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After the incident known as the Collapse, when tendrils of darkness collapsed living planets, the suddenly homeless fled as quickly as possible to an undiscovered asteroid belt. It became their mass graveyard, and it was called the Reef.It would become the final sandbar before an endless ocean of stars. Starlit Awoken are born here, in the shadow of giants. The Queen and her chitin-armored Wolves stalk the territories. Alliances and enemies are broken and re-forged. Guardians ignite their Light in the far reaches of the void, so it blazes brighter than ever.Surviving the Reef is the only way to overcome the allure of the violet, violent shades of the dead orbit.“Well,” says Cayde-6, scratching his horn, “this isn’t your typical invitation.”Zavala agrees somewhat reluctantly, his arms folded tightly across his chest as his eyes fix on the thick, blue-hued swords on the conference table. Any soldier would recognize them as the weapons brandished by merciless Fallen Captains. But they were typically meant for bloodshed, not summons.Ikora Rey says nothing. Her Ghost, Ophiuchus, examines how the swords are swathed and tucked neatly in emerald green fabric painted with ivory sigils.“Postmaster also said it came with a recorded message.” Cayde-6 tosses a small black disk on the table and after a brief moment of static, the husk of a voice crawls across distances of lightyears.The Vanguard, all of them battling a fierce unease, listen closely to the familiar drawl.“On behalf of the Queen, Guardian, return quick. Wolves hunt their own.” The voice pauses, then returns in a silky growl. “Painted. Silent. Vox. Come listen, Guardian. Come again.” The message starts to repeat itself when Cayde-6 switches it off.“How did it arrive at the Tower?” Zavala asks.“By mail. Can you believe it? Talk about an oversized package.” The Exo flicks his gaze over to Ikora, who remains silent with a furrowed brow. “Vox. I know the Ghost. One of your students, right? The one with the broken modulator?”Ikora nods slowly. “She is new to the Light. The Reef is far from the Traveler. I fear that she will not be ready for this challenge, whatever it may be.” Even as she says this, Ikora senses that there is no malice in the snake-like voice. Though it is filled with cunning, the voice is unexpectedly kind. Why?
Come listen, Guardian. Come again.
The Awoken Titan sighs, and his unusual, sparking gaze drifts across the retired blades. “We must consider the powers at play. Queen Mara and the Reef is a significant benefactor for many of our Guardians. Allow your Guardian to answer the call; and when she returns, she will be stronger for herself and the City.”And because Ikora Rey is a Voidwalker, and because being one with the Void requires complete and absolute faith in the uncertain, she agrees.Amethyst-born Petra Venj, who dresses in colors of her birthplace, glances over to tattered furs and verdant banners.The Eliksni known as Variks the Loyal interlaces his claws over and over again as if nervous or deep in thought. Claws curling and flexing, then tightening the grasp on the Devil’s staff, battle-worn and more importantly, battle-won. Variks tucks his undocked arms close to his abdomen and under his cloak. He still dreams of losing his limbs to the hiss of steel.Petra bites back a smile and plays with her dagger.Variks the Loyal stiffens as her pervading stare descends like a winter’s frost. “What do you see, Queen’s Wrath?” he demands coldly.“I see fear. Does House Judgement know no confidence?” she asks, grinning openly now. “Are you so easily rattled by a fresh Guardian?”Variks snarls and cracks the staff against the deck angrily. Petra merely raises an eyebrow. Completely unfazed. As quickly as his temper flares, his shoulders shift and sink as his ire gives way. And then he is back to impatiently twisting his hands.“Do well to listen,” Variks mutters, “for House Judgement waits. This Guardian has… influence.”“Influence. Right.” She glides her thumb across the floating dagger, ignoring Varik’s intense gaze at the display of power. Telekinesis, some whisper. Starlit, others claim. “If I hadn’t witnessed a Captain slice his throat open with his own blades, I might laugh. What sort of influence? Power? Skill?”The Fallen releases one of his clawed limbs from the staff and gestures at his chest. “Within. Promises. Covenant of the Great Machine.”“Dozens of Guardians, in and out of the outpost, and this one manages to start a cult.”“She does not know.” Variks grumbles.“And? The Queen’s Wolves are out of line. They’re killing themselves, Variks, and I’ve got patrols to run.”The floating silver blade trembles, and then falls into her ready grasp, moments before his claw flashes in an attempt to nab the weapon. His kind always had a penchant for shiny trinkets. Petra smiles thinly, though it does not reach her pale blue eye. She jabs the hilt in the Eliksni’s direction.“As I asked before: What’s so special about this Guardian?”A low, crafty growl shivers through his frame. “We shall find out, yes?” Variks purrs.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Nine lunar cycles ago.
Past the ruined house banners hanging from the entrance of his nest, Variks recognizes the oil-slick sheen of armor on the mute Guardian. But it is the Festival of the Lost, and her face hides behind a mask with protruding fangs and a contorted, horrible expression. Humanity honors the dead, Variks thinks as he watches her, and the dead outnumber humanity.The Eliksni emerges from the torn banners and growls a low greeting. To his great amusement, Vox the ghost immediately darts behind the Guardian. She removes her silly mask and Variks rakes his gaze over the distracted streak of yellow ochre paint on her cheek.“Trading, yes?” Variks asks, leaning heavily on his staff. He knows your presence like the flicker of a flame, like a pinprick light in the darkness. “Something new? Something worthwhile?”Although your voice is broken, your messages come clearly from the stuttering silver-shelled Ghost. “She wants to know if you have any Festival themed items,” Vox squeaks.Variks hums. “Costumes are not for Eliksni,” he says. “Symbols. Colors. Customs, not for fleeting affairs.”The Guardian runs her fingers across her forehead and the light cores in her mouth blink rapidly. “You have paint on your helmet. Is it relevant to your customs?” translates Vox.A low click-clacking noise emanates from Variks’s chest. Your inquisitiveness is well-known to him. “When you prove your worth to Judgement,” the Fallen growls humoredly, “perhaps I would have your scent. Perhaps I would share the customs of my House.”Guardians were never known to shy away from a challenge. This one is no different. If her Ghost had hands, it would have dragged her halfway across the solar system but it merely worries as she tilts her head up. Bold and unafraid.Variks chuckles. One of his prosthetic arms reaches out and he touches your chin with a vicious claw. Though you are Exo and crafted from machine, he senses the thrill of life in your unyielding frame. “Good,” he says, “I like the look on your face, Guardian.”
Two lunar cycles ago.
