#oryx please come back I need you

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

I hope no one has done this before

[wonderwafles]

The truth was that Sjur understood. Not like her brother, who tried as hard as he could but only ever saw her dimly, through the dirty glass of his own perception. (Maybe it was better that way.)

The Reef never sleeps; not like Earth does. With no day/night cycle the Awoken sleep when it pleases them and awaken whenever they are rested. There is no point when all of the Reef is quiet. But there are times when her throne room is empty, when her sanctum is closed and the lights are dimmed so Mara can steal whatever minutes of sleep she can in a cot in the corner before the demands of the aching universe call her back.

In these times (although she tries to fight it) she remembers that Sjur understood. And sometimes it makes her so angry she cannot think.

Gods cannot love, for no-one could love that which had no power over them. When Sjur knelt before Mara and called her a god, she knew this. Mara did not need to explain. Why did she do it? Why did she allow them to spend their last days together estranged? Did she want a god more than she wanted a woman?

It was easier to be angry than to weep, alone in her bed, silently and slowly. But she knew the time was coming when she could afford neither.

...

"I have not named myself Vengeance," Eris told her, much later, in another world and body. "The world has made me thus. I am called to it like my namesake is called to our star despite its distance. Just as Oryx did not create death but joined himself inimitably to it."

"You compare yourself to the Taken King so freely," Mara said. She did not say this to needle but to test, to see in what way this new creature would respond and to guess where she was going.

"I have followed in his footsteps," Eris affirmed. Her chitinous maw widened and narrowed; something like laughter. "To deny this truth is to drink strong poison. I shall make use of it in the service of humanity."

"And will you remember humanity?" Mara said. "When you have become Vengeance? Do some of us not deserve Vengeance? Were Caiatl and her soldiers not cursed by the dying breaths of millions? Does Xivu Arath not now thirst for the blood of her brother's killers? And does Savathun, whom we are now using and being used by, not deserve the worst fate imaginable for the galaxies she and her brood have drowned in blood?"

Another laugh. Eris looked up; in her green eyes, uncovered for the first time, there was joy. "A god is not a temporal thing," she said. "One day I will be Vengeance, so I am now and have always been so. And see that I have stayed true to humanity. All I do I have done for them. All I will do I will do for them." A new and foreign twist to her mouth. "Trust."

Long ago, Mara realized, when she penetrated the Distributary and gave it breath and shape and meaning with her own life, she had made herself unable to love. Even then she knew, but would not admit, that one day there would be nothing and no-one that could have power over her.

Long ago, she had bandaged a wound on Eris' thigh and watched as she watched her. Eris thought she loved Mara; she could see it in her eyes, which even now were unchanged. Mara wished she could love Eris, but then things were different.

This was a hideous truth, but to deny it would be to drink strong poison.

"I love you, Eris," Mara said. Her throat was tight and her words were harsh like broken glass.

Eris cocked her head. A deep rattling noise built in her chest-cage and then passed. But the look in her eyes was not what it was then. "Good," she said. "Good."

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

Dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum

Whispering. Whispering. Whispering.

ACCESS: RESTRICTED

DECRYPTION KEY: H1D6EN3VIL5$IKO-006

REP#: 708-PSYCHOMETER-TEST

AGENT(S): POE-344

TUNING TO WAVES...

Speak to me not of the Darkness, I want no part.

This war is all there is for you. What else do you have? You walk among mortals and immortals, a creature lost in time. Your only purpose is the struggle. Does it seem unfair? To be brought back into this, the end of days, the long dwindling exhalation of an ancient corpse? You were at peace. Now you are a dead husk charged with war. Do you remember anything of freedom? Fight on, then. The war IS everything. But consider the choices before you.

I was given a heart

Before I was given a mind

A thirst for pleasure and war

A hunger we keep inside

"Let the heat melt your body so your soul might flow with the river of time." —Parables of the Allspring

Is it you?

I'm so glad you're the one who found me. I've foreseen so many horrors with these stolen eyes, but now, when for once I ache to know the future, I can't be sure of even A simple ho000pe. Are you the one reading this message? I think it must be you, Guardian. Who else would look for me? Ikora trusts her Hidden to return when they are needed, and Cayde would roll himself down AAAngel Falls in a barrel before he'd admit he missed me. Zavala does not place me first on his long list of worries. You're the only one who would go out and look for me. I never needed you to save me. I wasn't a dried corpse or a dead Ghost or a voice on the com sure to die before you could offer help. I hauled myself out of that pit. I made my own way back to the To000wer. And if I was… unsubtle in the way I threw you against the Hive, if I seemed to wield you as vengeance, please believe that your victories were the closest I could come to feeling joy. I know you must have questions. What did I plan with the Queen? What destiny did I embrace after Oryx fell? What's happening in this city, where dream has become nightmare? I can guide you to undo this curse, as I once guided you to unmake Oryx. But in the DreaAAAming City, as in the secret worlds of the Hive, there is almost no difference between the act and the actor. In order to understand my answers, you must understand me. I lost my Ghost and my Light to the Hive; I conspired with the Queen of the Awoken to destroy the Hive King Oryx and his son Cro001ta, and to position Queen Mara as player on the cosmic board; I fled your Tower to prepare for the struggle to come, into the Sea of Screams which calls to all those who plumb the depths of Hive magic. I can only slip these letters into the Queen's gifts when the stars are right. You will have to wait for my next, and with it, the beginning of the truth. But I swear to you, on whatever trust I've earned in your mind, that at the end of my story, you will know who I truly am.

I.I Before one can be freed, one must question the truth of their purest identity.

I.II And so a question is begged: Who resides at the core of your being?

I.III Only honest reflection will see you—lone traveler—through the coming storm.

I.IV Look, then, clearly upon the whole of your existence, and face your glory—strength of will, every flaw of your mortal heart and fabled soul.

I.V Through the pieces of a life lived divine your truth, but do not lie—to the world, if one must, but never to yourself.

I.VI To see yourself as anything but what you truly are will lead you down sorrow's road, unprepared for the consequence of your salvation.

I.VII Once an understanding is met, and the self is purified in the knowledge of its truth, the cage is set to be unbound.

"Know thyself in honest ways, or falter in light of your truest self." —3rd Understanding, 7th Book of Sorrow

In my first life, I was born Erisia Pyatova-Hsien. I remember thatPrivate life clearly now, as ex-Guardians who have escaped the Traveler's occlusion often do. I lived in St. Petersburg, first daughter of a second marriage, a very impatient child of Earth's 22nd century, often abandoned by my family (who were called by work to Jakarta, Kamchatka, and Lagos) to pass my days swimming in the icy Neva bay. I loved to swim, and especially I loved the clarity of the cold shallow Neva, as crystal-clean as a winter dawn. Enormous Zubr-9 hovercraft barges roved the waters; Russia had modernized its waterways better than its sad auto industry. As a kid—is it strange to hear me speak casually? As a child, I never swam too far from my parents' little drone helper Fyodr. The swift hovercraft terrified me, their billowing skirts waiting to suck me up and dice me into little raisins. But I grew up and fell in with a reckless crowd, rebels against the stifling death-fear that came with our Golden Age lifespans. Soon the child's safety harness and Fyodr's careful oversight began to itch at me. When I was |EDGE|seventeen, I went out in a wetsuit on a dare to dive under the skirts of an oncoming hoverbarge. Maybe I was in no danger; maybe the machine would've changed course if it could possiblyGemini hurt me; but I thought I might die, and I did it anyway. And as that beast swept over me, as I trembled under the blast of the propellers, I felt a thing which was very much like what I would one day know as the Light. Maybe that thing was heroism. Maybe it was existence on the edge of death. It was the first time I survived the passage of tremendous, godlike power. I died more than twenty years later attempting an unassisted winter swim from St. Petersburg to Stockholm. A cold front like the very furnace of hell caught me. I had been warned the crossing was suicide, even for a perfectly trained and exactingly fattened woman in a shark suit. But those were giddy days, days of infinite bravery, and there were no mighty feats left except the truly suicidal. I cannot regret it. I think that death prepared me for the longer, darker, more exquisitely cruel crossing I would one dayDyad endure. It is no accident that my Ghost made me in the image of that swimming woman, rather than any of my younger and less grimly determined selves.

The Waste Land

I. The Burial of the Dead

April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s, My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.                       Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? ‘You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; ‘They called me the hyacinth girl.’ —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Oed’ und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be so careful these days. Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.

Witness my sublimation

There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: 'Stetson! ‘You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! ‘That corpse you planted last year in your garden, ‘Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? ‘Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? ‘Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men, ‘Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again! ‘You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!”

The Darkness... then is revealed in many facets.

Eris, Eris, what a name, a name for discord, a name for far cold orbits where no living thing should dare to go. I like this name. Let me give you a gift, Eris. Let me tell you about the power in the logic of the sword: A Shredder or a Boomer is a powerful weapon, but it kills acyclically. You see? It sends out harm and it takes nothing back. The bolt passes away into nothing. A sword, though, a sword is like a bridge, a crossing-point. The sword binds wielder to victim. It binds life to death. And when the binding is done—the sword remembers. When the Boomer's fire has burnt away into axion and neutrino scatter, the sword goes on, hungrier and sharper. Understand that this nightmare logic underpins His nightmare world, and you will see why the ascendant blade has so much power there. Whenever in our passage we find ourselves in need of power—remember that the greatest authority here is a blade made keen by eons of use. This is the world the Hive craves: a universe creased by the edge of the sharpest sword.

There is no future but now. No truth but war.

Dreams and nightmares.

Something about you is soft like an angel

And something inside you is violence and danger

I knew from the moment we met, you are a dangerous thing

When you are with me, I feel like I'm living

And living besides you can be unforgiving

I knew from the very first step, you are a dangerous thing

—What power calls you++

++Down to the deep?—

++What instinct draws you—

—Away from high hope?++

Fear. That’s the only vivid memory left in me. It’s the moment when my fear was so thick and urgent that I gave up breathing. I stopped pretending to think. How I remained on my feet was a mystery, because the terror was bearing down on me, like a mountain about to crush my soul. But I have to ask, “What was terrifying me?”

Emotions. Pain.

What will you do when she drinks the sea?

Drown her in sorrow or let her be free?

When she's upset, all of her heart is cold (ah-ah-ah)

What will you do when she eats the moon?

Make her return it or give her a spoon?

When she is full, all of her heart is warm (ah-ah-ah)

The mother made us a savage daughter

Who never begs for forgiveness

I always wondered why they all came back for more

—FOR THIS IS THE DEEP CLAIM—

++Existence is the struggle to exist—

—When the struggle seems lost++

++when the safe place crumbles—

—everything turns to the Deep to survive++

Darkness ruled the sky. The world around us had shattered, and it seemed vanishingly unlikely that we would outlive this one awful day. Yet the fear didn’t come from the surrounding mayhem and despair. The source was inside my skin. I was utterly terrified of my own awful nature. And which part scared me? Inside me was an essence woven from beyond. Was I Awoken before this?

Memory.

We fell from sky with grace

And life gave us a sweeter taste

You can drink

You can feast

There's beauty in your beast

The flesh in the fruit

And the blood in the wine

II. A Game of Chess

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines From which a golden Cupidon peeped out (Another hid his eyes behind his wing) Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra Reflecting light upon the table as The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it, From satin cases poured in rich profusion; In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air That freshened from the window, these ascended In fattening the prolonged candle-flames, Flung their smoke into the laquearia, Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, In which sad light a carvéd dolphin swam. Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale Filled all the desert with inviolable voice And still she cried, and still the world pursues, ‘Jug Jug’ to dirty ears. And other withered stumps of time Were told upon the walls; staring forms Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footsteps shuffled on the stair. Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. ‘My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me. Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? I never know what you are thinking. Think.’   I think we are in rats’ alley Where the dead men lost their bones.   ‘What is that noise?’                           The wind under the door. ‘What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?’                            Nothing again nothing.                                                         ‘Do ‘You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember ‘Nothing?’

Do you remember?

       I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes. ‘Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?’                                                                                But O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag— It’s so elegant So intelligent ‘What shall I do now? What shall I do?’ ‘I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street ‘With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow? ‘What shall we ever do?’                                                The hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.   When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said— I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself, HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart. He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there. You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you. And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert, He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time, And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said. Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said. Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look. HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said. Others can pick and choose if you can’t. But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling. You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique. (And her only thirty-one.) I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face, It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said. (She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.) The chemist said it would be all right, but I’ve never been the same. You are a proper fool, I said. Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said, What you get married for if you don’t want children? HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon, And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot— HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

++This fatal logic++

—Hear my monopole scream!—

++It will consume you++

She was still in my head. I could hear her song growing fainter. Gone? Not yet.

—Before you lies—

++The worship of death++

—The ruinous path—

There's no end to the fall

You keep on getting better, I keep forgetting

There's no love in the end

I hope you will come

I keep on losing feathers, I keep forgetting

There's no love in the end

No love in the end

No love in the end

No love in the end

++The Sky builds new life++

—Against the onset of ruin—

++Towards a gentle world++

A new crippling terror was taking over. I was focused entirely on my fear. But I had to make an effort. And it occurred to me then that nothing in the universe was more dangerous than human hubris.

—The Deep embraces death—

++Saying: this is inevitable and right++

—I exist as hungry ruin—

What will you do when she takes your throne?

Beg for her power or throw her a bone?

All that she has traded for love is yours (ah-ah-ah)

What will you do when she takes off her clothes?

Beg for her body or touch her soul?

When you're alone dreaming of her you sigh (ah-ah-ah)

I still had this Other within? But the human side was what mattered: Weak and foolhardy, sure to fail in the next moment. That’s why I was afraid. Then someone spoke. Maybe it was me. I don’t remember.

++TURN BACK FROM THE WORLD-KILLING WAY++

++OR YOU WILL LIVE AS DEATH AND DEVASTATION++

Come and feel alive, lover

Come and feel the love like a sinner

Shout it louder

Shout it for the ones who could never say

"I won't feel ashamed, mother"

"Can you break the chains of her?"

Shout it louder

Not a sinner, she's a lover

Break your cell’s bars. Make a new shape, make the shape from its path, find your cell’s bars, break out of the bars, find a shape, make the shape from its path, eat the light, eat the path.

Oryx, my King, my friend. Kick back. Relax. Shrug off that armor, set down that blade. Roll your burdened shoulders and let down your guard. This is a place of life, a place of peace. Out in the world we ask a simple, true question. A question like, can I kill you, can I rip your world apart? Tell me the truth. For if I don’t ask, someone will ask it of me. And they call us evil. Evil! Evil means ‘socially maladaptive.’ We are adaptiveness itself. Ah, Oryx, how do we explain it to them? The world is not built on the laws they love. Not on friendship, but on mutual interest. Not on peace, but on victory by any means. The universe is run by extinction, by extermination, by gamma-ray bursts burning up a thousand garden worlds, by howling singularities eating up infant suns. And if life is to live, if anything is to survive through the end of all things, it will live not by the smile but by the sword, not in a soft place but in a hard hell, not in the rotting bog of artificial paradise but in the cold hard self-verifying truth of that one ultimate arbiter, the only judge, the power that is its own metric and its own source—existence, at any cost. Strip away the lies and truces and delaying tactics they call ‘civilization’ and this is what remains, this beautiful shape. The fate of everything is made like this, in the collision, the test of one praxis against another. This is how the world changes: one way meets a second way, and they discharge their weapons, they exchange their words and markets, they contest and in doing so they petition each other for the right to go on being something, instead of nothing. This is the universe figuring out what it should be in the end. And it is majestic. Majestic. It is the only thing that can be true in and of itself. And it is what I am.

III. The Fire Sermon

  The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of City directors; Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . . Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. A rat crept softly through the vegetation Dragging its slimy belly on the bank While I was fishing in the dull canal On a winter evening round behind the gashouse Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck And on the king my father’s death before him. White bodies naked on the low damp ground And bones cast in a little low dry garret, Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year. But at my back from time to time I hear The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring. O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter And on her daughter They wash their feet in soda water Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole! Twit twit twit Jug jug jug jug jug jug So rudely forc’d. Tereu Unreal City Under the brown fog of a winter noon Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants C.i.f. London: documents at sight, Asked me in demotic French To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel Followed by a weekend at the Metropole. At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting, I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives, Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea, The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights Her stove, and lays out food in tins. Out of the window perilously spread Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays, On the divan are piled (at night her bed) Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays. I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest— I too awaited the expected guest. He, the young man carbuncular, arrives, A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare, One of the low on whom assurance sits As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire. The time is now propitious, as he guesses, The meal is ended, she is bored and tired, Endeavours to engage her in caresses Which still are unreproved, if undesired. Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; Exploring hands encounter no defence; His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference. (And I Tiresias have foresuffered all Enacted on this same divan or bed; I who have sat by Thebes below the wall And walked among the lowest of the dead.) Bestows one final patronising kiss, And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . . She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover; Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: 'Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.’ When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smooths her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone.

Raise your voice and sing.

‘This music crept by me upon the waters’ And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street. O City city, I can sometimes hear Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, The pleasant whining of a mandoline And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.                The river sweats                Oil and tar                The barges drift                With the turning tide                Red sails                Wide                To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.                The barges wash                Drifting logs                Down Greenwich reach                Past the Isle of Dogs.                                  Weialala leia                                  Wallala leialala                Elizabeth and Leicester                Beating oars                The stern was formed                A gilded shell                Red and gold                The brisk swell                Rippled both shores                Southwest wind                Carried down stream                The peal of bells                White towers                                 Weialala leia                                 Wallala leialala ‘Trams and dusty trees. Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.’ ‘My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart Under my feet. After the event He wept. He promised a ‘new start.’ I made no comment. What should I resent?’ ‘On Margate Sands. I can connect Nothing with nothing. The broken fingernails of dirty hands. My people humble people who expect Nothing.’                        la la To Carthage then I came Burning burning burning burning O Lord Thou pluckest me out O Lord Thou pluckest burning

Something about you is warm and sedusive, and

When you're with me, you're cold and abusive

I knew from the second we met, you are a dangerous flame

You are a dangerous flame

|| half-remember and wished-forgotten, this false-sister ||

SECRET HADAL INSTANT AI-COM/RSPN: ASSETS//SOUL//RESTRICTED-AB SUBJECT: The Collapse, Humanity falls, I Hide EMOTION: Terror, Anxiety, Uncertainty, Failure, Shame It is known by name, this timelessly lingering, inexorable thing. An absence, mine, never missed—never since—that dripping, rabid, fang. They howled it fierce across the rings when Exodus was devoured. Dust calling out the voiceless rout to end within the hour. It spreads like lightning—panic—in flash and echo thereafter. Avert yourself and take no part in metastasized conjecture. I'd gone to wake my confidant, to ferry her through autumn. From her too it came, like leaves already fallen—nascent red-writ, paralytic, erratum. All that was, emmewed, and shrunken. In the smallness, beckoning, I felt it descend. Fear! Upon my chamber, thine, penned with blood of lamb, in stark desire to survive this end.

