#destinyfic

Destiny series --- AO3 collection (reworked) | FF.net (originals - warning, first few are very teenager! Reworks to make them less painful are on AO3)

“We have our own version of this game,” Tau says, eyes glittering from behind his projected screen.

Virlask hunkers down to avoid eye contact, but he catches sight of Tau’s sharp grin anyway. He taps his own screen, selecting his counters and watching them appear on the 3-dimensional board between them. “Strip poker, I’m aware.” He pauses. “And you must be mistaken. It’s not the same at all.”

Tau laughs, an easy sound for someone who is already half naked from the waist up. He leans forward, propping his arm on one knee to hold his chin. Several of his pieces on the board disappear and Virlask’s score ticks upwards by a slight margin. An orange light flashes on Tau’s side.

“Same betting principle,” Tau argues, though his tone mild. He starts unzipping his pants.

A part of Virlask wants to argue that point too, but once Tau stands up to shuck his pants the rest of the way off, Virlask knows it’s not worth the time. There isn’t any fussiness to it either, no teasing moves to prolong it — though for certain Virlask knows Tau is having his fun — just an efficient strip until Tau is only in his short innerwear and mark.

“You could transmat that to my side,” Virlask suggests, finally peering over, and gets a face full of human pants thrown his way. He tugs it off one horn, folding it neatly before setting aside with the rest of Tau’s clothes and armor.

Meanwhile, Tau sits back down on the floor, going back into the same position he had been in, one arm propped over his knee. Without his pants, the pose looks even more self-satisfied, which should not be the case for someone who is losing so badly.

Virlask himself is only missing his secondary talon armor. The rest of his losses are in the form of weapons and food. Players don’t normally put down the literal clothes off their back. Ether rations, breather parts, chores — sensible things to bet away. And Tau is a clever enough player, picking up the rules and basic strategies after a few practice games. It’s only after he’s gotten a good grasp that he’s now manipulating the betting pool, and it’s abundantly clear to Virlask they’re playing a different kind of game now.

So much for cultural exchange. Virlask isn’t sure if Tau is bored or in need of a better challenge.

Tau starts shuffling his game pieces around, brow furrowing. Virlask guesses that it does take some thought to lose on purpose after all. He watches Tau this time, liking the concentrated expression. It doesn't last too long, unfortunately, and Tau is back to smiling.

Virlask eases up, struck by a sudden thought. He keys in a few commands using his secondary hands.

“I thought you were giving me a handicap,” Tau comments, reading the board once more. He types a response, a little slower with his two hands.

“I’m only adding to the betting pool.”

Tau pauses over the new take, frowning when his limited vocabulary can only get him so far. He reads the word aloud, pronunciation passable, and Virlask bares his teeth.

“Servitude,” Virlask clarifies in Human Universal. “I’m betting my will to you, for a day.”

Tau’s head lifts, just by a fraction.

“It’s usually done when some idiot has already lost all their ether,” Virlask continues, leaning back. One of his secondaries furrows into Tau’s folded shirt. “But ether isn’t much of a prize for you. I feel like this is more adequate.”

“I remember this last time you offered me servitude. It wasn’t under the best pretense,” Tau says, cautiously, and Virlask would’ve liked to reach over with all four arms to kiss him for it.

“Trust me. I’m much more willing right now,” Virlask says with a rumble in his chest.

“Well, same here,” Tau replies, his stare full of intent.

Virlask lets out a hissing laugh, watching as Tau starts making the moves to win back his clothes. “If you win.”

Destiny series --- AO3 collection (reworked) | FF.net (originals - warning, first few are very teenager! Reworks to make them less painful are on AO3)

The interior of the ketch looked much better after the carnage had been cleaned and the stores rearranged. As Tau understood it, the ship was significantly smaller than most ketches but Virlask seemed to prefer it. A larger ship would mean needing more crew, and their take-over hadn’t been exactly bloodless—just the opposite—which lead to an even smaller group of wary Eliksni.

Changes in leadership weren’t so uncommon. Eliksni society was in the practice of usurping their captains or barons through either politics or violence. Tau would know. He pretty much shoved Virlask into the lofty baron spotlight, even if technically it was a mutual plan they agreed on. It was only until they had stormed the ketch that Virlask admitted he wasn’t prepared for how fast Tau would push things along with extreme force.

But now that things have nearly settled, Tau took the time to walk around the ship. In the aftermath of the battle, Virlask had holed him up in some private room while the stolen crew sorted themselves out and got used to his command.

“It’s bad having you always stalking behind me,” Virlask had said, exasperated. “If they end up fearing you more than seeing me as the baron, it will cause problems. Go back to the City for a few days.”

Tau frowned. Virlask had a point.

So, a few days later, Tau was back on Zeliks-Syn. He was met with the same nervous skittering from the dregs, shanks scattering to the wind, and the cautious stares of the braver captains. Feeling a little bad, he transmatted onboard with his armor off, choosing to wear plain clothes and minimal weaponry—one gun and a knife at his hip. He was going to be a frequent presence on the ship. Might as well get them used to it.