To Variks, the presence of your Light is felt strongly at the outpost. It is… addictive. Intoxicating. He eagerly seeks your companionship and happily celebrates your triumphs. Destroying a Gate Lord. Entering the Black Garden. Emerging unscathed. Wreaking havoc in his Prison. Only Petra, one-eyed and ever cautious, suspects his obsession.Then he learns of Fallen casualties in impossible battles, on distant, unknown territories, he temporarily sets aside his thoughts of you and draws himself as someone feared and dreaded, even among his kin. He wraps himself in thick, heavy verdant green robes and silently enters the Fallen Ketch.His sudden, wraith-like appearance stirs unrest. Before weapons can be drawn or words exchanged, silver flashes and a handful of Dregs find themselves pinned on the floor with a staff at their throats. They do not beg for mercy, as is Eliksni custom, but the fear in their eyes is clear.“Your Queen finds worth in your loyalty,” the Warden spits harshly, his mask dislodged and needle-like teeth gnashing angrily. “What worthless Wolves would bring our kin to extinction? Weak! Gutless!”In his language, he does not have to speak brokenly. He is, after all, a scribe. Speech comes as quickly as breathing or bleeding ether. The only time he is speechless is when he must bite his tongue in the Queen’s court. The Wolves cower in the image of the Loyal and his wrathful tongue, and Variks remembers what it was like to wield such power.He cracks his staff against the floor and the entire Ketch flinches. Variks snarls, “You bring shame to the Reef. Tell me what drives this nonsense. What lures you to death again and again?”Somewhere in the shadows, comes an answer.And the answer is, you.
Present
“So here’s the thing,” says Vox, as the two of you navigate the outpost hangar past a varied cast of Awoken, Exo, Human, and then some, I’ve dissected a number of reports from recent House of Wolves activity, and I think I can argue that there is not enough significant data. I mean, the only claims of self-inflicted harm are from--”The light cores in your mouth flash quickly and you squint at the Ghost suspiciously.“That’s not important. But it is noteworthy that--”More lights.“Okay, yes, I hacked into their military records. But--" Vox huffs. “,You know how I feel about this mission. Every time we listened to Variks’s message, I just imagined him taking me apart, piece by piece, while all you did was drool over his wares.”The shadow of the Eliksni who calls himself Variks spills across your petite frame.Vox abruptly vanishes in a flash of Light.With a harsh bark of laughter, Variks hunkers down in a somewhat formal bow and chirps lowly. “Welcome, Guardian.” His voice resembles an overheated exhaust: grating, rough, and on the brink of malfunction. “Welcome to you both.”His gait is awkward and slow as he keeps pace with you; his limbs move jerkily, balance uneven and heavily reliant on the staff. He feels the eyes of Petra Venj and the Crows on his back. He ignores their curiosity and ushers them through the markets, then past a distressed curtain of Judgement banners.Crushed glimmer and small bird bones whisper into dust under your feet. Variks’s home resembles a cargo hold: narrow and with a vaulted ceiling, giving off a cavernous impression. Empty ether canisters roll across the floor as he roughly shoves various crates out of his way, searching with his three arms while the fourth clings to the staff. His shadow stretches across the high walls, and your gaze is drawn to the curve of his ivory-white crown.Variks spins round, ignoring how his staff sweeps another container to the disheveled floor. “Recognize this?” He tosses you a small, black box, and you catch it, ignoring the oil and grime ruining your gloves. There are open ports on all of its sides. It looks unimportant.But then your Ghost transmats into view and audibly gasps. “A voice box! From the Golden Age?”“Yes. Stripped from the Moon just last cycle.” Variks tuts as he crouches on his haunches, slyly watching your reaction. His claws scratch at his shoulders idly, and he ignores how the Ghost shivers in apprehension. “House Exiles claim to be the best scavengers. Mmm. Perhaps.”A small communicator hooked on the black leather belt around Variks’s narrow hips blinks a crimson as iridescent as a Gate Lord’s eye. He grabs the radio and cocks his head at an extreme angle, listening to a garbled voice that sounds suspiciously like Petra Venj.“Yes? No. No, no. Bring them here.” Variks pays little attention to the irritated response. His bright eyes fix on you. “Then let it be a spectacle,” he snaps, then returns the communicator to his belt. The Eliksni stands and swiftly plucks the black device from your hand. He jerks his staff towards the entrance of his nest. “Speak later. Come witness what you have wrought.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Vox! Vox! Find your Guardi-izzzzzzt-- instant. This is supremely important! I thi-izzzzzzt--”The frantic squawking from the ship’s communication links jolts you out of sleep. You dumbly regard Vox as it hovers inches away from your face, and then you drag yourself out of bed. Blinking away static, you collapse in the captain’s seat and patch into the call. “Guardian speaking. Who is this?”“What? Who’s speaking? What have you done wi-izzzzzzt--”“Calculating coordinates,” Vox announces. “The transmitting line originates from Io.”“Blast it, of course I’m on I-izzzzzzt-- haven’t moved from this spot si-izzzzzzt--”The call dissolves completely into white noise and Vox dives into the mainframe to improve reception. Meanwhile, the Wanderwing projects a holographic image of the moon, Io. You recognize the whorl-like pattern of pastel greens and yellows on its surface, and the smooth crater of the Traveler’s residence, a long, long time ago. The zealous voice madly returns in the middle of another sentence, clear and concise.“--realigned before the next lunar phase. Vox, can you hear me? Where is my assistant?”Though you’re not really a research assistant, the nickname sticks. It’s been almost a complete solar cycle since you last ran errands for the eccentric Warlock.“Asher Mir? This is Vox’s Guardian. I had a new voice box installed,” you explain, flicking the interior lights on.“Really? Congratulations are in order. However, I have much more pressing matters which require, apparently, your attention. Dozens of Fallen recently arrived with the sole intention of stealing my equipment and data receivers. I reported these complications immediately to the Vanguard and then they redirected me to you.” Asher takes a deep, frustrated breath. “Now why would they do that?”“What sort of equipment did they steal? Relevant to which project?”“Synthetic Light,” says Asher, and you can hear that infamous scowl over the call. “Don’t you remember?”After being irradiated with the Traveler’s energy, hordes of Taken and Vex alike were drawn to the influx of power. From what true Light poured through the experimental synthesizer, you’d managed to hold against the malicious races. It was a harrowing experiment which ultimately failed in the end. It didn’t seem possible to create Light but you knew that Asher never stopped looking for positive results.You grudgingly admit, “We might be involved in this situation.”“Explain,” the cranky Awoken demands. “At once.”Drumming your fingers on the console, you say, “There’s been an influx of Fallen attempting to become Guardians so they might prevent the extinction of their race.” The silence that follows has nothing to do with the signal strength pulsing on the dashboard. You spin the holograph a few times until its colors melt into one another. “Asher? You still with us?”