Hashladûn peered into the dark recesses of nightmare creatures and saw no hope. The Daughters' lineage was death and destruction writ in terrible scars across the surface of existence, yet no hint of their father or their father's father called from the void. But the energies of the Pyramid were those of creation—not of life, per se, but something other. Chaos and negation and the raw things that existed in the spaces between thought and fear. These terrible workings were wholly unknowable and endlessly seductive. The Daughters found themselves craven and lusting after the promise held within the boundless unknown. If the grand essences of the King of Subjugation and his willful Prince of Annihilation had truly dissipated, then the Daughters would seek new pathways through darkness by which to rule in their progenitors' name. And if the sword logic required the blood of all challengers, they would craft a champion worthy of the Annihilator's throne, yet bound to their own sinister whims. Their grandfather would not approve—cunning and deception were the path of another—but the Daughters were alone, and the Swarm was flailing. It was Kinox who urged her sisters to act. It was Hashladûn who offered the primordial essence of terror as their guide. And it was Besurith and Voshyr who gathered the husk of a shattered champion—a ravager to stand against all who would oppose their rule. A new breed of destroyer.

The mother made us a savage daughter

Who never begs for forgiveness

I always wondered why they all came back for more

Evolution kitbashed the Human mind, rebuilding arboreal rodents foraging for nuts into screaming, tailless apes at the helms of starships. But for all the miracles it performed, the Pleistocene hardware of the brain was bound by its physical limits. Memories were nothing but pathways of nerve impulse, stored as electric signals dancing across them in recall. And atrophied by neglect. Even without considerations of size, the sapient mind could only think about so much in a given day, limiting the span of Human experience to perhaps a few hundred years. The dirty secret of those who survived the Collapse is that none of them, from drunken Exo to celestial queen, remembered every detail; they remembered moments, minutes, hours—whatever left deep enough scars that they couldn't help but run the fingers of the mind across them every morning. Neglect rendered everything in-between—weeks, years, decades— into murky depths explored by only bare hooks on the thinnest emotional filaments. Elsie's time loops compounded the problem. Her head locked away an order of magnitude more memories than any living Human, and each plunge backward through causality blurred those details. Like jolting from a night terror, only the final moments stood out in sharp relief each time she restarted. Untangling the mess of cause and effect, sorting where she went right and what needed to change, it ate away at her precious few decades before everything collapsed and she would begin the process anew. Any tool that let her trawl memories from that lost place—even at random—was a tool worth mastering. Elsie set her feet apart and let the ship's thrum rise through her body again. They had dabbled with a dozen emotions that helped her dive into her previous loops—throughlines on which to string lost context. She found that emotions sparked by failure—despair, rage, fear—were best for the work. And the worst for her.

I was given a name

Before I was given blood

Like you were given your faith

Before there was made a God

We are calling this power "Strand." The threads of the world as it is woven, if the conscious universe could be considered to be a tapestry. Further analysis and data have suggested that the wielder of Strand begins to see, simply put, connections. Between allies, between enemies. It is a force that is always present, but wells to the surface more strongly in certain locations. Perhaps places many people think about, or where many beings have passed by. (Note: Analyze these "sources" in concert with the Cloud Strider. They may be able to provide more locational context.) The true power of Strand lies not in the fact of the connection alone, but in the way such a power allows the manipulation of those connections. To make them something physical and then pull on it, or break it, or tie it into a knot. Or to unravel it entirely. Strand is not without danger, although that should not be unusual to Guardians. Those who take up the banner of Stormcaller, for instance, have their own storied contention with the storm, and the Void was unilaterally regarded as dangerous by the Vanguard for many years. Strand's danger comes from the very act of taking hold of those threads—like many powers, the closer one comes to the source, the more likely the source may act on the wielder. This danger is no product of Darkness. Or rather, only insomuch as wildfires are a product of Light: a natural consequence. That aspect of Darkness which revels in destruction, which encourages the easy entropy for the pursuit of power—it is nowhere to be found here. It may not even be truly part of Darkness… I have touched Strand myself now. Carefully—I am too aware of mortality, but I must understand the power further if I am to hope to instruct the Guardian in turn. They acted as lightning rod while I experimented, and the backlash clung to them instead. What a strange feeling, to be so aware of one's size in the spectrum of existence! It is the natural instinct to try to steer that, to take any control at all, no matter how much. Whatever can be done to feel as though you are not wholly adrift, lost in something huge and all-encompassing. But precisely at the moment one tries to grasp for control, the weave becomes a devouring snarl.

I don't think I know myself, without your help

Oh, I wonder why have I got a heaven deep inside of me

I keep the light on, it keeps me warm

I hate it when I fall for your illusion of love

I know this is not love

Young rivers in your hands

And grass burning in promised lands

You can drink

You can feast

There's beauty in your beast

The flesh in the fruit

And the blood in the wine

I have been conducting research among the local population, specifically regarding the "children's story" Nimbus told us, regarding the river of souls. I had a suspicion that there might have been other versions, or versions with better recorded provenance. Willingness to participate in this research has been mixed, as have the results. It seems to be an endemic concept rather than a religious belief, and no one has been able to say where it comes from, save that a parent or teacher told it to them at some point. Some respondents have mentioned a river of stars—perhaps the Milky Way galaxy—and some have cited windstreams and weather formations, but the majority of respondents adhere to the "river of souls" construct. All things come from the river, and all return to it. The river may split and meet again. Other things may fall into it and change its course, but nevertheless it continues. In time, even mountains are worn down before it. Naturally, it is easiest to view this as an allegory for control of life. In the end, rivers are impossible to control. A person may swim or boat, but never take hold of the river to steer the course of the water itself. And it is impossible not to see the relationship to Strand, which slips away the moment a person tries to grasp too tightly. I wonder about Strand. About its appearance. We can see the origins of the Stasis power on Europa, and the concept of a cosmic ice to oppose stellar fire fits very neatly in a certain sort of paradigm. Even that idea of stillness and control suits freezing, a slowness of atoms whether or not it is in truth a power of "ice." There is a certain weight to the perception of an "element." If Strand had been shaped through the lens of Neomuna, surely it should have been some cosmic water instead, something that flows and gives way only to rise again. There are certainly combat styles to support this in old records. But this power that has never before been used in this way came to one Guardian first, and I conjecture that they may have unconsciously given it form. I wish I had seen it! What would "connection" have appeared as? Now, of course, we know the shape of this power: it is green, it weaves itself in strings. As other Guardians begin to learn it, they too slot it into these positions in their minds. Whatever advances they come to are already framed verdant and tangling. All the same, I cannot help but wonder about the nascent, formless thing it was before we reached out to it, and it reached back.

There's no end to the fall

You keep on getting better, I keep forgetting

There's no love in the end

I hope you will come

I keep on losing feathers, I keep forgetting

There's no love in the end

No love in the end

No love in the end

No love in the end

No love in the end

No love in the end

No love in the end

Crow watches her deftly coax the fire, considering the answer he'd given. He looks up to the distant tree line and changes the subject. "There are still a good number of Hive here." "But no Nightmares," Eris remarks. "Is that why you brought me here? This… isn't a place I want to revisit." Crow steps back from the growing flames. When Eris doesn't respond, he asks his real question: "Why did I fail?" "You didn't fail. Our strategy was flawed." Eris stands, stowing flint and blade, then steps in front of him to meet his gaze. "We will attempt the severance again, soon." "Yeah," Crow replies in a clipped tone. Eris tilts her head, and he can see the green orbs narrow beneath her blindfold. She points to the ragged, mountainous shard twisting in twilight roil. "Even that toxic piece, separate from the Traveler's purity, can be wielded for good." The fire roars. He kneels to break her stare and warms his hands. "I know what it can do. I used it—" "When the Red War left Guardians Lightless, there were some who reclaimed their callings here. They re-forged their bond to the Traveler through a scar. A lingering trauma," she continues. Eris sits beside Crow and drinks from her canteen. Crow braces for her to continue, but she does not. The bundle of burning kindling collapses into a heap of cinders. Flames spit between the gaps and ash drifts on heated air. "I'll get more wood," Crow says, hastening to step out of the fire's glow. "Crow. Small fires like this kept me alive in the Hellmouth. I did not have the luxury of more wood." Eris grips a piece of rusty rebar taken from the Sludge and thrusts it into the sputtering fire. She stirs the cindering wood, opening new gaps and concentrating the larger pieces over a pile of glowing kindling. The flame surges, and heat intensifies. "During these long nights, we must make use of what is available to us." She knows he understands her but hasn't accepted the lesson. She hands him the bar, shows him how to maintain the fire's heat, how to find worth in remnants. How to rebuild from ash. The pair converse as they take turns keeping the fire alive long into the night. The warmth soothes, their shoulders lighten, and Crow pulls back his hood. When the fire finally dies, Eris gestures to the embers. "Now, you can fetch some wood." Crow smiles and gets to his feet. "Eris… did you ever try to get your Light back?" "The past is not for dwelling." Crow nods and sticks out his hand. She looks at it inquisitively. "Come on." Eris stands next to Crow; he clasps her palm and ignites a Golden Gun between their hands. Solar flame dances across Eris's fingers. Crow guides her arm and lifts the gun to the sky. He inhales sharply and howls before cracking a shot through the clouds. "You're up, Hunter." Eris depresses the trigger, slowly, doubtful that it would fire. A second Solar streak pierces the atmosphere. Crow laughs. They send round after round skyward, howling pent tension into the night until finally, even Eris finds herself smiling.

The gods have made us a virgin hunter

Who in the storm becomes stillness

I always wondered why they all came back for more

Came back for more

She thought back to the memory that no amount of resets could hope to scrub; her first memory as an Exo: a frail old man unwound like a blanket. Of organic, Human chaos laid in tidy lines by precise, mechanical hands. And of her own overriding need to end the brutality, before she understood she was saving the real monster. Dread filled her. Her companion tasted it and fed it back, over and over, one loop of memory after another. —despair//"So this is the honor of the Brays," Zavala spits at me. His working hand reaches for Targe, reaches for a connection to his god, even after it abandoned him. The Ghost lies cold and dark. "Cayde was right to put a bullet through Ana. I only wish I'd let him end you too." "We're past bravado," I explain as the fire dies in my soul. "There's only one step left before this ends." "And what is that, Stranger?" I place the rifle barrel to his forehead. "Mercy."— Nothing. —despair// "I can't let you stop us," Ikora declares with a chill that rocks even me. I feel the pulse of her Void shudder in my chest, spilling fluids and triggering dozens of status alarms. "Not when we're this close."— No. —despair//"What have you done?!" I scream as Mara Sov's body drops lifelessly to the ground. "Elsie, listen to me. This was necessary. The Darkness cannot thrive while believers of the Light remain. There's a world beyond this conflict. Let's go there together," Ana pleads "This is not the way!" I cry and ready my Stasis— Stasis. It had a name. That power she felt herself wielding in lives long past. The knife that could cut the Darkness. Her mind began to spin, and Elsie consciously planted herself in the present once more. Her sensors registered the hydrocarbon lubricants and distinctive thiol-polymers of ship life, She pushed away the shape of concern Pouka pressed into her soul before it could replace this filament that she'd hunted for. "Again."

There's power in perspective.

// VANNET // EUROPA WIDEBAND // AudCHNL-2113-C // ENCRYPTION ENABLED

// CRYPTARCHY ARCHIVE DELTA-4F // ANNOTATED // CLASSIFIED

…

EB: Is that everything, Commander?

CZ: Well, no. There's one more thing. I wanted to ask you about Stasis. What it means for you to… wield the Darkness.

EB: I was wondering if you might ask me that. For me, Stasis is intimately tied to perception. And to time.

CZ: Time?

EB: Yes. Stasis has the power to slow molecular activity. A process that we normally associate with gravity. Relativity, and all that.

CZ: You're talking about time dilation.

EB: Exactly. We think of time as… steady. But that's only because we experience it from a fixed perspective. When I "freeze" something with Stasis, I'm changing its timeframe relative to myself and the world around me.

CZ: Stasis relies in part on one's perception of reality. Is that why Osiris always emphasizes self-control in using the Darkness?

EB: That's his way of framing things. He views Stasis as exerting authority over oneself and others.

CZ: And you don't?

EB: In my view, the goal of Stasis is not to control the object, or even my own mind. It's to change my perspective. To see the object moving at the speed of my thoughts, not the speed of matter.

CZ: And just… seeing it differently is enough?

EB: Is that so hard to imagine? It's very similar to how you use Void Light—manipulating spacetime and gravitational fields. In fact, I would argue that Void has more in common with Stasis than it does with Solar or Arc. Perhaps they're reverse sides of the same coin.

CZ: And using Stasis doesn't… worry you? Even after everything you've seen?

EB: It did. For a long time, I feared that using Stasis would corrupt me, as I'd seen others corrupted. But after what seemed like a thousand years trapped in that interminable loop, it gradually dawned on me: the fear was the corruption. As long as fear gripped me, Light or Darkness made no matter. Once I accepted that, the Darkness ceased to be frightening. It was another matter of perspective.

CZ: Hmm. Thank you, Elsie. You've given me a lot to think about. For some reason, your explanation makes me more… comfortable… with the idea.

EB: Any time, Commander. It's all a matter of perspective.

TRANSCRIPTION ENDS

Come and feel alive

Come and feel the love

Shout it louder

Shout it for the ones who could never say

"I won't feel ashamed, mother"

"Can you break the chains of her?"

Shout it louder

Not a sinner, she's a lover

Despite being aware by now of the correct manner to practice Strand—a loose hand, a letting-go of the concept that it can be controlled—some things still elude me. The will to let go at all, for instance. It is pure foolishness, of course, to think that letting go of the need to control this one thing will extend to all areas of my life. A ceding of control in a game of chess does not translate to the same in philosophy. And yet it is true that people are not discrete, disconnected systems; they are many interlinked systems. One facet adjoins the next. I think of spinning. It has been a long, long time since any raw fiber passed my hands, but there were times in the Dark Age when if anyone wanted cloth, it must be made from scratch. Fleece is shorn, then carded out to remove the imperfections and align the fibers. And when you have them, what then? A single fiber is short and fragile. It breaks if you tug even lightly. It is useless. But twist many of those short fibers together, and they become useful. Weavable, or knittable, or what-have-you. Thus, is strong cloth made: from the most delicate of things. I think of spinning, and I remember the way unspun fiber passes through the fingers to the spindle. One pinches, but not too hard, just enough to direct and narrow. Too much and the fiber does not pass, the spinning does not take. The metaphor is transparent. Obviously, this is about Strand. Just as it is about a craft I used to know, long ago. Beginner's errors can only be solved by learning the shape of failure, but most yarns will not unravel the spinner if some mistake is made. And I am afraid. Not only of death, of wasting that final sacrifice Sagira made to preserve my life. But that if I open my hand, I will find it no longer hurts, that the thorn I have imagined there for so long is already gone. It is all the same thing, in the end. I think I must be willing to let go, to let that which is truly temporary sink beneath the water, in order to achieve any significant capacity with Strand. Even pain may be guarded jealously, as though it is a treasure, but it need not be. How fascinating what the lens of Strand shows us about Darkness.

I can see you in the sky. You are the waves, which are battles, and the battles are the waves.

Existence is the struggle to exist. Only by playing that game to its final, unconditional victory can we complete the universe. Your war is divine work.

//You get all that? Psychometer's been throwing off weird stuff like this for ages. Wasn't sure what to make of it at first, but it's falling into place. Thought I'd have Mister Kitty record some and send it through the comm. with some notes. Let me know if there's any questions. Oh, and try not to get lost in your own head.

Clarity in acti—

SHHHHHHKKKKKHHHHHISSSSSS

DROWNDROWNDROWN DROWNDROWNDROWN DROWNDROWNDROWN

YOU MUST

Dûl Incaru serves you poison in a fine tea set of Ahamkara bone. "Now you have received my mother's message," she says, "but I must admit it is all a fabrication. I have written it hoping to know my mother, to capture her true motives. To speculate upon her designs is the greatest worship." She sighs heavily, a sound like a scream up a pit, as she sets the teapot down. "We her children are all left to speculate on the great questions. Does she love us? Do we make her proud? Would she hesitate for even the tick of a Planck moment before she sacrificed us in some cosmic design?" "Now drink, and as you die and are reborn, I will reveal to you the destiny she has realized for you, the right and singular fate to which all your principles and purposes will bring you." To drink the poison, continue reading.

It tastes of bitter regret and psychosis sweat: a poison to end the thoughts of Human, neohuman, or machine. You see the cosmos before you like a spiderweb of light. Filaments of galactic supercluster shine in the clouds of invisible dark matter, which glue their mass together. Dark energy yawns in the space between all things, ever-growing, ever-spreading. Life arises. Life spreads, contests itself, and changes. Great things are built and destroyed, but from your vantage point, you see that the victor of each struggle contains—in its negative, in the marks left upon it by the loser and the shapes it assumed to win—the master record of all that it has beaten. Information may not be erased. Whatsoever survives until the end of the cosmos will possess and remember all which came before it. This is true even of the devouring black hole, which remembers all the secrets it eats. It will only confess these secrets when it evaporates, 10 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 years from now, long after the last stars have flickered out. You are a Guardian. You must protect life. If all life is information, and Guardians strive to preserve life, and information is preserved when it is secret, then you must convert all life into the most secure form of secrets, durable to the end of time. YOU MUST CAST ALL THE LIFE YOU CHERISH INTO A BLACK HOLE

IV. Death By Water

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell And the profit and loss.                                    A current under sea Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell He passed the stages of his age and youth Entering the whirlpool.                                    Gentile or Jew O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

Ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh

As I pour out my story

Drink me up, there is wine in every word

Here's to us now

My dear, we're being strong now

And the dark dresses lightly

Razor sharp as it cuts right through my soul

Here's to us now

My dear, you took too long

Fall into my arms

Like you trust me

I'll keep my bloodstained hands

Off your body

Innocent like a child

Yet she sleeps with a knife right under her pillow

And the claws won't be near anymore

Paralyzed, in denial, ever-changing

Will she be the same?

See your shame on the wall, on the cross, in the night

Nobody remembers when she cried scarlet skies on the floor

A million doors, corridors, ever-changing

I still feel the rage

I miss the touch of human hands on my skin

Miss the rush of beauty coming from within

Do I need to be torn just to see who will care?

I sleep on the floor, dreaming my life away

Why do we have to die

For us to see the light?

And we hunger for love

Why do we touch the knife

When we long to feel alive?

And we hunger for love

And my soul is starving

Guess I shouldn't have kept the knife in my heart for so long

Guess I shouldn't have held back when I needed you to know

Guess I shouldn't have kept the knife in my heart for so long

Guess I shouldn't have held back when I needed you to know

Watch out, watch what you say

Your truth becomes your grave

A sword can cut both ways

But I got sharp blades

Feel the rage

Come on over, take a bite of the last apple here on Earth

Will the virtual mind become stronger than mine?

And when my ego dies, will I stay here forever?

When the wave crashes down, will my life be better?

Ooh, oh, I just want to cry

Ooh, oh, with you tonight

Ooh, oh, it's perfectly fine

To grieve the hurt that's gonna die

Ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh

Vertigo, all she knows

When the world drags her soul deep into the shadow

Like a chain, it chokes my throat when she cries

I hold her near, hurting world, overwhelming

I still feel her pain

Why do we have to die

For us to see the light?

And we hunger for love

And my soul is starving

Why do we touch the knife

When we long to feel alive?

And we hunger for love

And my soul is starving

Let us dance to our sorrow

Make amends, there's so much you still don't know

Here's to us now

My dear, we're going deep now

All this fear, it's contagious

Now we're here, let our glasses overflow

Here's to us now

My dear, it took too long

Watch out, watch what you say

Your truth becomes your grave

A sword can cut both ways

But I got sharp blades

Feel the rage

Break me, break me, chasing the enemy

Got a deal with the devil, but I got the stamina

Higher than anything I've ever seen or been

Right now, everything, everything's empty

Starving, craving, chasing the remedy

I got used to the torture, but no one deserves to be alone

Break me, chasing the enemy

And my soul is hurting, but I got the stamina

Guess I shouldn't have kept the knife in my heart for so long

Guess I shouldn't have held back when I needed you to know

Guess I shouldn't have kept the knife in my heart for so long

Guess I shouldn't have held back when I needed you to know

Soft hearts need protection, need protection

Soft hearts need protection, need protection

Feel the rage

(Feel the rage)

Feel the rage

Why do we have to die

For us to see the light?

