sometimes i write and it's terrible

The harsh whispers stopped, and when they didn’t start up again Guardian took that as their cue to finally ask what the plan was. They hopped down from the boxes, ice water splashing up their boots, and climbed the stairs to where Ana had set up her equipment. Wires led into servers that led into the data stored inside the Bray facility, which were kept separate from the amount of space Rasputin needed to even function as a complex set of algorithms stacked on algorithms. A jewel of the Golden Age that forced itself into dormancy for its own selfish reasons. Ana was standing at her computers, hands balled into fists atop the keyboard and her brow furrowed like she had more to say. Zavala stood by the window gazing out at the frozen desert, hands behind his back as if to keep some modicum of professionalism because he knew Guardian was standing at the top of the stairs.

The Hunter stayed quiet, they could outlast both Zavala and Ana when it came to being silent. The air was tense, bearing down on them when they decided to once again sit and wait. They removed their guns from the straps on their back, leaning their scout rifle and shotgun against the short wall while their sidearm stayed strapped to their leg. They hopped up onto the railing, hands curling around the cold bar to hold themself steady, and waited. Either Zavala would give in first, or Ana would, and Guardian didn't know enough about either of them to make a solid bet on who would break the silence first.

Zavala didn’t speak, but he did move. He turned away from the window, moving his unrelenting stare from the ice and snow to Guardian. The two locked eyes, and if Guardian knew him better, or knew him at all really, they would know what to do with the piercing gaze. It bore into them, as if he could find the answers to unasked questions with a single look.

So they were caught off guard when Ana spoke first. “We have to stop Xol,” she said. She kept her eyes on her computer screen, refusing to look up at Zavala or over at Guardian. “If it gets out of those chasms and tunnels then it won’t hesitate to destroy Rasputin, and the facility.”

Guardian wished they had it in them to care.

They were only on the planet because of the Hive. They didn’t care about Rasputin, not after the orbital strikes, the general lack of care about humanity, and seeing the aftermath of SIVA. Whatever Ana saw in the A.I. wasn’t enough for Guardian.

“Which is where you come in, Guardian,” Zavala said. He didn’t want to be on Mars either to deal with Golden Age technology and the ramblings of a Warmind that closed itself off from humanity for centuries. He could see the dangers Rasputin would bring, and it seemed like he wished Ana would too. “You defeated the Taken King Oryx, a God in his own right. A Worm should hold no challenge.”

Guardian stared at Zavala. He knew what they were like during the Taken War. They were strung out and paranoid, falling apart at the seams and their only saving grace was Ira holding them together. “I didn’t do it on my own.”

“You won’t be alone, Rasputin will help,” Ana said, confident in her decision to trust the Warmind. “The Valkyrie will be instrumental in stopping Xol once and for all.” Guardian bit their tongue to keep from replying, allowing Ana to continue talking without a clue. “Which will be easier once I access more systems.”

Zavala’s stare was still focused on Guardian. “If you feel that you cannot—”

“I can do it,” they said. Their voice no longer shook, there was no more stuttering, but it was still raspy and quiet. It barely reached above a whisper, but it echoed off the walls. It even made Ana look at them. “But,” they continued before they could be interrupted, “but, only to stop Xol. I don’t care about Rasputin. I’ve seen too much of the aftermath of his decisions to give a damn about his safety.”

Ana’s jaw clenched, and Guardian silently dared the older Hunter to try something.

They were almost disappointed when nothing came of it.

Almost.

“Okay,” Ana breathed. Her hands relaxed, fingers stretching out over her keyboard. “Okay. But I’m not going to let you fight a Worm without some pretty powerful weapons at your disposal. The Valkyrie is going to be essential. We can deal with everything else after Xol is gone.”

Guardian accepted the hand they had been dealt with a silent nod. A giant Hive Worm was far more important than their personal feelings over a frighteningly powerful A.I., and they were more readily prepared to handle the Hive in general than Golden Age technology. They hopped off the railing and picked up their guns, returning them to the proper straps with quick hands. The guns were a welcome weight on their back, heavy enough to keep them grounded in the midst of an oncoming storm. “I’ll be outside. You two can keep talking.” They threw a half hearted salute at Zavala, and a lazy wave at Ana for good measure, before walking down the stairs.

The frigid air surrounding Clovis Bray was sharp, but it wasn’t the same kind of frost that happened on Earth. There was no needle like sensation against their skin, nothing to make goosebumps rise along their arms, and when they breathed out there were no puffs to show for it. A frozen Mars was nothing like a frozen Earth. Felwinter’s Peak put Hellas Basin to shame.