“Yes. Right. I’m not… often speechless.” He clears his throat and then resumes his shrewd and questionably endearing cadence. “Becoming quite the researcher yourself, eh? The Fallen are benign at most but I suppose every Warlock has to start somewhere. Well, if you are attached to the situation, I recommend that you come at once and deal with this matter upfront. I will not tolerate theft, and least of all by the Fallen!”“Asher, it’s not that simple,” Vox pipes up. “We’re at the Reef outpost and there’s the matter of dealing with the Fallen here--"“They bring House of Wolves banners,” he says cuttingly. “Whatever your problems may be, they have come to Io. Understand? Excellent. Don’t keep me waiting long, assistant!” And then Asher Mir hangs up.News about Io coincides with the startling, albeit expected, reports of Wolves abandoning their posts on various planets, effectively eliminating Queen Mara’s surveillance and leverage. While Variks acts as the buffer between Mara and yourself, her displeasure with the lack of progress is deeply felt through the liaison. Variks readily agrees to accompany you.He ducks his head to avoid the low ceiling of the Wanderwing and clambers into the co-pilot’s seat as you wait for approval from the outpost flight control. “What’s with the bag?” you ask, nodding at the lumpy satchel he cradles close to his chest. Variks wordlessly opens it. It’s filled to the brim with ether canisters. “Are you going to have enough?”“Vox kindly transmatted another dozen into the hold,” Variks rumbles. “And a few other necessities.”Green light for takeoff. Once you’re at the outskirts of the Reef, you let Vox take over the controls and direct the ship towards Jupiter. The voyage lasts for half a cycle and you return to the mattress to finish recharging.As you lay on your side, you watch Variks prowl curiously around the hold. He occasionally glances your way, but you show no sign of ire. His four-eyed gaze catches a flash of dark green on your left bicep. He disappears for a moment into the cramped storage and returns with armfuls of blankets, and then dumps them directly opposite from your mattress. Variks settles down with a content purr. “Do all Eliksni do this?” you ask, stifling a laugh.“Nesting is not an uncommon practice on Ketches,” Variks replies, referring to the enormous passenger ships that housed thousands of nomadic Fallen. “It is less custom and more like routine.”“Have you ever been to Io?”“No. I have heard stories. What is it like?”You smile. “It’s beautiful. One would think it’s barren because of its cliffs and valleys, but there’s unique plant life. In some places, you can see where the Light still lingers.”“What was the Traveler doing there in the first place?”“No one knows. Asher thinks it wanted to store its power there before it returned to Earth when the Darkness descended. Who knows what would have happened if it didn’t leave Io.”Variks slowly picks at his worn, gray blankets as he mulls over your words. He sets his head against the wall with a world-weary expression. “The Great Machine saved your kind. And it continued to protect you as it slept. It created Ghosts and Guardians in the same dying breath.” Variks closes his eyes. “It chose wisely,” he murmurs, leaving no room for further conversation.You don’t remember falling asleep. Variks shakes your shoulder gently to prepare for descent. While the sunset shades of Jupiter stream through the windows, the Fallen grabs his staff and a holstered rifle as you sling a favored sniper over your shoulder. Brittle winds and groaning, ancient trees respond to your arrival. Variks remains close at your side; his head swivels to and fro, looking for possible enemies despite your blank radar. At your behest, he strikes a glittering, silver plant and watches in awe as it shatters into a thousand shards. You point over a ridged crest and tell him that the Vex are prone to the gulches. The Taken, you say as you jab a thumb over your shoulder, prefer high ground.Asher Mir’s field lab eventually makes its appearance. It is sheltered in the center of what resembles a huge, skeletal ribcage. Various gray cables drape over the fossilized bones and slither next to ditches filled with crackling, pearl-white gels.Vox drifts ahead and greets the grumpy Awoken Warlock with familiarity; the two are like-minded when it comes to intelligent life and fieldwork. You think Vox prefers Guardians who didn’t throw themselves in the line of fire. Furthermore, the Ghost has enough wit to keep up with Asher’s scathing nihilism, and the Warlock respects your shared perseverance as a mute Guardian. He respected Golden Age technology for its archaic influence and expressed sympathy for a near-impossible hunt for a new voice box.You catch the tail end of their discussion as you and Variks slow your approach, not wanting to startle him with the seven-foot tall Eliksni. “--thinks we should return to the City but I remain adamant that we finish our project,” says Asher. He waves his working arm at a pool of lightning behind him.“You should listen to Hypatia,” Vox says amusedly, though he doesn’t ask the whereabouts of Asher’s Ghost. “The results of one experiment just leads to the hypothesis of another.”“You know me too well, Vox. Is your Guardian here?”“Hello, Asher,” you greet, hoping the smile carries in your voice. “Long time no see.”Without tearing his electric eyes away from Vox, Asher remarks, “Intonation is mildly flat. Calibrate amplitude outputs and the rate of processing while you’re at it.” He at last turns around. Wild blonde hair, shockingly blue eyes, and echoes of galaxies under his skin--- exactly as you remembered. He smiles slightly. “Regardless, I’m thoroughly impressed. Good job.”“Thanks,” you stammer, unused to the compliments. “Uh, Variks helped me. This is Variks the Loyal, of House Judgement.”Asher Mir finally drinks in the sight of Variks towering tall and intimidating. His right arm, consumed by Vex technology, begins to twitch uncontrollably. His lips part but no sound comes out. You realize that he’s speechless again when the Eliksni steps forward with a slight bow.“Eager to help,” he purrs. “The Guardian is a strong fighter, yes?”The Warlock blinks a few times. “Bearably so, as a Solar-powered Warlock. Which reminds me, Guardian, Ikora asked me to assist with your training. Something about learning how to embrace the Void with what poetic flourish and how she’s stuck at the City--”“Wait, wait,” you stammer. “I thought you channeled Arc energy.”Asher scoffs. “What use is a Warlock if they can only use one sort of element? You must manage with dark matter, anti-gravity, thermodynamics, and not to mention--”“How about after we retrieve your tech?” you interrupt, thinking that you would immediately return to the outpost with no time for the Void. After all, Variks had his responsibilities at the Reef. Mara might be further provoked.“Fine, whatever. Listen, Vox, I am transmitting the whereabouts of the rouge Fallen and more importantly, my equipment. Take care not to damage the synthesizer. I still have so much work to complete.”Variks tracks the Wolves to an abandoned excavation site about twelve clicks away from their last known position. Despite the heavy machinery and equipment, they covered quite the distance from Asher Mir’s wrath, and the three of you crouch behind an expired satellite dish. Late afternoon calms the winds and the distant, melodic song of phaseglass trickles over the mountains.“Guardian, I’ve some troubling news,” Vox grumbles. “I tried to run an analysis of the environment but there’s an interfering frequency that prevents me from activating either the radar or the comms link. Once you enter the area, I won’t be able to communicate with you.”You look at Variks. “Would you be able to talk to the Wolves?”He shakes his head. “Look closely. I see three Captains. Three Captains to eliminate.” Resting a heavy hand on your back, Variks gestures to the scavengers milling about. You aim the scope at the valley below. It takes a few sweeps of the area, but you eventually spy the telltale bulk and height. Midnight blue cloaks drag along the yellow dust as the leaders, marked for death, monitor the stolen equipment. “Once they are removed, I command them to obey the Queen, not their beliefs. I will help to suppress them.”