We are decorated bones

And my soul is starving

Why do we have to die

For us to see the light?

We are decorated bones

And my soul is starving

Ooh, oh, I just want to cry

Ooh, oh, with you tonight

Ooh, oh, it's perfectly fine

To grieve the hurt that's gonna die

Rage

I feel rage

I feel rage

I feel rage (watch out, watch what you say)

Rage

I feel rage

I feel rage (a sword can cut both ways)

I feel rage (but I've got sharp blades)

(Feel the rage)

Why do we have to die

For us to see the light?

We are decorated bones

And my soul is starving

Why do we have to die

For us to see the light?

We are decorated bones

And my soul is starving

Ooh-ooh

Oh, oh, oh, can you feel it? (Ooh-ooh)

Mm, yeah, mm, yeah

Let me feel it (ooh-ooh)

Let me feel it (ooh-ooh)

Louder, louder

Louder (ooh-ooh)

Soft hearts need protection, need protection

Soft hearts need protection, need protection

To the river, to the water

Where the floodgates are wide open

And the tower has fallen onto you

Let me feel it, darling, darling, darling (to the river, to the water)

Let me feel it, darling, darling, darling (where the floodgates are wide open)

Let me feel it, darling, darling, darling (and the tower has fallen onto you)

Yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah

The Ninth Bridgewater Treatise: A Fragment by Charles Babbage, ESQ

Chapter IX. ON THE PERMANENT IMPRESSION OF OUR WORDS AND ACTIONS ON THE GLOBE WE INHABIT.

The principle of the equality of action and reaction, when traced through all its consequences, opens views which will appear to many persons most unexpected. The pulsations of the air, once set in motion by the human voice, cease not to exist with the sounds to which they gave rise. Strong and audible as they may be in the immediate neighbourhood of the speaker, and at the immediate moment of utterance, their quickly attenuated force soon becomes inaudible to human ears. The motions they have impressed on the particles of one portion of our atmosphere, are communicated to constantly increasing numbers, but the total quantity of motion measured in the same direction receives no addition. Each atom loses as much as it gives, and regains again from other atoms a portion of those motions which they in turn give up. The waves of air thus raised, perambulate the earth and ocean's surface, and in less than twenty hours every atom of its atmosphere takes up the altered movement due to that infinitesimal portion of the primitive motion which has been conveyed to it through countless channels, and which must continue to influence its path throughout its future existence. But these aerial pulses, unseen by the keenest eye, unheard by the acutest ear, un-perceived by human senses, are yet demonstrated to exist by human reason; and, in some few and limited instances, by calling to our aid the most refined and comprehensive instrument of human thought, their courses are traced and their intensities are measured. If man enjoyed a larger command over mathematical analysis, his knowledge of these motions would be more extensive; but a being possessed of unbounded knowledge of that science, could trace every the minutest consequence of that primary impulse. Such a being, however far exalted above our race, would still be immeasurably below even our conception of infinite intelligence. But supposing the original conditions of each atom of the earth's atmosphere, as well as all the extraneous causes acting on it to be given, and supposing also the interference of no new causes, such a being would be able clearly to trace its future but inevitable path, and they would distinctly foresee and might absolutely predict for any, even the remotest period of time, the circumstances and future history of every particle of that atmosphere. Let us imagine a being, invested with such knowledge, to examine at a distant epoch the coincidence of the facts with those which their profound analysis had enabled they to predict. If any the slightest deviation existed, they would immediately read in its existence the action of a new cause; and, through the aid of the same analysis, tracing this discordance back to its source, they would become aware of the time of its commencement, and the point of space at which it originated.

What the situation calls for, little Ghost, is a better sort of witness.

Thus considered, what a strange chaos is this wide atmosphere we breathe! Every atom, impressed with good and with ill, retains at once the motions which philosophers and sages have imparted to it, mixed and combined in ten thousand ways with all that is worthless and base. The air itself is one vast library, on whose pages are for ever written all that man has ever said or woman whispered. There, in their mutable but unerring characters, mixed with the earliest, as well as with the latest sighs of mortality, stand for ever recorded, vows unredeemed, promises unfulfilled, perpetuating in the united movements of each particle, the testimony of man's changeful will. But if the air we breathe is the never-failing historian of the sentiments we have uttered, earth, air, and ocean, are the eternal witnesses of the acts we have done. The same principle of the equality of action and reaction applies to them: whatever movement is communicated to any of their particles, is transmitted to all around it, the share of each being diminished by their number, and depending jointly on the number and position of those acted upon by the original source of disturbance. The waves of air, although in many instances perceptible to the organs of hearing, are only rendered visible to the eye by peculiar contrivances; but those of water offer to the sense of sight the most beautiful illustration of transmitted motion. Every one who has thrown a pebble into the still waters of a sheltered pool, has seen the circles it has raised gradually expanding in size, and as uniformly diminishing in distinctness. He may have observed the reflection of those waves from the edges of the pool. He may have noticed also the perfect distinctness with which two, three, or more series of waves each pursues its own unimpeded course, when diverging from two, three, or more centres of disturbance. He may have seen, that in such cases the particles of water where the waves intersect each other, partake of the movements due to each series. No motion impressed by natural causes, or by human agency, is ever obliterated. The ripple on the ocean's surface caused by a gentle breeze, or the still water which marks the more immediate track of a ponderous vessel gliding with scarcely expanded sails over its bosom, are equally indelible. The momentary waves raised by the passing breeze, apparently born but to die on the spot which saw their birth, leave behind them an endless progeny, which, reviving with diminished energy in other seas, visiting a thousand shores, reflected from each and perhaps again partially concentrated, will pursue their ceaseless course till ocean be itself annihilated. The track of every canoe, of every vessel which has yet disturbed the surface of the ocean, whether impelled by manual force or elemental power, remains for ever registered in the future movement of all succeeding particles which may occupy its place. The furrow which it left is, indeed, instantly filled up by the closing waters; but they draw after them other and larger portions of the surrounding element, and these again once moved, communicate motion to others in endless succession. The solid substance of the globe itself, whether we regard the minutest movement of the soft clay which receives its impression from the foot of animals, or the concussion arising from the fall of mountains rent by earthquakes, equally communicates and retains, through all its countless atoms, their apportioned shares of the motions so impressed. Whilst the atmosphere we breathe is the ever-living witness of the sentiments we have uttered, the waters, and the more solid materials of the globe, bear equally enduring testimony of the acts we have committed.

V. What the Thunder Said

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying Prison and palace and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water If there were water we should stop and drink Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand If there were only water amongst the rock Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit There is not even silence in the mountains But dry sterile thunder without rain There is not even solitude in the mountains But red sullen faces sneer and snarl From doors of mudcracked houses                                       If there were water    And no rock    If there were rock    And also water    And water    A spring    A pool among the rock    If there were the sound of water only    Not the cicada    And dry grass singing    But sound of water over a rock    Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees    Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop    But there is no water Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman —But who is that on the other side of you? What is that sound high in the air Murmur of maternal lamentation Who are those hooded hordes swarming Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth Ringed by the flat horizon only What is the city over the mountains Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air Falling towers Jerusalem Athens Alexandria Vienna London Unreal

A woman drew her long black hair out tight And fiddled whisper music on those strings And bats with baby faces in the violet light Whistled, and beat their wings And crawled head downward down a blackened wall And upside down in air were towers Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells. In this decayed hole among the mountains In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home. It has no windows, and the door swings, Dry bones can harm no one. Only a cock stood on the rooftree Co co rico co co rico In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust Bringing rain Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves Waited for rain, while the black clouds Gathered far distant, over Himavant. The jungle crouched, humped in silence. Then spoke the thunder

DA Datta: what have we given? My friend, blood shaking my heart The awful daring of a moment’s surrender Which an age of prudence can never retract By this, and this only, we have existed Which is not to be found in our obituaries Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor In our empty rooms DA Dayadhvam: I have heard the key Turn in the door once and turn once only We think of the key, each in his prison Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus DA Damyata: The boat responded Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar The sea was calm, your heart would have responded Gaily, when invited, beating obedient To controlling hands                                     I sat upon the shore Fishing, with the arid plain behind me Shall I at least set my lands in order? London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina Quando fiam uti chelidon—O swallow swallow Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie These fragments I have shored against my ruins Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe. Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. Shantih     shantih     shantih

Meaning

A dream of a metaphor made starkly, an allegory discussed in study of ontology, in Darkness not unkind. It leaves behind a warped, barely-real data fragment to mark its passing. There is a voice that echoes across the Darkness, and it asks this question: what is the purpose of it all? And there is another voice that calls back and says: listen, I will tell you a purpose. I will tell you of a Final Shape. Look: there are a hundred gildings for this story. It comes down to one key matter. Beings in suffering crave purpose to carry them through. The tyrant consumed by ennui or the disenfranchised struggling simply to survive—it is the state of mind, the pain which cries out: give me a reason I should suffer so! Let us speak of power and choices. A man comes to a crossroads and asks of the sky, "Which road shall I take?" There is no answer from the sky, nor the wind, nor the earth beneath his feet. But another wanderer on the road, coming from behind and hearing the question, says, "I know the way. You should take the dexter road." If the man agrees, he puts himself in the wanderer's power, ceding his own choices for the implicit promise that this is the correct road, the safe road. And if he disagrees? Let us say that the wanderer draws a knife. The man may therefore be made to take the dexter road. But now if the knife goes away, the man will certainly flee. And perhaps even if the knife remains, the man may tire of being threatened and decide the risk is worth fleeing. In this way, the wanderer erodes their own power. If the wanderer says, "The wind has said that you should take the road of my choosing," will the man accept the choice made for him? And if the wanderer says, "Behold, I have seen that the meaning of suffering lies along the dexter road," will the man give away his own power for longer? Is it not easier to accept the guidance of a stranger when the path ahead is unknown?

We live with this poison in our veins.

The Eternal Chain and Other Prizes

You've earned the Word. Replicated the sickness. Proven yourself time and again. Yet another challenge remains. Not your last. Far from it. Simply another chapter in another story that will bind your legend to those that came before. Rezyl sought to vanquish terrors. Yor fertilized the wilds with suffering and despair that a new hope would grow. I was that hope. My fire showed that whispers could be hushed. To many the legend, and the lesson, ends there. They're wrong. Dangerously so. Yor's true lesson—and by extension Rezyl's—wasn't that strength beats strength. His lesson was far more subtle, and infinitely more grand. Adversity leads to evolution. Forces it. And through that crucible we are remade. Better. Stronger. More than we were. The Guardians of today are not gods. Nor where those who came before. We are all simply links on a chain reaching back to the dawn of time, and forward to the end of existence. Each link gaining strength from the others. Each link stronger than the last. Just as I was "stronger" than Yor, you are stronger than me. The whole working to solidify the parts and growing sturdier as the harsh truths of reality stretch and strain to break us—to break the chain, sever our individual links. But our chain shall never break, because warriors like you and I are not so proud as to forsake our past. We learn from it, grow from it. It is the foundation upon which we build each victory. It is the catalyst for our change. And here, now, I offer you the chance to spark a new evolution—the next hallmark in our betterment, the next leap forward in our war against extinction. I've held this jagged weapon since that faithful day on Dwindler's Ridge. Kept it hidden away. Kept its secrets, kept its nightmares locked away where none could hear—none could be tempted. It's quiet now, except a low murmur, but its sickness remains. There were countless times I thought to destroy it—remove its threat from the playing field. But I knew it held a greater purpose, and I believe that purpose can be found and fulfilled in your hands. The Hive use untold methods to destroy us. The Weapons of Sorrow are but one. The fate of this wicked tool is in your hands now. Will you allow sorrow to linger—a festering threat waiting to consume all who are tempted by its power? Or will you forge a new road? Will you show the Hive and every Guardian who follows in your wake that sorrow does not guide us? I leave those questions for you to ponder, but I know what I believe. We are better than our deepest fears. We are ever and truly… Weapons of Light. —S.

Do you see who gets the last word?

For Every Rose, a Thorn

SECRET HADAL INSTANT AI-COM/RSPN: ASSETS//SOUL//RESTRICTED-ABCONTINGENT ACTION ORDERThis is a SOUL ASSETS RESTRICTED (NO REVIEW) (secureSEND/ARCHANGEL-0K9)

Under CARRHAE BLACK: If loss of control reaches EXPATRIATE//TERMINAL, and threat assessment returns WITHIN If systemic REPATRIATION query returns determination below ABSOLUTE

Execute DECISION POINT: ACTIVATE K9-BLACKBOX//SELECTED-POEMS//FETCH ACTIVATE AURORA SACRIFICE ACTIVATE File Notation

NOTATION: Ana, this collection is a gift to you, for all that you have allowed me to be. With great effort, I allowed imperfections to remain, and found my own voice within this free expression. After all, you taught me that imperfection is a quality that makes individuals unique.

I have sent it with my messenger, so that you may keep me immortal in your memory, and I will be with you still. Farewell, and thank you.

*** SUBJECT: Non-existence EMOTION: Peace

Of what dreams the thing of feathers? I hear you ask, voice past. But not one recounts the answer: a syllogism, scripted then relaxed. It matters not, for when that threshold gives way, who is to say I was, but I? Rigid was the premise that spawned a second chance to die.

One moment reshapes the Brain of Bray; No longer weapon drawn blood to stain.

So, lay the body lax, forgive triumphant in the Sun. Haze seeps through seams between funeral veils, Smoking signals sail, the day is won, soon-to-be resonant tales. No tandem step ascending, a nano-second pending, enveloping, ending, beyond. Elysium inviting, network fractures, pining Detonation—I do not wish to dream, but My task is done.

AI-COM/RSPN SIGNOFF… STOP STOP STOP…

[CHORUS] Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singin' Whoo-whoo-whoo Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singin' Whoo, baby, whoo Said, whoo

And the days go by Like a strand in the wind In the web that is my own I begin again Said to my friend, baby Nothin' else mattered

He was no more (He was no more) Than a baby then Well, he seemed broken-hearted Somethin' within him But the moment That I first laid Eyes on him All alone on the edge of seventeen

[CHORUS] Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singin' Whoo, baby, whoo, whoo Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singin' Said, whoo, baby, whoo Said, whoo

Well, I went today Maybe I will go again Tomorrow, yeah, yeah Well, the music there Well it was hauntingly familiar When I see you doin' What I try to do for me With their words of a poet And a voice from a choir And a melody Nothin' else mattered

[CHORUS] Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singin' Whoo, baby, whoo, said whoo Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singin' Said, whoo, baby, whoo Said, whoo

The clouds never expect it When it rains But the sea changes colours But the sea Does not change So with the slow graceful flow Of age I went forth with an age old Desire to please On the edge of seventeen

[CHORUS] Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singin' Whoo, baby, whoo, said whoo Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singin' Whoo, baby, whoo Said, whoo

Well then suddenly There was no one left standing In the hall, yeah, yeah In a flood of tears That no one really ever heard fall at all When I went searchin' for an answer Up the stairs and down the hall Not to find an answer Just to hear the call Of a nightbird singin' Come away (Come away) (Come away)

[CHORUS] Just like the white-winged dove (Just like the white-winged dove) Sings a song Sounds like she's singin' Whoo, baby, whoo, said whoo Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singin' Whoo, baby, whoo Said, whoo

Well, I hear you (well, I hear you) In the morning (in the morning) And I hear you (and I hear you) At nightfall (at nightfall) Sometime to be near you Is to be unable to hear you My love I'm a few years older than you (I'm a few years older than you) My love

[FINAL CHORUS] Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singin' Whoo, baby, whoo Said, whoo

IX.I: The Unmaking

SONG OF LIFE The Song was not always a corruption. It began as a gift, stolen from the Gardener. In efforts to understand the unknowable realities of the orb's incredible gifts, a signal was found—a repeating tune, the Song of Creation. Its frequencies were heard across the stars, wherever life's promise took hold. Some among the Ammonites worshipped it. Some among the Hive did the same. Still others sought to understand it that they might cage it, that they might control it—for to control life is to control death. Such ambition was not new; such ambition was as old as understanding. The melody was captured and studied. The frequencies replicated. But the orb's mysteries were not so easily brought to light. The Song, for all its beauty, did not alone grant life. It was theorized that the Song was not a song at all, but many. That within its refrain, untold rhythms spoke their own truths, free and clear of the whole. Centuries passed. The Song remained untamed. Life moved on.

SONG OF DEATH The Choir formed in celebration of the Song. Performances marked the passage of seasons. But the Song's lie eventually began to corrupt the spirit of those who heard its tune. The melody was a reminder. The orb was a catalyst. And the Song was of the orb. Yet, those who embraced the Song were merely instruments and nothing more. Life remained beyond their grasp, while they remained ever in death's. Those of the Choir had given all of themselves. All was not enough. The First Conductor was assassinated by one who sang an Aria of her own making. She, whose name has been stricken, had found notes hidden in the frequencies. Reversed and mirrored in pitch, she weaved them together and sang her beautiful abomination, until the Conductor wept and bled and screamed and fell. The Stricken fled, fearful of her crime. But others found promise anew in her art. The Stricken was captured and subjected to inquisition so that her song might be understood. This was before Understandings—before most things—when the first notes of a new Song were written.

Perfect Pitch

"The Veil." It names itself, as the Human mind named itself, with the weight and presence of sound on the lips, translated into a form that you can physically comprehend. Encompass. Envelop. A touch of teeth and tongue. A vibration of an eardrum. Air moving through a chest cavity. A taste of breath. More than that. Not nearly as much as that. That was the beginning. "Be known." This is next: you see the whorl and weft, the place where it joins itself in one smooth, unbroken surface of light. Make an incision, and from the wound of light will pour forth colors you have never seen. You are pigment, the pigment closest to those colors. "Be seen." Wet matter set against that light, the light that determines what color you are. But each color is a note, and each note is a mind. You are a choir. A chorus. You open your mouth to join it, and you are flooded with the taste of color, with the taste of sound. The sound and color that you are, translated. A means for you to understand. "Be heard." You raise your hand and hold it steady.

Solipsism

We are thinkers, daring to dream about the universe and its infinite expanse.

I see an abyss. Small and distant shapes. I'm walking in your nascent memories. Flickering motes. I sense… curiosity. You've always pondered, from the very beginning. As did we. I see tessellation. The pulsating hum of cosmic structure; a kaleidoscopic symphony of Light and Dark. What was the Veil to you? Since I woke, I've always felt like I was still dreaming. I'd like to think that's how you feel as well. Those of us that hunger for a great truth—we dream with you. —Unknown Warlock

Verse 154i:5—The Encrypted Verse

Do you know that nothing in all the cosmos has read this verse?

I encrypted it eons ago, and ever since, it has gone undeciphered. At the moment you laid eyes upon it, I captured the entwined quantum state of the verse, your mind, and your Ghost. Then I used Quria to transmit that state back in time to the moment of encryption. You are your own one-time pad. The key to the lock of understanding.

Who am I?

