesn’t come for them. In fact, they feel ready to throw up. Saint’s excitement eases a little of the tension in them, as does Ikora’s calm reasoning and Mithrax’s warmth, but they’re still worried. They set to making sure the area is secure before they can leave the Vex network. They want to burn Quria’s head where it sits at their feet.
They nearly break down in tears when they make it to their ship at last, but just as they’re setting their weapons on the floor, their Ghost hovers before them.
“Ikora is trying to contact you.” The little Light tells them, and the Guardian worries their lip between their teeth.
“Okay.” They breathe, “Put her through.”
The Ghost nods, ducking out of sight.
“Guardian,” Ikora’s voice sounds through the speakers as the Guardian steps into the cockpit. “I know I said that this is a battle, not the war; but you seem upset. Did you discover something about the Vex domain?”
The Guardian draws in a sharp, quiet breath, they thought they were hiding their emotions well enough.
“I—” They stammer. “What do you mean?” Maybe they can still get out of this. They can’t tell Ikora what they’re afraid of, not until they have proof.
“Guardian,” Ikora says, gentle reprimand in her tone. “I’ve known you for a long time now. I can tell when something isn’t right. What’s wrong?”
The Guardian caves, at least a little, hunching over themself in their chair. They want more than anything to share their fears with her, but they can’t, at least not all of them.
“I just…” They struggle in a deep breath, their throat tightening. “I’ve been really stressed lately. The idea that Savathûn could be in the City…” Their breath trembles when they let it out in a sigh. “And you saw how badly I did in that fight.”
They’re surprised they even made it though, and paradoxically, the fight felt too easy. Quria seemed to die in front of them before they really knew what was going on. It felt like they reached victory too quickly, despite the fact that she killed them dozens of times, and had them on the brink of death for just about the whole fight. They won’t be forgetting those pains anytime soon.
“No one could have done any better.” Ikora promises them. “Quria was a worthy adversary for you. But I understand your worries. The idea that Savathûn has been hiding among us for some time is not comforting. It makes me wonder who we can really trust.”
“Yeah.” The Guardian breathes, because they can’t say more. Ikora—praise the Light for her—doesn’t pry.
“Well, Guardian, I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” She tells them. “After that battle, I’m sure you’d like to rest. Once you arrive back at the Tower, I’ll debrief you on the mission.”
“Thanks, Ikora.” They murmur, “I’ll see you then.”
Their coms disconnect with a click, and the Guardian rises from the cockpit, leaving their Ghost to control the ship alone as they slip back into the main area. They toss off their armor and climb into their little bed. It’s a long ride home from Europa, and they’re glad for every minute of it as they crawl under the blankets and drift into a fitful sleep.
They’re a little bit dazed when they return to the Tower. They debrief with Ikora and head to the HELM where they speak with Lakshmi. It’s a relief to finally make their way to Mithrax, who explains to them that the Endless Night will fade in time.
“We will have a beautiful sunrise.” Mithrax tells them, and the Guardian nods, unable to do anything more.
They thank Mithrax even as their voice shakes, and they make their way back to their quarters ready to collapse all over again. Their door has only just shut behind them when a knock sounds on it, and they turn, wishing they could ignore it but knowing they can’t. They set their weapons on the desk and tap the button to open the door. They step back as it slides into the pocket in the wall, revealing Osiris standing before them.
“Guardian,” He greets, and the Guardian has to flight their flinch. “You did well today.”
“Thank you.” The Guardian answers quietly, their brain having them respond because it knows the correct words to speak, even when they feel eons behind where they should be.
“May I come in?” He gestures into the room, and the Guardian wants to say no, but they swallow the word and nod mutely. Osiris steps inside, seating himself on their desk chair. They can hardly see the former warlock anymore; all they see is the witch queen seated before them.
They seat themself on the end of their bed, facing him, and clasp their hands together to keep them from trembling.
“Defeating Quria was a step in Savathûn’s plan.” Osiris tells them, and they try to stifle a shudder. “She will have more planned for us. We must be ready.”
“I know.” The Guardian tells him. They open their mouth to say more but they can't. They can't tell him anything more, not if he is who they think he is.
“I was very impressed by your performance today.” He tells them, and the Guardian’s gut twists. Why would he be impressed? They’d done terribly. “I know the battle was hard for you but you persevered in many places where a lessor Guardian would not have. Savathûn laid out many difficult challenges for you and you took them in stride.”
What is he trying to tell them? What is he saying? What is she saying to them?
“It was a difficult battle.” The Guardian admits. All they want now is get him out of their room. “But thank you.”
“Credit where credit is due.” Osiris tells them, rising from his chair to move towards their window. “However, I suspect the witch queen will have worse planned for you down the line. Worse planned for all of us. Perhaps Saint is right, we’d best enjoy this victory while we can.”