“Be careful, both of you,” Vox says, “All sensors are shut out. It’s total blackout down there.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Your Ghost gives you a once-over, rechecks your armor and equipment, and then transmats the two of you into the outpost hangar. Your sudden appearance, however ordinary at the Tower, startles a few bots out of their script and they crash into each other, chattering with more voice that you could ever claim.You hold out your hand for the Ghost to perch upon and it transmats away your helmet. The light cores in your mouth flash in a familiar pattern. “Yes, he’s here.” Vox waits for your next stream of questions. “Yes, of course I recognized his voice. He tries to disassemble me every time you fawn over his banners. Yes, fawn over. No, I will not amend my statement.”The shadow of the Eliksni known as Variks spills across your petite frame. “Welcome,” he greets, hunkering down in a somewhat formal bow. His voice resembles an overheated exhaust: grating, rough, and on the brink of malfunction. “Welcome to you both.”His gait is awkward and slow as he walks next to the Guardian; his limbs move jerkily, balance uneven and heavily reliant on the staff. He feels the eyes of the Crows on his back. He ignores their curiosity and ushers them through the markets, then past a distressed curtain of Judgement banners.Crushed glimmer and small bird bones whisper into dust under their feet. Variks’s home resembles a cargo hold: narrow and with a vaulted ceiling, giving off a cavernous impression. Empty ether canisters roll across the floor as he roughly shoves various crates out of his way, searching with his three arms while the fourth clings to the staff. His shadow stretches across the high walls, and your gaze is drawn to the shape of his ivory-white crown.Variks spins round, ignoring how his staff sweeps another container to the disheveled floor. “Recognize this?” He tosses you a small, black box, and you catch it, ignoring the oil and grime ruining your gloves. There are open ports on all of its sides. It looks unimportant.But Vox suddenly gasps. “A voice box? From the Golden Age?”“Stripped from the Moon just last cycle.” His voice takes on a humorous tone. “Exiles claim to be the best scavengers. Judgement thinks, perhaps. If you are willing--”You nod.“--to complete a task for me,” Variks continues, swiftly plucking the black device out of your hand, “I may consider gifting it to you. Show me your Light.”The Light knows the tortured pride that comes with silence, and today, in the far reaches of the Reef, it might allow you a sliver of hope. You extend your hand, the same one which held the voice box, and then close your eyes. Tendrils of golden dawn drip from your gauntlets. The amber liquid dissipates into an ether-like wisp, leaving behind a faint warmth in your entire body. You dive into your memories of the Traveler, silent and tortured and proud, in eternal watch over the City.Variks passes his claws through the fading light. Afraid to touch the sun-bright flames, afraid it might burn him. When you open your eyes, Variks simply nods and then gestures over to a pallet stuffed with rages and collectibles. Above, a suspended shelf hangs precariously on thin wires. “Vox the Ghost,” he says quietly, “if you would chase away the appropriate panels, time being, hmm?”The protective exoskeleton around your neck whisks away into a pocket dimension.The Eliksni shuffles forward and places a firm, prosthetic hand on the back of your head. One of his other hands examine the neck cables under the wiring. “Excuse the pace, Guardian,” he chuckles darkly. “I see my kin’s marks on your voice.” He spends a few minutes studying the layout, murmuring in half-thought. Curious. Golden Age. Pitiful scavenge. Ruined.You stiffen slightly as his claw snags and slices a few wires. You do not feel any pain-- his methodical tinkering feels more like prodding and poking. Delicate operation, Variks whispers to himself. And then he gently coaxes the voice box free, displaying it proudly in the palm of his hand. By lamplight, the device has deep slashes and crushed ports. Variks places it on the shelf. Past the swaying, silver mesh mask, you can just glimpse a maw of short, razor-sharp fangs and a gray tongue. The tawny furs around his neck tickle your sensors and if you were anything but machine, you might have sneezed.“Now listen,” Variks says as he works on the replacement, “to the reason you come here. Numerous reports of the Queen’s Wolves chasing early deaths. Dregs and Vandals seeking impossible opponents. Massive battles.”Vox flickers in and out of its pocket dimensions, worried out of its mind even though it can heal you in a moment’s notice. It leaves pale trails of Light in the sporadic wake. “What does that have to do with the Guardian?” Vox asks.“Her accomplishments have inspired fanatics,” Variks mutters, squinting past your cables. “Some believe the Great Machine will turn them into their stronger foes. Guardians like you.”“A Fallen Guardian? Impossible.” Vox exclaims.“As I said. Fanatics. Weak of willpower. They die and hope your Traveler will choose them.”“But we’ve never talked to any Fallen besides you. How could we have--”“Done plenty. Bringing the head of a Vex Gate Lord. Proving worth to the Queen and her brother. Power and loyalty to protect the Great Machine. Promises many things to Eliksni,” Variks says, eyeing the Ghost greedily. “A Captain died yesterday with this belief. Discovered with his own swords wedged in his throat.”You recall the message sent to the Vanguard. So does Vox. “Oh.”“Death means nothing to Guardians. The Eliksni seek death and hope to wake with a Ghost of their own.”“We thought the Fallen wanted to claim the Traveler for their own,” Vox squeaks.Variks bristles angrily. “Does the Great Machine belong to you? Its Light is a gift.”Despite his intense tone, the claws within and on the back of your skull is as light as a feather. He glances down at you, and you think, He could rip my head from my neck.All Variks says is: “Not so simple, these labels you bestow. The Darkness, the Collapse, the Fallen,” he spits the last word, unwanted in his glossa. Maybe it is melancholia which burns in his bright eyes. He eventually refocuses on the voice box wires. Your Ghost shudders visibly in relief; Variks pretends not to notice. “The Guardian will speak. She will need her voice. There. Finished.” Vox immediately transmats the protective plate over your wiring.You don’t remember how your voice sounded before it was destroyed centuries ago. Your light cores flash in an automatic response. Vox drifts a little closer. “Guardian?” There is so much hope in its voice. “It’s okay. Take your time.”Static crackles like lightning. Vox flinches, and Variks bristles in surprise. Half a minute passes as you wrestle with the unfamiliar feeling of spoken word, channeling static and silence like a radio dial. A few vowels peek through the noise. Switch channels. Less emphasis on amplitude and frequency. Only clarity. Signal.And thus, your voice is somewhat tinny and gravelly, lower than expected-- but it works.