#❝ BETTER THAN SHAXX’S APPROVAL ⟨ SAVE ⟩

[phantomwarrior12]

Coming Home

It's done.

Uldren Sov is dead. His barons, destroyed. Riven, defeated.

She can finally rest, and by the Traveler, she needs it. The Young Wolf shuffles into her quarters - well, Lord Shaxx's quarters. It's where she stays between assignments and the only place she wants to be right now.

When she steps inside, she carefully removes her cloak, gently folding it up and depositing it on the only chair in the room. Her fingers linger on the Ace sewn into the dark material, a tired smile - a pang of guilt - and she closes her eyes for the briefest of moments. It takes all her strength to unholster the Ace of Spades.

It's heavy in her hands - whether it's the exhaustion or the weight of reality, she isn't certain. Cayde-6 is gone. She's holding his gun. It's too heavy. It's—

She's crying. She watches as a single tear threads it's way along the barrel of the hand cannon. When had she started? She scrubs angrily at the tear streaks, trying to unblur her vision. Her grip on the weapon tightens as she sags into the chair, silent sobs wracking her frame as she clutches the Ace fo Spades to her chest.

Cayde-6 is gone. She couldn't save him. Cayde-6 is gone. She avenged him. He'd be proud, right?

You did all you could, Guardian. Ghost materializes before her, nudging her arm lightly, It'll be alright.

"I—“ miss him.

The words die on her tongue but her companion seems to understand as he floats up near her face, pressing against her cheek gently in the only manner he can comfort her.

I know. I'm sorry.

They stay there for what feels like an eternity until her tears run dry and she reaches up with one feeble hand, patting his shell with trembling fingers.

Let's get you cleaned up. You've been pushing yourself pretty hard. You'll feel better after you sleep.

She offers little more than a numb nod as he dissipates beneath her touch. He's done it before, but now? Now it feels different - she can almost imagine what it would be like if he were to end up like Sundance. It's an image she dearly wishes she could shake, but she can't linger on it, not right now. So, as she struggles like hell to maintain some semblance of her dwindling composure, she strips her armor off, depositing the bloodied, dirty plates in the corner to be cleaned in the morning and makes her way to the shower.

By the time she steps inside, she registers the muffled whoosh of the quarters' door and the heavy steps of the room's owner.

Sounds like Lord Shaxx is back. Ghost remarks without materializing.

The Young Wolf only nods, turning back to scrubbing the dirt from her hand. How it had gotten under her glove, she doesn't know. But she's too tired to question it.

She listens to the faint movements outside the bathroom, no doubt the Titan's efforts to  straighten up, perhaps tend to her filthy armor as he does so often after long assignments. It's his way of doting on her when he sees her so rarely. It's sweet and she appreciates it more than he could ever know.

The minutes pass in a blur, idly listening to Shaxx move about before she shuts off the water and grabs a towel. It's Titan-sized and her Hunter-sized frame practically swims in it. She winds it around herself three times and holds the end tightly as she opens the door.

She must have been in there longer than she thought. Her armor sits clean in the corner, a steaming bowl of spicy ramen sets on the table by the bed with a large cup of water. Tired eyes move from the food to the Titan staring quietly at the weapon atop her cloak.

She doesn't remember placing it there.

"He's really gone," he says softly.

She looks down, almost ashamed and it draws his attention. She hears him approach, feels his strong arms pull her close. He's still in his armor, still battle-ready but she doesn't need a battle right now. She needs her Titan.

She's never needed a protector, but in that moment, as she lays her head on his chest, she feels fragile beneath his touch as if she'll  crumble at any moment. Though, despite everything, she's safe. Nothing can hurt her as long as he holds her. She can't describe it - the soft brush of his thumb over exposed skin. The tenderness that is his touch - so firm and yet so gentle. In his arms, she is invincible. In his arms, she is home.

So when she does crumble, the towering Titan gingerly picks her up, carrying her over to the bed and takes a seat with her in his lap. Her fingers latch onto his chest plate, the fur along his shoulders tickle her nose but she makes no move to pull away.  He leans his head against the top of hers, always so gentle in the way he clutches her against his chest.

He'll hold her together. As she crumbles, he'll pick up the pieces and he'll build her up stronger than before.

"It's alright, my little Hunter. It's going to be alright."

"Couldn't save him." She whispers feebly.

"No. Cayde is gone. But so is Uldren Sov. And that, my little Hunter, is what matters. You've avenged your friend and now you wield his weapon with the same regal and pride he did."

She can't help but scoff at the mention of regal in relation to anything associated with Cayde-6, he'd abhor the term, despite its merit as a praise. She blinks back the tears, wiping away the few that escaped before she looks up at him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She can't see his features beyond his visor but she knows he's smiling that same soft, affectionate smile that lulls her to composure every time. He is her anchor. He is the only thing that keeps her grounded and she knows it. He is home - and for a Hunter, that means the world to her.