Guardian’s feet carried them to the ledge of the dam. Far enough away from the actual facility while still being close enough to burst into action if need be. They sighed heavily through their nose, and tucked their bangs behind their ear. The wind would obstruct their view when it kicked up, and Guardian didn’t want to put their helmet back on quite yet.

Heavy footsteps, the familiar comfort of Titan armor clunking along stone, reached them. The good soldier inside wanted them to stand up and properly greet the Commander. The Hunter in them kept them seated, heels bouncing off the dam wall. They patted the space next to them, and couldn’t keep the smile off their face when they saw Zavala sit next to them in their peripheral.

Silence overcome the pair. Both were grasping for words to say now that the division between Commander and soldier was shelved.

Zavala kept his eyes trained of a point far in the distance when he asked, “Are you prepared to fight a Worm God?” Guardian hummed, and brought their hands together to hold them between their legs. They stared out at the same point Zavala was, eyes focused on red, red rock.

“More or less. Xol isn’t like Oryx. I had help killing him because he went into the Ascendant Realm.” Guardian remembered the disbelief and the rage that followed them back to the Tower. In hindsight, it seemed childish to yell so loud their voice cracked as tears fell down their cheeks, but in the moment it seemed right. “But… I do wish Eris were around.”

“Her knowledge would be invaluable,” Zavala agreed softly.

“Her way might involve a lot more Hive magic though,” Guardian said. “And after Crota and Oryx and that huge Shrieker on Titan, I’d rather just… not.” There were other Guardians that could handle the Hive, that knew more about the intricacies of Sword Logic; Shaxx had unwound the mysteries long before anyone else did. Meanwhile, Guardian simply made their will to live stronger than the Hive’s will to kill them because they had to, because death to the Hive was unacceptable.

Their death was unacceptable.

And it seemed to work in their favor more often than not.

“Have you come to regret the things you’ve done, Guardian?” Zavala tore his eyes away from the far off point to look at the Hunter. To him, they were impossibly young for such an accomplished Guardian. Time was not their teacher, but the never ending battle they were risen to fight, and they learned the lessons without complaint.

Guardian looked at him. “Do you?”

The question didn’t catch Zaval off guard as much as Guardian hoped. The Commander answered with a prompt, “No, I do not.” Which left Guardian to flounder in their own head.

“Do you think I do?”

That earned Guardian a contemplative silence.

“No,” Zavala said quietly. “No, I don’t think you do. You’ve done many things since you were risen what seems like a lifetime ago. You destroyed the Black Heart, defeated Crota and Oryx, and contained the SIVA outbreak to the Plaguelands. Aside from a few understandable moments, there was never a time where you walked into the Vanguard Hall with nothing less than pride. You are remarkably unshakeable, Guardian. A rare trait to come across.”

The Hunter hummed to let Zavala know they had been listening as they turned his words over in their head. Zavala rarely saw them outside the Tower when it still existed and wasn’t more than a pile of bent metal and a gaping hole in the old Tower. He never made late night food runs for Ira and Jai and Apollo or sat on the highest point of the City with Hemlock and Ronin or wandered tight alleyways with Sadik and Roksana just to find the best noodle shop. He didn’t know their favorite color, their favorite food, their fears and worries that grew steadily over the months. To Zavala, they were Guardian, a dutiful Hunter that’s done the impossible time and time again as if the impossible was the only reason they were risen in the first place.

They winced inwardly. Remembering that there was more to life than being a Guardian was a concept they still struggled with.

“Not much else I can be,” Guardian said. “Guess I learned it from you.” The corner of Zavala’s mouth quirked up in the smallest smile Guardian had ever seen, but it was enough to make them cheer on the inside. “Really though. You’re always so… so-” they puffed their cheeks out, trying to find the word they wanted. Strong was cliche, as was inspirational, even if those words were true. Moments like this was when Guardian missed Ira the most. He always knew what to say; a word or six tucked away to use.

Just as Zavala turned his head, Guardian settled on a word. “Resolute,” they said, then whispered to themself, “yeah, that seems right. Right?”

“It’s kind of you to say,” Zavala commented lightly. “There are those who would say the opposite of me, especially during the Red War.” Guardian snorted softly, turning to meet the Commander head on. Bright orange met with ice blue as they stared each other down.