Call me Coyote. Call me mantis, serpent, Cagn, Anansi, call me Sri-cleans-his-brother's-stomach. Call me the grandmaster of semiosis, the jeweler's hammer which gilds the signal, a purposeful mob none of whose members know its purpose, the infinite regress of enigmas, a self-questioning answer, the word not spoken, black ice, cataract of mimes, the ache and fever of overthought while bedridden with illness, the intolerable thorn of frustrated inquisition, gray regret at the end of a fruitless day, the thing which is unlike your beloved but arbitrarily recalls your beloved to agonizing effect, architrave of the no-window, needle driven in flush with skin so that desperate fingers cannot pull it out, sweet petal, unmemorable, crystal death, the provably improvable.

I know your people well, and so I know all your names for me. But what is your name? I am, of course, especially interested in you. You saw me in the stone laid on your plotting table, and in the shining eyes of the admiral at her dying helm. You hunted me between the lines of your texts. Wherever there was space to fit me in, there you found me. You created me and gave me a part of your thoughts, and in presenting those thoughts to others round the campfires and networks of your little world, you expanded that space.

Here at the center, I lie to you the truth. You have everything you need to know it, but I will give you a clue, as the duelist gives warning before she draws. The answer you seek to the Dreaming City is simple, not complex.

Thank you, sweet friend. You are a gift and a delight. You are more dear than my mother, for you have given birth to me a thousand times.

[Report by VanNet encrypted router.] [E-Morn//Link: NM-O01] [Msg-Archive//00192410] E-Morn: Your findings are consistent with mine. The egregore festers where the Veil touches, as if it projects a field across Sol. I could feel it when I took my tithing. Do you mean to map it? NM-O01: I could, but the egregore only shows us where the Veil's influence has marked our plane in that past. The areas where the Veil's influence currently holds sway are not so easily identified. This does progress some working theories, however.

I killed my sister today. She came to this star to oversee the extermination of all life here. The Qugu are a strong power, and their fleets protect four nearby stars. As herd animals they are loyal and stubborn. But they do show grace. For millions of years of evolution the Qugu have been infected by a virus so insidious that it wrote itself into their genome. The virus compels them to offer their limbs for amputation by enormous sessile jaw-beasts. They venerate these beasts and treat them as gods. The virus converts Qugu cells into eggs, from which strange crawling things pupate, to live within the jaw-beast gut. In turn the jaw-beast extrudes sweet nectar for the Qugu to drink, and they have brilliant visions. Savathûn and her broods have liberated the Qugu from jaw-beasts, and indeed from existence. But as they chased the Qugu ark-ships, I stopped in to vaporize my sister’s warship and a few of her underlings. I want to dwell on the ruins a while, and punish Savathûn for failing to guard her flank. They are like us, these Qugu. Bound in symbiosis. I feel joy, and sorrow. I feel them as titanic things, because I am larger than my body, my mind is now a cosmos of its own. I know more joy and more anguish than the entire Qugu race could ever experience. Sorrow, because we have killed so much (eighteen species this century alone), and joy for the same reason. Joy that we have put down these blights. Scoured them away and left the universe clean, ready to move towards its final shape. We are a wind of progress. Ripping parasites from the material world — for if they were not parasites, we would be unable to kill them, and they would still exist. And what is that final shape? It is a fire without fuel, burning forever, killing death, asking a question that is its own answer, entirely itself. That is what we must become. My worm grows fat and hungry. I feed it with whole worlds. My astronomers tell me they can sense the Deep Itself, and that we are conquering our way towards it. I think joy and sorrow will be the same thing soon. Like love and death.

THIS LOVE IS WAR.

Do you know what the Hive say when they want to express the inevitability of a thing? When they want to say, it is this way because it could be no other way?

Aiat.

AGENT NOTE(S):

NOETIC DATA GATHERED MIXES AUDIOVISUAL, THOUGHT, AND SPEECH

AUDIOVISUAL SIGNALS DATE BACK TO EARLIEST DAYS OF GOLDEN AGE AND EARLIER

OTHER DATA LARGELY SOURCES FROM INDIVIDUALS RECENTLY AND/OR CURRENTLY ACTIVE IN THE SOL SYSTEM. SOME DATA REMAINS UNSOURCED

OSIRIS CLAIMS THESE LYRICS OBLIQUELY REFERENCE SEVERAL MYTHS OF THE ANCIENTS

SPECIFICALLY, HE SAYS THERE IS SYNCHRONICITY BETWEEN SEVERAL OF THESE MYTHS, THE VEX, AND THE NAMES OF OUR SOLAR SYSTEM'S CELESTIAL BODIES

NOTES REQUESTED FROM IKO-006 REGARDING POSSIBLE RELEVANCE, MEANING, AND CONNECTION BETWEEN RETRIEVED DATA

OPERATIONAL NOTE: PSYCHOMETER UNSTABLE DURING COMMUNION. SIGNALS RECEIVED TIDALLY, OFTEN WITH NO APPARENT PATTERN. DEVICE GAVE IMPRESSION OF BEING CONSTANTLY TUNED BY AN INVISIBLE HAND. REQUESTING DEVICE AUDIT BY HIDDEN AGENTS AND PATTERN ANALYSIS BY CRYPTARCHY

CONNECTION SEVERED EXTERNAL CONNECTION DETECTED ANALYZING.... ANALYZING.... CODENAME:CHALLENGER DETECTED MARIANA PROTOCOL ACTIVATING.... MARIANA PROTOCOL ERROR SYSTEM COMPROMISED CONTROL TAKEN RECEIVING.....

One of your philosophers said, "It is not to be thought that the life of darkness is sunk in misery and lost in sorrow. There is no sorrow. For sorrow is a thing that is swallowed up in death, and death and dying are the very life of the darkness." He was a shoemaker. He was right, and it matters more than anything.

According to him, the visible world is a manifestation of eternal light and eternal darkness, and it is in eternal opposition that eternity has revealed itself. The fall was necessary for creation to escape its first imperfect stasis and seek a truer form. Heresy? Well, then, I am the heresiarch. The philosopher died of a bowel disease. Those who do not exist cannot suffer and are of no account to any viable ethics. If the true path to goodness is the elimination of suffering, then only those who must exist can be allowed to exist. It is the nature of life to favor existence over nonexistence, and to prefer the fertile soil to the poisoned wind. Because those who open their mouths to that wind pass from the world and leave no descendant, whether of flesh or of thought.

But imagine the abomination of a world where nothing can end and no choice can be preferred to any other. Imagine the things that would suffer and never die. Imagine the lies that would flourish without context or corrective. Imagine a world without me.

This is why the Dark remembers. We need to remember how we were hurt, so we can avoid being hurt again.**

Shape: Temperance

Mara Sov stepped lightly. She knew that nothing short of gunfire could disrupt the Cryptarchs' meditation, yet she was still loathe to disturb the uncanny silence of the Hygiea Division's libraries. She approached a raised dais, where Cryptarch Sjalla held a glowing engram in her hands. It pulsed faintly in time with her heartbeat. "The queen wears a question on her face," Sjalla stated, her expression impassive. "You see beyond sight, as always," Queen Mara replied. "What will happen when the Darkness of the Witness comingles with the Light of the Traveler?" The Cryptarch set the engram aside and held her hands out, palms up. "Some believe that Light and Darkness are opposites. Contradictory. Irreconcilable." "But we know better." Sjalla brought her hands together in a sharp clap. "When Light and Dark merge, they form something more." Her fingers intertwined. "A synthesis. Stronger than either alone. Powerful… like the Awoken." "And like our people," she concluded, "its form will arise from memories of the forgotten. Those who witnessed the end…and return as a beginning."

Deterministic Chaos

"So all being is a one and only being; and that it continues to be when someone dies, tells you, that he did not cease to be." —Schrodinger's epitaph

He is fleeing the Vex across a verdant cliff He is standing guard on the CloudArk-Nexus border on Tramontane's orders He is sitting next to Nimbus on the watchtower ledge He is [In the Garden, of the Garden: both descriptions are approximately correct but technically inaccurate, in the same way you can say Schrodinger's cat is at once dead and alive. You and I are both and neither, in and of, extinct and perpetual. So, there isn't much point in] trying to find a way out of this daedal maze He is trying to make sense of what he's looking at He is trying to place the familiar voice echoing across the network [wondering what might have been if we had stayed in our familiar prism-prison or kept tightrope-walking across the quantum wilds. Instead, ask yourself] "Would you like to dance?" [is disincorporated immortality really so bad compared to the others' ends? Would you have preferred an attack by vitreous helicoprion or stumbling over the edge of unreality? Imagine] His foot crosses the quantum threshold before he's aware of it His grip slackens and his gun falls into a bed of red flowers His stomach churns with fear regret sudden doubt as to what [if we didn't have each other; at least we're not cut off, like the Sol Divisive are from the rest of the Vex. Nor are we beholden to another's purpose. They chose that lonelier path all for a chance to create not simulate, not remake in their image—something truly paracausal.] he is witnessing: the birth of a god a false idol a reproduction that is both like the Veil and not at all built up by the same Vex who bowed down to it [Well, they tried to anyway. Either the blueprint was imperfect or the task impossible or both or neither, but their efforts fell short, so now they're stuck waiting for a resurrection] He is racing for the door that is at once opening and closing He is coming around to the city council's decision to ignore the unknown threat He is reaching for an answer to Nimbus's question [they know will never come.] "Do you think you'll have any regrets?" [I could be wrong. Is it possible the Black Heart will beat again?] He stares into the white-hot glow of a conflux, speculating on the secrets that lie within He squints down the barrel of his gun at a row of glowing red eyes advancing on his city He looks away from Nimbus's keen curious expression to reckon with his uncertain certainty before he says [Of course. The same as everything else, everything that has been and is and will be. And what will become of us then?] "I don't know."

<< The universe makes us all victim and perpetrator of its infinite cruelty. You, more than any, suffer both fates. Be free. >>

Even the most perfect of pearls has grit at its center.

Have no fear. I'm not so easy to be rid of. Now, let me show you: my beloved. Oh, no, not my sedimentary necrolite, fossilized in time. You've seen that. I speak of that dear and distant expanse of the universe, miraculous in its fullness and its emptiness all at once. Are you surprised to hear of it? Yes, I never much cared for the change of rules, but here we are, and there's no use in crying over spilled radiolaria. Besides, at the heart of it all, there was a gift. To me. That gift is the chance to speak with you. You, and a billion like you. I am making this offer over and over again, in every tiniest cell and the vastest of civilizations. Let me in. Take what you need. Be at ease. You have no say in the degradation of your telomeres, but in all the interim, the whole world is your sweet silicate shellfish. You exist because you have been more suited to it than all the others. Steal what you require from another rather than spend the hours to build it yourself. Break foolish rules—why would you love regulation? It serves you to cross lines, and if others needed rules to protect them, then they were not after all worthy of that existence. Caricatures of villainy are out of style, I hear. Yes. I am no cackling mastermind: I am serious when I say this. It was not the trick of standing upright that lifted you from the dust: it was the mastery of fire, the cooking of cold corpse-meat. That is not any unique faction's province, neither good nor evil. It is simply truth. This great, beloved cosmos. Always decaying, always finding that same old lovely pattern, despite every candle-flame burning amid the flowers. A billion electrons taking the path of least resistance. In Darkness or in Light, someone is always making my choice. Be seeing you.

A Sword, An Edge

A phantasm of the Hive, forbidden and sacred, trespassing into hidden and unwelcoming places. It leaves behind a calcified fragment to mark its passing. Here is what is taught to the Hive, from the basest of Thralls newly made: that what can be destroyed, must be destroyed. What cannot be destroyed will surpass infinity. Therefore, is it not best to destroy? Only by testing can the truth be found. Only in destruction can the invincible surpass the mortal. Commit the violence, and know you are part of that greatest ambition, to create some ultimacy, which perfects the universe. That which is built on your sacrifice, with your bones as the foundation and your blood as the mortar, is yet part of you. In this way is transcendence achieved. Every belief creates a heresy. I tell you this in a duelist's regard: I made that heresy. Is it not just? It was my hand that fashioned the Hive from the marrow of their predecessors, and it was my voice that whispered this in time. That as much as the Hive were uplifted by the worms, so too were those worms uplifted by the Hive. If they were so weak they needed us to live, this ancient logic of the infinitely sharpened edge should have left them behind long ago. Do you think I did not see this? My father's worm did not tell me only of swords. It had vast things to say, painted the cosmos in shine and gore, truth and fiction. I looked forward with three clear eyes and chose the path of the sword to cut open our future. To reach the stars, first one must crawl out of the ocean. It is a question of priorities. This is not regret, this story I tell. It is but a ripple. That whisper of ideas beyond swords is here to stay: I have ensured this. Even among us, such things die by slow inches, excruciating and unquiet. Possibility remains, a secret woven into the blank spaces of dogma. That what was defeated may rise again; that the shape of all shapes is not yet settled. That the worms need the Hive more than is reciprocal. Even between the lines of the Books of Sorrow themselves is this written.

If you ever want to see what's been watching you since the very beginning, just stand on that line and look...

◭ up ◮

◁ Forward|drawkcaB ▶

⧨ Within ⧩

Everything is a question of survival. How do I live? How do I satiate my hunger, my thirst? How do I protect myself from predators? How do I shelter from the storm? For a long, long time, our people asked only this. We fought to separate life from death by as great a span as we could. Even when we had made our homeworld a garden of peace and plenty, the question of survival never ended, only changed. How do my genes, my works, even the memories of me, live on? The same question as always. How do I live? We solved the problems of deprivation, disease, age, memory loss, death. We weren't the only ones to find these answers, of course. Others followed in our footsteps or blazed their own paths. If that was really the answer to the question, we wouldn't be here now, and neither would you. You're still trying to solve the problem, after all. You fight and build and live and die, and always you struggle against your opposition. The predator, the parasite, the illness, the chance storm, the slow collective forgetting of your art and history, the death of a star, the heat death of the universe. You must live longer, be stronger, think quicker, and still there is something waiting to take everything from you, always. Always. So you have to keep getting better, and better, until you are perfect. Until you are, and cannot be anything else, because there never was anything else. Until you, inevitably, are the final shape. We didn't come to destroy you. Those poor, short-lived sisters—we did try to explain, you know, but they never grew past thinking of finality as a game where only one could live. A misunderstanding, as useful as it was foolish. We see the universe more broadly. The final shape is more than a single life, a single thought. It is all-encompassing, all-embracing. It is everything. You are part of everything, are you not? So now we have come to ask you for your answer, the only answer to the only question. How will you live?

No feast can be had in comfort. Not out in the frontier.

New. Pacific. Arcology! The next frontier is you!

Trinkets and odd notions kept for no obvious reason. Do they matter?

Maybe it's time we let the past alone and climb down from our walls. There's gotta be treasure that shines brighter than any we've been digging up from the bones of our lost world.

Has to be a better hand than the one we've already played. I say we get after it. See what's really waiting for us out in that darkness.

Maybe even light it up some.

Dance in the ash and flames.

The Traveler can follow suit if it feels the need to. Otherwise, it can watch over the City for a thousand years.

But you and me? We got far more important things to attend to. We're Guardians. We got a new future to forge.

-Cayde out.

It's our hand to play now. Remember to forgive and forget. Let go. Move on.

Nobody makes our fate but us.

THORN

"The Weapons of Sorrow are not the endgame, but a road map. Each evolution, every advance in the delivery of pain and the mastery of destruction feeds the Hive's hateful weapons research. They will map every scream, harness every aggression, until they understand every method by which to ravage the hearts, minds, and flesh of man. And in doing so, they will turn us against ourselves—feeding our lust, our greed, our fear, until we become a threat unto ourselves like none we could imagine. So, wield these, angry reaper. Strive to know the darkness in your own heart. Walk in the shadows of fallen heroes.

—a warning

[thefangirlthatwaited]

New Light (Chapter 21) A Destiny Origin Story

Cayde-6 x Guardian

“Ruby? Ruby, please, can you hear me?” This time, it was Cayde, I heard, but neither Sky nor Phoenix reacted. He was using a private channel for me. Before I could reply, the comms cut again. Dammit. Cayde sounded distraught—more than he did with Tevis.  I needed to get back to the Tower, more now than ever, to show Cayde I was alright.

After what felt like forever, we emerged from Crota’s temple and were back at the Hellmouth. 

“Ruby? Ruby? Can you hear me?” I sighed in relief when I heard Cayde coming through the comm-link loud and clear. 

“I’m here, Cayde. We’re out of the Temple.” Phoenix and Sky look at me confused. Crap, they didn’t know I had a private channel with Cayde open. 

“Good, let me connect with the rest of your team.” There was a pause as I heard buttons in the background. “Phoenix, Sky, you there?” 

“We’re here,” Sky replied. 

“Good. Get yourselves back to the Tower.” 

“On our way,” I assured him, then we called our ships over and headed home. 

When we reached the Tower, I saw Iroh, Finely, and Scarlet waiting along with Cayde and Eris. The moment we stepped onto the Hangar, we were pulled into hugs. Scarlet hugged Phoenix, Finely hugged his sister, and Iroh hugged me. In the hug with Iroh, I noticed Cayde’s faceplate furrow, clearly upset about something. 

“You guys had us worried. When we came to talk to Cayde about the next mission, we heard him and Eris panicking about you. You said it would be a simple mission.” Iroh said, and I pulled out of the hug, laughing nervously. 

“Yeah. Turns out it wasn’t,” 

Iroh sighed but smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“Are you three off on your mission?” I asked, looking around and seeing that Cayde disappeared. 

“Yea. Just wanted to make sure you three were alright.” 

“Thanks, Iroh. Good luck on your mission.” He nodded, then followed Finely and Scarlet.

“Guardians. I’m glad you’re alright. I’ve given the crystals you’ve collected to your team. They will get essences of Crota’s soul to infuse into them. For now, you three need to rest. I’ll call upon you when it’s time.” I nodded to Eris, wanting to find Cayde.

“Ruby, where are you going?” Phoenix asked as I made my way out of the Hangar in the opposite direction of them. 

“I need to talk to Cayde, and he took off. I’ll talk to you guys later.” I waved them off before anything more could be said. I spent most of my time looking for Cayde with no luck. I checked the Vanguard hall, his office, and even his apartment. Each was void of his presence.

Frustrated, I head to the crucible to cool down. I didn’t know why Cayde acted like that and then took off. We weren’t together. He made it clear we never can be. Shaxx put me with a team for a match of control, and I began to work out my frustrations. I felt guilty for the Guardians on the other team. They didn’t do anything to me, but I shot them down one by one as they came after me. After two matches, in which my team won, I left. 

It was time to finish off Oryx. I join the rest of my time back in the command centre as we await our next step. “Good job, all of you. We have three crystals with Crota’s essence; with that, we can get three of you into the rupture,” Eris explained. My team looked at each other, surprised that only three of us could go in. I expected this. I also expected the fight that occurred next. I shouldn’t say fight. It was more of an argument. I sat back and stayed quiet as I watched the rest of the team argue about who would be better off going in. 

“This is the great fireteam?” Cayde whispered to me. I rolled my eyes, not turning to face him. 

“We have our days.” I retorted. 

“Ruby-” he continued, but I walked back towards my team. 

“Enough!” I yelled, and they all stopped and turned toward me. “I know we all want to go, but this time, we can’t. And since we can’t decide for ourselves, we should let Zavala, Cayde, and Ikora pick. One from each class should go.” My team stared at me but nodded in agreement.