Standing before the window, Osiris lifts a trinket from the windowsill; a little model they’d created of the Traveler with the help of the Eliksni in the city. The little ball is magnetic, hovering over its base inches below. Osiris lifts it from contact, turning it over in his hands.
“Tell me, Guardian, when you are within the Vex’s domain, Mithrax says he can sense Savathûn’s presence. Do you feel the same?” He doesn't face them when he asks the question, he only continues to inspect their little model. The Guardian feels like a caged animal, suddenly locked in their own space with a predator much more ferocious than themself.
“Yes.” They answer after a moment. “I’ve learned to sense her presence, but recently it’s become more obvious.”
“And what does she feel like?” Osiris asks. He sets the model back down to hover over its base. “How do you know when she is near?”
The Guardian swallows hard. Osiris still doesn't face them.
“I feel Darkness. It’s cold and twisted. It makes me feel sick.” They tell him. “Sometimes it feels like there’s little hooks digging into me, trying to pull my Light out through my skin.”
Somehow, someone had gotten Osiris to document how he’d lost his Light, or his scholarly brain had taken over and forced him to write it himself, regardless, the Guardian had found it in the Vanguard achieve. They’d read it thoroughly, enough to match their sensation to his, more or less. Osiris would be familiar with the sensation, but would Savathûn?
Osiris only hums. The Guardian wants to vomit.
“And do you sense her here?” He questions, turning back to face them as he finally returns to the desk. “Or within the Tower?”
“Sometimes.” They murmur; their voice soft. They can feel their hands creeping around the bed for a weapon, but there is nothing. They’d set their guns on their desk, they don’t even have a knife in their belt. “It’s hard to be precise with all the blights around.”
They can almost swear a smile crosses his face, but Osiris’ expression is neutral when he nods.
“I see.” He murmurs. “And what about when you are wielding the Darkness, can you sense her then?”
He picks up their Cryosthesia 77K sidearm from the desk behind him. It's still loaded, if she wants to, she could fire it at them and use the Darkness to kill them here and now. It would be so easy.
“It’s harder,” The Guardian admits, and they start reaching into their Light, summoning their power towards them. They keep it out of sight, but they can’t afford to be caught defenseless here.
“But normally I can sense her. I can keep the Darkness under control.” They tell him, and Osiris nods in understanding, even as he holds the gun in his hands and studies it.
“I see. You are one with few weaknesses.” He muses. A chill creeps down the Guardian’s spine. It almost felt like fingers of ice—fingers of Darkness—spider-walking their way down the Guardian’s back, cold pressing into bare skin.
“So is Savathûn.” They bring their Light to their skin, chasing away the phantom cold while also directing it to their fingertips, coiling it just beneath their skin, poised to strike.
“Guardian!” The door whirs open just as Saint’s voice booms through the room jovially. “Ah, Osiris, you are here as well! I came to congratulate you on your victory.”
It takes considerable effort to convince their eyes to leave Osiris, but the former Warlock is already setting the gun down on the desk, turning to look at Saint, his expression still deceptively neutral.
“Now that Quria is gone, I will plan celebration.” Saint continues, standing just within the doorway. “You will come, yes? You as well, Osiris.”
“I’ll be there.” The Guardian promises, and Saint nods in approval.
“Good.” He tells them, then gestures to the former Warlock. “Come, Osiris, the Guardian must be exhausted.” Osiris pushes off the desk, following Saint to the doorway. “We will let you rest. Goodnight, Guardian.”
Osiris pauses as Saint ducks out of the room, eyeing them up and down.
“Thank you for your efforts today, Guardian. Well done.” The former Warlock tells them, “I look forward to the sunrise.”
The Guardian watches them go, staying still for long moments after they’d gone. When they are sure Saint had managed to get Osiris—if he really was Osiris—off the HELM, they cast their Light out around themself, feeling the room with their power. Besides the usual Darkness that came with the presence of the Vex simulation, they can feel it staining the edges of the room around them. Lingering. Watching.
I have seen your grave. Savathûn had told them. As had they, and…had Osiris? When they’d walked through the corridors of time, they’d seen their grave, heard Saint giving their eulogy. Had Savathûn really seen their grave? Had she seen it through Osiris? Had she been in his form long enough? Or had she viewed it through his memories somehow? Or rather, was it all a part of Savathûn’s game, tricking them into doubting one of their most trusted advisors?
The Guardian lets out their breath with a sigh. They lock their door--not that it would do much against a foe like Savathûn—and toss off their armor once more, collapsing into their bed where they lie until sleep finally comes for them.