“When I saw you on Titan, I felt relief.” They had felt calm when Willow announced their arrival to the Rigs, but seeing Zavala walking up to them in the rain made their knees weak and tears well up. “I woke up in the City in a crater. By all rights, I should’ve died when Ghaul kicked me off his ship, but I didn’t. I got my Light back from the shard in the EDZ because a vision told me to, and was given the runaround to help refugees to the Farm. I was told that the City, my home, was gone, and that I shouldn’t go after you, but I did because— because I needed to make sure you were okay.” Guardian tore their eyes away from Zavala’s. Saying things out loud made them too real, and it made Guardian nervous. Added with the fact that they couldn’t read the Titan at all, they were fighting to keep the ball of anxiety stay in the pit of their stomach. “Even if you don’t feel like it, or you think that your time on Titan was a waste, seeing you there gave me a lot of hope. And I really needed it.”

Guardian kept just how much they needed that hope seeing Zavala gave them a secret. In the blur that was those first few days of having their Light back, even hearing the Titan Vanguard was soothing. He made things seem normal, like they could pick themself up from the dirt and move on just because they knew he was alive. He might not have been on Earth, but hearing his voice had been enough.

Zavala had an unreadable expression on his face as he mulled over Guardian’s words. Then, he smiled. Nothing so grand as a full blown grin, or fake as a slight quirk of the corner of his mouth, but an honest smile. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, the grooves around his mouth deepened momentarily as he smiled. His eyes seemed to glow a touch brighter, and his posture relaxed marginally. “Thank you, Guardian.”

If Zavala were Shaxx, they’d lean over and slug him in the arm, but he wasn’t and that left Guardian scrambling with what to do with the thanks. They managed to whisper a weak, “You’re welcome,” then looked anywhere but at Zavala.

The conversation stilled, leaving Guardian to grasp at straws. They wondered if they should continue onto a new topic, or let it end where it stopped. This was a moment where they missed having Ira by their side. He was a natural at keeping a conversation going, but he had other matters to attend to and Guardian-

Guardian went off on their own like they always did.

Bad things happened when they went off on their own.

Like apparently the emergence of a Hive Worm God.

The ground below rumbled, rocks and ice cracked as something moved beneath the surface. Guardian watched as the ground splintered and listened to the Hive screech louder and louder in the distance. Xol, it seemed, was not going to wait.

“Do you think I can beat Xol?” They asked softly.

“I have every confidence that you can.”

Guardian’s heart squeezed in their chest, anxiety making their limbs tingle as they imagined what fighting a Worm would be like. Frightening, yes. Necessary, absolutely.

Alone, maybe.

-----

Null’s first breath was sharp and loud, forcing air into disused lungs as they shot up, their back hitting the seat, hands clenching at… something. Something important. They couldn’t remember. It felt like they had been asleep for far too long and their brain was struggling to play catch up. They blinked slowly to get rid of the fuzz around their vision, turning their head left and right as they did. The cockpit of their ship was a mess; snow and glass covered everything, including them. Something had made them crash, something big and terrifying that chilled them to their core, and forced their ship back to Earth.

Their eyes found a small floating drone in front of them, and they stared at the single optic. A tingle went down their spine, and before they could open their mouth, the drone spoke first.

“Thank the Traveler,” it whispered. The voice was pitched low, like a whisper, and Null was unsure if that’s what it- he?- usually sounded like. “I’ve been looking for you. The Traveler made me to bring you back to life. It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Null said quietly. “What are you?” They leaned forward in their seat, hands still clutching at the bundle in their lap, to get a better look at the drone.

“I’m a Ghost created by the Traveler with its dying breath. I’m Redwood.”

“The Traveler is dead?” Such a massive thing could be killed? The last Null had seen it the giant ball was over Io, terraforming the planet as humanity continued to study it diligently.

And it was just dead?

What happened?

Before Null could ask anything else, another Ghost floated down and scanned the bundle. Their fingers tensed, ready to pull the blankets up and away. Vencel wasn’t a fussy baby, but they didn’t like to be startled.

Wait—

Vencel.

Null’s heart pounded in their ears as they unraveled the blankets. Their breathing became quick and labored, just shy of hyperventilating. How much time had passed since the ship crashed?

A low keen escaped Null, and they curled over their child, eyes shut as tears pricked behind their eyelids. No, not Vencel. They had been so careful, so sure that they could protect their baby, and they failed.

The second Ghost chirped softly. “I- Hm. This is… odd.”

“What is?” Null’s Ghost asked over their head.

“This infant, they’re mine.”

