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The forest was dark, maybe a little too dark. Tonight The Moon decided not to do its job leaving the surroundings swallowed in ink. The silence wasn't helping. It was creepy. The only light in the abyss was her, a tiny flickering beacon in the middle of a darkened nowhere. If she stays for too long she might attract something big, mean and murdery. Her thoughts are not helping either. She had stumbled across a few bodies here and there. At this point, it was routine—scan every corpse she could find. And, like always, No spark. It had been like that for so many years. Too many years. So many bodies. Too many bodies. But none of them seemed to be Traveler-approved enough to light up. Frustration had bubbled over the years, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d almost be tempted to just pick someone—anyone—she thought was worthy, stage a little “accident” and boom, instant Lightbearer. The other Ghosts do not appreciate her sense of humor much. But whatever. When she finds her Lightbearer, they’d probably appreciate it. Or not. That was fine too. There were more ways to be compatible than just sharing the same sense of humor. Why couldn’t she just choose? Surely she could raise someone to be worthy. It wouldn’t be like the others. No, she’d do better. She’d make them worthy. She could. She doesn't have to hope she just knows they will be, she'll make sure of that. Though if by some horrible twist of fate she couldn't... well, she'd just have to kill them and herself for good measure. She doesn't think she could recover from raising a monster. Wow. Really unhelpful thoughts today, huh? She drifted through the towering trees, her tiny frame glowing softly as she moved to find her way out the forest. Then she heard it. A commotion. The snapping of branches. The hurried, uneven footsteps of someone running. A rustling, a sharp curse, and—was that a baby? Well She certainly couldn't ignore that She veered toward the sound, her core pulsing with curiosity and something close to concern. Breaking through the trees, she saw him—an Old Man, wild-eyed and breathless, clutching a small infant wrapped in cloth around his shoulders. His form was hunched, more from exhaustion than age, but he moved—fast, impressively fast for someone with so many years weighing on his bones. He wasn’t alone. Behind him, shadows loomed—figures clad in armor, radiating Light twisted by hunger and cruelty. Warlords. Her core went cold. She didn't hesitate. She darted forward, her voice sharp and urgent. "Turn left!" she called. The old man flinched at her sudden presence but obeyed, veering off the beaten path into the thicker underbrush. She zipped ahead, scanning for an escape. The Warlords were relentless, merciless and worse if they were smarter. Looking back behind her it seems they were slowing on purpose. The Old Man may be fast for his age but Lightbearers were faster, stronger. They didn't need to rush. They we're waiting for their prey to tire out. Not if she have anything to say about it. She pushed forward, guiding the old man through the forest, but their pursuers weren’t slowing. They were gaining. "This way" She barked turning a hard right, glancing over her. The old man was right behind her, his surprising speed was declining. The infant clutched tightly in his arms let out a soft whimper. Her optics flared as the faint sound of pursuit was gaining—they’re closing in fast. She thought of the settlement she’d passed through earlier. It was close, but bringing danger to innocent people wasn’t an option. We have lose them first. The trees began to thin, and she hadn't realize a ravine opened up before her. A deep gap in the earth, barely visible in the dark and if she wasn't a glowy mechanical ball she could have led them to their deaths "Wait! Stop!" she called, panic creeping into her voice. The old man didn’t stop. He didn't even slow down. Instead, he jumped. Her systems nearly crashed from sheer shock as he made it, landing hard on the other side, rolling to protect the infant in his grasp. The baby wailed, but they were alive. "What—what—what was that?!" she sputtered. The man didn’t respond. He was panting, clutching the baby who had started crying louder, clearly unsettled. He sat up quickly, rocking the baby in his arms, murmuring reassurances. “Shhh little light, you’re alright…” The forest was quiet again save for the cries of the baby.She spun back toward the trees of the other side. It seems they have lost them finally. They were safe. For now. But apparently that wasn't good enough because the second he caught his breath the old man immediately got up and ran like his life depended on it Which Yeah it did earlier but they should be