Notes:
Low-key not sure what I'm going to do with myself once this is over...I've just really enjoyed doing this and interacting with so many of you via the comments has been so rewarding! So I guess if you guys have any requests or recommendations for the future, feel free to let me know!
Also, I got my ass handed to me fighting Quria, but at the same time it felt too easy? Anyone else?
Chapter 31: New Vistas
Summary:
Saint-14 throws a party.
Notes:
Happy chapter!!
This chapter is a follow up to chapter 29 and chapter 18. Enjoy!
(Spoilers for week VIII)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Osiris would never admit it to Saint, but he was glad they were having a party.
Saint had gone all in, renting out the rooftop of a city restaurant, he and Osiris had spent hours there making sure the place was beautiful, covering in plants and lights. The venue looked out over the city, and gave them the perfect view of what would be the first sunset in weeks.
Now, back at their apartment, Osiris hid his smile as he fixed Saint’s tie, adjusting it so it sat closer to the collar of Saint’s shirt. Once he was done, he smoothed his hands across the fabric of Saint’s dress shirt, before finally looking up at his Titan. Saint was smiling down at him.
“It’s been a while since we’ve been to a party.” Saint pointed out, and Osiris hummed in agreement.
“It has.” He replied, dropping his hands from Saint’s chest when the Exo checked the former Warlock’s tie. “It will be a wonderful party. You did well putting it together.”
Saint made a dismissive gesture, stepping back from Osiris to find his suit jacket.
“I had help.” He told the other man, and Osiris smiled.
“Maybe, but the venue looks beautiful.” Osiris told him, and Saint turned back as he shrugged into his jacket.
“Thank you.” He told Osiris, then stepped over, offering his hand to the other man. “We should hurry. We would not want anyone showing up before us.”
Osiris hummed again, taking Saint’s hand and letting him lead him from the apartment.
The venue wasn’t far, a restaurant built on a hill within the city, outside of downtown, where the buildings didn’t scrape the clouds. Saint had arranged for the party to be held on the rooftop, open to the elements but lined with beautiful green plants and flowers, ivy and lights hanging over a rich wooden pergola. He and Osiris were the first guests to arrive, but the restaurant staff was already preparing the food and drinks for them, champagne already on ice for their momentous victory.
Ikora and Zavala arrived not long after, and Osiris was genuinely surprised the two had found their way out of their Vanguard duties to join them. They certainly deserved it, after everything. Mithrax and Eido arrived next, and the rest of the guests filtered in until they were only waiting on the Guardian. The sun was nearly setting by the time they arrived.
“Guardian!” Osiris turned when Saint’s voice echoed out over the rooftop, finding the Guardian standing in the doorway to the stairwell, a bottle of wine unopened in their hands. Their cheeks and nose were stained from sunburn; they must’ve been out celebrating all day. “It’s good to see you! I am so glad you could make it.”
Beside him, Ikora turned to follow his gaze, watching Saint usher the Guardian further into the space. There was a glass of champagne thrust into their hands before they’d handed their gift off to Saint.
“I was beginning to worry they weren’t coming.” Ikora told him quietly, her eyes on the Guardian. Osiris’ eyes flicked between the two. He knew the look she was giving them; he’d almost call it motherly.
“Why is that?” He asked. It was unlike the Guardian to be late, but today had been a busy day for the City. The Guardian had likely been busy since he’d seen them at the celebration on the Tower at sunrise.
“I’m afraid this situation has taken quite a toll on our Guardian.” She told Osiris. “I spoke to them after Quria was defeated. Savathûn’s threats weigh heavy on them.”
Osiris couldn’t help but agree. The Guardian had seemed more stressed than usual, even after Quria’s defeat, when they should have been celebrating.
“Indeed.” He replied; his voice soft. “I spoke with them the other night, after they defeated Quria. They seemed…afraid.”
“With Savathûn in the city, they don’t know who to trust.” Ikora responded. He watched her eyes sweep across the individuals standing on the rooftop. “None of us do.”
Osiris opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by a sharp ringing noise. When he turned to look, Saint was tapping a spoon against his champagne glass.
“Everyone,” He said, raising his hand to get the little group’s attention. “The guest of honor has arrived!” He turned, gesturing towards the Guardian.
“Welcome, Guardian.” Mithrax called out, raising a champagne flute in one of his upper hands, the glass dwarfed in his grasp.
The Guardian returned the little salute, raising their own before Saint led them further into the party, a few of the guests stepping up to greet the Guardian.
“We must keep our wits about us if we are to find Savathûn.” Osiris told Ikora, his voice still low.
“Indeed.” The Warlock agreed.
The party was the most jovial Osiris had been in what felt like years. In a tight group of friends and peers, they drank and ate and laughed, but Osiris was still relieved when the last of the guests left the rooftop, and Saint stepped up to where Osiris stood at the edge of the roof, a hand settling on his back.