“Truly?”

Null looked up slowly, fat tears falling down their cheeks. “What?” They croaked. “What does that mean?”

“It means I can bring them back. They have Light in them. They’re one of the Traveler’s chosen.”

Ignoring the implications of being chosen by a dead alien ball, Null begged the Ghost. “Bring them back. Please, please, Vencel is all I have, please. I’ll do whatever you want just bring them back to life.” The Ghosts communicated with each other silently as Null waited on bated breath. The bundle was a sad, solid weight against their lap, its contents too heart wrenching to look at for Null, and if they could hear Vencel cry even just once more then they could die happy. The second Ghost, Ven’s Ghost, turned its optic to them, and said two words that made Null glad they were sitting down.

“All right.”

The Ghost’s shell expanded, surrounded by a soft blue light, and brought Vencel back to life with a flash.

Vencel immediately started moving, kicking their feet and throwing their hands while wrapped up in their bundle. A small cough made their face scrunch up in displeasure, eyes screwed shut and lower lip popping out as the first signs of a crying fit. Null laughed helplessly, lifting Ven up as tears rolled down their face in full force. They pulled Vencel in close, settling the baby against their shoulder as they rubbed their back. The weak cries were music to Null’s ears, clear signs that Vencel was alive and well.

“Thank you,” they whispered at the Ghost. “Thank you.” Both Ghosts chirped, and fit themselves under Null’s chin.

----

It took some foraging in the wreckage one handed for Null to find the sling they stowed away long ago. How they remembered was a mystery to the Ghosts because, apparently, they weren’t supposed to remember so much of their life before dying. They slipped it over their head and into their open jacket, then settled Ven in the inside of the sling. The cold didn’t bother Null, and their Ghost said it wouldn’t overmuch, but they weren’t taking chances with Vencel. They had already lost their child once (and their own life in the process but that didn’t matter), they weren’t going to again.

Vencel was less fussy when met with the warmth on the inside of Null’s jacket, quieting down almost immediately as Null ran their large fingers down Ven’s thin head of hair. “Pink,” Null chuckled. “You weren’t pink before. You weren’t purple either, but I suppose we both look different.”

“Star touched,” Redwood said. Ven’s Ghost buried itself in the confines of Null’s jacket as well while they were talking to themself. “You’re both star touched. Purple skin, although your hair is black and eyes blue, and Vencel’s aren’t.”

“I know,” they replied. They poured another shot, passing the glass to Shaxx, and stared out at the lights of the City. The people would continue to live as if nothing had changed. Tomorrow would come, and it wouldn’t feel like a raw wound steadily bleeding for many civilians. Guardian was almost jealous.

(Almost. The hollow cavern in their chest made their body ache. It made their fingers less steady, and in a way that was penance.)

(Penance was the cloak folded neatly between them and Shaxx, and the history it carried. It was the vow that would be sought out, and it would be the bark a hand cannon.)

The shot glass was set down on top of the cloak, empty of its contents and Shaxx’s helmet back over his head. “I’ve seen a rise in hand cannons. I suppose there’s going to be a hunt.” Guardian hummed noncommittally. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Hunters so focused. The last time was when Andal died.” Again, they hummed, and this time Shaxx turned his head to look at them. “Try not to do anything foolish, I actually like you.”

For the first time since they returned to the Tower, Guardian smiled. “I like you, too,” they said.

“Stay with your Pack,” Shaxx warned. “I’ve seen you practicing with Crimson, but that’s no excuse to run off on your own.”

“I won’t,” Guardian promised. “Hemlock and Ronin make sure I don’t leave without them.”

“Something tells me you’re going to go back to being a Gunslinger for a while,” the Titan mused.

Guardian hummed. Beneath the chill and the whispers of the Void existed a ball of tightly wound Solar energy nestled beside their heart. They didn’t use it often, they hated the sensation of being burned from the inside out as a Golden Gun found its way into their hand. It was the first thing they learned, though. Under Hemlock’s watchful, eyeless stare, they burned their body again and again and again until they could use the Golden Gun; and when they were exhausted, the Exo would tell them things. He told them of the rules of duels, the history, the skill and luck that went into each fight, and stories of legendary duels, and as Guardian laid on the ground at Hemlock’s feet, they etched his words into the receding flames.

“It’s only right,” they said.

This time, Shaxx hummed. “As long as you don’t meet your death.”

For the second time since returning to the Tower, Guardian smiled. “You know better than most, Shaxx, you can’t outrun the Golden Gun. Uldren can run, and I’ll follow like a burning bullet that will burn him to ash.”