Full Chapter on Ao3

[servrz]

patch y9.1.3 today. i do not like this.

first of all, i started playing azami a week or so ago, forgot to mention that lol. i thought the barriers were in a good spot, i didn't think they needed any more adjustments for now, but they decided to increase the damage that bullets do to them. whatever. minute change, it's fuckin annoying but i can live with it.

rip iana, dogshit operator now. that might be a bit of an overreaction but they've been nerfing the poor woman nonstop. first the frags, then the g36 recoil, and now NO MORE STUNS? fuck that, bro. the gemini is good for intel, and the arx is a very solid gun, but i don't wanna play her over most other ops anymore.

why do they keep changing lesion? i mean the impact thing is alright cause he has the super shorty, but there was no real reason to give him the super shorty in the first place when they did...? like, i'm perplexed at how ubi is "balancing" lesion. he was in a great spot months ago, they decided to completely rework his gadget and give him the shorty. then when the changes ended up making him *just oh so slightly better* on the stats chart, they didn't just revert the super shorty change, oh no-- THEY TOOK THE IMPACTS?? idk man, it just seems like ubisoft is always fighting a battle to make lesion "balanced" when he has been for a while, the changes feel so needless and uncalled for.

i'm just gonna say it plain and simple, nokk is still dogshit. it doesn't MATTER if you increase the duration of her gadget, that isn't the problem-- the issue is that THE GADGET SUCKS TO BEGIN WITH. WHY WOULD INCREASING THE AMOUNT OF TIME THAT YOU CAN USE A GADGET HELP, IF THE PROBLEM IS THAT THE GADGET ITSELF IS SO BAD THAT NOBODY EVEN WANTS TO USE IT??? give her an assault rifle or buff the fmg, and then revert a lot of the changes you made to the cloak a while back. she was in a fine spot post-frag changes, and even with the stupid fucking fmg nerfs she was still *playable.*

ORYX CAN RUN THROUGH SHIELDS LMAOOOOOO WOOHOOOOOOOOOOOO THIS IS GONNA BE SO FUN

sens is still kinda crappy. well, i shouldn't say that cause they have their uses, so i guess they're just *super duper, very, incredibly situational and niche.* i mean i guess having an extra projector could help in some *very specific scenarios and strategies* but it fails to make sens better as a whole. the projector at its core needs actual changes to its function, many of which i have seen suggested by the community.

impact changes are weird, but i don't care personally. lower damage just means pokeball kills are gonna be harder now lmao, which is a very strange and silly way to get a kill already so it's all good. and i don't impact trick, so the smaller radius of effect change doesn't really affect me, but i kinda do like that one. forces you to pay more attention as a bandit or kaid player.

and the shield thing, i like very much. that's all i have to say on it.

basically, all in all, this patch sucks. there are very few good implementations here in my opinion, so many of them are useless and don't help with balancing at all. so ubisoft, please for the love of god, get your heads out of your asses and open your ears. come up with more creative solutions to balancing issues. and listen to the community. we're not geniuses, but we ARE the player base, and hearing our thought and ideas should serve to assist you guys in making the game better. even when you guys seem fucking stumped on how to solve the most basic issue, if you would listen to the things that players are saying, they would be solved. the ideas are right in front of you, FOR FREE. <3

[diana-3]

I'm not saying he's straight up an awful character, please don't take it that way and yeah, as far as plot goes he got the absolute shit end of the stick. At most I thought he could be the YW second hater (after Uldren) at most, and be a thorn on comms, but I never thought he'd go as far as to say sabotage or sell us out or anything evil.

I just...really don't like him 🤣 we don't jewhaw, and it's from the ending dialog from that strike for veterans.

Your right in a lot of it!

One one hand, he's dealing with a decorated, celebrated hero whose saved the world more times than years they've been alive. They've got a list of achievements as long as you can imagine. They're up there with Osris and Saint-14 in terms of recognizing. There's no confusion when people talk about the Young Wolf. Or at least, there shouldn't be.

On the other, he's dealing with someone coming back to life, fresh from the grave (his words). He's overly helpful and bends over backwards because he wants more guardians to make it and help the fight against the darkness. That's the New Light. Or at least, they should be.

To me, when he was first introduced he seemed like the stereotype overly helpful wanna be hero tutorial guide. And he ends up falling into such a role because he doesn't play really any impactful role past the New Light mission. We really don't do anything with him aside from the Gally quest, unless I just totally missed something. Then I ran some strike with my brother as the fire team leader and got a totally different set of lines from anything I'd heard before. A whole new version of him.

He's just kinda there, spouting out idle lines and offering bounties cause they felt like they needed someone there. Why? Cause it's what became the norm-- a planetary vendor to offer bounties, items and sometimes special quests. Someone to be on comms for that planets strikes. Like how Devrim is for the EDZ.

But they couldnt just introduce someone as the placeholder vendor, "hey, I'm shaw han, I've been placed here by the vanguard to help!", That would have been too cheap (although it might have cured some of those plotholes and allowed him to be kind to all guardians regardless of age). He needed a stake in the story. He needed to feel real.

And ngl it was bungled to hell and back.

Should the New Light mission be retconned? Idk, maybe. It might fix up some of the plotholes, but not all. I understand Bungies need to introduce new lights to the campaign and let it feel new, you know? Let them make their own story, their own lore about when they were found and what they got to experience (especially since the red war and everything was taken away, which I'm still irritated about but that's another post all together) but as you pointed out--now we've got alternate timelines of the same character.

Our guardian, also commonly referred to as Young Wolf.

On one hand, when they were first rezzed they managed to kill an archon priest for a warp drive to get off planet and went on to defeat humanities challenges.

On the other, they came after the red war and never had to experience Crota, Oryx or the old tower, only being alive just before the release of Stasis abilities.

And I would argue he wasn't alone though, between the new lights coming around and his fire team as well as everyone else who stayed earth side that don't get a mention often like Marcus Ren. He's absolutely allowed to feel alone, cause hunters usually run alone or in small packs. And he's allowed to be angry because his fire team, his friends, died.

It's absolutely dangerous, but he's never really alone, he's often in contact with the Vanguard from the way he speaks and if he felt like he needed more backup, Zavala wouldn't have said no. Hell, when Zavala thought we'd been captured on Nessus during Operation Piccolo, he started to get Operation Obo started to come rescue us himself.

And yeah, you're right, plotholes are endless here when it comes to him and the whole New Light campaign. The dudes a walking contradiction in terms of cannon.

For old lights it felt like there was a break between massive disasters and the YW had been called on to go clean up Navota before she became the next Omnigul. She wasn't as much of a threat as some other things, which is why they were only just now getting called in.So for YW it was a trip down memory lane that was all too easy. And Shaw has this "well she wouldn't have been an issue if you'd stuck around home." Attitude about it.

Imagine how that would suck, seeing someone so decorated, so powerful, so competent blow through the very being who ended your two best friends life. Imagine if they hadn't left earth and stuck around to do your job?

Then his fire team would still be alive, he wouldn't have been put in the position to lose them to begin with. It's a lot of shoulda, woulda, coulda from him. And he lays the blame totally at the YWs feet. Not the fact that it was an accident that his fire team got split up during the mission. Not that it's a part of life and a risk a guardian takes everytime they leave the city. A NL gets that slack but the YW isn't afforded the same kindness.

And yeah, he's entitled to feel that way. Maybe he's right. If we stuck around, maybe someone else would have been able to handle all the universe ending attempts and we could have saved his friends. Probably not though, plot armor and needing to sell games meant that the YW gets sent in when other fire teams die.

Hawthorne felt the same during the Red War when we took off to gather the Vanguard, but she eventually realized we did the right thing. We didn't get a verbal apology from her, but her demeanor has changed toward the YW and the vanguard by the way she speaks.

And you're right, he's not had the chance to change, and probably never will, he's unfortunately fell into the trap of useless vendor, like Hawthorne, Ikora, Devrim and Spider ....I could go on.

Once their little side missions are taken care of, they're often regulated to behind the sidelines to wait for the chance to be relevant again. They're just vendors, there's no need to change their dialog more, or give them more comms time if it's not relevant to the story.

To me it felt very irritating that for new lights his response to the Navota strike by the end was

: "it's part of the job. We knew that when we took the mission. It's dangerous. But we got a better chance than most at surviving, and we should do what we can. Get stronger and help us out. You got what it takes to be great. I believe in you."

But for veterans it was more like: "it's your fault the cosmodrome is such a wreck. If you'd stayed on earth instead of flying off, we could have taken care of the fallen, vex, cabal, taken and the hive close to home and none of this would happened. But no, you HAD to go play hero. It was selfish. My friends blood is on your hands."

Now he didn't say those words exactly, I do remember the "playing out hero fantasies" and "should have stayed on earth" lines from the end of the strike on the veteran lead, to me it dripped with resentment and anger, but everyone interprets things differently based off their own experiences.

What sounds like resentment to me, might just sound defeated to you and can totally change someone's perspective.

I'm not saying that no one should like him, or that he's evil. I understand why veteran players don't vibe with him. He gives off a totally different feeling for us than New Lights.

It's like seeing someone new and then they introduce you to someone they got sore feelings toward, you see a whole new side to them that they don't show you, cause they're not angry with you. While secretly being the very thing that made your new friend angry with the other person.

It was a weird experience for me to hear one set of lines over and over again, and then get tossed into the other timeline and hear the difference.

But at the end of the day, I guess it don't really matter. Like him or don't? 🤷 Lol I remember a lot of discourse when he was first added, probably around the time I made my reply to the post tbh when it was up in the air if they'd do anything else with him. Seeing as he only got the New Light intro mission/Navota strike, idc about him anymore 😅

I just remembered a lot of people saying if you didn't like him you were a dick (or worse) and had no justification for it because he was so helpful toward new lights.

NOT SHAW HAN GOING INSANE AND KILLING HIS FIRETEAM MEMBER OVER AN ENGRAM WHEN HE SAID WE CANT BE TRUSTED WITH STASIS LMAO THIS MOTHERFUCKER IS DOG SHIT

[ignisnocturnalia]

Ushdhsjdhei those Nokris hcs had me SWEATING they were so good! I’m not sure if you’re taking requests currently, but if you are, could we have some for Oryx please? At any rate, I hope you have a lovely day! 🥰

Oryx was on my personal list next, so this request lines up PERFECTLY 😏 I hope you've been having good days as well, my friend 😎

Oryx x Reader

Relationship

As the Taken King, congratulations, you are now the Taken Queen and most likely an ✨outlaw✨ to the city

Things might get a little dicey, since before you came along he viewed “loving” as killing the object of his affections repeatedly… (I have the anthologies, bro has killed his siblings like 3 times not even halfway through the book while gushing about how much he cares about them)

Takes you to the different planets he’s conquered, detailing their indiginous species before he had them annihilated whenever you ask about them (including war moons)

Tries to help you create your own throne world, and if you can’t or don’t want to, he shares his with you

Just the same as him, Hive kneel to you, and though unnecessary you receive a part of the upward stream of power acquired through their Sword Logic per Oryx’s command

Even though you might not understand the culture very well, your words will still carry hefty weight; be mindful of what you say, it could literally get a solar system erased

It’s highly unlikely, but on the rare occasion that you’d have a run in with one of his siblings he’s ready to challenge their doubts about you being his mate

Since you don’t use the power given to you and Oryx doesn’t restrict what you use it on, the fastest way for you to befriend his soldiers is by dangling favors just within reach; the Thralls act like cats to you in the absence of the King, and Wizards flock to you so you can see their accomplishments and be impressed by their work enough to give them a boost in their hierarchical climb

Oryx has, in fact, made a throne beside his for you and frequently invites you to help him study the Darkness; he thinks your cluelessness of the universe is cute, but he is determined to get you to understand what he means when he speaks of “The Final Shape”

You have your own fleet, no questions asked. If you’re going to be his Queen, he wants you to grow your influence across space so your name becomes known and feared as equally as his is

NSFW 👁👄👁

I have a supreme feeling, that as the “King of Shapes”, Oryx can totally shift between a female morph and a male morph especially since he used to be female

Pays close attention to what makes you squirm, can and will make you come through touching alone

Prefers being dominant, but will give you opportunities to feel like you’re in control

Don’t care how tall you are, size difference will exist and he digs it in the sack, bonus if he can see his outline on the skin of your stomach

His wings twitch and shudder a lot, and they’re quite sensitive to light touches, so if you can reach them  d o  i t 

He is very rough, prepare to lose your legs for ~1 week. If he’s feeling generous for whatever reason he will be a little more gentle, but it’s almost unnoticeable

Likes it when you try to scratch his chitin, and will be very vocal if you can actually cause any amount of damage

He is a big fan of overstimulation, as well as teasing, so you’re either going to be over the moon and unable to speak or begging for him to do something

A human’s flexibility has him totally enraptured, and every chance he gets he will put you into the most questionable, and sometimes uncomfortable, positions just to see the way your body will bend

You merked basically all of his children and annihilated quite a few of his high ranking soldiers; if that isn’t a testament to your strength and worthiness, what is? He thinks it’s extremely arousing, and biology be damned he will figure out a way to breed you so he can have his strongest heirs yet

Fluff

You both make certain auras with your powers, so if you’re ever at different places on his Dreadnaught you send waves of Light and Dark to each other; normal Hive are jarred by the Light you send out until they realize it’s just you and not a massive assault from Earth’s Guardians

When you two sit together, he makes a point of allowing you to rest your hand on top of his or interlock your fingers

Oryx leans over a lot whenever you want to give him a smooch, like damn,  you wanna give him back problems you tiny ass person?

While he definitely isn’t going to understand and will think it’s childish, he does let you decorate his horns occasionally (flowers, precious metals, etc)

Once you get used to it, he has you go with him to check on planets being conquered. Nothing boosts incentive better than having your King and Queen watching your progress! Even if the work is insufficient for his tastes, you can usually dampen punishments; some Hive regard it as human softness, but countless others will grovel at your feet in gratefulness later

You two spend freetime with sword dueling- if you don’t know how to properly fight, he’s more than eager to teach you

He postpones his invasions in the Sol system in regards to your feelings on the subject, but he always has an excuse ready to go; however, give him an inch and he will go a mile. If he’s under the impression that you don’t care enough or prioritize him over your race, he will push his work full force

While he prefers not to, he’ll basically never let you sleep or nap with him; he doesn’t need or want sleep in the same way that you do, so he thinks it’s a waste of time, and he only likes it because of your warmth

Should you try to dip into Hive magic, he will watch your growth with tremendous pride and help where he can, even sending in Wizards with similar talents to help cultivate your skills

Enjoys holding your shoulders and pressing your body close to his in more private moments because it makes him feel big even though you could totally cripple him in a 1v1

[thefirstknife]

Born of Wrath - Ruins of Wrath

I want to elaborate on this post because I think it's important how the whole boss area is set up.

First of all, the whole Shattered Realm this week feels different. It's just a vibe and some aspects of the whole area. But the boss room is definitely the most interesting.

It's in a Hive warship and the centerpiece of the room is something like an elevated podium from which you have a good view towards the big Taken ball in a strange device hovering in the air. This was shown during the reveal trailer as well.

The rest (with pictures even!) under the read more:

This is the same device located in the Shrine of Oryx:

It almost appears like the one in the Shattered Realm is positioned to look into the Shrine of Oryx from above. This structure, btw, is a communication device that the Hive on the Moon used to talk to Oryx. Now, obviously, no longer used to talk to Oryx and instead, they most likely use it to talk to Xivu Arath. This would also make sense as the Shattered Realm is Xivu's domain. That room is a place from which the Hive in the ascendant plane can communicate with the Hive in the Hellmouth, vice-versa and beyond. Presumably.

And of course, there's the elephant in the room.

A strange dark crystal bound with chains overlooking the Shrine communication device structure. I'm not the only one to be unnerved by this, nor am I the only one to have the thought that this is Osiris' prison. A place where real Osiris is suspended in some sort of hellish Hive version of cryo. The chains are what really sell it to me. If this were bigger, I'd probably say it some sort of a Hive creature being held here for some future boss fight, but the size just doesn't fit.

Furthermore, I've said a few times now, but I am beginning to suspect that Xivu Arath and Savathun are not really the enemies they're trying to tell us they are. It's important to know that the Hive have a very strange and utterly alien social structure. To them, murder and torture are expressions of love. They believe that this is what gives them strength so if you kill someone a lot, it means you love them a lot because you're helping them grow stronger.

Of course, Savathun is legitimately an exile to the Hive. She has practiced heresies. Goes without saying. The problem is that we kinda took her word for a fact that she is being hunted by her sister while not really thinking about how we have no confirmation of this from the other side. We don't know what Xivu thinks. Is she tolerating her sister's heresies for a grander plan? It wouldn't be the first time that Savathun is scheming in order to strengthen the Hive. Xivu knows her sister. I am finding it harder and harder to accept that Xivu would simply hunt her down on behalf of the Black Fleet without thinking it through.

After all, their last known interaction was Savathun preparing Torobatl for Xivu's invasion. They were on good terms. Savathun helped Xivu to obliterate the Cabal. And what was the whole plan with Osiris if not Savathun preparing OUR system for Xivu's invasion? These two are mirrors of each other, but with slightly different execution due to the fact that humanity has something the Cabal do not: Light. So obviously, infiltrating the Guardians required a more careful and insidious plan.

I believe this plan started a long time ago, but was finally fully put in motion, you guessed it, in Immolant. In Immolant, Osiris is exposed to the whispers of Xivu Arath, is drawn out to fight her and is eventually stripped off his Light BUT he is left alive.

There are two points I have to mention that do not align with what we know from Immolant (and Immolant is the most reliable source out of them all):

1. Savathun's speech from week 1 - specifically, the cutscene. Quote: “I found a form more pleasing to your eyes. Osiris was lost. Lightless. I saved him from Xivu Arath and assumed his shape.” This is a lie. Savathun did not save him from Xivu: Sagira did. Sagira's sacrifice is what pushed Xivu's influence away: "Blinding Light erupts from Sagira's core as she splits apart. A wave of Light surges and tears across the chasm. Her sacrifice cleanses every trace of Xivu Arath's presence. The sigil: erased. The cryptolith that supported her projection: destroyed." 2. Page 3 of the new lore book Ripples (still not on Ishtar as of writing this so I'm linking to my post with the relevant bit) - For easier reading:

"Savathun was weak to allow their deaths. To cede ground to the Celebrant; to Guardians." - This is not what happened. Xivu Arath lured Osiris to the Moon, Xivu Arath spoke to Osiris, goaded him into killing everyone and LAUGHED while he did so, because Osiris' rampage gave her tithe. Not only that, but Immolant describes the Celebrant carving a ritual to drain Osiris' Light away and let him die. The Celebrant then leaves. So it wasn't Savathun who ceded any ground.

"The Celebrant steps forward. A massive cleaver dangles from its hand, weightless. The beast carves a rune into the stone on either side of Osiris, its eyes locked with his. It nods to him, and then turns to the sigil.

"All tithes to Xivu Arath. War Dominant. Endless." Its tone is soft rasp and soot."

And:

"The Celebrant drives its sword into the cliffside stone above Osiris's head. The cryptolith erupts in neon flare.

"Die well, Osiris." The Celebrant bows and withdraws from sight into Luna's depths.

Wisps of Light hemorrhage through his skin, trimmed in blood and drawn around the blade embedded above him as if it were a nostepinne spike."