She offers a shadow of a smile, subtle twitch to the corner of her mouth as he tucks a strand of soaked hair away from her face. She realized she never tried to dry it in her rush to see him.

"You need to eat," he nods to the bowl on the bedside stand and she snaps to from her daze.

He stands before leaning down and gently sets her on the mattress. "I'll get you some clothes," he assures her softly after handing her the bowl and a utensil.

She nods quietly, inclining her head ever so slightly as he straightens up and moves to the closet. She watches silently as he grabs one of his shirts and a pair of her shorts before returning to her side, laying the clothes on the blanket next to her.

He lingers for a moment, reaching out to gently cradle her cheek and her head leans into his touch. It's soothing and warm even through the rough leather of his glove.

"I'll be back soon, I have a few things to attend to," he brushes his thumb along her skin and her eyes flicker up to his helmet, a shadow of concern glinting among exhaustion. "Rest, my little Hunter. You've earned it."

She offers little more than a slight nod before he pulls back and she already longs for his touch, lurching ever so slightly forward as if to prolong the fraction of contact before it's gone altogether. She watches him stride towards the door, pausing and looking back at her with a nod, "I'll be back." And then he's gone.

It's another weighted minute before she drags her gaze from the door to the bowl in her hands. It's so warm, warding off the chill that threatens to sing along her spine - when did she become cold? She looks down at the clothes beside her with disinterest. She doesn't want to eat or move. She just wants to curl up and let Shaxx hold her.

But he'll be back, he always comes back and he'll expect her to have eaten and to be dressed. It's either that or he'll fret and she hates to worry him.

So, she sets the bowl aside reluctantly, carefully getting to her feet and tugs his massive shirt over her head. It billows and hangs looser than any dress she's ever seen, but it's comfortable and smells faintly of him. It draws a tired smile to the corner of her lips as she finishes getting dressed and deposits the towel in a basket before climbing under the covers. The Young Wolf picks up the bowl, its warmth flourishing across trembling fingertips. A deep breath settles her frazzled nerves and she can finally begins to eat, all while aware of the approving hum from Ghost in the back of her mind.

Somewhere along the line, she finishes the bowl, leaving it on the dresser and she slides further under the blankets until her head settles on the soft pillow. It's then that she hears the door open again and Shaxx's heavy footsteps fill the room.

"Guardian--" he falls silent when he sees her under the blankets but she rolls onto her back all the same. "You ate, good. Just a moment," he disappears into the bathroom to change, emerging with just his helmet on and she snorts softly in amusement. Her gaze follows him as he leaves his armor beside her freshly cleaned and substantially smaller plates before he removes his helmet and shuts off the lights. It's always the last thing to go, every night - it never ceases to amuse her.

When the bed dips beneath his weight, her attention is drawn back to the towering Titan settling in beside her. He opens his arms and almost immediately, she's curled up against him, burying her face in his chest. She's never been this vulnerable around anyone but Ghost and yet, it doesn't seem to faze the Warlord as he rubs small circles along her shoulder, pressing the softest of kisses into her damp hair.

"Rest," he encourages softly and at last, she allows heavy eyelids to sag shut, though her hand clenches into a fist as she clings to him. "It's alright," he whispers soothingly, taking her hand in his, brushing the pad of his thumb along her knuckles until her fingers slacken and her breathing evens out.

"The weight of the world was on your shoulders, and still you triumphed. I am proud of you, my little Hunter. Rest well."

-------------------------

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[the-gunslock]

Amanda 3 - Hammer

Third canon-deviant fic about Amanda Holliday and her journey to being greater, from a mini-series of four.

"This one would be pret-tyyy cool…"

The burnt-blonde Shipwright scrolls through the 'Collections' of Exotics Guardians found in their journeys, analyzing their perks as she patiently waits to be called inside the most envied library in the City.

For some seconds, her emerald eyes fall on a pair of knightly silver Gauntlets that could be what she looks for. She ‘hmm’s to herself for a second, trying on some shaders, and nods in approval.

"Amanda, let's go."

Her head moves to pay attention to the Warlock that has just arrived at her usual spot at the Bazaar, greeting her with a nod as she stows her tablet away and is transmatted into the library. She makes a mental note of the name ‘Stronghold’. Shaxx would probably appreciate her dedication to swordplay.

Other pieces like Fr0st-EE5 and Transversive Steps, which do not require Light usage, would also benefit her while she fought. Good to know, good to know. So many loopholes to be exploited.