“Hello, Vox,” you whisper. “My Little Light.”Vox bumps against your chin. “Guardian.” Its soft glow warbles happily in the dark. You reach up and scratch against its own metal sheer, comforting its years of solitude and silence. You hum away the fritzing white noise until all that remains is you. Just you.However many times Variks glimpses the phenomenon, it still strikes him with a wave of catharsis: a Guardian and their Ghost. The closest rendition any of the Fallen have been to the Light of the Great Machine for over seven hundred years.With your vents slow and rhythmic, you feel the faint brush of furs against your skull plating. You slowly look up at the Eliksni who invited you into his home, who gifted you with a voice.“Variks the Loyal.”A slow clacking noise rattles from his mandibles, the sound not unlike dragging a wooden mallet across a xylophone or a spinal cord. A creaking sigh escapes from his seven-foot tall figure. “Yes, Guardian?” he rasps.“Thank you.”“You are welcome, Guardian. I admired your Light. It is… bright. Like your Ghost.” He studies the dormant Vox nestled under your stiff collar and a hopeful tone pitches in his voice. “When your deed is done, might I purchase it?”“No, Variks.”He shrugs. “Next time. Next time, I will make a better offer.” Variks is not offended. After all, he has asked hundreds of Guardians for their machine companions. “Now, you are a guest. Stay. Still.” One of his lower limbs reach forward and lightly taps against the paint streaked on the left side of your face. And then it goes to the other side of your face, a gentle, stroking motion.The Eliksni places his head next to yours and takes a very soft, slow breath. You recognize the shape of his claws as they dig heavily into your thigh as he supports himself against your seated form. This is not the first time he has found your scent-- a formal, ritualistic gesture that borders on intimate and invasive. Blunt chitin scrapes over your brow and the sensation is, least to say, jarring.You want to speak to him freely. But his touch lingers like a phantom. Control falters. “Vari-izzzt-iks,” you struggle to say, “Vari-izzzzzzt-iks.”The Eliksni brashly knocks his helmet against your skull, dull vibrations shocking you for a moment. “Reclaim yourself, Guardian,” he orders.“Variks--” you rasp at last, flinging out your question before it dissolves in white noise. “Do you believe that the Traveler… your Great Machine… could choose a Fallen as a protector of Light?”It catches him off guard. The claws sink a little deeper, though Variks can’t bruise your flesh. He knows this much about Exos. “When the universe collapsed,” he relents, “my people learned to welcome Darkness. We thieved and killed our kin. So we were punished for our nature. The Great Machine will not heed the Fallen’s desperate sacrifices. The Light does not love us. No, it does not love us.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When the initial Exo design was presented, most engineers were concerned about its synthetic circulation system. Oil and petroleum quickly presented as liabilities, flammable and slick, and future advancements moved away from fossil fuels. Early Exos were solar-powered. Others were reminiscent of steam engines. Near the end of the Golden Age, the robotic race was stable enough to depend solely on circuits and renewable energy.You do not bleed when blades and bullets penetrate your armor. Sparks fly when wires rip free of their dented or fractured plating. You press against a crate of research equipment and ignore the faint smell of ozone leaking from your shoulder, which caught the brunt of multiple daggers.Suddenly, half a dozen Dregs crash to the ground in front of you, weapons flying from their claws, and you look up just in time to see Varik’s shadow hurtle over the cliff face. You would prefer not to seriously injure the Fallen enemies, and it seems he might have the same idea. Although Variks hopes to communicate with them later, nonlethal attacks places you at a severe disadvantage.When the disturbed, choking dust clears, you see a Fallen Captain emerges from one of the tunnel entrances. He spies you, snarls at your timid position, and then unsheathes his blades. You raise the sniper rifle. Two shots take out the shimmering shield. Another two brings him to his knees. Ether gas immediately spills from his open wounds.A smattering of gunfire forces you to rethink the situation. Too much open space, too many opportunities to be blindsided; so you make the split-second decision to dive into the tunnels. Blindly seeking the remaining Captains. Hoping the echoing shrieks in the distance belong to Varik’s victory.But you’re not fast enough to dive behind cover as ionized charges slam into your back and you stumble, red tinting your vision. Glancing back finds another growling Captain, one who prefers shock rifles. You throw yourself into a forked underpass, switching from the rifle to the sidearm.Vox shimmers into view, keeping in pace with your frantic sprint.“You can’t be here,” you hiss.“I can heal you--”“They’ll kill you if they see you! Go, now!”Vox blinks back into your headset.The last Captain waits as you tear yourself from the encroaching darkness, screeching to a halt in another cramped cavern. There’s barely any time to dodge when swords flash and carve a deep gash across your armored robes, scraping Exo plating enough for an explosion of sparks. Your vision fills with static and a pained keen erupts from your throat, cutting off as it overloads the voice box.Then to make things worse, the second rifle-bearing Captain teleports into view with a thick, fading streak of ether wisp. The Fallen leaders shriek gleefully. Easy prey. You close your hand over empty air. The sidearm had been tossed aside. Bad luck. If you reach for the sniper, you’re dead. Their hulking silhouettes pace across the sunlit entrance.Through the aching pain, you glean faint traces of Vox’s transmat as it silently begs to heal you. “No!” you wheeze. “Vox, please don’t--” To dissuade the Ghost, you hurl down a rift knowing that it will only mute the aches which ripple through your body. The Light suspends your nerve sensors momentarily and you force yourself to think. Not enough room to toss grenades and survive the blast radius. You flick your eyes to the ceiling but just like the rest of the tunnels, it’s too low to glide over them. You ball your right hand into a fist and bring it close to your chest.Just this once, you think to yourself. Just this once, let me blink.The summoned Void trickles into your limbs and fingers. It greedily steals the Light’s warmth to fuel its own power. However, you’d used up most of the energy for the rift and your body flickers like a bad reception. Not enough to blink. Not enough for even that short distance to the bright escape. It takes everything to stay conscious. A purple haze begins to coat the edges of your vision. You see one of the Captains raise a shock rifle, and you shut your eyes, willing yourself to blink before--There is an explosion of unbearable, scalding heat--When the shrieking in your head tapers to an emptiness south of your waist, Fallen howls echo throughout the through the warm darkness. Death is not a stranger to the Guardians, but pain is a novel sensation time and time again.White flames etch into your plates and wires. Burning. You’re overheating from both the inside and out. Shutdown imminent. Let the Sun fade, let the Void remain. It is murky, unwelcome, cold, numbing, and unfeeling; it drowns the fever; and it might have saved your immortal life.Through the crack on your helmet, you blearily witness a three-pronged staff burst through one of the Captain’s throats before sinking into the other’s mandible, crushing their flesh and skeleton with practiced ease. They die with arms flailing weakly as Variks draws himself to his full height, baring his unmasked fangs in an unrestrained snarl of contempt.The Void writhes within you and fears his scorching fervor. It wants you to blink far, far away.Vari-izzzt--The name bubbles in your throat, garbled and frantic, on an incessant repeat and it does not stop even as his gaze falls upon you. He staggers towards you. Vari-izzzt-- Vari-izzzt-- Not even when he drops his staff with a hollow clatter. Vari-izzzt-- A low hiss escapes his body. Claws flexs helplessly over the smoking remnants of your legs.Vox finally trembles into reality. A high-pitched whine sounds from your voice box and you reach for the Ghost.