“Civilizations will rise in our stead, and our job as caretakers will at last bear fruit. Until then, I leave you here, my love. The only living thing in this galaxy, sealed safely away. Spend these ages ahead of you in meditation on your choices. When you wake, you will find the humans. I have ensured that they will grow strong and vibrant . . . They will be our rightful heirs. Their gene plan dictates that the galaxy will be theirs to care for by then. I beg of you . . .”
She had left him a galactic cartographer, a key that showed the way to vast reserves of Forerunner technology so that he might use it to assist and guide humanity as they claimed the Mantle of Responsibility.
“Find the strength to help them learn from our mistakes. And my husband? Let them teach you something. Please.”
When he first heard them, he’d found those parting words intensely condescending. Found her hope that he’d be humanity’s teacher and champion utterly laughable.
Yet, he failed to hear the devastation in her voice, the grief, and the raw longing she had for him to live, to continue on in the world, to one day be whole again.
But the Domain would be burned by Halo. There would be no connection to its boundless stores of information, no ability to commune and heal and reflect. A thousand centuries would pass in silence. In the madness the Gravemind had created for him.
And once the galaxy was reseeded, civilizations rose once more, and he woke to start the cycle of suffering all over again. He was awash in remorse, in the betrayal he had caused, the fury at having been violated and manipulated and used. . . .
A pawn!
He roared, slamming his fists against the rock with such force that it cracked the stone and left him stricken with sorrow.
In the end, after all he had done, all the pain and suffering he had wrought . . .
She had still chosen to save him.