Ikora Rey had devoted the day to silent studying and rewriting of her books, still not completely updated after the Traveler’s awakening in recent times. In order to focus better, she does most of it quietly and alone in the library, save for the Hidden that appear to report to her on occasion. Today was an exception, for she allowed the Tower’s Shipwright to keep her company under the pretension that she wanted to learn, and there was no better teacher for that than Ikora.

Ikora’s library has dim, yellow lighting and a rustic aesthetic, with bookshelves and flooring made of dark wood covered with blue and white tapestry. The overall layout of the place was circular, the center having her desk and simple chairs and couches disposed about.

"So, Amanda." Ikora begins, making herself comfortable at the table and suggesting Amanda to do the same, across from her. "What do you seek?"

Amanda quietly taps her fingertips at the table, fidgeting as she tries to formulate a good reason.

"I wanna learn how to… to fight. Like y'all Guardians do."

Ikora doesn’t turn her head, but smiles.

“Is that so?”

“Uh… yeah?”

Ikora gives a chuckle as she finishes rewriting a page.

“I think not.”

“...Why not?”

Not faltering, Ikora turns her head to face her friend as she hovers her hand above the book. “Because if you wanted to learn how to fight, you would have asked Zavala. And, if the words I received are true... you already did.”

Amanda doesn’t have an answer to that, only looking at the desk and pressing her lips together, the inquietude only building up. She observes Ikora using an emanation of Solar heat to dry the ink on the pages.

“Ikora, I… want to be a Guardian. I thought I could ask you to teach me how to think like one.”

As the Warlock turns to the book again, she turns a page and looks at a previous version of the book, also spread open on another part of the table, for reference. “Okay. And why aren’t you?”

She is caught off-guard by this question. She struggles to let out her answer, and the next sentence comes out a bit more condescending than she’d hoped.

“Because I’m not a Lightbearer?” Amanda replies as if it was something obvious.

“During the Red War, we weren’t either.” Ikora says as she starts writing once more. “And I went through the same dilemma. I was lost. I looked to the ashes emanating from the City, and vowed… never again. And since I had nowhere left to go, I found myself on Io, in search for answers. As time passes me by, I realized I was left without answers, without Light, without my team... without anything to hold on to.”

“And then?”

“A Guardian found me. One of those who had made the pilgrimage to the Shard of the Traveler and recovered their Light. They could have refused, but they didn’t. They could have quit the fight, but even if they knew they were going to die, they didn’t. And their very presence reminded me that, while the terms are, indeed, very associable to the outside observer, they are not the same.”

The Shipwright listens intently as Ikora recounts her tale. There were many angles to this. Most, she didn’t consider. Multiple viewpoints are a virtue Guardians must possess.

“It took me some introspection and some... unprecedented incidents, for me to believe that I am more than just my Light, and in being greater than the Light, protecting it and the people who live through its influence is what made me who I am. So, as long as you strive to perfect yourself, you’ll always be one."

Ikora eyes her friend without turning her head this time. Her eyes are amiable, as fierce as they looked.

"A Guardian, Lightbearer or not... is always a Guardian.”

The Warlock delivered each part of that sentence in a very light, but thorough manner, a way that Amanda didn’t even think was possible. It was a nail she still had to hammer, that Guardians are more than just their Light.

During the Red War, Amanda had argued with Zavala after the Traveler was imprisoned and the Light lost. “There are thousands of people like me stranded down there in the City", she had said; “We're all the same now, Holliday. The Light is gone.” She was too angry to realize at the time, but looking back, she realizes she had taken the Guardianship for granted.

While she still didn’t like having to obey Zavala and leave citizens to die, it was paying off, in a way. Everything they did, they did for mankind. And it was beginning to thrive again, the best they could. She could feel it, even if her mission was far from over and new threats were still bound to come.

With a deep breath, she promises to face them gladly.

"Thank you, Ikora." The Shipwright says, eliciting a smile and a deep nod from the Vanguard that was still focused on writing the page.

Amanda pulls out her sketchbook and starts drawing over a sketch of herself. But before she continues, she has an idea for the final part of the 'secret-unnamed-project'.

"Can I, ah, look around for a book?”

“Do you need help with anything?”

“Yeah, actually. Wanna know where the name ‘Leviathan’ comes from.”

Ikora pulls up her own tablet, doing a query search for the word on the archive. It narrows down to multiple editions of a religious book from the old world, called ‘Bible’. Taking a break from writing, she hovers over to a particular section of the library, taking an intricate, gold-foil crafted book, meticulously turning its pages to where the query told her. “Job 41:1–34”, it said. She floats back to Amanda, laying the open book in front of her, before going back to her own seat.

She devours the verses, at first barely making heads or tails of what was on the pages. 'Why'd people back in the day write so weird?' She thought to herself. But eventually she managed to understand what it was about, and suddenly the name of Calus' ship made much more sense.