“It’s over, now, Guardian,” Vox croaks. “Rest. I’ll heal you. I promise.” Its Light shakily works at your systems and starts preparing your body for recharge. Limbs fall slack. Light cores dimmed to an unconscious, honeyed yellow. Tactile touch is the last to leave; you desperately cling to the sensation of soft fur under your fingers.Variks hushes you and strokes his claws across your painted cheek. You look so small, so frail compared to your enemies. “Bring the ship closer to us,” he tells Vox. “Tend to her in privacy.”“Will she…”His arms tighten around your sleeping form. “She is safe.”Vox cannot bring itself to question his honesty. Instead, it retreats into the pocket dimension where it brings the Wanderwing engines roaring to life. Vox patches calls to Asher Mir and Petra Venj with slightly varied reports. The former immediately makes plans to relocate closer to the reclaimed excavation site. Silence rebounds from the Reef.Variks knows that the Ghost will need to land outside of the blackout zone. He steps over the bodies of his kindred and comes face-to-face with dozens of soldiers outside the cavern. Evening has since descended and luminescent eyes peer from all sides in the creeping shadows. Variks ignores the threatening growls from all around and heads towards the mass of Dregs and Vandals blocking the exit route.The Guardian in his arms knows him as an Eliksni vendor. A relic of idyllic times.Variks the Loyal stalks slowly towards the underlings. Drawn as tall and commanding as a Captain. The battle-won staff gripped tightly in one hand as the other three cradle the Light-bringer. A blistering, bitter gaze filled with malice. Gray lips drawn back in a silent, feral snarl. A murmur of acknowledgement spreads through the crowd. They are many, but they will not win this fight.All remaining Fallen part and cower before the Warden of the Prison of Elders. “Would you like to transmat her into the ship?”“You can carry her.”Variks nods. He removes himself from the shadow of a cliff face as he hobbles to the Wanderwing. The Ghost maintains pace, occasionally running a scan on the Guardian’s health and recovery. The stasis sleep will promote a stable recovery, although your mental state might be disorganized. Vox knew your panic in the moment of certain death. Even now, it sees moments of uncertainty in your rapid eye movement and muscle spasms.The Eliksni places you on the mattress and kneels at your side, watching diligently for any sign of consciousness. Vox transmats away your helmet and armor, and begins its work. A melodic hum fills the cargo hold as it repairs your damaged legs, one cable and nerve at a time. Variks places his hand on your bicep, uneasily plucking at the Judgement banner strip, and then he sets his chin on the mattress edge.Vox glances over. “You’re hurt,” it remarks, noting the thin gashes along Varik’s unprotected arms. Stains of liquid ether have since dried on his pallid skin and robes.“I will not scar,” Variks replies. His shoulders tense slightly. “But I will speak to the Wolves before midnight. They must know the consequences of falseness. Betrayal. Rest assured the Captains have paid with their lives.” The Ghost abruptly stops repairs and the Eliksni glances over. Its shell curls inward; its cyclops-like eye becomes dull. “What troubles you?” asks Variks.“She’s afraid of the Void. The Guardian tried to escape, but it wasn’t enough. Maybe if we trained more… maybe if I pushed her to use the Void, to learn how to blink…”“It cannot be your fault.”Vox regards the Eliksni miserably. “She’s afraid of you, too.”An empty, endless sensation echoes in Varik’s chest. He wants to smother this dark, dark chasm with bloodlust or rage. Instead, he looks at the unconscious Guardian and shoves himself backwards into the freezing, makeshift nest of worn blankets. A semblance of belonging. Variks tucks his claws close to his body, hiding them under his prosthetic arms. “Why do you say this, Vox the Ghost?” he rasps.“I don’t know why she trusts you. Whatever you do--” Its voice cracks with an emotion he does not know yet, something Vox later calls desperation-- “don’t hurt her. Please, don’t hurt her.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Try again.”You exhale sharply and curl your fist close once more, tucking it against your chest, before launching yourself over one of the Rupture’s jagged crests.The Void first numbs the tips of your fingers, then your limbs, and then it drags your vision into the deepest, darkest shade of purple. Fade to black. Your body tears itself out of liminality and you tumble on a well-trodden patch of eroded rock, kicking up dirt and dust into the arid winds. Impact. Void and air abandon you. The light cores rattle noisily amidst your wiring. Surely some were knocked loose.“Adequate marks on your launch and transition, but the landing is poor,” Asher Mir says as he yanks you to your feet with his good arm. “Think about your destination. Hold it in your mind, grasp it in your fist, and then simply blink there.”“You make it sound easy,” you mutter, brushing off the chalky grime off your armor. He barked all morning and afternoon. “Warlocks have preferences with their abilities. Why can’t I just be Dawnbright?”“Because--" Tension immediately locks up his muscles and shoulders-- “your lack of confidence in the Void only hampers your progress.”Dozens of failed attempts and hours of being berated by Asher bubbles up in your chest as frustration and indignation. Is it your imagination, or is that Vox in the headset, reciting about how high stress levels? You abandon all form of formality and camaraderie. “You’re such a hypocrite! You hate Solar Light. How come you get to decide what I should use?”“I know how to control the Dawn,” he snaps, bristling angrily. “Being a Guardian means being able to control all of our strengths and weakness. I am not afeard of the Void’s gifts. We can move through walls and enemies, we can attune to the chaos or the hunger of what the Light demands. You just need to try harder!”“It’s hopeless, Asher! Do you get it? I can’t do it!”The words echo across the ancient plains.“We’ll take a break,” the Warlock says tersely, his bright, blue eyes narrowed. “Go.”You waste no time. Any longer in his caustic company and you might regret what follows. You summon your sparrow and speed towards the distant Wanderwing, as your breaths come quick and frantic, the emotion unfamiliar and unwanted. You want to burn it-- the frustration, helplessness, anger broiled together-- so it never returns.The excavation site blurs past in the colors of Io and House Wolves banners. Emerald green winks past. Veering off course, you brake the sparrow only paces from where you’d surveyed the area only days earlier and remove your helmet. Variks shifts from his lax form on the high perch and slowly clambers down to the ground, using his staff to steady his balance.“You look conflicted,” he remarks. “What bothers you?” When a scowl answers his question, he tilts his head knowingly. “Perhaps a walk will clear your mind.” Variks extends a couple of hands to help you off the sparrow.Vox’s rambling recollections of how Variks doted on your recovery echoes like the lingering claws on the small of your back. Subtle and slight, although wholly present. You know that he is attracted to the dual clarity and mystery of the Traveler’s Light within all Guardians. The Fallen awaits your redemption as if he would watch kindling.