“Vengeance isn’t like you.”

Hakim smiled beneath his mask, he knew what was going on. Behind him, Vigil chuckled to himself, a rumbling sound as the Titan shook his head. “I think you have a surprise waiting for you.”

“Perhaps. I believe I know what’s happening though.” He turned enough to nod gratefully at his guard. “Thank you for escorting me home.”

Vigil, of course, waved off the gratitude. “It’s my duty,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning, Speaker.” With Hakim’s well wishes, the Titan walked down the hall, his large figure and decorated armor disappearing from sight.

Hakim entered the apartment quietly, removing his shoes with ease and placing them on the other side of Vencel’s shoes. The mask was taken off next, placed on a side table in case he had any late visitors and needed to conceal his identity quickly. He pulled his cowl down, not bothering to deal with the hair that stuck up in all directions, and tiptoed into the living room.

Thick, long legs were draped over the arm of the couch, though a foot was sliding off and threatening to land on the floor. A large blanket was thrown hastily over rest of the body, bunching up around the middle that let Hakim catch a glimpse of a dark purple stomach. He leaned over the back of the couch, a smile on his lips as he lifted up part of the blanket. Bright blue eyes peered up at him, three settling on the side of Nul’s face before closing and their mouth split open. “Welcome home.”

“It’s good to be home,” Hakim replied. A hand reached up to cup his cheek, and he turned his head, kissing the palm. “Is Ven with you?”

Null sighed deeply, let go of Hakim’s face, and pulled the blanket back even more. Vencel was laying on their other arm, curled up, pink hair surely tangled, and sleeping soundly. More than he had been the past few nights at least. Nightmares had been plaguing the child, and it pained Hakim to hear terrified whimpers next to his bed in the middle of the night. Hakim watched his the child sleep for a few moments, counting the rise and falls of the small chest. “Got him to sleep an hour ago,” Null said. “All those sleepless nights finally wore him out.”

The types of nightmares Vencel was having would tire anyone out. Dreams of the Void, of grasping hands threatening to drown him, a veiled creature who dogged his every step; those were not the dreams of a regular child. They weren’t monsters under the bed or in the closet, they were as real as the Darkness that threatened Humanity’s existence every day. Unlike the Darkness though, Vencel’s dreams couldn’t be driven off with the burning fire of a Dawnblade. It was frustrating for Hakim to watch as his child lost sleep for days at a time, but all he could do was be there for Vencel.

A few moments passed, then Hakim pushed himself away from the couch. “I’ll be back,” he told Null. He got a noncommittal wave as went to the master bedroom to change out of his robes and into a more comfortable set of clothes. When he walked back to the living room, he circled around the couch, and Null huffed softly.

“Planning on sleeping too?” Their mouth closed, allowing two eyes to appear on their face, this time where eyes were supposed to be. They gave Hakim a quick once over, glancing at his flannel pajama pants and off shoulder long sleeved shirt that covered his hands. The eyes went away, mouth opening once more as they pulled Hakim in top of them. Vencel was a welcome weight on their arm. Knowing where their child was eased any panic that could crop up. With Vencel tucked against their side, they could protect him.

The same for Hakim if they were going to be honest.

“Perhaps. Perhaps I just want to lay with you two,” Hakim said, adjusting his position to get more comfortable. His leg slid between Null’s, while the other was outside their thigh. One arm was placed on Null’s broad chest, and the other was thrown over their shoulder. He rested his head on the meat of Null’s chest, feeling the comforting buzz of static emanating from their skin, and sighed happily.

“Just for a few hours,” Null said. They pulled the blanket back over all three of them, leaving a hole to let cool air in. “The couch isn’t a good place to sleep.”

For the life of him, Hakim couldn’t help but laugh at the earnest look on Ven’s face. Wide eyes gazed up at him, glancing over to the windows for a second before returning to stare, and a smile that refused to leave the moment Ven looked out the window. Hakim scooped Ven into his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek as they moved away from the windows and, by extension, the snow. “Soon, habibi, soon. First we have to get dressed, and then we can go see the snow.”

“Snow?” Ven pouted at him, and pointed at the windows again.

