#yanovan

for the first few days, iralia does nothing but cry.

if things had been kinder, made more sense, she would be in her orbiter, or with her clan. but her orbiter has been shot down; her clan's dojo is surely swarming with the enemy. with rhino, maybe, maybe it could be different... but she shuts that thought down hard. there is no rhino to stay with her, to carry her forward. the phantom agony still thunders through her sternum, her limbs. her rhino is gone, because she was not enough, and even still, in the end, he seemed to believe somehow that it was not her fault.

she wonders after the lotus, wonders why she had abandoned them, what they had done wrong. and it's certainly a childish idea; she's tasted enough of her warframes' residual maturity of thought to know that. it's not a fair thing to wonder.

she might care more about that if the last few days hadn’t been horrifically unjust. she might care more if she weren't so afraid.

but she is alone and outnumbered and she cannot find the others and here, cowering in one of earth's hundreds of forests, iralia sobs furious tears and it has never been more apparent that she is only thirteen.

[][][]

zeawr has taken upon the work of an army.

it’s not anger, it’s easy to say, because, really, it’s only right: the people of the origin system deserve better than to be shackled and veiled, and he would sooner die than leave his friends under narmer’s control. it’s not anger; it’s something sharper, cooler, more potent than that. he is on a mission.

he charges through ships in an ionic-warhead haze, sending crushed-up hulls and drifting dead hurtling into the inky black. it isn’t anger; it is the tenno refusing to die.

it isn’t enough to target enemies, of course; some things can only be done in person.

without oberon’s height and distinction of form, it might be possible for one to mistake the shadow slipping through prison perimeters as any other human. with the way he has to press himself carefully against bulkheads and boulders and trees, breath taut, one might even suppose he is incapable of creating any real change. but the numbers don’t lie, and nora herself whistles lowly in appreciation over the secret channels, that this area’s veil efficiency is suddenly halfway down, that these vital components have gone missing.

there is a rebellion afoot, and zeawr is in the front lines.

[][][]

they have made the moon their full-time home.

there is no fear of overstaying any welcome, of course, and especially not with the knowledge of just what has brought this tenno, so like the entrati, to their collective doorstep. meet takes to the cambion drift and stays there, and the family knows why.

a muted fury besets mother’s eyes, grimness kindling in father’s. grandmother is remarkably calm, and even finds an easy smile upon finding meet on their newfound place atop a carnis rex’s head. all the while, meet works, tirelessly, to cull infestation where they can, chasing conservation as if for solace.

on learning about the fate of their faction, son considers the lone tenno with a slight frown - from the way they stand to the lines of infection snaking along their skin. he folds his arms, juts his chin out.

“so,” he poses mildly, “what do you intend to do about it?”

and while it bears acceptance of just how badly everything has collapsed, it is also a challenge - one with, if necessary, infinite patience behind it. ganglia spawn in their own time, after all.

[][][]

if ever there has been a time for the tenno to fully comprehend, thinks seraphim, now is that time.

it isn’t as if they fear for themselves; they are void-bedight in every single way, and with the fall of the tenno banner, they’ve gone where the sentients can’t follow. really, they’re in a more fortunate position than many, many of the others - and it’s a good thing, too, because they understand what needs to be done, and they are the right person for it.

exploring the void’s every hidden corner alone is a monumental task, though, and so they strike out like it’s their calling, lighting on planet after planet, seeking out any remaining tenno they can.

it’s time we fully understand the void’s secrets, they whisper across martian deserts and abandoned neptune facilities. more than ever, this is important, a call to arms, because the answer is somewhere in that bright-dark in-between. the enemy has grown too fearless, and seraphim is ready to become the new wall-dweller.

[][][]

junah mentions her intentions idly, like she’s heading down to the market.

“you - hold on,” says yanovan, hands stilling as he sharpens his dagger again. he’s grown fidgety and sharp in his distress, and although he’d sworn not to worry after his captain, he’s already long broken that promise. “you’re gonna go play savior alone? free entire settlements? sure, but with what? your ash’s shields are gonna get shredded by those things. you’re not all-powerful right now, tenno.”

it doesn’t surprise her how closely he’s paid attention, how off-kilter the tenno’s defeat seems to have made him. he isn’t wrong, either: while she knows herself to be careful, and she trusts paidion’s stealthy instincts, she’s already seen enough broken, battered frames littering scorched earth not to get overconfident. she is not invincible. none of them are.

but, “there are people, yano,” she points out. “lost tenno. settlers. good people. i know the risks, but i know what will let me sleep at night. you’re no altruist; you don’t have to come.”

he makes a frustrated noise.

“rell and void, of course i want to come with you. haven’t honed my combat prowess for nothing, harlow.”

despite it all, the genuine affront brings a slight tug to junah’s mouth. she shakes her head, hands moving to secure her hair in a braid. “hm, if you can call it prowess,” she says idly, and pats him on the cheek. whether he notices or not, he leans in, for a moment. his energy is still fraught, but it’s evening out. “bring armor. stay behind me.”

he lets out a breath and stands. “yeah, whatever. earth?”

she smiles. “it’s where corinn would start.”

[][][]

if the solaris could appreciate how well they are all lifting together now, pushing against the darkness that has fallen upon them, it occurs to condor that they would be very proud.

it’s a honed instinct, the realization that the current fight is unwinnable. it takes pragmatism and humility and the ability to withstand heartbreak, but he retreats with the others all the same. maybe it would rankle, the knowledge that when the time came to do or die, he took the third, most practical option. maybe it would sit bitterly, like tea steeped too long.

but the younger tenno are anxious and afraid, and he runs through the day’s kata with them, meditates with the older ones, worries after the breaks and bruisings his octavia has endured with him. it isn’t, after all, for his own sake that he chooses to fight later; there are countless who are safe in this fleet because they let themselves run.

when the void outside seems to blur together endlessly, when even the simplest form is something the most inexperienced tenno can fall into easily; and the youngest no longer cry; and he is out of paper and his sketches litter the wall; this is when they decide to dream. having prepared themselves, they have nothing left but cryo.

so condor lays back in his pod, and he exhales slowly.

he’s done all he could. now, there is only the wait.

[][][]

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