After couple of steps down the mainway and seeing how the dregs still gave him a wide berth, Tau learned that exposing his face only alarmed them even further. He sighed, chagrined, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Why are you always scaring my people,” Virlask asked glumly when he appeared through the back entryway.

They spoke Eliksni for the benefit of the crew and to keep things friendly. Tau suspected even that got them on edge, knowing he could speak and understand the language without any translating device or Theta to help.

“Hey, not my fault… okay. A lot my fault,” Tau admitted. He fell into step with Virlask, letting him take a slight lead. Encourage that baron rank for the sake of appearances. It wasn’t all that hard, considering the length of Virlask’s strides. Still, it was a change from normally taking point while Virlask fell back behind him. “Shouldn’t you start parading me around more?”

Virlask looked down at him, eyes narrowing. “As a prize?”

Tau stared back, one corner of his mouth hitching up. “As a show of alliance.”

“Hm,” was all Virlask said and continued on his way. His respirator gave a small huff and he adjusted one of the canisters. A wisp of ether blew out from his mask. “Maybe.”

Tau gave a short laugh, taking four quick steps to catch up. Damn—Virlask was walking fast, even if the newly minted baron was making a conscious effort to not force Tau into a light jog. He craned his neck up, a little thrown off by how far he had to angle his gaze. Something was off. “I can be diplomatic.”

Virlask snorted. “I recall. You threw the Prime Servitor out the ketch when it refused to land.”

“Well, I didn’t kill it. We’re buds now.”

“Zeliks-Prime formally requested for you to not be in the same room as it, ever. I want to make amends with the ketch’s main servitor so I’m asking you to leave it alone for now.”

Oh.

“A happy pilot is a safe pilot,” Tau said, switching back to human universal for the moment. He waited for Virlask to key the code into the next hallway. “Good idea.”

The doors hissed open. Tau walked through, momentarily forgetting he was supposed to let Virlask go first. He turned around, watching with a puzzled frown as Virlask had to duck to clear the doorway, something he never had to do before.

Tau glanced at Virlask’s ether canisters. They were new, which wasn’t so strange but it made Tau suspicious. When Virlask started to walk past him, Tau grabbed him by the elbow—secondary, as that always got Virlask’s attention quicker. Sure enough, Virlask halted, but didn’t move his arm out of the way.

“Did you get bigger?” Tau asked, looking up. More up than usual.

Surprisingly, Virlask looked annoyed by it. He started to lead Tau into one of the smaller rooms for a semi-private conversation, which meant Tau had possibly screwed up an Eliksni social cue. “Yes. I’ve increased my ether ration for now.”

Tau peered around, not bothering to be discreet about it. Virlask’s cloak made it difficult for a full comparison anyway. “I thought you wanted to keep your rations the same.”

Virlask turned around with him, as if he suspected Tau would just lift up his cloak to really check. Not that Tau would do that, not in public at any rate. “I do. But I will be meeting with other barons soon. I wish to talk to them about allegiances, and they are—” he said something incomprehensible to Tau and then repeated, ”—‘Old fashioned’, in your language. If I am only as big as a captain, they won’t take me seriously.” Virlask huffed. “So I must consume more ether, just enough to be respectful in their eyes.”

Tau pressed his lips together. He tried not to look down at Virlask’s thighs but it was bad enough his eyes naturally came up to Virlask’s midsection now. He could see it; Virlask did get… bulkier.

His unabashed staring didn’t go unnoticed. Virlask loomed over him, trying to look stern but Tau had never been in the habit of backing down from anything, and he wasn’t going to start now. He did, however, allow the indignity of Virlask crouching to meet him at eye-to-eye level.

“The logistics of our... current arrangements are challenging enough,” Virlask said, voice dropping low to avoid anyone overhearing, but he sounded amused.

And when Virlask was amused, he tended to growl. Tau’s self-control died a quick death and all the light in the universe wouldn’t have been able to resurrect it back.

“I am determined to make them work,” Tau said, pointed, and braced his palms over Virlask’s thighs.

He was happy to find that Virlask had miscalculated badly when he chose to lower himself within easy reach. Tau leaned in and bit the opened part of Virlask’s jaw, teeth scraping against the hard exoskeleton. It was the kind of kiss he knew Virlask would feel, and when his cheek bumped against the respirator, he felt the cold ether of Virlask’s sharp exhale against his skin. Tau grinned.

All four of Virlask’s hands were on him, two gripping his shoulders and two at his waist. Virlask didn’t try to move him away.

“How come with you it’s the opposite—the larger I get the less respect you show,” Virlask said dryly.

“I respect you plenty,” Tau said, enjoying the way Virlask’s claws were furrowing into him. It wasn’t enough to break skin, but the light scratches felt nice without the armor for once. He rubbed his palms over Virlask’s thighs and was rewarded with a deep, throaty rumble.

“You only want me for my ether and my ketch and my skiffs.”

“And your huge Prime Servitor.”

Virlask’s laugh was loud and echoing. A baron’s laugh. It suited him. “Joke. Please don’t seduce Zeliks Prime away. We need it to fly the ketch.”