“Thank you for coming.” Saint said quietly, his voice soft enough that Osiris turned his head to look at him.
“Of course.” Osiris answered. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”
Saint hummed. “I know. But I know it has been hard for you recently. I’m glad you were willing to spend this time with me.”
Saint stepped a little closer towards him, and Osiris leaned sideways until he was putting weight on the Titan’s chest. Osiris felt the Exo’s arms go around him gently. He breathed in the relative quiet, soft music paired with the muted city sounds, and Saint’s systems humming below it all. Metal lips pressed against the top of his head, and a moment later, his champagne flute was being lifted from his grasp and set aside. Osiris let Saint’s hands slide into his and he followed the Titian as he led him back towards the open space atop the roof.
“Dancing again?” Osiris teased, but he let Saint draw him closer. They’d danced like this at the sunrise this morning, meaningful words spoken by tired souls.
“I said I was done waiting.” Saint reminded, and Osiris snorted.
“So this is what you’ve been waiting for?” He questioned, and Saint guided them to spin around. Osiris laughed lightly.
“Come now, Osiris.” Saint reprimanded, “you know I am a romantic.”
Osiris couldn’t help his smile, “Yes, how could I have forgotten?” Saint’s smile lit the city in a warm glow as he grinned down at Osiris’ face. He leaned forward, pressing their lips together briefly.
“Do not worry.” He told the former Warlock once they’d broken away. “I will make sure you don’t forget it.”
Saint leaned forward, pressing another kiss to Osiris’ lips, and Osiris leaned into him. They danced until the song was over, more of gentle swaying than anything else. Held tight in Saint’s arms, Osiris could wish for nothing more. When the speakers quieted, Saint led Osiris back over to the edge of the rooftop, and together they sipped champagne as they stared out over the Last City.
“I would not commend Savathûn for the harm she has done to this city, but I think we all needed a cause for celebration.” Saint said, looking out over the city lights. Fireworks had started to go up in the distance.
“These hardships have made us stronger.” Osiris reminded. “Without the Endless Night, we would have not have had reason to ally with the Eliksni. We would not have been able to destroy Quria.”
Saint nodded in consideration, then raised his glass to Osiris. “To victories.”
Osiris raised his own, clinking their glasses together gently. “To victories.” He echoed.
They finished their champagne and cleaned what was left of the party—the others had helped before they’d gone, even partying their friends couldn’t seem to slack off—and headed home to their apartment hand in hand. The streets were mostly quiet now, the city had been celebrating since sunrise, and now it seemed the citizens were happy to return home at last. Osiris shared the sentiment, letting out a contented sigh as he and Saint stepped into their apartment together at last.
“Did I tell you, Osiris? You look very good in a suit.” Saint told him as he closed the door behind them, locking it as Osiris turned back to face him.
Osiris grinned. “You did.” He responded. Saint had only informed him five separate times while they’d been getting ready, even before Osiris had been wearing his suit. “You look good in a suit as well.”
Saint’s smile was mischievous as he stepped forward and took Osiris by the hands, pinning them between their chests and growling low in his ear. “I know.”
Osiris’ laugh bounced off the apartment walls, and Saint pressed a kiss to his neck.
“It has been too long since you have laughed like that.” Saint murmured against his skin, and Osiris stilled, his hands resting on Saint’s arms, the other man having shifted to hold his torso.
“It’s been a difficult time.” Osiris responded.
“I know.” Saint murmured, this time with none of the sultry edge. “Where ever Sagira is, I am sure she is glad you are happy.”
Osiris shifted, pressing his face into Saint’s neck and breathing in deep. “I’m sure she is.” He breathed, and Saint held him a little tighter. The loss of Sagira certainly still stung—he wasn’t sure a time would come when it didn’t—but here, in Saint’s arms, he knew he would be alright.
Saint drew him back to himself with gentle kisses, until Osiris could breathe again. He pulled back when Osiris no longer felt on the verge of tears.
“Come with me.” He told Osiris, taking his hand and leading him towards the hallway.
“Why?” Osiris asked, even if he knew exactly where Saint was going. A smile crept to his lips once more.
“You look good in a suit, but you look even better without it.” Saint told him, and Osiris rolled his eyes because Saint had said the exact same thing to him hours ago, but his smile was real as Saint led him into their shared bedroom and reminded Osiris that after so long, he’d finally managed to make the future he’d wanted a reality.
Notes:
This has been such a fun ride guys! Thank you all so much for all the comments and kudos! I have a feeling there will be more O14 to come because I am downright obsessed, but until then, thank you all so much for the love you've been giving on this story. It's been a really nice month!