#oc:lysander

Searching. He’d been searching for so long now. He had searched the wastes of the EDZ, the ruins of Mars, even dared the Vex-infested Venus.

He’d watched as other ghosts found their Risen and the warlords and Iron Lords established themselves. He’d watched as the Last City was founded beneath the Traveler, as the Tower was built, as the Moon became a massacre. He’d watched as Crota fell, as Oryx threatened the system and brought the Dreadnaught into Saturn’s rings.

Still, no guardian, as they were now called.

Until at last, he found him. In Hellas Basin, where previously he was half frozen in ice.

He was a good guardian. He named him Helios, after the harsh sun that greeted him. He called himself Lysander.

After seeing what happened to all the other guardians, all Helios could do was try to protect his guardian.

“Tell me about Saint,” Lysander would ask.

And Helios would talk and talk about the most beloved guardian, of how devoted he was to the people, how truly kind he was even with all the killing he did. How great of a warrior he was that he chose to defend rather than attack.

When Lysander woke up in the dead of night with a scream, he talked him through it. Experience from other guardians’ ghosts helped.

When it didn’t, Helios offered comfort. A light in the dark, a blanket.

Then the Red War happened.

The Light disappeared.

Helios could barely stay afloat, let alone heal his guardian.

Desperation clawed at him when they woke, trapped in a room with the sounds of Cabal marching up and down the halls outside. Through the window they could see the city below, burning and burning orange in the night.

There were two ways out.

One, the window that led to a sheer drop down to the city below. Normally Lysander would have no qualms jumping out, but there was no Light, no augmented jumps.

The other way, the door. Where a dozen Cabal marched by dutifully. The only way out was to bring them elsewhere.

Once they came to that conclusion, Helios was adamant to take the hit. Lysander could live without the light, just not as a guardian. And he knew how much the war and the fight scarred his guardian. Without the light...without the obligation...Lysander would be much happier.

The ghost dragged his almost lightless shell out of the door, lingering long enough in the hallway for shouts to sound and the Red Legion to give chase.

A stray bullet ripped across the side of his shell, making him drop to the ground. Helios felt what little light left in him drain away, the bright blue light he gave off fading.

Until all that was left was a shell missing some pieces.