"Did you gather something new, my friend?"

Amanda recaps in her mind, making sure to try not to miss anything.

"Right, so- uh...” Amanda begins to explain her thoughts, trying not to let anything pass her by. “There was this man named Job, whose faith in this god couldn't be waived. In this part, the god is tryna teach Job how questioning a powerful being is futile by presenting him beasts so powerful that only he can control, one a them being a sea monster called, you guessed it, the Leviathan."

"How awfully appropriate."

"Yep. Apparently there were two beasts, a sea one, and a... land one."

Realization came into Amanda's mind as a name for her project finally snuck through her hands and into the paper.

"Reminds me of the World Serpent..." She adds nonchalantly, having doing some reading on the Edda in her free time back at Hiver’s place.

Ikora finally perks up from her book, stretching her writing hand. "You've been doing some homework."

"Hard not to, when you date a Warlock."

"And you are going to tell them about this… when?"

The one question Amanda dreaded, and it shows. Her 'Lightless Guardian' idea was nothing short of life-threatening, it's amazing she's got this far without being stopped.

Amanda had survived her whole life on the road, fighting off Fallen and hiding with hers and other families, but she would never, ever get rid of the pain of losing them. She survived and is happier than she's ever been, even if it's not a perfect life. Now, she was Hiver's family, and cannot bear the image of her lover having to go through the same — because of her own incompetence, nonetheless.

There was no telling how Hiver would react, the woman is already being a pile of anxieties, but of one thing she was sure.

It wouldn't be pretty.

“I don’t... know.“

"I can help if you'd like. But remember that this is your responsibility — and your burden."

She nods with a nervous face and gives a deep sigh.

“I’ll think of something. Can you take me back to the Tower?”

“Yes. And Amanda?”

“Yes?”

“Congratulations on finding love. Hold on to it. It is powerful.”

As nervous as she is, she nods smiling.

“Ophiuchus?” Ikora says to no one. Her Ghost, white and red and with spiking protrusions on the back of his shell, appears in the air next to her shoulder.

“One second.” He replies, spinning.

With a flash, Amanda is back at the Tower’s bazaar. Eyeing the drawing she has just finished, she runs to the Courtyard, in search of a person who could help her make it look much better.

Trying to ignore the built-up tension, she runs.

The Awoken woman stationed at the Tower Courtyard is, as usual, cleaning up dust and reorganizing her inventory, because it’s not home yet, but it would be. Then she hears a familiar voice calling to her.

“Tess!”

“Oh! Hello, Amanda. What can I do for you today?” Tess greets the Shipwright, assuming her usual hands-behind-back posture and giving her usual, welcoming smile.

“See, I got a lil’ project o’ my own, and wanted an expert’s opinion on how ta make it look the sharpest it can.”

Amanda presents the sketchbook with her sketch to Tess, who analyzes it meticulously.

It’s a suit of armor. Titan armor, to be more precise.

“Gothic knight inspiration… baroque decor… exquisite. Practical, but carries a lot of elegance. This looks incredible. Also, you draw extraordinarily well.”

“Thank you,” The Shipwright says, blushing. “But it lacks color. What would ya say works?”

“Excuse me.“

Tess takes the notebook into what appears to be a scanner, converting Amanda’s drawing into a digital projection that can easily be colored, and bringing it to the desk where they both could see it.

“Right, in my opinion the ornaments and trim should definitely be gold.” She says, quickly selecting the decorative parts of the plates and changing their colors to a light golden color. “The style reminds me of Gjallarhorn and the old Iron Lords’ armor. Maybe we can make it a bit more orange…”

“Would black fit with it, maybe?”

She changes the main plate colors to black. Tess and Amanda look at each other in disapproval.

“How about…” Tess changes the color to a deep blue.

“Can you try dark gray?” Amanda asks, and Tess obeys. However, it still seems to not fit, and they experiment with a midpoint between blue and gray.

“What do you think?”

“I like it.”

“Me too.”

Amanda scratches her nose, taking some time to think. The girls mix and match palettes for a while until finding one that fits the armor well.

Dark gray plates with crimson details, gold ornaments, and a white, gold-trimmed mark.

“Whew… Thank you, Tess. Anything I can do to repay ya?”

“The pleasure is mine. Although if you have some Silver on you…” Tess says, smiling smugly. “Just kidding.”

“My girlfriend does. She’ll probably come by again, she wants that duster you’re selling. Says she wants to look like a cowgirl.”

Tess laughs at this, eliciting a grin from Amanda, who picks her sketchbook and transfers the colored illustration file from the Awoken vendor to her own tablet, almost walking off and ready to send it to Crux/Lomar for forging.