With that, Virlask picked Tau up, setting him to the side, and straightened back to his full height. Tau glanced away, a little put out, and missed the moment Virlask decided to guide his chin with the points of his claws, turning Tau’s head gently, and press their foreheads together.

The casual sweetness of the gesture took Tau off guard, leaving him standing still and well-behaved for the moment, long enough for Virlask to continue talking.

“I want to take you with me to the mercenary barons,” he said, dropping his hands from Tau’s face. He tugged at Tau’s sleeve, signaling for him to follow. “Not to fight them, obviously, but ‘parade you around’, as you want to call it. Show you off like the horrific Great Machine-Thief you are.”

“Like a prize,” Tau said with a grin, walking back into the hall.

“As a show of alliance,” Virlask corrected. “My alliance.”

Tau hummed, thoughtful. “I knew you’d take to this baron thing well.”

“You have bias,” Virlask said, gaze fixed ahead. “When the meeting with the barons is over, I will go back to my normal ether rations. It’ll be better for crew morale and—” He paused, catching Tau’s expression. “You joke again.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t seen what’s under your cloak yet.”

Virlask fussed around with the canisters again, decreasing the flow of ether. The growing pains must be brutal. “You are very determined to find out, and you’re going to be disappointed that it is mostly the same.”

Tau raised an eyebrow. Disappointment was not a trait he associated Virlask with. He figured the sudden caginess was because Virlask was feeling self-conscious and just a little stressed, given the current situation. Virlask hadn’t wanted to increase his ether intake for a variety of reasons, the main one being the ketch’s limited number of servitors.

But, maybe Virlask was still being truthful about the logistics of arrangements. He wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise, even if he was teasing.

Tau gave him a considering look, and then stepped into the shadow of Virlask’s stooping figure. The dark cloak was like a curtain, keeping Tau mostly hidden, and it would be hard to tell what exactly he was doing—which was pressing his face against Virlask’s lower abdomen and guiding Virlask’s hand to settle on top of his head.

Tau didn’t have to kneel or stand on his toes, only bend his head a little to let his voice vibrate against Virlask’s abdominal plates.

“Disappointed?” he said, low, and felt the claws over his head dig into his scalp. He smiled when Virlask gave a full bodied twitch. “I really doubt it.”

By the time Tau stepped away, Virlask was staring him down, blue eyes glittering sharp. His hand was still gripping Tau’s hair so Tau took the liberty of tipping his head back. Virlask didn’t offer much resistance, letting him nip at the palm and corded wraps. When Tau’s tongue darted out, licking the cold skin, Virlask finally drew his hand back.

“Later, then,” Virlask said, sounding mortified. He skittered past Tau, tweaking the ether canister. Increased the flow, just a little bit.

Tau grinned, allowing Virlask to escape for now.

The guardian comms have been buzzing more than usual and Tau finds himself in the middle of relaying Cabal reports and patrol locations to inquiring fireteams hanging around the Cosmodrome. It’s busy work, but not one he minds at the moment. The Vanguard has been lenient with him lately, almost comically so, and Tau is pretty sure his current whereabouts are filed under ‘Rewards Outweigh Risks’ or ‘We Don’t Have Time To Lecture You About Fraternizing With the Enemy’. A thousand willful guardians is hard to keep track of on any day of the week but at least he still reports back every now and then. There’s no shortage of things to say; the bulk of his reports are made of Red Legion sightings, recent Eliksni politics, and the few Taken Blights he’s come across and subsequently avoided.

Occasionally visiting a small ketch under a bannerless baron is barely a footnote and, all in all, not worth mentioning. The Vanguard never asks just how he knows these things. They probably don’t want to know. Still, Tau is pretty sure he’s landed some kind of Eliksni Specialist position under Cayde’s roster. Ah, well. It’s a minor stress, but nothing too worrying.

Not like he’s going to stop until they officially tell him to. And even then, maybe not.

Tau stops his idle pacing and glances up from his datapad. Virlask’s room onboard the ketch is almost becoming familiar. Not home like the City, or home like his ship, but it’s close enough. Sometimes Virlask will shuffle around the three main pieces of furniture—table, chair, ether tank—or get rid of a wall decoration that had belonged to the previous baron, but over the past few weeks the room mostly remains the same. Minimal but practical.

It seems like Virlask only ever uses it for three things—sleeping, fucking, and keeping Tau hidden so the rest of the crew isn’t pissing out their ether whenever he walks by. By all accounts, it should be Tau’s room with how much time he spends using it as a pseudo-office.

He thinks about unlatching the folding bed from the wall to lay down with the reports, but a muted string of beeping stops him mid-step. A wave of cooler air washes through the room, the smell of sharp pine needles announcing Virlask before he comes around the partition with a dusting of snow at his shoulders and swirling mist at his breath. It’s warmer inside the ketch than outside, but not by much.

Tau is a second away from letting Theta transmat the datapad away, but he’s really got nothing to hide. The datapad stays in his hand. He turns. “How was the hunt?”