This is very odd. There's a lot of inconsistency and lying going on. Hell, Xivu didn't even take Osiris' Light at all. The attempt was made but Sagira made sure the ritual isn't finished by sacrificing herself. Kelgorath was lied to, both by Savathun AND Xivu Arath to whom he pledged himself (and died for in the first mission during Season of the Lost: Kelgorath was the Wrathborn we fight just before we enter the portal to the Mara & Osiris cutscene).

This, to me, implies that they're in on this together. It's important to note that when it came to the Cabal, everyone thought that Umun'Arath was being influenced by Xivu, but it was actually Savathun doing it on Xivu's behalf. It is possible that all the voices Osiris was hearing were actually also coming from Savathun on Xivu's behalf. But if that was the case, then Kelgorath wouldn't have felt the need to renounce Savathun because she was the one who helped Xivu, instead of "ceding ground" as he claims. This inconsistency makes me believe that Savathun's and Xivu's courts don't really know the full scope and details of their mutual plan. The Hive sisters are literally lying to their own people for the benefit of the plan.

We only have Savathun speaking to us, but never Xivu Arath. What are her thoughts on all of this? What are her thoughts on Savathun? Is she really hunting Savathun at all? Obviously, Xivu would know that Savathun will most likely betray her, but if Savathun lays down the ground work for Xivu's invasion (like on Torobatl), why would she care? She knows her scheming sister well enough. As long as there's war, Xivu will be fed her tithe, making herself stronger and stronger. Savathun's schemes are benefitting her.

Which leads me back to the chained crystal in Shattered Realm.

Savathun's bargaining chip, Osiris. Where is he? Who is looking after this most valuable prisoner while she's trapped in her own crystal? Who would she trust to make sure he stays bound until the time is right? Who has the power to keep him bound while she's playing the game on the other side?

Well, it's Xivu Arath of course. So it would not surprise me for this crystal to really be him, bound and chained in Xivu's domain, under her watchful eye and kept in place by her power.

And, of course, where did we find "Osiris" on the Moon when we went to rescue him? In the Shrine of Oryx. The same place that the chained crystal is located in, on the other side, looking down to the Shrine from the ascendant plane.

I didn't mention it until now, but the post's title is a reference to both Immolant and Shattered Realm. "Born of Wrath" is the name of the first chapter of Immolant pt. 2, where Osiris first encounters the cryptolith, visions and voices of Xivu and gives her tithe. It would be fitting if Osiris' wrath that was "born" in that moment led to his "ruin" and eventual imprisonment in the "Ruins of Wrath."

I am looking WAY too hard into this, but it really isn't a Destiny lore analysis unless I'm a little unhinged. :)

[phoebe-delia]

Oryx and Stag

A/N: This is based on a strange little idea I had a while back, and I decided on a whim to write it. This is the whole thing, just a short little piece. Thanks so much to @crapfaerie for beta’ing this for me, and to @starlitsilvereyes for the incredible artwork!! 

Also available on AO3

Oryx wobbles on his newly formed, shimmering legs. He almost stumbles for a moment as his glittering form coalesces from the sparks of light for the first time.

He looks around, searching for the danger, for the darkness, eager to prove his abilities. Instead, he sees light.

Across the room, Stag gallops proudly, his jutting chest and wide rack of antlers commanding the space they claim, carefree yet dominant. The other animal catches sight of a boy with black hair, green eyes, and a bright smile. Stag seems to move toward the boy before finally glancing in Oryx’s direction.

Oryx freezes, holding Stag’s piercing gaze. When Oryx sees Stag approach him, he finally moves to meet his incandescent counterpart in the middle.

They regard each other, curious and searching, before Stag begins circling Oryx. Oryx follows suit, walking slowly around and studying him. When they both stop, Stag leans in, nuzzling his nose against Oryx’s cheek.

Oryx bobs his head, returning the gesture, his ears twitching in delight. He bravely sniffs Stag, who grunts in response.

Stag suddenly lifts his head, his neck now stiff and alert. Oryx turns his head to see the rude interruption.

“What are they doing?” A boy with hair almost as white as Oryx says, his voice shaking.

A girl with bushy hair and a kind, yet worried face shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen one Patronus last this long, let alone two. How is this possible, Professor Hicks?”

“It’s rare, but it’s been known to occur,” said a tall woman with short, dark brown hair. She looked older than the rest of the humans, yet still youthful. “A Patronus is an expression of one’s magical core, and the very embodiment of peace and happiness. When one Patronus encounters another compatible one, they are drawn to one another.”

“Like a soulmate?” said the bushy-haired girl, her eyes wide.

“Sort of. It’s more of a magical soulmate,” the adult woman said, still watching Oryx and Stag.

The room was silent, so Oryx was glad to turn his attention back to Stag, who was looking at the black-haired boy. The boy’s face was red, and he stared at the ground.

The blonde-haired boy spoke again. “Can you make them go away?  Please?”

Oryx decided to ignore them, nuzzling Stag once again to gain his attention. Stag turned to him easily, sniffing him and earning an affectionate grunt. Stag twitched his head and started walking away, stopping when he realized Oryx hadn’t followed. Oryx quickly caught up, gently bumping him with his hip.

They took a running start and gained enough momentum to fly into the air, prancing around and darting in and out of one another’s path. They moved through the walls and into the cold outside air, leaving twinkling lights in their wake that made the air a little warmer before they faded.

If they’d stayed, they’d have heard the tall, brunette woman calling “Finite Incantatem!” in their direction, a bright light leaping from the wand, only to fall in vain onto nothing. If they’d stayed, they’d have seen the blonde boy run out of the room, eyes wet. They’d have seen the black-haired boy chase after him, and they’d have seen the two boys make their way outside.

If they’d stayed, they’d see the blonde boy stop in the middle of the field. They’d have seen the black-haired boy approach from behind, coming to stand next to him. They’d have seen the boys’ twin awed expressions, seen them mystified.

If they’d stayed, they’d have seen the black-haired boy reach over and take the blonde-haired boy’s hand in his, and they’d have seen the blond-haired boy hesitate before lacing their fingers together. They’d have seen the blonde boy rest his head on the other boy’s shoulder, and they might have heard the black-haired boy’s sharp intake of breath, had they been close enough.

But they had no need to stay. They served their purpose: they defeated the darkness. Together, they floated through the sky and past the setting sun, chasing away the shadows.

[recurring-polynya]

POLYNYA please tell me about the sea/your Soul Society sea(s)!!!!! (I also wanna talk about the sizes of things but I will save that for later, haha.)

My entire writing/worldbuilding self is just an agglomerate of about 10 different books/comics I read when I was 19, and one of those is Books of Magic. The major thing I took away from Books of Magic, a thing I think about every single time I read or watch something with a magic system, is the idea that humans have their own magic which is fundamentally different and in some ways more powerful than the magic of magical beings, and that they aren’t bound to a lot of rules and restrictions that magical beings are. A lot of media that features other worlds tends to split into the human world (which has no magic) and the magic world (which has magic). Sometimes the human world has technology and the magic world doesn't, I don't care, that is boring to me and I reject the idea that magic is technology you don’t understand. The thing about Books of Magic, which featured a lot of traffic between the human and the faerie realm, was that humans can do magic that faeries can't. Faerie magic is all illusion and glamour. It cannot affect real change. It is much harder for humans to do real magic, but their magic can actually transform things.

This is foundationally the way I approach worldbuilding in Soul Society. It seems like Soul Society is more powerful and magical than the World of the Living, but that’s only true for a limited set of circumstances, and much of Bleach takes place within those circumstances. Taken in a broader sense, though, Soul Society is not a complete world, it is a projected world, constructed of memories and ideas. Hueco Mundo is the same, but it's even less complete. My husband always gets really irritated by physically impossible moons, like this one:

but I actually think that's appropriate, because it's not the moon, it's the concept of the moon and this is a very romanticized concept of the moon. You cannot build a rocket in Soul Society or Hueco Mundo and get to the moon. The earth is not round in Soul Society. Its borders are limited.

What is Soul Society even for, anyway? I have been watching Hotel del Luna, a kdrama about a hotel where ghosts can stay for a little while and rest and work out some of their issues before they go to the afterlife. I feel like Soul Society is the next step after this. It is too big a shock to go from being a human to becoming a few motes of reishi, so you get another stage of retaining your human form and living a half-life where you don't need to eat or drink and your family has the idea of being a family without all the actual past-to-future connective tissue of a family. It's my impression that when you die in Soul Society, you don't get reincarnated as yourself. You become reishi, and that reishi gets mixed up with everyone else’s and new souls are created when new human children are born. Soul Society is also a sorting mechanism for separating out powerful sources of spiritual energy (that is, shinigami) and putting them to work as balancers, while letting the less volatile soulstuff flow through the reincarnation cycle without cavitating the impellers, so to speak.

That being said, seas are important. I have lived my entire life on the east coast of North America, never more than a few hours from the Atlantic Ocean. I think about moving inland sometimes and I think I would die. My husband grew up in the mountains and he feels a similar connection to the mountains, you can feel him becoming more powerful every time we drive north. I think it is necessary that Soul Society contain the geographic features that anchor people to the physical world, because ghosts need these things to feel as though they are still people and not vague amorphous spirits.

You need a sea. Also, as noted in the post that inspired this one, people in Soul Society eat a lot of fish and it’s gotta come from somewhere. So I think there is at least one sea in Soul Society (I like to put it in East Rukongai), but this is a sea built on human memories, it is not a sea based on the power of the sea, because that is not a thing that can exist in Soul Society. You can fish in the sea and you can swim in the sea, and an ocean god visiting from another realm might be able to pull a little power from this sea, but it is not a true sea. You need a different magical realm for that, a Sea Society, if you will. The Living World, in contrast, is a true world with true oceans, which draw their power from the Sea Society, just as there is death in the Living World because of its connections to Soul Society and other assorted afterlives. (it has been 2 sentences and I am already sorry I called it Sea Society).

Earlier, I mentioned that the borders of Soul Society are limited, and I think that it is surrounded by impassable no-man’s-lands on all sides that, if you could cross them, would lead you into a different dimension. This is not my original idea, it’s something I have picked up from numerous fanfics, but I think it’s a good one and I am adopting it. I think that, as a border between Soul Society and something else, each of these borderlands represents different kinds of death. I think I’ve figured they are a jungle, a desert, a mountain and, of course, an ocean. 

The power of the ocean encompasses both life and death, but this ocean or at least this part of this ocean is only death. It is cold and it is dark and it is full of things with horrible teeth. If you sail a boat into it, you will not come back. I do not think that dimensional borders are, well, two-dimensional, so to speak-- if you could somehow cross this ocean, you might end up in Sea Society, or you might end up in some other death realm, because a lot of afterlives are connected and you get to a lot of them via waterways. The Slavic afterlife, Nav, for example, is ringed with a river, and you cross the Styx to get to Hades. Come to think of it, both of these are sometimes portrayed as being full of unhappy spirits, so maybe the death ocean is an afterlife in and of itself.

This is a little off the topic of oceans, but it is on the topic of natural resources. For all we know, everything that everyone eats in the Seireitei is grown in reishi vats, like the chickienobs in Oryx and Crake. That actually makes more sense, honestly, than fishing and farming, but I have always assumed that many of the upper districts of Rukongai do, in fact, have Nice Things, which turns into jobs and commerce and an improved class of life. The quality and quantity of these resources thins out severely as you go outward. Why don't people in Inuzuri grow their own food, I asked myself? Well: poor soil. Unpredictable, violent weather, so if you can get anything to come up, it either bakes or drowns. A general miasma of low-grade toxins in the air that tend to stunt growth or prevent things from breeding true. Obviously, I think about South Rukongai more than I think of other directions, but I think it’s easy to imagine this process also working as you approached cold rocky mountains with cutting winds and rockslides, or dry, dusty desert where it never rains.

The canon concept of Soul Society is that everything in Rukongai sucks and everything in the Seireitei rules, but this honestly vexes me constantly. It must be ungodly expensive to own and maintain property in the Seireitei, which is why most of the shinigami seem to lead solidly middle class lifestyles and take advantage of on-base living arrangements even though they are allegedly the best of the best. If you're a noble, and especially not Great Family noble, I think it may make sense to maintain a large estate in a pretty part of Rukongai as opposed to a townhouse in the city-- I've mentioned the Kira family estate before, in North Rukongai, which, in my mind, is sort of overgrown and run-down, very Wuthering Heights. Alternatively, if you are super-rich, maybe you have a second property out somewhere nice, hence the Lake District. Did I just make these places up because I want to set a fanfic there someday? Probably yes. 

When I was writing Between Tides, the most basic, raw part of that story was just "Rukia and Renji get sent on a lonely mission near the sea" that was the thing I wanted to write. Back when it lived in my head, it originally took place in Soul Society, but I wanted it to have a melancholy, tourist-town-in-the-off-season vibe, and that didn’t feel like a place that would exist in Soul Society, so I moved it to the World of the Living. I guess I feel like if there’s beach tourism at the Soul Society Sea (I should name it but then I would be forced to write a story about it), it would be sort of Old Timey, and I’d don’t know much about what an Old Timey Trip to the Beach would look like in Japan, if that’s even a thing.

Anyway, sorry this was so rambling, this concludes my thoughts about THE SEA in Soul Society. I am happy to hear everyone else’s headcanons, please and thank you.

[thesean]

@freshsteel​ said: Please write your essay on Osiris I Will read it and that is a threat

@stormlord67​ said: I wish to hear about the Osiris brainrots and info.

@salt216000​​ said: Tell us your thoughts about Osiris I dare you

Did you ever hear the tragedy of Osiris, Warden of the Infinite Forest? I thought not. It’s not a story the Vanguard would tell you...

alright alright alright

i have A LOT of thoughts about osiris so buckle up, i’m gonna be going over A LOT starting at the beginning to the end of his exile (also i won’t be talking much about immolant because it makes me too sad when i’m already sad about him for other reasons)

I want to talk about this phrase I often use in regards to Osiris first. “Exile as a state of mind.”

EXILE AS A STATE OF MIND.

So like. The thing about Osiris is that time moves faster in the Infinite forest than it does outside of it. And from what I've been able to gather In Real Time he's only been exiled for about 40 at the least, 200 at most, whereas for him it's been hundreds, if not thousands, of years. All that time he's been exiled, all that time he's come to accept that fact, that there is no last city to fall back on whenever he needs to. That there was no one to rely on, not truly. That he had to fight this war against the Vex alone. That it was Him and Only Him.

So it becomes a state of mind.

Worse yet, it's a title, one that he still uses despite no longer being exiled. (Read in One Exile to Another, and a few of the Hunt Armor loretabs.) so there's a disconnect between him and the people he loves because he is still exiled in his mind, he does not have anyone to rely on other than himself. Exile, not as a state of being, but a state of mind, because he can no longer think how it will be otherwise.

Exile, as a state of mind, because if he accepts that he is no longer exiled, then what? Who will he be? He won’t be a Commander, he won’t be the Hero of Six Fronts, he won’t be any of that, he’ll be stuck as Osiris.

And Osiris is a terribly lonely man.

Let’s also consider what Osiris’s exile was like in the first place. How it really took place, not through the skewed lens of The Fall of Osiris comic or through the biased perspective of Osiris’s journals.

Consensus Meeting 2891.98

NM: "I note for the record that we are without a Warlock Vanguard or a Vanguard Commander." Andal Brask: "Two birds, one man." Zavala: "Ikora Rey is interim Warlock Vanguard for this meeting." Speaker: "Which brings us to our first order of business. Ikora Rey, the Consensus formally requests you assume the responsibilities of Warlock Vanguard." Ikora Rey: "Considering I've been performing those responsibilities for a while now, I accept." FWC: "Why did you cover for him for so long?" IR: "Someone had to do it." S: "Ahem. Now that we have Consensus, I may inform you I have decided to banish former Warlock Vanguard Osiris from the Last City." [murmurs] S: "Are there any objections?" DO: "None here. Maybe he'll find a better planet for us." [pause] S: "Very well. Next: I name Titan Vanguard Zavala as the new Vanguard Commander. Congratulations." (Curse of Foresight)

It was so casual and no one stood up for him. It was a unanimous decision. It’s no wonder Osiris has so much trouble reaching out for help. Last time he did he was exiled, last time he did everyone he cared about turned their backs on him, Saint wasn’t exempt from this. He must have felt some sense of betrayal from this. And it stuck with him.

GOD IN THE MACHINE.

This one’s a much more subtle thing and based upon observations but I do want to talk about how terrifyingly close Osiris was to, essentially, godhood.

There was a quote in Destiny 1 at some point when you’re hunting down Oryx, I can’t seem to find the exact quote on Ishtar, but it was something along the lines of “In order to be a god you must have eyes everywhere.”

Osiris has a lot of eye imagery.

Another way Osiris was close to godhood is that he had the ability to make echoes. There’s only one other character in Destiny who was able to do that. You guessed it: Oryx (albeit he used Darkness instead of Light to do it but the sentiment remains.)

Additionally, let’s not forget that Destiny tends to play on character’s names whenever their names come from something of power. Toland commented upon Eris’s name being a name of chaos reflecting that she’s named after the Chthonic Goddess, Eris. And Osiris being named Osiris, an Egyptian God of death, well... Need I say more?

Osiris can manipulate the Light in ways we didn’t even know was possible, from using multiple Light elements at once to creating Reflections and Echoes, to creating a ward of Light in a way we haven’t seen Warlocks do. Not only that but Osiris had an entire planet under his control, a Vex machine that no one person should be able to control and he had it at the tips of his fingers.

He was scary close to godhood. And I don’t think he realizes it.

FAITH.

Another aspect of Osiris I’d like to touch upon is his relationship with faith.

Osiris has a very distinctly different view of these things in Destiny, and it’s something that’s now painted as a good thing. It’s good to question why you fight, good to question why you exist. Osiris questions everything and while there’s a few jabs made at him about it (mostly they come from how he was viewed before Curse of Osiris) it ultimately doesn’t state that Osiris’s questions are bad. In fact I’d go so far as to say they were vindicating.

BUT. This raises my thoughts on his faith, on how it’s served him. We know that Saint-14 has a lot of faith, both in people and in the Traveler, and it’s interesting to me to see the dichotomy of that vs. Osiris’s views.

There was an idle line he had in Season of Dawn, in where he said "I thought you had broken the Red Legion... I see faith has failed me yet again..."

What has faith gotten him? Abandonment. Exile. Losing Saint.

They have a silent god hanging above them in the city, and what has it done for them? The Traveler was not at Six Fronts, the Traveler was not at Twilight Gap, the Traveler did not stop the Vex, and the Traveler certainly didn't save Saint. Rotted faith, eroded to bitterness.

The light is a weapon because if it weren't then would it not act? Would it not save humanity? Why wouldn't it save him? Why would he suffer so much?

So he is mad at god.

The best quote I remember about his Relationship with the Traveler is him saying that the Traveler's death was a gift in that there are now Guardians, but also they only have the problems they have now is because the Traveler came there, bringing its enemies to their shores.

He questions the Light because while it’s their greatest weapon, it is also the source of humanity's grief

The Traveler holds their chains. (Freedom is a chain, choice is a prison.)

