TobraTitan

“Where does that Drifter guy get these antiques? When did they even make ‘em like this?”

“Dark Age, apparently. Says he stockpiled these from then.”

“OK, but the Dark Age was still post-Golden Age, right? So what the hell were they doing, making old-school rattling lumps like this? I mean, this is wood, right? They used wood?”

“Guess materials were scarce. Anyway, the reversion to archaic design makes sense.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Sure. At the time, foundries—or whatever passed for a foundry, then—must’ve had some advanced ballistics knowledge to work with, but not the high-end facilities for design and manufacturing. They also knew whatever they made would probably never come back for service. Hell, probably couldn’t expect these things would even get any cleaning. So, what do they do? Look back to the basics, to the very dawn of modern firearms on Earth, draw inspiration from those origins, make things rugged and stupid-simple as possible, to survive an epoch of rough use with no maintenance or repair. Seems that strategy worked, no?”

“What do you mean? You said el Drifter had these stored up.”

“He did, but I don’t think most of them were new when he stashed them away. This piece, for instance, is more than a little broken-in. Plus I doubt something like this came from the factory, or wherever it came from, with a full-auto trigger system installed.”

“So… he collected them used, then.”

“So it would seem. Question is: used by whom, and collected under what circumstances?”

Lord Shaxx looks over at the small Awoken girl next to him, staring out over the common grounds of their makeshift base camp.

“Hm?”

“That lady keeps calling it a farm. What do they grow?”

“Hope. Dreams. The seeds of a new City.”

Runa looks down and pats her stomach.

“I meant food. I’m starving.”

“Ah.” The girl has refused to remove her cobbled-together armor, and while there are other children at the Farm she has shown no interest in leaving his side.

“Me too, kid.” Shaxx looks over as Cayde-6 drapes his frame across the railing. “I’d smooch a thrall for some noodles.”

Shaxx doesn’t answer, but Runa can’t help looking over at him.

“Do you…have a stomach?”

“Sorry,” Cayde says. “That’s classified info. Need-to-know only. You get me.”

Her frown makes it clear that she doesn’t, but she nods as though she does, her chin high, then turns her gaze back to the grounds. Cayde sighs, loud and exaggerated, and holds up a hand in front of him. As Runa watches, a knife appears in it. Then he flicks his wrist and it disappears again. A moment later, he is holding two.

Runa’s mouth gapes, and forgetting to be aloof, she stares a little harder.

Cayde pretends not to notice. Now he’s holding three knives. Now four.

“I hear you learned your way around a knife out there,” he says. “Wouldn’t have thought that ol’ One-Horn here had anything to teach.”

Shaxx continues to ignore the Exo, and watches Runa instead. Her hand twitches. If anything, her dreams have worsened since they left the City, and often he sees her sitting up at night, hugging her knees. Shaxx watches Cayde’s head shift imperceptibly; sees that he notices.

“He taught me lots,” she says, frowning at Cayde. “Besides, you only have one horn.”

“Fair point,” says Cayde, then inclines his head towards her belt, his voice dropping an octave lower. “But those are a Hunter’s knives, and Lord Shaxx ain’t no Hunter.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Runa mutters. Her hand twitches again, and she looks over at Lord Shaxx. “We’ve just been waiting here. Forever. Can’t we do something?”

“We are doing something,” says Shaxx. “There is work to be done before the next conflict. Wars are not won on the battlefield alone.”

“Yeah,” Cayde says, knives suddenly gone. “Sometimes they’re fought on weird horse-planets with depressed AIs.”

Both Shaxx and Runa look over at him.

“Never mind’. Just had a bad experience, is all. Listen, kid. If you ever want to learn how to use those knives - and I mean instead of just whacking people with ‘em, the way Captain Grumpy-Pants here does - you let me know.”

She looks back at Shaxx. “Really?”

“You do not need my permission to better your skills, little Shield-Sister,” he growls. “But I would urge you to avoid developing…bad habits.”

Run frowns, and turns back to Cayde. “But I don’t have powers. Like you do. I’m not…I’m not a Guardian. Not really.”

Cayde pauses, shoulders hunched on the railing. Lord Shaxx glances down at her, but stays very still.

“Reckon that don’t make a difference,” Cayde says at last. “Way I see it, the Light - that’s what we call it - all it is, is potential. A way to grab what you want and make it real. But you don’t need that.”

“I don’t?”

“Nah. Knives have their own language, and fluency requires a…certain knack. Way I hear it, you’ve got the knack. Besides, anyone who stayed in that City and did what you did’s a Guardian any way you cut it - Light or no. Which, in case any of us have managed to forget, is something none of us have anymore either.”

She flashes a shy smile at him.

“Tell you what, kid. See that lady in the poncho down there? She’ll find you something to eat. After that, I’ll show you how to play the knife game.”

Shaxx coughs.

“The knife game?” Runa asks.

“Most important skill a Hunter’ll ever have,” Cayde says. “Win you loads of Glimmer. Just don’t play with Ikora.”

“Cayde,” Shaxx says.

“Shh, this is Hunter talk. Sound good, kid? Meet you back here in fifteen or so?”

Once more, Runa glances up at Shaxx. He nods slightly.

“‘Kay,” Runa says, mimicking Cayde’s cadence. “Meet you in fifteen.” With a grin, she disappears.

Lord Shaxx and Cayde-6 watch her run down the stairs and across the grass. The knife is back in Cayde’s hand, twirling through his fingers, but he doesn’t seem to notice it.

“Where’s she stayin’?”

“With me, for the time being,” says Shaxx. “She has paid no heed to the other children.”

“Not surprising. Doesn’t seem fair, losin’ out on your childhood like that. And now…You oughta make sure she’s got somebody to talk to. Seen Hunters go twitchy before.”

At last, Shaxx rolls his neck and places his hands on the railing.

“I know enough to know that the girl should spend time with others, but I was not aware you had experience in raising children,” Shaxx says. He makes an effort to sound sincere.

The knife stops. “Me? Please. I’ve just always wanted to be the cool uncle. Jokes, presents, liquor under the table…”

“Cayde!”

“Kidding, kidding. Well, I’m gonna go bother Ikora for a while before the little brat comes back. Good talk, champ.”

He pushes himself away from the railing, and begins to walk away.

“Wait,” Shaxx says. “I…thank you. I’m pleased that you’re willing to help.”

Cayde spins on his heel and offers a two-fingered salute.