“Oh, Amanda.”

“Yeah?” She turns back to face Tess.

“Does it have a name?” She asks in genuine curiosity.

Amanda smiles contagiously in pride, remembering what she read from the Bible in Ikora’s library. She had the perfect name for her project, given what was going down on the System — and how she’d fight it, if need be.

“The Behemoth.”

[thedistantstorm]

The Lion’s Heart 06

A shield, she realizes. The Traveler has gifted me a shield. I am a Defender: the last, lonely sentinel.

The tale of a different kind of Guardian: one who does not want the accolade of saving the world, who does not understand why she would be chosen to wield the Light remaining in the Shard. Once a reckless, dazzling Striker, the Traveler’s chosen is reborn a silent Sentinel. This is Kira’s story; About bringing people together, reclaiming their city, and overcoming the darkness despite it all.

Titans | Vanguard Mentors | Heavy Angst | PTSD | Descriptions of Light | Loss of Light | Canon-typical Violence | Heroes of Necessity | Canon Compliant | The Red War

Previous Parts: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

-/

They know now.

About the Almighty.

What it does. What it's going to do if they...

If she…

… Can't stop it.

It's a terrifying thought.

Zavala rises to the occasion. He wants the fleet mobilized, he wants to fight - finally, Kira thinks, he finally sounds like himself again - and he wants to take back what belongs to humanity.

It's just… easier said and done. Zavala’s morale bolstering speech aside, it doesn't change that what Guardians and ships they have are heavily battered. It has no bearing on how harrowing this place is, that it cannot properly accommodate so many refugee civilians.

Sloane is pensive. She's been stationed all over the system. If anyone is poised to provide insight in this situation, it’s her. “We have to get these people safely back to Earth. They'll die here,” She reasons. “The Hive and Fallen are an undeniable threat. Not to mention that we're running out of food.”

“We have nowhere on Earth to go. We’ll have to get boots on the ground, map out a suitable location and hope the Legion does not notice...”

Ghost spins the back half of his shell with a synthetic sort of drone. “The Farm,” He replies to them both. “You can take the refugees and the fleet to the Farm.”

Zavala and Sloane share a glance. “What and where is that?”

“Near the Shard, in the European Dead Zone. The survivors are mounting a resistance there!” Ghost sounds incredibly chipper.

Not for the first time, Zavala murmurs, “Impossible.”

“We helped them set up the comm network before we left.” He continues, rambling, “They've been rounding up all the survivors, anyone who was left in the City. I'm sure they'd be happy to accommodate the evacuees.”

The Deputy Commander looks at Kira, who stands at attention silently, back not quite resting against the wall, eyes on the data-pad on with their intelligence on the Almighty. She looks up and meets Sloane's gaze head-on, chocolate brown to flecked amber.

“There's no way a civilian resistance could possibly accommodate the sheer number refugees,” Sloane finally admits. “The amount of resources we need is staggering. A couple well-hid caches can help a small group, sure, but not the entire population.”

“But Hawthorne-”

“We'll need you,” Zavala nods to Kira, “To go back to Earth and find a place that's well hidden and can accommodate a large camp. We won't send them all. Some will have to stay here, with the remaining food supply.” Sloane steps to attention, as if she's just received her orders. In a way, she has. There is no doubt who is better suited to stay here.

Kira squeezes her eyes shut. They keep talking about what to do, how to go about it, making a list of all the things they'll need in a refuge and a base of operations. They aren't listening. Ghost nudges her palm; She hears him scoot up in front of her face.

She meets that glowing, familiar gaze. He tilts his whole body, evaluating her, as if asking her how they should proceed.

Hawthorne thinks they're abandoning her. If they follow orders, she'll be right. She doesn't want to disobey Zavala, but it's clear he doesn't understand yet. It's not just a small movement. The survivors are serious. And Kira, she… identifies with them.

They know what the ruined City looked like. They were down there, when the Cabal hunted them for sport. They are out there, living and fighting and still breathing.

They, like her, are different now.

She steps between her superiors. They are still discussing things, but fall silent, eyeing her warily as she comes forward. She moves as if she's in a dream, slow like she's sleepwalking.

Neither of them understand, she thinks, through the white noise in her head. They all have to work together. It doesn't matter who's a Guardian and who's a civilian. None of that matters anymore.

The Traveler led them to the falcon - to Louis - and he took them to Hawthorne. She knows they're important to this. She knows they have to do this together. Her fists ball tightly at her side If they don’t do this together - all of them, together - they’ll surely die.

She looks down at the clunky radio on the table with the dent from Zavala's fist on the the far side. Ghost approaches, looking up at her face and she nods. He spins and clicks, the beam of light from his core wide and warm as he interfaces with the thing.