“How goes with the Wolves?” you ask.“They must return to their respective posts from wherever they used to patrol. Mara will send her most loyal to assume command.”Variks no longer feels forced to speak in fragments around you; his prose rumbles smoothly and assuredly. The staff drags a shallow scar in the Io dirt, grinding a hushed, whispered message in sand.“Some Wolves think, perhaps, it is time for prophecies to come true.”“What do you mean?”“House Rain predicts that the Great Machine will bestow a fierce and brave Eliksni leader to unite all. I scribe these records. I recite them. And I await the Kell of Kells.” The title lingers on his glossa in a mixture of respect and bitterness. How long has Variks waited for this chosen one? “The promise of power becomes even stronger,” Variks sighs.Prospecting death encourages addiction and adrenaline among Guardians. Not even the Vanguard, not even stoic Zavala could be immune to the feeling of waking up, unscathed and alive. To be loved enough by a force as powerful as the Traveler, who could defy the cycle of death. “It’s not so simple,” you murmur, absentmindedly flexing your numb fingers. “There has to be a prelude to death.”For all that the Void imposes, it is still Light, and the Light in its cold and distant and infinite definition becomes a vise around your senses.A low growl stirs from the Eliksni. “Explain.”“Devotion. Bravery. Sacrifice. The Great Machine could not reward anything less.”He grazes the wide blunt of a claw down the length of your forearm, hooking lightly in the dip between your thumb and finger. “The look in your eyes,” he says softly, “as if you are far, far away.” Such a gentle, wonderous voice-- guarded and soft-- coaxes the Void to subside.“I am here, Variks.”“Good.” The claw remains for a moment, a moment longer, and then retreats to fold across his chest.“Guardian? Asher sent word. He’ll come to the Wanderwing shortly.”The Awoken Warlock steps into the ship and wordlessly seats himself next to you.He slides a small data flashdrive across the dashboard. You stop fidgeting with your tablet. “I’ve compiled a series of unique methods for Guardians who adhered to a less than traditional method of schooling. Some are self-taught. Some are forced to learn in the spur of the moment. And some are like you: Unwilling to listen to your teachers.”You reach out and Asher’s hand darts out like a snake, his nails digging into the seams of your gauntlets and plating. You suddenly notice his untidy hair and unbuttoned frock. The shadows under his eyes accent the waspish, weary character Asher refuses to abandon.“I do not wish to sit idle,” Asher says stiffly. “I do not want you to feel trapped, ever, whether by your abilities or your enemies. Your legs were destroyed. What happened at the excavation site must never happen again. If you care to consider these alternative techniques, I am willing to amend how I instruct-- that is, if you still need or accept my presence.”Not one, but two Ghosts dance silently behind their Guardians. Vox and Hypatia communicate in a strange language: Broken then mended, a fusion of binary which works for the voice and the Vex-infected.And somewhere among the convoluted, condescending speech, you manage to grasp Asher’s sincerity.“Tell me why you are afraid of Void Light.”
I have only ever died in violence.
The edge of a sword. A bullet to the temple. Cracking my skull at the bottom of a cliff. Death is cold, and colder yet. Even the Light which brings me back is cold, until the moment I can stand on two feet again. Vox is warm. The Dawnbright is warm.
I know that the Void does not mean death-- but it resembles it too much.
And I do not like dying, Asher.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I don’t pretend to understand,” you say in a voice recently returned, “because I woke up as a Guardian. The Ghost found me in a wasteland.”Variks swiftly translates to the dozens below. Bright eyes train on the towering Eliksni. Size is the typical determinate among Fallen ranks. In the absence of the Captains, Variks places himself atop the hierarchy. It shows in passing: Dregs and Vandals kneel in respect when he stalks past, and Wretches serve as his personal guards. Even now, you hear the whisper of electric on their blades. You can practically taste the ozone.But Variks stands with you and Asher, for once united with Guardians against, and for the future of his kin. “The Wolves believe that death can award them with Light. You believe that it will make you stronger, perhaps even as strong as a Kell,” you continue.Excitement ripples through the Wolves. Variks snarls a command for silence. His fierceness is as sudden as a strike-fire.“The Traveler looks for bravery and sacrifice, not death. Someone who fights against impossible odds is not brave. The Eliksni who choose easy death rather than a worthwhile life are not brave.” You hold out your hands and summon golden flames which crawl up your forearms before dissipating in a violet gaseous haze. Asher wordlessly manifests a rod of pure, crackling Arc energy in his left hand. The lightning illuminates his unflinching expression; being a Stormcaller suits him.“We devote our life to protecting the Light,” Asher Mir says. “It was always in our mind to serve the Light, and the Traveler knew this.”“Your Queen finds worth in your loyalty,” Variks hisses, and the Fallen scramble over and under each other to escape his wrathful gaze.In his language, he does not have to speak slow. He is, after all, a scribe. Speech comes as quickly as breathing and bleeding ether. The only times he is speechless are times of dissent, when he must bite his tongue to agree with Mara, or when he regards the Guardian’s curiosity.“You must be devoted and brave through all your life,” Variks declares. “The Great Machine could not bear the dishonor of self-annihilation. You bring shame to the Reef. Do better. Return to your ketches.”The Fallen dart off in every direction, nervously chattering about their revised ideals. This is not the time for prophecies and mass deaths.The Awoken Warlock arches his eyebrows. “Never imagined diplomacy would work among the Fallen.”Variks chuckles, and then places his claws on your shoulders. He grazes his helmet against yours. For the first time, you place your hand against his cheek as his heavy touch lingers on your bonds, and he hums contentedly. His gaze scrapes to the side. “You see, Asher Mir, we can be a versatile species,” the Eliksni purrs.You scratch your head. “I think it’s a form of farewell.”“I’m not an idiot,” Asher snaps. “There is something more-- something much more in his motions. Neither Taken nor Vex show any form of leniency nor convenience towards individuals of their own and different species. Eris would have similar conclusions for the Hive. Now, the Fallen have shown instances other than violence towards us.”His stride picks up as the Awoken Warlock rambles about famous-turned-legendary tales about forsaken Vandals or Captains with docked arms. Brokering truces to unite against a common enemy. His Ghost Hypatia drifts next to his Vex side, occasionally scanning him with a crimson-stained light. You glance over your shoulder to the excavation site and then nearly collide with Asher when he stops in his tracks. He glares indignantly.“Are you paying attention? Variks is different, yes, he himself acts as a merchant with Guardian wares. But this?” He wildly gestures to your entire figure, from helmet to boots. Then he points at the tattered Judgement ribbon around your arm. “This?”