Virlask snorts, shaking out stray flakes of snow from his cape. “It was better avoiding the Cabal forces this time around. They were not holding any prisoners, but I will forward you their route.”

“I think you make your captains nervous going on patrols with them,” Tau says, just as his datapad confirms Virlask’s report. He quickly sends it over to a nearby fireteam. They’ll probably be happy with that bit of information.

Virlask makes a dismissive noise, busy with removing his light patrol armor. Along with keeping his usual captain’s ether allotment, he’s mostly ignored wearing a baron’s usual adornments, which involves a lot of tall spikes and bigger horns and much more armor. Tau can’t find it in him to be critical. Virlask just seems happy to be around other Eliksni again, grunt work included.

The datapad finally stops flashing its stream of notifications. Theta transmats it from Tau without appearing, giving a gentle pulse in his mind to warn him. With the datapad gone, Tau rubs his palms together, fingers tingling, and looks up just in time to see Virlask’s scrutinizing four-eyed gaze on him.

“Are you cold?” Virlask asks.

Tau pauses, his small exhale sending a visible wisp into the frigid air.

The truth is, in a word—yes. But dealing with Eliksni has always been on the cold side with their tough exoskeletons. It’s not exactly news to Tau. Having the ketch parked in the Cosmodrome in the middle of winter seems to reinforce the idea that Eliksni don’t have to expend much energy on central heating. Hell, he’s even seen them fight in snowstorm conditions with just their usual armor and bare claws.

“Eh. It’s a little cold for me,” Tau admits. Without his own armor, he can sometimes get by with a couple of extra layers while inside the ketch. In the privacy of Virlask’s quarters, he’s got only one inner thermal wear beneath his usual clothes, just to be comfortable. Much to his chagrin, having Virlask mention the freezing temperature is making Tau acutely aware of it. Too bad he doesn’t have an ounce of solar talent in him, and he’d rather not set Virlask’s new ketch on fire. “Don’t worry about it. I usually res if I get sick or—”

Tau stops talking. He stops talking because Virlask reaches over with his huge clawed secondary hand, placing it on the right side of Tau’s chest, and applies enough pressure that it really can’t be called anything else but groping.

Tau opens his mouth, but words just seem beyond him for the moment.

Virlask squeezes again, and just when Tau thinks he should have let go by now, the smooth part of Virlask’s claw rubs over Tau’s nipple through his shirt. It’s very deliberate. And also perfunctory enough that Tau assumes Virlask is not actually feeling frisky. But, still.

His stunned silence must have clued Virlask in. The rubbing and squeezing over his chest stops. Virlask withdraws his secondary hand, quick, and grimaces.

“Ah,” says Virlask, sounding both wry and embarrassed. “I believe I just did an inappropriate thing.”

Tau massages his other pec—not as thoroughly or precise as Virlask, but just for the sake of balance. Shit. Was his thermal suit really that thin? Both layers? He clears his throat. In a way, Virlask’s attention to human physiology is sweet, and he’s learned quite a bit already— stuff like runny noses (endearingly gross), goosebumps (no opinion), shivering (cute), raised hairs (alarming), and now another interesting human cold response to add to the list.

“Well, maybe don’t do it in public,” Tau eventually says, crossing his arms over his chest. Fuck. It is cold, now that he doesn’t have Virlask’s hands on him. “Or ask first. In private.”

Virlask’s secondaries fold behind him. Despite the situation, Tau finds it charming, knowing that Virlask only does it to stop fidgeting his claws when he’s feeling self-conscious. “Sorry. I thought it would be like petting your back, or rubbing your thighs.”

“Rubbing my th-” Tau starts, slipping into human universal. He shakes his head. Probably a platonic Eliksni habit. He laughs, stepping closer. No harm, no foul, and he’s glad there’s going to be one less Eliksni accidentally groping other guardians around. He’ll save the bit about thighs for another time. “Never mind. It’s fine. Took me by surprise, is all. And just so we’re clear—that kind of grabbing usually has sexual connotations.” Tau smiles, wry, and raps his knuckles over Virlask’s chest plates. It’s hard not to feel fond. “If it’s between us, I don’t mind.”

Virlask peers down at him. At least two of his eyes are looking a little further down where Tau has crossed his arms. Tau guesses he should be lucky Virlask’s other two are where they’re supposed to be. Now that he thinks about it, it really does explain Virlask’s grabby foreplay habits. Or maybe that’s just the natural consequence of having four hands.

“Oh, good,” Virlask says, secondary arms dropping back to his sides in relief. “Because I was also curious. There never seems to be a right time to ask before.”

Tau looks up at him, mouth twitching into a smile. He uncrosses his arms, both sardonic and inviting. “Anything you want to ask about now?”

Virlask tilts his head to one side, considering. He takes a step closer. “May I try something?”

“Go for it. You want my shirt off or—”

All four of Virlask’s arms reel him in before he can finish speaking. At first, Tau thinks Virlask is planning to do some extensive fondling for educational purposes, but he’s really only being pressed to Virlask’s midsection. A clawed hand comes behind Tau’s head, guiding it to rest over his chest plates.