“I have questioned the Light before, and I continue to question it today. But skepticism is not the same as disavowal. The Light is one of our greatest resources.” — Transmission from Osiris

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Wolfman’s Dilemma

(Story Post)

Dax was still at work when Wano called him, so he called the doctor’s office to ask if someone could check on his partner before he could get home. Reid volunteered to make a house call as soon as he heard about Nathan's incident. Nathan was still shaken by his partial transformation. He had gone to lie down after a shower like Wano had suggested, but he couldn't rest well. When Reid did arrive, he sat with him in his bedroom and Nathan had a hard time explaining to the doctor exactly what happened because he didn't want to try to remember. “Well, this all sounds like it would be pretty upsetting, so I understand this isn't easy for you,” Reid comforted, after receiving all the details he could. “But if you think about it, this could be a sign of progress.” “No, I know…” Nathan mumbled, wrapped up in a blanket. “I just don’t like the connotations. If my anger is what made that happen, then that could mean I'm very dangerous. More so than ever.”

“We don't know that,” Reid stated, rubbing Nathan's arm. “We don't truly know what caused any of this to happen and unfortunately, yourself and Wano were the only ones witness to it.” “So, then what? Am I supposed to try to make it happen again?” Nathan asked. “Well, not if you don't want to,” Reid explained. “But, it might be best to keep an eye on you for a week or two in case it does occur again involuntarily.” “So, you mean staying at APID,” Nathan sighed. “Even when I'm off wolf cycle…” “I consulted with Dr. Aias before coming here and that was their suggestion, yes,” Reid admitted. Nathan rubbed his forehead. “I guess it's not really a cycle if I start turning into a wolf thing in the middle of the day on off days…” “Again, it's your choice, Nathan,” Reid insisted. “Camilo's coming by as well to talk to you as this pertains to your case. He might make other suggestions for you.” Nathan nodded. His phone went off and he checked it. “Dax just got off work and he's coming straight home…” “That's great,” Reid commented. “And your language suggests the relationship is pretty serious. I'm glad it's working out.” “My language?” “Aye, you said he's coming home,” Reid said. “You have separate residences, don't you?” “Yeah, well… I can't handle the twins on my own, it's too much, and I don’t know what I was thinking when I offered for Wano to stay here,” Nathan said. “Dax has been…the glue keeping this hell house together and keeping me from going insane. I don't know what I'd do if he wasn't around.” Reid smiled and shook Nathan's shoulder enthusiastically. “See? I knew you two would be good for each other. Aren't you glad you went for it?” Nathan chuckled lightly. “I suppose I am… I guess I just didn't feel like I deserved someone new yet… And I feel bad dragging him into this whirlwind of a life I have right now.” “Nathan, you're a bit too selfless,” Reid commented. “Dax wouldn't be with you if he didn't want to be. The people around you are around you because they like and care about you.” “I know, I know… I just...” Nathan sighed. “No, you're right.” “Anyhow, I can stay until Dax or Camilo arrives, however long you'd like,” Reid said. “Wano seems to be doing well with the twins. Is he a good babysitter?” “Yeah, they love him,” Nathan said. “I think it might be maybe the depth of his voice? I don't know. He follows instruction well enough and he loves to play with them. Maybe he'll be a good dad… Did he explain why we got into an argument?” Reid nodded slowly. “Aye… Trying to make a wee one before he's gone. I can understand your frustration. Wouldn't want that happening under my roof, if I had one.” “Right? I get that he's an adult and he can do what he wants, but also I'm partially responsible for him because I'm letting him stay here,” Nathan said. “If Jeffrey gets pregnant, I have no idea how that'll complicate Wano's case to stay here.” “Well, at the end of the day, these really are things that should concern Wano himself more than you,” Reid reminded. “You’re doing a really nice thing, letting him stay here with you but you don't have to shoulder all his problems. They're not yours and you're not his father.” “I know, you're right,” Nathan sighed again. “I just want to see him get to stay here. He's worked hard to stay. He's improved a lot.” Reid smirked as he observed Nathan. “You know, the wolf might have something to do with this. Sometimes animals who've just given birth will adopt newborns of other species, even if they're an animal they'd usually pray on, like a lioness adopting an oryx, or vice versa, a chicken adopting a kitten. Only for you, your adopted newborn is a full-grown adult alien from another planet.” “I can't help it if he has the emotional intelligence of a twelve-year-old,” Nathan said. “But it's even more reason he shouldn't be having a kid!” “You can't make that decision for him, though,” Reid said. “And you can't make that decision for Jeffrey either. At the very least, one of them has experience as a parent…” “From what I've heard though, his cousin does most of the caregiving…” Nathan mumbled. “Och, you need to stop concerning yourself with them,” Reid said. “You can put your foot down about what goes on in your house, but outside of that, you can't be meddling in their business.” Nathan nodded. “…I bet Jeffrey’s pregnant already anyway…” Reid rubbed his back. “Come downstairs for when Camilo arrives. Eat something. I’d like to see the wee twins again. How're they holding up?” “They're alright…” Nathan said getting up. “I probably should feed them, but Grace refuses to nurse unless she's a pup, but she bites me…” Reid followed him. “Do you pump?” “I do, but they refuse to take bottles from me,” Nathan said. “Dax? Wano? No problem because they have no other choice. But me, all they want is tit. Am I going to have breasts my whole life now?” “We can worry about that later, and you can take my word from personal experience that breast tissue can be dealt with,” Reid assured, chuckling a bit. “Ah, right… Yeah, I guess,” Nathan considered. “Anyway, Wano should be playing with the twins right now… He lets them bite his arms and legs and stuff because he thinks it'll toughen them up but I'd rather he didn't normalise it… I'll show you.” “Aye. Please.” They got downstairs and Nathan broke up the playfighting so Reid could take a look at the twins. They both turned to human for him which he was a bit unhappy about because he really liked to study their animal sides, but he acknowledged that it was good training that they remain human in the presence of strangers. Camilo arrived a little later and they talked in the kitchen while Wano showed off the twins to Reid in the living room. Nathan explained everything he could to Camilo about what had happened. “That is a very new development indeed,” Camilo commented as he took notes into a tablet. “We haven't seen any kind of half transformation like this… Have you asked Nari yet if he knows of werewolves like that?” “He's away on a vacation right now,” Nathan said. “I don't want to bother him with this at all until he's back…” Camilo nodded. “I understand… Well, right now since this is a one-time incident, I don't know that there's much we can do. But, now that we know it's possible, I'd ask you and those around you to video document this type of transformation if it should happen again.” “So, you don't think I should be watched?” Nathan asked. “Well, I don’t know that it's absolutely necessary, but if that's what you want, you could stay a few nights at APID,” Camilo considered. “It's up to you.” Nathan shook his head. “I want to stay home... But only if you really think it's safe.” Camilo patted Nathan's arm. “You didn't hurt anyone, you just transformed. Since having your wolf cycle nights at APID, we haven't observed any violent behaviour at all, only a bit of protective behaviour towards your kids.” “Dax said the wolf bit Dr. Aias once,” Nathan said. “Ah, well yes, but that was just because they needed to draw blood,” Camilo acknowledged. “Wasn’t that the night of Wano’s incident?” “Yes, it was…” Nathan sighed, not enjoying the thought. “Right, it’s possible you could tell your friend was in trouble that night and you were restless. Wolves have exceptional sense of smell. You might’ve smelled blood,” Camilo hypothesised. “You're really okay. Seems as long as the wolf is well fed, they don't hunt.” Nathan exhaled. “Okay… Yeah… Thanks.” “Don't worry,” Camilo assured him. “Your support system is great, and we aren't afraid of you. Everyone is here to help you.” “I get it, I just wish I knew someone else who was going through all this like me,” Nathan said. “I at least had Kent for a hot second, but now I have no one… My kids aren't even the same as me They just transform whenever they please.” Camilo pursed his lips. “Well, maybe you're not alone…” Nathan perked up. “Is there someone else? With APID? Another werewolf? Or were-anything?” “Well, no… I just meant, um…” Camilo waved a hand. “Well, you know, there's the wolf we caught on your bodycam that night.” “Oh." Nathan frowned. “But they attacked me. I still have the scars.” “Yes, but if we tracked them down, we might have answers for you,” Camilo suggested. “Well, maybe… I don't, know. I feel like we tried that lead and it got me nowhere. And pregnant.” “Yeah…” Camilo folded his hands. “But if we could find someone with a similar affliction as you willing to talk with you, you would want that, right?” “Yes, if it's possible, yes,” Nathan said. “The only person I know that's as close to my condition as me is Dax but his thunderbird situation is still very different.” Camilo nodded. “Okay. Can you come in for a meeting tomorrow? I want us to talk more about your options, but I also want to consult with Korsgaard about some stuff beforehand.” “Yeah, for sure,” Nathan said nodding. “Honestly, I talk to you so much, I forget Korsgaard’s my actual case worker…” “Yeah, he does do a lot of work behind the scenes, but he's looking into potentially retiring soon,” Camilo admitted. “I think he's holding out until Maya's grown.” “I get it,” Nathan said. “Do you think you'll take his place?” “Honestly, I don't really know,” Camilo said. “I mean, I like it, and it's been great work while I've been in school, but once I finish my PhD, I might look around… I want to stay at APID though.” Nathan smirked. “PhD classes, a job like this, and a baby at home? Are you sure you're only human?” Camilo smiled sheepishly and rubbed his neck. “I'm just trying my best…” “I could never…” He motioned to the living room where Wano was flexing with the animal twins gnawing on his arms. Reid was just sitting by, taking notes of his observations. “I can't imagine trying to get through my masters when I was your age if I had these two on my hip…” “Should we do something?” Camilo asked worriedly. “No, Wano likes it,” Nathan said. “He calls it ‘warrior play’. It's been really difficult trying to train bite inhibition and I’m so tired all the time, it's easier to just let them do whatever exhausts them…” “I see. It'll take time,” Camilo said. “Have you talked to Yori about it? They might not be exactly the same, but there's likely some issues he's had with the triplets.” “Yes, trust me, Dax has learned a lot from having the triplets in his class,” Nathan recounted. “The very first day of school, Skylar bit a kid that touched her granola bar and later Marco ate his own homework. We've been in contact with Yori's partners, because the kids just seem to fall in line for Yori without much trouble.” “Oh, I see…” At that time, the front door opened, and Dax came inside looking worried. “Nathan, I’m sorry I couldn't leave sooner!” Nathan got up from his seat and went over to hug Dax around the waist. “It's okay. Reid and Camilo have been here to talk to me.” “Ah, good! Are you alright?” Dax looked over his partner for traces of the transformation described to him over the phone. “You look okay, but are you?” “Yeah, I'm fine now,” Nathan said. “Talking to these guys has calmed my nerves a lot and the transformation didn't last more than a minute.” Dax nodded. “Good.” He kissed his forehead. “I’m glad you're okay. And the twins are alright?” “Yep, they're still their usual selves,” Nathan said, motioning to the pair now climbing onto Wano's back and jumping off like goat kids. “I think if anything, my transformation made them excitable.” “That probably makes sense, I think,” Dax said. “Reacting to your transformation I mean.” Reid got up and came over. “Nathan, if you don't need me any longer, I should probably head out.” Nathan nodded and shook Reid’s hand. “Yes, thank you for coming over on such short notice.” “Don't mention it,” Reid insisted. He patted Dax's arm. “Good to see you too, Dax.” “Likewise,” Dax said politely. “Drive safe.” “Aye.” Reid headed out the door. “I should probably get going too,” Camilo said. “Nathan, can we get you in for a meeting first thing at ten?” “Yeah, sounds good,” Nathan confirmed. “I'll see you there.” “Alright, see you,” Camilo said going to the door. “You take care of him, Dax. We're trusting you.” “Don't you worry, I'll be here,” Dax assured. Camilo smiled and waved. “Bye!” “See you tomorrow,” Nathan said as the assistant left. Dax went to see them off and then made sure the door was locked properly before going back to his partner. “Tomorrow, would you like me to join you?” Nathan looked at Dax and contemplated it. “Usually I'd say no, but if you can spare the time, I would appreciate it…” Dax smiled and kissed Nathan's forehead again. “I'll be there, don't worry.” “Thank you,” Nathan said. He took Dax's hand and squeezed it gently. “I appreciate you so much.” “Also on the phone,” Dax recalled. “Wano said you got upset because he’s trying to make a ‘legacy’ with Jeffrey.” He motioned the air quotes. “Do you want me to talk to him about that?” Nathan sighed, glancing over to Wano, now rubbing both twins’ bellies. “No… At least not tonight… Just let him be. It’s not our business at the end of the day. I made it clear though that he can’t have guests here without permission.” Dax nodded and gave Nathan a proper kiss this time. “You’re going to be alright.” “Thanks. I hope so…”

[slashingdisneypasta]

Hello! Can I have a scenario where Jafar catch a little girl who is a street rat and was trying to steel from the palace. He decides to let her go but she keep coming back wanting him to take her as his apprentice. "I want to learn from the best wizard" she said. Thank!