safe enough for a breather, at the very least, for a second and the baby was still crying "Hey wait" she zipped after him He ignored her. Again. Like she was nothing more than a very helpful, very annoyed flashlight. This Man! “Stop!” She called out, a mix of frustration and concern in her voice. She quickly floated toward him, blocking his path. “We need to rest, just for a moment. They’re not behind us anymore" The old man looked determined then exhaled a ragged breath. “I’m not stopping. We don’t have time.” But She was persistent. “You’re not helping anyone like this! Please” she pleaded, her voice softening “We’ll be safer if we just take a moment. You’ve got to rest, and so does the baby.” He looked at her for a long moment, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Then, with a grunt, he reluctantly leaned against a nearby tree and sank down to the ground, cradling the child against his chest. The old man began to hum. The tune was soft, A lullaby. The baby’s cries gradually quieted, the child settling against the old man’s chest, their tiny sobs replaced with soft hiccups. She wanted to ask, finally—exchange pleasantries, figure out why he was being chased through the woods with a baby. It looked to be his. Grandfather? Or maybe he just had the kid late in life she doesn't judge. The village shouldn’t be too far now. They could make it. Then they heard it. Of course. Of course they did. The universe wasn’t about to hand out breaks tonight. The sounds of pursuit was back. Wow, what did you do to piss them off this badly? If they were familiar, she might’ve said that out loud. But she was pretty sure he wouldn’t appreciate the commentary They were getting closer now Goddamit they didn't even exchange names yet The Old Man let out a ragged curse He looks tired and frustrated and those words felt like an understatement Maybe they could split up. Grab The Warlords's attention and lead them away. And it seems like they same idea or he was reading her mind somehow because The Old Man unfastens the cloth slug across his shoulders holding the baby and shifting the bundle towards her looking at her with desperate resolve She didn't even get the chance to protest The Old Man turned and bolted towards the Warlords drawing their attention and sprinting towards the opposite direction She wanted to scream. She wanted go after him, to drag him back and yell at him for doing something so reckless but she couldn't just leave the baby alone She slides under the cloth sling and the baby was too light. She moved. Fast. The village was near. She didn't make it to the center. she didn't need to. The moment she spotted a villager she rushed forward and shoved the baby into their arms "What-" She didn't have to explain. The Villager will just take the hint and go She turned and went back She had to go back Please don't be dead She moved as fast as her frame could carry her Sounds nearing by she followed But when she got there The Warlords. Surrounding him. One of them had their hands on The Old Man's throat. He fought. He struggled. Scratched. Clawed. And then- He. Went. Still. She stared. And stared. And stared. And Stared. The Warlord stood, brushing themselves off and turned to his group "The child can't be that far. Spread out" She waited until they were far away enough and even then she wouldn't move. she couldn't. Eventually she did Slowly she drifted her way to The Old Man's Still warm. Lifeless. Deceased. Dead. Body. She looked at his face. Anger swelled inside her, wild and directionless . At The Warlords. At him. At herself. At The Universe. At the child's fate. Tragedy happens every day. She knew that. Had seen it, over and over. But that never dulled the anger that came with it. Never stopped the way it clawed at her core, heavy and burning, every time she saw it happen. Out of habit she couldn't stop herself from scanning The Old Man's body and— .... There was a Spark
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Sagira stared at The Old Woman rocking an infant in her arms, humming a lullaby. The sight stirred memories she had long buried. Everything before Osiris was buried. Her Guardian was curious about almost everything. Always asking, always searching. Yet, not once had he ever wondered about his past life. She was thankful for that. If he had asked, she would have told him. But it would have only led to more questions—questions without answers. Answers she didn’t have. She hadn’t known The Old Man. Not his name. Not the baby’s. Not what he had done to anger The group of Warlords so badly. She wondered what had happened to the child. Had they grown up well? She didn’t know. Would never know. Some mysteries weren’t meant to be solved. Osiris didn’t want to know, so she wouldn’t.