“Ghost,” Zavala asks, shy of a bark(though it elicits a flinch from the Guardian), “What are you doing?”

She waits for her doting partner's approval before turning back to the Commander. With sharp, heavy gaze, she offers Zavala the Golden Age styled receiver. It’s not the first time she’s looked him in the eye since landing here on Titan, but this time is different. This is the closest she’s come to open honesty.

“Talk to them,” Kira begs aloud, voice hoarse and crackling over the nearly silent static of the tuned radio. If he were not a man of impeccable discipline and control, he might have recoiled visibly. Her voice was not quite melodic, but it was certainly joyful and sweet. Now, like the rest of her, it is strained and cracked. “Just hear them out,” She rasps. “Please.”

They stare each other down a while longer. Her breathing is harsh and uneasy. She’s anxious and desperate. Behind her back, Sloane tips her head to the side, before nudging her chin forward, implying something to her superior.

“It’s not as if we stand to lose anything by getting more information,” Sloane considers.

Zavala takes the device from Kira gently. “Okay,” He relents. She sags, as if some of the weight on her shoulders has been stripped away.

“You’ll see,” Her Ghost says, looking first at his Guardian before back at Zavala, then Sloane eventually. “It’s our best chance.”

An awkward silence settles over them. Kira wrings her hands.

“That’s not what she thinks,” Zavala murmurs, gesturing to her. The Guardian blinks, looking up at him. She looks even more exhausted than she had the night before, and it appears she's finished speaking to them.

“No,” Ghost confirms, speaking for her. Somberly, he reveals, “She believes it’s the only one we have.”

-/

When the Commander presses his boots into the soil, it’s early morning. Everything is fogged and damp, the air is cold and misty. There is little light, it appears like there is nothing there. Holliday had confirmed their coordinates at least a dozen times. He does not like the constant hesitation he feels. This is not like him. He is their leader, he reminds himself yet again.

But, they trust her, this leader of the Farm.

So, for now, would he.

There is a pale light in the distance, like a lantern, a flashlight, something.

Hawthorne - the leader, approaches them with a militiaman on her right and Shaxx on her left. Holliday cries out softly, jumping at the hulking Titan. Hawthorne watches, and for a moment, Zavala thinks he sees the tick of a smile. He extends a hand toward her. One leader to another.

She casts her gaze down and to the left and the man beside her offers his instead. “Devrim Kay, sir.”

“Ah yes,” Zavala says, redirected. Years of political hum-drum make his movements smooth though his mind is reeling that the other leader's behavior right out of the gate. “It has been quite some time,” He comments idly. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“And I you, Commander. Welcome to the Farm.”

Hawthorne stands beside them, and he tries again. She shakes her head, looking down at her fingers. “Not that I don’t want to shake your hand,” She says, her tone not necessarily kind, but not rude. “But I’ve just spent the last few hours in triage.” It’s then that he notes the residual blood and grime that cakes her arms and fingers. “We got a group of refugees in late last night. Most of them were injured.”

“Casualties?”

She smirks, proud. “None.”

“Mortality rates are high, you said.” He took extensive notes, both himself and Sloane, when they had made contact with the Earthen resistance.

“They’re high out there,” Shaxx booms from off to the side, keeping one arm around the Shipwright and using the other to gesture out toward the wilds. “We have FOTC, the Militia, and plenty of willing Guardians. Our people are safe here. Holliday and I will get the pilots in the hangar up in the air and we can start bringing down the refugees from orbit.”

“Y’all got a hangar,” The blonde queries. Surprise is evident. “Out here?”

“More aptly, it’s a barn,” Devrim volunteers. “But we make due.” He nods to Hawthorne. “I’ll round up everyone who will be handing out supplies. We have a lot of goods and people to move.”

“Devrim,” Hawthorne says, fondly. Grateful. “Thank you.”

He pats her arm, over her dirty poncho. “Nothing to it, my dear.”

When it’s just the two of them, Zavala gestures ambiguously. “If you’re still needed in triage, allow me to come with. I’m sure I can be of some assistance.”

“If I take you to triage, it’ll be to get seen,” She answers plainly, with a blatant sort of honesty. Then, lower, she comments, “I heard you were injured in the initial assault.”

“I assure you,” He says rigidly, uncomfortable. No one should know that, he thinks, it's horrific for morale. “I’m fine. A flesh wound that’s nearly healed.”

“If you say so.” She gestures with a dirty hand. “This way. I’ll show you where our base of operations is. You can get situated while I clean up.”

He falls into step beside her easily. She is strange and awkward, like she doesn’t particularly belong in a group of people. Still, he has to ask. It bothers him.

“Ah, Hawthorne,” He begins, examining her face when she turns to look at him, trying to detect a lie, “How did you happen to find out I was injured?”