As far as hugs go, it’s nice. Tau makes an inquiring noise, but a loud rumbling in his ear stops him. He’s heard Virlask purr before, usually after sex when Virlask is exhausted and pleased and curling over Tau. Incredibly adorable in all circumstances, but this time around the purring takes on a higher pitch, more buzzing in quality. The vibrations shake through Tau’s body, rattling just about every part of him.

It’s warm though. Tau presses closer, still a little cautious, but Virlask lets go of him for a moment to shift the rest of his cape around him, and his intentions become clear.

“Still cold?”

It’s like leaning into a pile of friendly bees. Tau decides to keep that thought to himself. No more runny nose, goosebumps, or raised hairs now. One of Virlask’s cold hands sneaks under his thermal to cup his left pectoral so the perky nipple problem hasn’t been allowed to resolve yet.

Oh well. Tau lets him have it.

Lukaia says, “You know you aren’t the first fallenfucker to try and sneak their bugtoy into the City, right? Especially during the festival. You think I’m an idiot?”

Her voice echoes through the City’s underground tunnels. Rael winces. Virlask is torn between trying to look demure and trying to restrain himself from drawing himself up. He doesn’t think Lukaia would respond well to either action anyway. The hunter herself is sitting on top of an concrete ledge, looking down at them with a haughty air. To add insult to injury, she wears a parody of an Eliksni helmet made of paper.

Virlask knows about the strange traditions of the Festival of the Lost. He thinks the paper masks are comical, but the way Lukaia wears it seems too intentional to be anything but mocking. Virlask takes a step forward. Not enough to cross any line, but to make it a point that he isn’t intimidated. And aside from the wince, Rael’s body language suggests he’s not insulted either so Virlask stays quiet. They are at the watchguard’s mercy, even if Tau had vouched for Lukaia’s character.

“Easily done in by shards, exotics, and sometimes a good fuck. But it has to be really good,” Tau says before sending Virlask off with Rael.

Lukaia hasn’t looked too carefully at Virlask. She seems more interested in giving her fellow hunter a hard time.

“He isn’t mine,” Rael says, mild. He reaches over to grab one of the horns on Virlask’s helmet, giving it a fond pull, as if to say, see? Harmless. “This is Tau’s bedbug. I’m doing him a favor.”

Virlask’s eyes narrow, head bumping against Rael’s hand. It’s humiliating, but he knows he has to play docile. There isn’t any other way into the City. At Tau’s request, Rael had agreed to take Virlask through one of the many secret hunter entrances. Per hunter code, Tau hadn’t been invited, and of course even secret tunnels need guarding.

“Tau?” Lukaia repeats. Her ridiculous Eliksni mask finally turns to Virlask, looking him up and down. She notices the design of his helmet, giving his rank away. “Little Captain,” she comments in crude Eliksni, though her voice is sweet. “Doesn’t seem like Tau’s type.”

Virlask growls. He had stopped his ether intake a few days ago to better mimic a human’s height. He is a little bigger than a vandal now, but he has been a vandal long ago so he is used to having a smaller body. “Little hunter should just get to the point. What do you want in return?”

Lukaia makes a noise, most of her bluster shot through. Virlask is familiar with her type; bored, vapid, and hungry for entertainment. He wonders what bet she lost to be put on guard duty during a week of celebration. Human, Awoken, or Eliksni — mostly all the same, when it came to opportunistic troublemakers.

“Shards,” she says, her ghost appearing at her shoulder.

Rael’s own ghost transmats a telemetry in his hand and a bright yellow engram. He tosses them up to her. “And a bonus from Tau. He says hi.”

Lukaia’s ghost collects the items before its hunter needs to catch them. Virlask can already assume Lukaia isn’t done with them yet. Tau’s additional gift had been a very optimistic gamble.

Lukaia jumps down to meet them, somersaulting as she lands. Virlask sees Rael tap his foot, unimpressed.

“That’s enough to get you through, Rael,” Lukaia says, peering up at Virlask. Her bright green eyes glow through the paper mask.

Virlask stares back. The skin of Lukaia’s exposed jawline shimmers blue. So she is an Awoken like Rael. It explains her dramatics.

Rael sighs. “I shouldn’t need to pay any toll. I knew about this tunnel years ago.”

“My watch, my rules,” Lukaia says, cheerful. She pokes Virlask’s forehead, right between his eyes. “I like your helmet. I want it.”

Virlask doesn’t budge, but he’s had enough of being played with. He picks her up, grips around her torso gentle but firm, and lets her feet dangle off the ground. “No.”

There’s a knife at his throat now. Virlask doesn’t know how Lukaia does it so fast, but he isn’t surprised. The real surprise is Rael’s knife clashing against hers to stop it from touching him.

“Kaia,” Rael warns, a starry streak of purple light glimmering along his blade’s edge. “This one’s nice.”