“What do you want me to say?” you say.The Warlock is on the brink of exploding in frustration. “Variks is unique and he is incredibly dangerous. He serves Queen Mara and could be just as cruel as her. He imprisoned hundreds of his kin as trophies and amusement. He will stop at nothing, nothing, to ensure the survival of the Fallen--”Asher suddenly doubles over and coughs uncontrollably, the sound wet in the back of his throat. The ground flecks with crimson and white. Blood and… something else. “Asher!” Hypatia flies forward and douses him with a shower of Light, and you catch him before he collapses. He weighs less than you’d expected, and his lanky limbs jab at you.Then he squeezes your hand. If touch could remove pain, Asher seems to be clinging to the hope as tight as possible. “Radiolarian fluid,” he wheezes fitfully. “It’s reached my lungs-- and-- my heart is next--"Oh, Asher. Nihilistic, despondent, fatalistic Asher. You steal a glimpse at his Vex arm. Its movements are fluid and calm. How much of him has been consumed by machine? How much of the original Guardian is left? “There has to be… There has to be a cure,” you murmur. “Reverse the effects-- or at least stop them from spreading.”He shakes his head wildly. The answer is clear. I have tried everything.His Ghost flicks her crimson gaze towards you. A moment later, Vox materializes from its dimension. “Asher will be okay,” it says, “but he needs to calm down to breathe properly. Humans usually destress as a response to comforting physical contact. Try it.”Asher’s eyes are shut tight. You tentatively rest your shoulder against his and rest a hand on his curved back. Your Exo skin is as hard as sheet metal and lack any sort of malleable surface, but he eventually relaxes his vise-like grip (even if he doesn’t let go). Your eyes linger on the blood and radiolaria fluid he’d coughed up.“He doesn’t feel pain,” Hypatia tells you in a distorted, crackling voice.The Ghost doesn’t typically communicate with other Guardians, thanks to the infection. Her shell has the same silvery-blue sheen as a Fanatic; and her eye, as you’ve noted all this time, is bright red. However, when she looks at Asher, you swear that humanity-- and Light-- lingers within them.“He only feels inevitability,” the Ghost continues. “Still, I believe in him.”“Me too,” Vox whispers.Asher opens his eyes and sneers weakly. “Flattery-- does nothing to solve my predicament.”You squeeze his hand. He looks at you with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.Inhale.Exhale.“Are we having a moment?”Variks watched the Wolves disappear into the skies.He turns the communicator over in his hands, patiently waiting for the Crows to confirm transportation of all remaining ketches beyond Io’s orbit. The Guardian’s words hooked like barbs into the Fallen’s philosophies. They would chase death no more; not without angering the Great Machine or the Queen.Variks lingers by the Wanderwing’s transmat pad, though he prefers the meditative walk through the pastel plains. Nighttime does not quell distant screams of Taken and Vex, but it offers peace of mind in solitude. He shuts his eyes briefly. It is said that some can sense the Traveler’s Light seeping through the ground.He feels nothing.He hears footsteps.His silhouette is barely visible against the deep midnight sky while your exo plates reflects Jupiter’s colors. “Guardian,” Variks greets, surprised, and he bows slightly. He helps you jump up on a nearby stack of crates and chatters amusedly. “You forget quickly. We can talk like this,” he reminds, tapping on the earpiece. He sits with his back against the crate. “But… conversations in company offers clarity, yes? Do you look for something?”It seems strange to look down on such a domineering creature: Variks’s shoulder brushes against your knees; his head levels with your waist. The shift in perception only further warps your confidence. There’s no way that someone as short or small as you could demand superiority. Vox might bring you back a dozen times before you could land a scratch on him.You practically shrink inwards. “I wanted to talk. Um, actually, Asher asked me what it meant when we had our foreheads together. Earlier, as we parted ways.”Variks hums. “The Eliksni recognize it as an gesture of good faith between bonded individuals. It could very well mean farewell. It also means camaraderie and trust beyond idle friendship. The Cayde-6 and I, for instance, are liaisons between our posts. We are not bonded. Not with Petra Venj, and not Mara, either. I work alongside the Awoken but they do not warrant such pledges.”Tension seeps through the silence. “Why me?” you ask.He pushes himself up and rests his arms heavily on either side of you. Vox pestered you about cleaning up before you’d ventured into the evening. Variks doesn’t seem to mind the dust or wrinkles on your Warlock robes. He ducks his head near your wrist and catches your scent on the Io winds, the sand, the sour trace of the Awoken known as Asher, and the trace of oxidized blood.He keeps his eyes tilted upwards, like a new Guardian staring at the Traveler for the first time above Earth’s surface. “Why?” the Fallen echoes. “You, you are a Guardian who inspired the Fallen to abandon their Queen.”“Variks--”“Vox says that you are afraid of me. I do not know why.”You shift your gaze away, but he coaxes it back with the tip of a delicate, metal claw. His prosthetics no longer hide. They are alive, awake, and seek the Judgement banner on your arm. “You killed those Captains,” you confess in a trembling whisper, “and I was scared of your wrath.”“Why?”“If the Vanguard or your Queen decides that we are enemies, Variks, I don’t think I could win.” You gently grasp his metal wrists; your fingers barely encircle the width. His eyes widen slightly. “Not against someone like you.”
Do you think that I will harm you, Guardian?
Only days passed since he’d inquired about your fears. Curiosity has transformed into the worst consequence for truth: Uncertainty. And because one had no control over their doubts, they shoved their attention towards evidence of fear. You lost your voice to scavenging Eliksni claws; you lost your past lives to masses of Fallen; and you did not trust someone with a history and an ambition like Variks.Variks knocks his helmet against yours and in a split-second decision, he drops all of his defenses, as his kind do in moments of complete trust. His form drapes heavily against yours, and he strokes your arms in long, deft movements; he does not allow his claws to pierce or snag. “You are filled with Light,” he says. “Face-to-face, how could you not be victorious?”Then he feels your fingers tighten around his furs, holding him even closer. “Because I don’t want to hurt you.” Golden eyes gaze deep into what the Eliksni could consider a soul as you continue: “But if violence meant that you could reunite your Houses--”He cuts you off with a fierce whisper, “I could not harm you. I want concord, yes, and I want unity, and you.”You feel perfect in his embrace. As if you were molded for him. A selfish thought, he knows, although his willpower has never been as pliant as it is in your hands. This can’t be real. Yet the texture of your clothes and skin seem too real. Yet the words keep flowing, tripping over his rasp.“I want you,” Variks says again, almost in disbelief.The communicator, discarded on a nearby crate, blinks silently.“You take my colors. My customs, my traditions, my loyalty. I want you, in the same breath I bear Judgement.”A shaky hand rests on his collar. Your fingers sweep against his ash-gray armor platings and Variks barely refrains from collapsing on the spot. “I believe in your heart,” you say softly. “And your kindness. If you would have me… I am yours.”Variks the Loyal sinks to the ground and presses his forehead against your knees. He swears on the Light, the Great Machine, and on the tattered emerald banners which flutter in the winds: “No matter how our futures might diverge, I am yours.”