She hums, and turns back toward the direction they’d been walking. Coming up a dirt path, through a gate, he gazes upon a field, and small collection of buildings. Hawthorne raises her hand in a wave.

He follows her line of sight to a battered barn. Atop it, above the slow creeping line of mist, he sees her, gun slung over her shoulder. Vigilant. A protector of the people. The Titan’s lips are set in a thin line, though she dips her head in a stoic nod.

“Kira,” He answers for himself. Of course, he thinks. She’d left them days ago to prepare things at their new home away from home.

Hawthorne nods. “She’s worried about you.”

His reply is indignant. “Truly, Hawthorne, I’m fine.”

“I heard you the first time,” Hawthorne bristles. She doesn’t really care so long as he doesn’t keel over. As far as fancy-pants Guardians go, short of Cayde-6, this guy’s the absolute pinnacle. Jerking her thumb up at the silent Guardian, she suggests, “Worry about convincing her.”

[lordshaxxion]

All for Edix!!

omg i swear u guys hate me holy shit. all under a cut again

Where were you rezzed?

“In a grave outside of a long-abandoned village. Lots of burnt-out buildings, lots of Fallen arc spears around. It looked like there had been a battle there forever ago.”

How long ago was it?

“Well, I was a child when I was rezzed, and I’m in what would be a mortal late-twenties now. So a long time ago.”

Did you have anything in your pockets?

“No, but I was buried with a stuffed bunny toy.”

What was your first week alive like?

“Stressful. I was just a child and I couldn’t defend myself, so my Ghost had to ping the Vanguard on the emergency frequency for a rescue. We hid under a rusted-out piece of metal for a day before Zavala, my dad, arrived.”

How did you react to your new role as a Guardian?

“When I was old enough to understand and start training to be a Guardian, I thought it was great. To be able to stand up for what was right and to defend the last of humanity, it felt right. Now though? I just want to be left alone to study my plants and raise Kilgharrah, my Ahamkara.”

Do you have any regrets?

“That I wasn’t able to save Cayde in the Prison of Elders.”

How did you get your name?

“My dad named me in my first life. When I was brought back to the Tower after being resurrected, he recognised me immediately and reinstated my name and got to raise me again.”

Does your ghost have a name?

“Spiro. We found audio logs about an old game with the same name when we were exploring, and he liked the name so we used it. Turns out we spelled it wrong until we found a copy of the game, but I don’t care. It’s cute.”

What is your ghost like?

“Spiro is a worrier. But at the same time, he’s got more common sense than I do and he’s really good at talking me out of bad moods. I don’t know what I’d do without him, irrespective of being a Guardian.”

How do you feel about the last city and the vanguard?

“The Last City is my home and the Vanguard are my family, but they need work on how they operate since Cayde died. Dad’s become more distant and Ikora is more unpredictable and I worry for the both of them.”

What’s your favourite place to go?

“Io, to see Asher, or to just hole up in my garden or greenhouse and continue my studies.”

Do you participate in strikes or the crucible?

“Strikes. I rarely go into the Crucible. While I respect Lord Shaxx, it’s distracting hearing him shout at me all the time in Crucible matches and I get stressed out faster when he does. I know it’s meant to be motivational, but I don’t like it a whole lot.”

How do you celebrate the holidays?

“I spend it with dad, or with Artie when she returns to the Tower from her ventures. I’ve tried repeatedly to persuade Asher to come to the Tower for Dawning at least, but he isn’t interested. So I split my time between home and Io for him so he isn’t lonely out there.”

Who is your favourite NPC and who is your least favourite?

“…. I’m fond of Asher. Everyone calls him an asshole and an angry prick, but he has his reasons for being like that and I believe that underneath it all he’s a charming man. That said, I don’t like Petra. She puts too much stock in her Queen, if she can even be called that anymore, to the point it blinds her to Mara’s failings. I could stand there until I’m bluer in the face telling her this, and she’d still find reason to call me a liar.”

Where do you sleep/call home?

“I have my own apartment in the Tower, but sometimes I do just go back to dad’s apartment if trying to cope by myself gets to be too much. I’m lucky that he always welcomes me there, and it’s good for him too for me to be there. Dad doesn’t exactly have a concept of sleep, so if I’m there it means he can try and rest.”

Do you have any pets or companions?

“I may or may not have an Ahamkara called Kilgharrah, three cockatiels called Bert, Den and Dor and two cats, Nebula and Merlin.”

(side note, the cockatiels are named after my nan’s cockatiel - Bert - and my late grampy and nan - Dennis and Doreen

Does anyone live with you?

“Aside from the actual horde of pets, not really no. Artie sometimes stays over if she’s gotten in trouble, or for other reasons. Other than that, no. It’s just me.”