Lukaia’s head tilts, paper mask going askew. She scoffs, the tip of her boot connecting lightly with Virlask’s shins. “Fine. We’ll trade,” she says, withdrawing her knife and resting her arms over Virlask. The position can’t be comfortable, but she looks relaxed enough. “Your helmet for my mask.”

Virlask lowers her back to the ground. He doesn’t want to give away his helmet but he’d rather not deal with her even more. “Agreed.”

Rael huffs, stepping aside. Virlask wouldn’t call him nervous, but he’s learned Rael to be a cautious guardian. A true rarity. He pulls off his helmet, mandibles clicking in agitation.

Lukaia takes off her mask and they make the exchange. Virlask expects there to be another trick or play, but Lukaia seems to have grown bored of teasing him. Her face has a smattering of spots across her cheeks and nose, and her hair is dark red-violet in the dim light. Tau had called her pretty in a very resigned tone. But then again, Tau has a very human-centric idea of beauty.

The paper mache mask is fragile in his claws. Virlask growls, sneering at the poor design. Judging from the shape of the horns, it’s supposed to be a captain’s helmet. He puts it on, the elastic tie a surprisingly nice fit around his skull. It’s light and flimsy. He’ll need to be careful that it stays on.

“Aw,” Lukaia says, full of condescending approval. She puts on Virlask’s helmet without hesitation. “Now you’re ready for the festival.”

Her eyes do not match up with the holes of the helmet. Ridiculous. Virlask grunts, suspicious to find that he can see fine through the slits of the paper mask. He says, reluctant, “Thank you.”

“Only because it’s Tau. I’m weak to big, strong handsome men,” Lukaia laments, hand over her chest.

“You think he’s handsome?” Virlask mutters, disbelieving. “And big?” From behind, he hears Rael wheeze.

“Oh, so you are funny,” Lukaia says. She laughs. “Okay, okay. One more thing and I’ll let you two go, I swear. Let me see your hand.”

Virlask makes a point to not look back at Rael, but a part of him thinks he should have. He reaches out and stop when Lukaia shakes her head.

“Secondary, Little Captain,” she says, muffled from the heavy helmet.

Another test or another tease. Impatient, Virlask puts his left secondary hand out.

There’s a spark of arc light, piercing pain around his middle claw, and Lukaia’s deft fingers ghosting over his palm. She raises her hands before he could snatch his own arm back. When Virlask looks down, there is a gray brand around his middle claw at the skin.

“What is this?” he snaps in Eliksni. He turns to Rael, some part of him knowing the hunter could have stopped it, and it was worrying that Rael hadn’t. The band still throbs, though the initial burst of pain is gone.

“Tracker,” says Lukaia, jumping back to her high ledge. “You think I’m just going to let a Fallen captain through after a couple of shards and a shiny new helmet? The Vanguard will have my head if they found out.”

Virlask can’t find it in himself to disagree. He’s had passing thoughts about how much damage one Eliksni could do in the City, all of them theoretical. It still baffles him Tau thought it a good idea to invite him during a holiday of mourning, however celebratory it is.

“If you go anywhere you’re not supposed to go or try to take that band off, I promise there’ll be a bunch of hunters on your ass before you can blink,” Lukaia continues. “And who knows. Maybe then you’ll see just how serious Tau can be about our city.”

Virlask flexes his injured hand. The band around his claw doesn’t glow, but there a thin purple line running at the bottom. He looks to Rael, unsurprised to see the other hunter unsympathetic.

“I have no intention of harming anyone in your City. I’m only…” Virlask pauses. “I’m only here to see the festival with a friend.”

Rael chuckles, and Lukaia laughs.

“You can say you’re here for a date,” she says, shrugging. “Honestly, you might run into some of your people out there. They might be wearing masks like you, or not. So don’t get surprised. Heard we’ve got some psions in the crowd, too.” Her green eyes flicker. “Alright. Get out of here. You’ll be late for the candy toss.”

Virlask doesn’t know what to say to that. It is only when Rael nudges him along that he starts walking forward, past Lukaia’s watchful gaze. For all her taunting and careless behavior, she does seem to take her guard duties seriously. At other people’s expense.

He picks one claw beneath the tracker band, not liking the prickling itch. The band doesn’t budge. Virlask’s jaw clenches, and he tries to give the ring a little twist around his claw without taking it off. With an angry start, he realizes the band can’t be taken off, whether he wants it or not. It’s been melded into his skin, and Virlask doesn’t like the thought of a guardian using their powers to brand him.

“How do I take the tracker off after I leave?” he asks, turning around. He feels Rael’s touch at his elbow, a very light warning to behave.

“Oh. Thought it’d be obvious to you,” Lukaia says from her ledge. She holds up a hand, pressing a knife to the middle joint of her finger. She mimes a flourishing slash through the air. “If you want the tracker gone, cut it off. You guys do it all the time, right?”

Virlask feels his ruff flatten. He growls, but it’s more out of bitterness than at Lukaia. “Not anymore, Little Hunter.”