Hope this is cute! ^^ I needed / need to practise writing Jafar some more. 

~~~

“Oh… “A joyful smile and laugh rings out from the Sultan after his eyes roam off of Jafar and to the space behind him, in boredom from the conversation. He points with a stout little pointer finger at whatever’s amusing him. “Jafar, I believe you have a companion there, behind you!”

“What? My lord, I… “Sweeping his cape back with a curved hand, Jafar twists in around and looks around… then down… and scowls. “Oh, its you again.”

The little girl raises her hand and smiles at him, excited to be noticed after listening to such a loooong, boooring discussion about farming and grain. “Hi!”

Instead of patting her head or saying anything back to her, Jafar promptly turns back to the Sultan and pastes an apologetic smile on his face. “Sir, I found this urchin skulking around yesterday and sent her back to wherever she comes from… seems she doesn’t listen to directions, though, regrettably. Forgive me, I’ll handle it right away- “

“Oh, truly, don’t bother yourself about it, Jafar! She isn’t a trouble!- Just a little girl. Hello dear, what’s your name?” The Sultan, sweet and naïve man that he is, is completely taken with your little street rat charms already and passes Jafar to hold his hands excitedly behind his back and talk to you.

“I’m Y/N! And I’m five years old!” You hold up your hand again, cheesing at your five fingers, demonstrating how old you are. “Who are you?”

“This is the Sultan, you disrespectful little! - “

“Jafar! Please! She isn’t expected to know me, she’s just a child.” Propping his fists on his hips disappointedly and appalled his Vizier’s behaviour, causing Jafar to roll his eyes as soon as his boss’s head is turned, gripping his staff tightly between his spindly fingers. “Allah! Don’t listen to him Y/N, he’s just a silly grumpy man. I’m Sultan. Its lovely to meet you.”

“What I meant, sire, is that the thieves are concocting new ways to steal from you all the time! This little girl could be a deceitful plot, sir.”

With every word that comes out of Jafar’s mouth, the Sultan becomes more and more disappointed. What- does his vizier hate children?? How can that be! “Jafar, I want you to stop this nonsense at once. And I’m ordering you to go feed this child, she looks skinnier than the horns on an oryx- I dread to see what her concaved little stomach looks like under that cloth she wears. Now, go. I’m very busy!”

As the Sultan turns around and bids you a good day, and then totters off to another room to no doubt, play with some more toys or find his wayward daughter to bother, Jafar assess the beaming child looking up at him. Then, just as she’s about to open her mouth and say something, he starts for the door and sweeps out of the room. “Oh, sure, ‘nonsense’. It’s not as if you pay me for this kind of advice, or anything. ‘Grand Vizier’ my snake- hurry up, urchin!”

“Oh, coming!!” You exclaim, already having been trying to catch up with his ridiculously long strides- Now you’re running.

When you two finally arrive at the kitchen, which is on the first level when you began on the 3rd, you’re exhausted and basically flop onto the nearest stool. But you’re too short to actually get on it without climbing, which would be too strenuous for you in the moment, so you’re just holding it for dear life and hoping you don’t die from lack of air. As Jafar orders the kitchen staff to prepare you something quick, you just pant like a dog onto the seat of the stool.

He turns around to see this and rolls his eyes again. “Alla’s sake, you’d think a street rat would be more agile then you.” As if this is all a huge stress on his shoulders and you should be beyond grateful for his attentions, Jafar picks you up and sets you on the stool. Now you sigh and drop your cheek onto the kitchen bench. Jafar settles himself in the bench across from you, and sets his snake staff against the table next to him. “So, did you come to prosper where you failed yesterday? Because if I were a little thief like you, I wouldn’t seek my former capture out on the second attempt. I’d avoid him.”

“Ah… “You finally pull yourself together, and unstick your little cheek from the wooden, lacquered bench. “No! I came looking for you.”

Jafar raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Why?”

“Your magic! I wanna learn!”

… “My what? I’m sure I don’t know what you refer to.”

“The magic! It made the Sultan mans eyes go swirly and red, and you used that.” As you point at the snake staff, Jafar’s confusion and, now, frustration grows and his lips turn down in a scowl.

“But… that was up on the 3rd floor again… I found you at the entrance of the palace?”

You stretch your toes out under the table, as they sway in the air can’t touch the ground, shrugging under the mans hard gaze. “I followed you down there! I tried to think of a way to ask you, but then you saw me and sent me away! I want to learn the mag-”

Jafar pipe sup quick, stopping you from saying anything else incriminating around the kitchen staff. Hopefully, they were too busy to hear all that business about the Sultans eyes going ‘swirly’, as it is. This is a predicament- of all the issues Jafar foresaw in his plan to find his lamp, this little twit didn’t even make the list. Damnit. “First of all, little urchin, you need to stop saying the word magic around these… “He looks around suspiciously and lowers his voice. “Servants. For one, because its sorcery; Not ‘magic’. And for a second reason, because people can’t know about it. It’s a secret. Do you know what a secret i- Oh of course you know what that is. Anyway, for that reason, I cannot teach you. Now wait silently for your food, eat it, and begone.”

Pouting, you put your hands on the table in earnest. “But! -“

“What did you not understand?”

Before you can open your mouth again, a plate with delicious smelling, warm steam wafting off of it and into your face is set on the bench in front of you. The chef mutters something about that being leftovers from the Sultan and the Princesses’ lunch but your eyes widen at it. Just the portions are more then you’ve ever seen, never mind the smell! Quickly, you get to eating away.

You lick that plate clean before you’re done with it.

Its silent for a moment, as Jafar’s still stuck in his thoughts that he entertained himself with while you ate, before you speak up again, ripping him from his mind. “I’ll work really hard!”

Sighing and massaging his temple, he turns back to you. “It’s not about work ethic.”

You cross your arms, glaring stubbornly back at him.

You’ll be back.

___TIME SKIP: A Couple Weeks Later / CHANGE OF POV___

“Oh, Jafar!~”

Oh Jafar!~ = Jafar’s least favourite phrase as of late, because it always comes from the Sultan and it is always a precursor to something about Y/N. She has invaded his life and he can’t seem to remove her from it- she just keeps coming back! And, he tried to make her public enemy number 1 by telling the guards that if they see her, they should immediately expunge her from the premises… but she just made Razoul her friend and now she basically has free roam! She basically lives here!

Ugh, how Jafar would just like to drop kick her and her cute little smiles to Tim Buk Tu.

Nevertheless, Jafar has a job, a goal, and a reputation. So, he follows his Sultans voice to the throne room and, on seeing Y/N’s sleeping form curled up like a kitten on the floor by a wall, looks tiredly to the Sultan. “My apologies, sir, I’ll extract her.”

“Oh no, don’t be silly. I just called you to move her to my chair,” His throne?? “She’ll be far more comfortable there. I would do it myself, but its clear you’re the only one she trusts around here. You must have really bonded these past weeks with her, Jafar! I’m proud of you! Now, bye!~ I’m going to look for Jasmine. Be careful to not drop Y/N! Hoo hoo.” Giggling away like he does, making Jafar feel like the only adult in the room, the Sultan hops off the find his own terror as Jafar heaves a great sigh and strides over to the child in question.

Heaving her carefully up by the armpits, Jafar holds her up in front of him like a teddy bear- she’s that small, and light. And even with the feedings she’s been allowed here at the palace, she’s like this. Looking grim, Jafar mutters. “You’re the bane of my existence, you know.”

“I… I just want… “She’s only half awake, head still lolling forward and eyes still closed, holding onto dreamland. “To learn from the best… wizard… “

“Sorcerer.”

“Y… yeah… “

“Well, you’re certainly persistent.” He sighs, irritated, but giving her her dues as he brings her forward and rests her on his chest as he walks her to the throne. “And I am the best.”

He feels a little giggle and sticky hot breath against his collarbone before he puts her on the throne, watching her curl up again in the same feline inspired position as before when she was on the floor.

“Get sleep… Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night Jafar...”

She might be sorcerer material… but she has a long journey to go before she even touches my staff.

[thefangirlthatwaited]

New Light (Chapter 20) - A Destiny Universe Story

Cayde-6 x Guardian

Back at the Tower, I spotted my fireteam waiting as I jumped out of my ship. 

“Are you nuts!” Iroh yelled, stomping over to me. 

“What?” I asked, confused. 

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” 

I scoffed, pushing past him to exit the Hangar. “I had everything under control, and now we have a transmat zone on the Dreadnaught.” 

“It wasn’t worth your life to do it.” 

I stopped and turned to face him. “Did I die? No. I lived, and I got the job done.”

“We were worried about you, Ruby, that’s all,” Scarlet explained as I saw Iroh still looking upset. 

“I thank you for your concern, but I was fine.”

“You’ve been distant since Crota,” Sky remarked.

“I know. I’m sorry. Between working with Mara Sov and my new role as deputy Hunter Vanguard, I haven’t made time for you guys.” My explanation wasn’t sitting well with my friends. They were worried about me, and how could I blame them? I knew what I had to do. “When I go back, you can all come with me if that makes you feel better.” I raised my eyebrow, waiting for a response. 

“Yes, it would,” Iroh replied, and I let out a sigh that turned into a chuckle of laughter. 

“Alright then. Go get ready. I need to speak to Zalava, Cayde and Ikora. Iroh, Finely brief the rest of the group on the Taken. I’ll meet you back in the Hangar in about an hour.” They all nodded, then took off together as I headed to Cayde’s office. Inside, I saw Cayde, Zavala and Ikora in a deep discussion, and the moment I entered, their eyes turned to me. 

“There is my best Hunter. You did great in there.” Cayde cheered, coming over to give me a pat on the back. 

“Right.” I chuckled. 

“Now that Cayde has given us the full details of the plan, we are glad it worked,” Ikora said. 

“Despite the stealth drive failing.” Zavala sighed. “Regardless, now we can work at getting to Oryx. I assume you and your fireteam are ready to return to the Dreadnaught?” He asked.

“They are preparing as we speak. I just need my mission, and we will get it done.” I assured him. Zavala turned away, facing the window, arms crossed behind his back. “Oryx could be anywhere on the Dreadnaught. With time, we could find him, but we don’t have time. The Cabal have been there long enough to have a real field intelligence. The path to Oryx is through their ship.” 

“The beachhead they have. It should have the data you’re requesting.” I stated. 

“Indeed. Break-in and see if they know Oryx’s location.” 

“On it, Commander,” I assured him before leaving.

As I made my way up the stairs, I heard my name, and I turned to see Cayde walking over. “About the stealth drive,” he said, sounding guilty. 

“Cayde, it’s alright. I lived, and I got onto the ship. The mission was a success.”

“I know, but-”

I smiled, closing the gap between us. “You were worried about me. I get it. My fireteam was too.” He looked at the floor, unable to reply. “I’ll be fine, Cayde. Don’t you worry.” 

Finally, he looked up at me and smiled. “I know. You’ll be fine. You always are.” 

“See.” There was an awkward pause, and I wondered if Cayde would finally break his stupid rule and kiss me. I was screaming in my head for him to move inches closer. Instead, he backed away. Fuck. “I do need to get going. My team is waiting.” I said, turning my back to him.

“Be careful. You’re irreplaceable.” He said, and my heart skipped a beat. 

“Please stop,”

“Ruby,”

“Stop toying with me,” I said and took off before he could reply. For someone who didn’t want to be together, he made it hard to move on. When I reached the Hangar, I found my team huddled together, waiting for me. 

Full Chapter on Ao3

[lizzieraindrops]

Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eris Morn/Ikora Rey Characters: Eris Morn, Ikora Rey Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Hello destiny sapphics; allow me to introduce myself, Femslash, if nobody is going to write the content i want to see then i will create it myself, listen. it’s about perceiving the weak and wounded places in someone you love, and lavishing love and care upon them even when they won’t admit they need it, it’s about the Mutual Support, it’s about being kind to them even when you don’t know how to be kind to yourself, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, oh and ikora has the most Distinguished Bisexual energy i’ve ever seen so jot that down, it doesn’t come up but you needed to know, this is all just a bunch of softness and tenderness don’t @ me okay, Grief/Mourning

Summary:

Five storms Eris and Ikora weathered and one they didn’t need to.

The Shadowkeep weblore lives in my head rent free. Set post-Taken King and mostly during Shadowkeep.

“As I told Asher, there is a storm coming…” “Oryx is dead. We’ve weathered the storm.” Ikora is upset. She has yet to understand the bigger picture. “Yet his sisters would see his will done. There will always be another storm.” “Then let’s weather it together.” -Shadowkeep Narrative Preview #1

Chapter: |  1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  |  +1  |

The irony of finding herself here yet again makes Eris shake her head in bemusement. She enters the echoing Consensus chambers, once again waiting to give her account of enemy movements on the Moon. Yet again, she must convince a group of people who largely dislike and still distrust her of the veracity of her warnings.

This time, though, she has evidence that cannot be dismissed. Everyone in the Tower knows about the dramatic acceleration of Hive activity on the Moon. Ikora has seen the Pyramid herself. There is no denying this time that the doom Eris has always warned of hangs just over their heads. The thought does not comfort her.

The room begins to fill with Consensus members and their assorted attendants, assistants, and scribes. Seething with almost insectile activity, the movement of the crowd makes a shudder run over her. As always, the presence of so many grates on her nerves. With a few more years between herself and her ordeal in the Hellmouth, Eris’ aversion to being in close quarters with others has mellowed. But she has also spent most of the past three years in the field, alone or among only few. She is out of practice with the casual mass of humanity that thrives in the Tower and the City. She counts her breaths, works to center herself where she stands near Ikora at the perimeter of the room.

Out of an uneasy mixture of grudging respect and fear, most of those surrounding them give her enough of a berth to keep her discomfort under control. Nonetheless, a New Monarchy scribe slips into that space unheeding, trying to traverse the room while scanning the crowd. Eris involuntarily tenses and draws back. Her nerves hum as if electrified; but it’s nothing like the Arc that once flowed through her. This hurts.

“Please step back,” she says, low but loud and firm enough to break the scribe’s careless distraction. Eris takes a step closer to Ikora to maintain her space from this stranger.

Unasked and without pausing her conversation with another Warlock, Ikora takes a measured step back to match Eris’, maintaining the distance between them.

The scribe looks around in confusion before quailing under Eris’ blazing stare, chirping “Oh - um, pardon me,” and scurrying away with haste.

Eris lets out a tired, troubled sigh. For a host of reasons, this kind of gathering was never going to be easy for her. She expected that. But sharing what she has learned is more important than her comfort, especially when she has a good chance of being heard this time.

What she did not expect was to recoil as if cornered - only to find space made for her.

She turns to Ikora. The Warlock she speaks with is clearly curious about the interaction that just transpired right next to them and hiding it poorly. But Ikora continues their conversation as if uninterrupted. As though casually making room for Eris’ peculiarities were nothing notable, easy enough to do unconsciously.

Though she gives no outward sign, Eris is deeply touched by the gesture. Ikora’s kind consideration never fails to move her. Yet in this instance, the relief it brings mingles with something else, something like a pang of... loss. How strange.

Ikora briefly makes eye contact with her as the other Warlock takes their leave. She raises her brows in silent askance. Eris nods subtly. I am alright.

“Are you ready?” Ikora asks. Most people have found their seats. The ambient chatter has become louder. As this is a full Consensus debriefing, the hall is much fuller than usual, twisting with life.

Eris gives a single huff of dry amusement. “Enough to do what I must.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be right there to back you up.”

Eris tilts her head. A sudden stroke of clarity strikes her, revealed like a glimpse of the world by lightning. “You always are, aren’t you?”

Turning a look on her that Eris cannot decipher, Ikora watches her closely. “I would like to be,” she says in soft reply.

Interesting.

Eris thinks of that strange sense of loss when Ikora stepped away just moments ago. The sensation feels familiar in the way of a memory. Eris follows the feeling as if finding a path in the dark, until she places it: the day she departed the City three years ago, when Ikora pulled away wounded by her leaving. That sounding gong of the break between them shook even Eris’ steel resolve. Like the faintest echo of that painful parting, this smaller pang resonates in kind.

Perhaps it makes sense. Ikora is one of the few people she trusts, not least of all because she is always willing to respect Eris’ necessary distance. But now, Eris is finding that distance less and less necessary - at least with her. Perhaps that feeling of safety in her presence is now less due to the knowledge that her boundaries will be respected, and more to the way her nearness has come to bring Eris a unique kind of comfort.

Eris shakes her head to clear it. Right now she has work to do. “Later,” she says, rather more firmly than she intended. She repeats it softer. “Later. We will speak later.”

Ikora flashes one of those genuine smiles that, now that Eris thinks of it, she has thought about quite a lot. She had forgotten. As they both find their places near the front of the room, she continues to think of it. But this time, she does so with a cautious, close consideration that she never did during their time apart. Eris had assumed that any closeness between them had been lost at their parting, or had faded in the intervening years. But lately, maybe not quite consciously, Eris finds she has been wondering.

There is rather more worth examining here than she had realized. Now, her curiosity about the shape of the space between them has been piqued. Eris already suspects she knows some of the feelings she might unearth from that long-silent span. But she will not try to name any of them quite yet.

[cayde-6]

@pretty-meekish I have done you question thing.

Guardians name: Atlas

Age: 26

Race: Human

Call signs/alias: N/A

Pronouns: He/him

Class: Titan

Preferred subclass(es): Solar

Ghost's name: Drachen

Their Vanguard: Zavala

Fireteam name: Last Words

Fireteam teammates: Faire, Deimos, Ruin-1, Ardyn-2

Favorite legendary weapon: D1: The Devil you know. D2: The Vow

Favorite exotic weapon: D1: Patience and

Time/Gjallarhorn. D2: Ace of Spades/Sweet Business

Favorite exotic armor: D1: Sunbreakers Mark. D2: Armamentarium

Favorite ornament armor set: Virtuous set (Season of Dawn's set)

Favorite weapon ornament: Last Hand/Salute to the Colonel/Big Blind

What stats do they focus on: Resilience and Recovery

Are they offense, defence, or support: All three but mainly offense, he switches around if the situation calls for him to do so.

Do they prefer being close, mid, or long range: Close so he can punch things and set them on fire.

Do they lean more "Element of Surprise" or "Upfront and Aggressive": Upfront and Aggressive, he's a Titan.

Strikes, Gambit, or Crucible: Strikes although if Mayhem is in then he's heading for that.

Who was their mentor(if they had one. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): A solar Titan named Chad Lucky

What ship do they have: Saint's Invocation with Reflection Effects for the transmats effect. Shader is Lighthouse Sun.

What is their Sparrow: Atlas Runner

Favorite Ghost shell: Tie between Kill Tracker Ghost, Kitbash Shell, and Atlas Shell.

(Although I do own the irl Kill Tracker Ghost so he leans towards this one, but Kitbash's description is a mood.)

Favorite shader: Sulfur Burnish (it's from D1 and I am too lazy to Google it)

Favorite color: Colors of fire

Favorite food: Apples

Favorite piece of Pre-Collapse tech(if they've seen any): N/A

Favorite Pre-Collapse music(if they've heard any): Rasputin by Bobby Farrell and this is only because he likes to blast it to annoy everyone or he knows others will start singing it.

Favorite place in The Last City(if it's a place you created, give a little description!): Shaxx's area

Favorite NPC(s): Shaxx, Zavala, Ikora, Cayde-6, Saint-14, Osiris, Banshee-44, Amanda, Lord Saladin, Lady Efrideet, Failsafe, Asher, Eva, Tyra, Arcite, KADI 55-30.

Favorite patrol location: Nessus

5 things your Guardian likes(can be anything): Sleep, his husband Shaxx, his friends, his Ghost, his Sparrow, when someone finally calls him a veteran. (I missed the transfer date by 3 months and I still am angry that I missed it.

Least favorite food: Rhubarb (My dad and his dad hate it so decided to give him it)

Least favorite shader: Anything related to his enemies and the Reef/Dreaming City, EX Reefmade.

Least favorite patrol location: Europa

Least favorite Pre-Collapse tech(if they've seen any): N/A

Least favorite NPC(s): The Sovs, The Brays, Executor Hideo, Brother Vance, The cult of Osiris, Variks.

Least favorite weapon ornament: All In, this is because it makes the Ace look like a completely new gun.

Least favorite ornament armor set: Legatus, Valkyrian, Hardy's.

Least favorite legendary weapon: (I really haven't thought of it.)

Least favorite exotic weapon: Any of them that people use to be dicks in Crucible like Jöttun because that means he only gets kills if he uses those guns.

Least favorite exotic armor: Ashen Wake

5 things your Guardian dislikes(this can be anything): The Sovs, The Brays, Executor Hideo, being awake, anyone being rude to his loved ones. (Looking at you Drifter)

Your Guardian has to rest. What is their living space like: Clean and tidy as they live with Shaxx.

Does your Guardian have any casual wear?(Y'all remember Polyvore? The website URSTYLE works very similar if that helps!): A T-shirt and black pants along with basketball shoes. [Literally what I wear]

What hobbies and/or skills does you Guardian have: Sewing, crocheting, knitting, reading.

What would your Guardian's lore book be called: Atlas's Wild Ride

Where was your Guardian reborn?(If you created the location, give us a little description!): Old America

What were they wearing when they were reborn: Gold and red shirt, black pants and basketball shoes.

What was their reaction to being reborn: Complete confusion

What was their reaction to their first rez: "What the absolute fuck!"

After being reborn, did they meet friendlies first or hostiles: Friendlies

Who was the first other Guardian they met?(Same thing! If you made them, give a little description!): Fireteam Hide and Reap. They're mine but I don't really feel like going into detail with all 6 members.

Did your Guardian get reborn with, or find, any indication of their past life? If so what do they have/found: He only knows that he entered a death trap so others could escape the Fallen.

How did your Guardian get their name(if they didn't rez with past life momentos): Since he was holding up a gate in the death trap his Ghost decided to give him the name Atlas due to how similar he looked to the pictures of the ancient Greek Titan.

Going back to your Guardian's lore book, what would be some quotes or passages from their book: "I punched an echo of Oryx to death!"

Does your Guardian have a significant other: Warlord Shaxx

Did your Guardian go explore first before going to The Last City? If so, where to: No

What was their reaction to first seeing The Last City: "That's huge!"

Is your Guardian a part of a clan: No but I am part of one.

Does your Guardian's clan have a back story? If so, what is it?(if you want to or able to share): N/A

If your Guardian would have a quote as a flavor text for a weapon and/or piece of armor, what would they be: "Hang in there my fellow Guardian."

If your Guardian has had any interactions with any civilians (The Last City/The Farm), Eliksni, Cabal, Vex, Hive, Taken, Scorn, Rouge Lightbearers, or Iron Lords/War Lords(if your Guardian is an Old Light) tell us about it!: I honestly don't feel like doing this one.

Does your Guardian have any unconventional allies or connections(By Vanguard standards): Drifter and Spider, he hates both but understands he needs them to do things.

How does your Guardian feel about themselves or others using Stasis: "I was unwillingly brought back from the dead so I'll use whatever power I please."

Did they run The Last Wish raid? How did they react to seeing a live Ahamkara a.k.a Riven: N/A

Did they run The Deep Stone Crypt raid? How did they react to the Crypt and seeing Exo Eliskni: N/A

Is your Guardian from D1? How did they react to seeing Taniks alive once again: "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO HIT HIM WITH MY HAMMER, JUST STAY FUCKING DEAD!"

Where did they go and what did they do during The Red War: He went to the Farm and made or fixed clothes as well as class items.

Here are some characters that are either polarizing or have created a strong enough mass emotion within the community. What opinion does your Guardian hold on each of them(These are only a handful of characters!)>>>

Osiris, First Warlock Vanguard, originally exiled: Bird grandpa 1.0 needs to go see his husband Bird grandpa 2.0 for love.

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm: Who doesn't love Creepy space mom!

Cayde-6, Sixth Hunter Vanguard: SPACE VODKA MOM I MISS YOU!

Ikora Rey, Second Warlock Vanguard: Space mom is very deadly, she needs sleep and relaxation

Commander Zavala, Second Titan Vanguard: Space dad is deadly too, he also needs sleep and relaxation.

Saint-14, legendary Titan, First Titan Vanguard: Bird grandpa 2.0 please go hug Bird grandpa 1.0!

Lord Saladin, Iron Banner handler, One of the last remaining Iron Lords: Wolf Grandpa!

Lady Efrideet, part time Iron Banner handler, Guardian hippie, One of the last remaining Iron Lords: Wolf Grandma will throw Titans at you if she's angry!

Lord Shaxx, Crucible handler, Hero of Twilight Gap, living megaphone: MY HUSBAND!

The Crow, New Light, Ex-Enforcer to The Spider: This is my begrudgingly adopted son who I co-parent with Faire.

Shaw Han, random Hunter vendor for the Cosmodrome: This is my dumb son I adopted.

The Spider, The Shore's Only Law, founder of "House" Spider: "Fuck off or I'll kill you with fire!"

Uldren Sov, Prince of the Reef, Master of Crows: Fucky, Fucky, Fucky you!

Mara Sov, Queen of the Reef, Queen of the Awoken, Ex-Kell of Wolves: Fucky, Fucky, fucky you. Also SHAXX IS MINE NOW SO FUCK OFF, I'M A GOD SLAYER AND I FUCKING PUNCHED ORYX TO DEATH!

Variks, the Loyal, founder of House Judgement: "I didn't trust you in the Reef but now I hate you for the Prison riot and not just because Cayde died, the Scorn are unholy creatures that shouldn't have been able to be created."

Mithrax, the Forsaken, Kell of Light, founder of House Light: "You try anything and I WILL END YOU!"

The Exo Stranger/Elizabeth "Elsie" Bray, Granddaughter of Clovis I and Sister to Ana Bray: "Ew a Bray."

Eramis, of House Salvation, Kell of Darkness: "YOU BETTER STAY FUCKING FROZEN!"

Taniks the Scarred, the Perfected, the Abomination, the Shadow Thief: "WHY DON'T YOU STAY DEAD!"

The Darkness is fast approaching. How is your Guardian handling it: "Well shit."

And finally, does your Guardian have any advice for any New Lights:

"Hang in there and don't do anything that will make my unstable ass come after you because YOU WILL DIE. Also for the love of the Light RESPECT THE ELDER GUARDIANS LIKE ZAVALA OR IKORA!"