How do you unwind or comfort yourself?

“I hole up in my garden and greenhouse for days at a time if things have been bad. It’s not a great attempt at comfort, but it does help a little. Normally though I just sit down in the evenings with my crochet and make a bunch of stuff.”

What would truly break you?

“… losing those important to me, or getting left behind by them for something or someone better. It’s… it’s a scary thought and I try not to think about it.”

Most embarrassing moment?

“Having to explain to Asher why I wasn’t available on Io for a couple of days after my top surgery. He took it really well, and was fully supportive in his own way, but it was still embarrassing to have to explain.”

Any cherished memories?

“Meeting Kilgharrah and his mother for the first time beneath Io. While his mother died shortly after, she was the most breathtaking sight I’ve ever seen. A real Ahamkara, in all her glory, just sat there. Her wings and feathers and scales were just incredible and were largely immaculate, despite being hidden where she was for so long. Another cherished memory is meeting Artemis for the first time. She’s been a dear friend, even if she has her own dangerous endeavours. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

artie is @slumberblues​‘s

What was your highest and/or lowest point?

“After the incident regarding Crota and how I got my scars, I was at my lowest point. I wouldn’t eat, hardly spoke. I got caught apparently performing Hive rituals in my bedroom on three different occasions before the Vanguard realised there were shards of Crota’s soul crystal lodged in my eye.

My highest point? That would have to be when my transitioning was finally finished with and I could be me.”

Views on the enemy races?

“I don’t believe the Fallen to be our enemy, despite the fighting I think they could be our biggest ally.. The Vex and Hive, and by proxy the Taken, are perhaps our biggest threats and need to be dealt with first. The Cabal are just pathetic and the Scorn are abominations.”

Which enemy race is your most/least favourite?

“The Fallen are most interesting to me. I’ve tried to communicate with Captains on various occasions, before some Guardians came blundering in and slaughtered them for no damn reason. I hate the Hive and the Vex.”

What’s your role in a fireteam? (Tank, support, buff/healer, comic relief? Or are you the dead weight?)

“Dead weight.”

“Healer, Edix.”

“Thanks, Spiro.”

Do you have any mentors/mentees?

“The commander is my mentor and my father. I hope I don’t end up with any mentees, I’d be useless to them.”

What is your favourite weapon type/favourite weapon?

“Better Devils is a good handcannon and I will hold onto it forever. After that, I really like Thunderlord. Handcannons, auto rifles, shotguns and machine guns are the ones I prefer to use when I have to. Although, Eternity’s Edge is a good sword on the rare occasion I use it.”

Do you play Gambit?

“No.”

How do you feel about the Drifter?

“I don’t trust him. I’d like to, I hear about his intentions a lot and how he means well for the most part, but it’s just the interactions with the primevals and Taken that concern me.”

If you could be any class/subclass (not just your own), what would you be and why?

“I’d like to be better at using Ward of Dawn. I didn’t realise until lately that I actually had that ability, but it isn’t as strong as dad’s.”

What are your thoughts on the Nine?

“I don’t like them, since their whole business is shady in and of itself, but their aesthetic is cool.”

Any secret crushes or relationships we need to know about?

“…. noooooo…..”

“He likes Asher.”

“Spiro!”

Does your Ghost approve, or haven’t you told them?

“Of course I know, Edix spends a lot of time in his head and I can always hear his thoughts unless he really doesn’t want me to, which is rare. He’s just embarrassed to admit to it and thinks it couldn’t possibly come to anything, given Asher’s nature.”

You’re about to go off-planet on assignment, and will only be able to eat protein rations and food gel for a month. What’s your last meal?

“Anything my dad cooks. Despite all the jokes everyone makes about the commander, he does make really good meals.”

If you could take over any NPC’s job, who would it be and why?

“I don’t know. I think it’s expected that I take up overseeing the strikes and nightfalls from my dad, but I don’t think he’ll relinquish his duty that easily. Asher’s job is interesting, but I fear the day he… y’know. I don’t like to think about that.”

What is the most beautiful sight you’ve seen?

“I’m not sure. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things, varying from places to things. Although, I think when I caught the rare blooming of a flower on Venus is pretty good.”

Do you have a favourite colour?

“Blues are nice colours.”

Show us your favourite outfit!

“I don’t have one”

What’s your favourite shader?

“The Io shaders are nice, even though people say they’re not. Some of the ones Calus offers are pretty good too, though I don’t really like things that are overly ostentatious.”

If you could make a wish to an Ahamkara for anything - no strings attached - what would you wish for?

“I’d never ask Kilgharrah for anything when he’s old enough to actually grant wishes, but I suppose I’d just ask to be able to help people more than I already can.”