The light frequency pings loud and clear despite the bare fragments washing up along the shore. Theta doesn’t have to collect all the microscopic dust and particles of the long dead human but a piece of bone turns over in the sand, flashing white and smooth, a pebble eroded by the sea. A quick scan doesn’t tell Theta much, other than that it’s very old, but it’s core spins in am excited circle. It’s heard of other ghosts who find whole bodies—mostly exos shells—or skeletons covered in moss and dirt, but a tiny piece of bone feels momentous.

Theta matches itself with the frequency, pulling and pulling until it gathers enough light to shape it into something living. Something that will be better than forgotten dust and grains of sand.

The air bursts in a bright flash. A human spills out into the waves, stumbling forward with the ocean before digging their hands into the sand to steady themselves as the water retreats. Their shoulders stay rigid for a second—one breath in, one breath out—before they glance up to look around.

Their gaze passes over Theta with a flicker of awareness, more wary of the quiet beach and the dense line of palm trees further inland. Nothing stirs, and after a moment, the human relaxes and turns to Theta, eyes vivid and glittering with curiosity in the morning sun.

“Hello,” says the human, voice a measured baritone but friendly enough. Water trickles down their face from their black hair. They don’t seem to mind, all attention focused on the ghost.

Theta analyzes the human’s body language, wanting to know how to best proceed. Judging from the way the human sits with their legs tucked beneath them, unbidden by the warm waves lapping over their bare feet, they aren’t bothered by much. Calm, clearly a little confused, but patient.

“Hello,” Theta replies with a happy chirp that it can’t suppress. “My name is Theta. You are my guardian, and I am your ghost.” A pause. Theta blurts out, “I’m glad to have finally found you.”

Its guardian smiles, and Theta feels a burst of static in its sensors, seeing that smile. “Nice to meet you. You’ve been looking for me? For a long time?”

“Yes,” Theta says, not sure how the guardian knows—but it’s just like how they simply know the universal language, or how to walk, or later use the weapons they will end up looting from the things they will kill. “You are on earth, very far from The City. I will show you the coordinates when I transmat a helmet on you.”

The guardian nods, satisfied with the short explanation for now, and moves to stand. Theta had risen them in light clothes, old pieces it had scavenged over the years from searching. The shirt is a poor fit, snug around their broad shoulders, and pants dripping from sitting in the water. Theta makes an internal list of small details and measurements to save for later.

It had thought—maybe a hunter, with that flash of curiosity when the guardian first appeared, or a warlock, sharp intelligence threading beneath their private observations. But—a titan, clearly. Theta can sense a wall of calm in the guardian, something that can easily turn into focus and ruthlessness.

It swaps the damp clothes for armor, a sturdy chest plate, reinforced gauntlets, helmet, and finally a piece of heavy cloth draped on one side of the hip.

The guardian isn’t perturbed. They are already blinking commands into the HUD.

“Ah. That’s better,” they say, though they give themselves away by pulling up the armor’s specifications in their screen—mostly turning the scans around. Their lips pull into a critical frown.

Theta is delighted by the vanity more than the white lie of politeness. It wants to know more about its guardian. “We’ll find better armor,” it promises.

The guardian ducks their head, embarrassed at being so obvious, but they straighten hopefully. “Yeah?”

“It’s a long walk to the City, and we’re going to have to find a ship eventually but we’re bound to find something before then.”

The titan isn’t daunted at all. They let out a quiet laugh that sends another joyous burst of static through the feed. A hand cups beneath Theta’s shell, not hesitating to give an acquinting touch that Theta knows will be habit.

“This way,” Theta says, charmed, and taps a reassuring panel against their fingers. It flashes a waypoint in the HUD and fades from its corporeal form.

The titan’s hand still hovers in the air, uncertainty lingering in their posture until Theta pings the waypoint again. They blink, taking a few steps in the right direction. “Theta?”

A new tone of voice. Different. Theta analyzes their guardian. It doesn’t take long to reevaluate the situation. If it could blush, it would. It’s never felt mortified before.

“Guardian,” Theta says, reappearing above the titan’s shoulder. “I’ll be with you, even if you don’t see me.”

A soft sigh from the helmet and one more step forward. This time, more confident. The guardian doesn’t say anything when Theta disappears one more time.

They’ve got a long ways ahead of them, Theta thinks happily, and a lot to learn about each other.

Theta knows the first death is always the most difficult. Its downloaded the psychological research on it, straight from the Tower. Their titan fights the Hive with a desperate amount of determination. The guardian’s biochemistry is oversaturated with adrenaline and acid build-up, strung tight with stress and fear. At first, Theta thinks their guardian is terrified of the Hive, but after observing their furious stare against the eerie glow of alien eyes and teeth, Theta surmises the fear must stem from somewhere else.

The guardian flinches when a knight’s sword cleaves down their arm. Theta attempts to repair the limb and internal shields, but it knows it would be better if their guardian were to die instead.

“Let it cut you in half,” Theta instructs, and it doesn’t mean for its voice to sound emotionless and cold, but it’s been so long that its interacted with any being that hadn’t been another ghost. “You will die, but I will bring you back to life.” Theta’s core whirls, flustered beeping faint. “I’m sorry, it will hurt.”

The guardian stops trying to scramble away from the knight. “I’m already hurting,” they say.

And then the knight’s sword comes down on them. The guardian’s jaw clenches, but there’s still a muffled whimper from within their helmet that only Theta can hear. It takes too long for the guardian’s light to flicker out, so stubborn until the end, but Theta is able to fly away with its guardian’s spark and that’s all that matters.

It never wants to hear its guardian make a noise like that again.

Ironically, there is more wonder in the second time their guardian gets resurrected. The titan reappears with the same burst of light, landing more surely on their feet than the first time.

They lift their rifle. There is a smile in their voice, a bite of viciousness that cuts the air. “So I can’t be killed?”

“You can die many deaths, guardian, but I will resurrect you each time.”

This is not strictly true, but there isn’t time to caution the guardian before they jump back into the fray. Theta knows it will have to clarify the vague specifics where the light will not reach them.

The Hive knight dies, neck broken and crumbling flesh riddled with bullets. The guardian dies as well, triumphant grin splitting their face before his body crumbles. Theta resurrects them.

After that, death is only another tool to use. Theta’s guardian doesn’t hesitate to jump off cliffs to avoid a tedious fight, but more often than not they charge headlong into a battle no mortal can win.

They are brave. But it doesn’t feel quite right to say it aloud. Maybe it isn’t bravery. Theta hesitates to call it foolhardiness.

It almost can’t figure it out until a week later when it finally detects a patrol beacon and the guardian’s heart rate increases, respirations growing short with carefully controlled excitement.

“The beacon is old. It might not work,” Theta warns, but their guardian looks so tense it vows to do anything to get it fixed if it is broken. It opens a channel, transmitting a code to the nearest Vanguard outpost.

It takes five minutes before a cheery reply crackles through the comm.

“Oh-ho, a new one!” the on-call hunter says, “Standby, Titan. Coming around for pick-up. Give me about ten minutes. Over.”

The titan goes still, straightening at the sound of the hunter’s voice, and then they sink down to their feet, breathy laughter escaping from them.

Theta knows it can survive with only the company of their guardian, but the same might not be true in reverse. It realizes now how lonely the guardian must have felt.

“Are you excited?” Theta ventures.

“Yeah?” the titan says, peering up at it. They smile. “I can’t wait for us to meet her. She sounds fun. Oh, and I heard you called her a hunter. What was all that about? Hey. Why are you spinning? Are you laughing? Theta—”

The hunter is a lanky awoken woman with a bright eyes and an even brighter laugh. She isn’t the usual kind of hunter Theta expects, but at least she is nice. Its guardian warms up to her quick enough, though it might be because she is the only other guardian its titan has met.

“Hey there, titan! I’m Noore,” she says, transmating from her ship. Her cloak is deep blue and half-length. She wears it well.

“Hey,” the titan says. “Thanks for coming. Listen, I don’t know much, but I’ve been listening to Theta and reading up on—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Noore says, reassuring. She claps him on the shoulder, three solid pats that must weigh nothing to the titan. “Don’t worry. It’s practically my job to keep a lookout for new guys who get resurrected in the middle of nowhere like you. It’s why the Vanguard likes to rotate us around every month or so.”

“Huh,” they say, thoughtful. “Sounds fun.”

“Nah. It can get a little boring at the outpost. I’m glad you showed up on the radio. Finally gave me something to do! C’mon, I’ll have my ghost transmat you up, if your ghost doesn’t mind.”

Theta, choosing to stay in its incorporeal form, pulses a reassuring wave of light.

Their guardian says, “No, it doesn’t mind.”

“Great! So, uh, titan. Before we go, what should I call you?”

There is a long, bewildered pause. Theta springs up, alerted by a sudden spike of anxiety. It is the first time it has ever seen its guardian truly panicked and distressed. Theta bumps against their cheek, feeling guilty. It hadn’t meant to neglect such an important social identifier, and apparently the titan hadn’t thought of it either—or maybe expected a name to be given to them.

Noore tips her head to one side.

“Ah, well. You can tell me later,” she says, surprisingly gentle. She waves her hand, signaling her ship to transmat them. “Alright. Up we go!”

It takes a couple of more hours, but Theta searches database after database, offering lists of inspiring figures and even old Golden Age heroes. They have at least solved the question of pronouns, thanks to Noore’s intricate card tricks.

“You decide,” its guardian says. They are alone in the quiet of the outpost’s bunker while Noore continues her patrol. “You found me, right?”

Theta’s core whirls.

“Tau,” it says, not too long after. It pauses, showing their guardian a projection of the symbol’s nature, however frivolous it may be. Tau is the very opposite of its own identifier, in terms of historical context. Theta finds it agreeable, but it wants to be earnest as well. “It is… an unusual name, for a human.”

But Tau blinks the screen away from his eyes. “Am I unusual?” he asks with the wry humor Theta is getting to enjoy.

“A little.”

Tau reaches out to clasp Theta in both his hands. “So it fits.”

Another burst of happiness—and for the first time Theta is unsure if it had come from Tau or itself.