Hakim set Ven down on his bed, and laid his clothes out beside him. He clicked his tongue when Ven squirmed on the bed, a warning for him to stay still long enough for Hakim to help slip his pants on. They were baggy, liable to get caught on anything while Ven ran around, but they were insulated and would keep him from getting cold. He watched as Ven struggled to put his shirt on, only helping to push arms through the proper holes before his hands were slapped away. The jacket was the last piece. It had long coat tails, reminiscent of Hakim’s robes and he worried that Ven would slip on them, but the hood had fur on it, and besides that, it actually fit Ven. He shushed the soft whines of impatience as he clasped the jacket closed and tied the sash around Ven’s middle.

“Snow?” Ven asked, standing on top of the mattress.

“Not yet. I have to get dressed, too.” Though, he did dress as quickly as he could manage with the thick layers that weighed him down and the ornamental sash that rested on his stomach. The ends of his robes barely touched the floor, and the large, open sleeves were collected into a knot that kept the hemming from dragging on the ground. His cowl was the last thing he put on, and his mask was tucked into an inside pocket of his outer robe. Hakim matched the grin Ven was giving him, and, without wasting another second, he picked him up, propped him on his hip, and left the apartment as soon as shoes were put on.

—

Ven tugged on his hand again. The snow was enticing, sparkling in the morning sun, and piles were just out of Ven’s reaching fingers. Hakim knew that if he stopped for every pile of snow, it would be noon by the time that he reached the observatory. As much as he wanted to let Ven play, he had a job to do, and with Null away from the Tower for the time being, he had to juggle being a parent and being the Speaker equally. It was a challenge he never looked forward to, having to put his duties as Speaker before the simple wants of his child. There had been moments where he was tempted to spend the day with Ven, catching up on time lost to the long hours he kept, but responsibility kept him from doing just that.

Guilt made his skin crawl before he could shove the feeling away. His child only had so long, and he didn’t want remorse to dictate his reason.

Quick, pattering footsteps kept up with his strides, the small hand in his squeezing his fingers as they made it through the giant door of North Tower. A few Guardians hung about, Hunters wrapped up in their cloaks and Warlocks raising the collars of their robes while Titans sported knitted scarves around their necks. The Guardians bowed to Hakim, and some waved to Ven. Snow fell out of several hands, hitting the ground with a soft splat, letting Hakim know what he had just walked in on. He sighed softly to himself as Ven’s soft laughter reached his ears. A gentle nudge was sent to Vega, and the doors to the observatory opened, signaling his arrival to the Tower proper.

Ven tugged on his hand before they could cross the bridge to the observatory. “Snow?” He asked.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to deny Ven forever. They were outside, there were piles of snow pushed out of the way and salts were laid down to make walking easier. Guardians who prepared to get into a snowball fight right outside the observatory, and Hakim knew that there were more Guardians in the Courtyard doing causing mayhem with all the snow. Ven had been undeniably patient the entire morning, and it seemed to finally start wearing off. He was tugging at his sleeve, pouting, and gazing up at him with watery eyes, seconds away from hopping in place. Behind his mask, Hakim smiled. His duties could wait a moment longer. “Snow,” he agreed, holding down the laughter in his throat as Ven squealed.

The thick layers of his robes kept the chill out as he walked Ven over to a large pile of snow and knelt down in front of it. He pulled Ven in front of him, an arm wrapped around his middle to keep him from tumbling forward, and with the other grabbed a handful of packed snow. Immediately, Ven’s hands were on the snow, and Hakim was grateful for the gloves he managed to put on Ven before they reached the outside. The child grabbed a handful of snow from Hakim, and slowly started to turn it over in his hands, smoothing out the outside as much as he could.

Hakim made a guess. “A snowball?” Ven shook his head. “No? Then what are you making?”

“A snowman! Because, um, ‘cause Baba isn’t here for snow,” he explained, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Ven carefully put the ball he made on top of the pile, then took another handful from Hakim and repeating the process. The second ball was stacked on top of the first with Hakim’s help, and three eyes, two on the right side and one on the left, were drawn on the head. “And it looks like Baba.”

The small snowman was lumpy, one eye was too large, making the other too seem tiny by comparison, but Ven was proud of it. He was humming to himself, already making another snowman under Hakim’s watchful gaze. The second snowman was smaller than the first, and a third joined shortly after. Ven looked over his shoulder, up at the Speaker’s mask then back to the second snowman. He drew on the face carefully, stopping every so often to glance over at the mask on his father’s face until the design on it was drawn on the snowman. For the third snowman, a smiling face was drawn on it, the mouth wide and lopsided.

“It’s us!” Ven crowed.

Sure enough, Hakim could see the resemblance in the figures. Null’s was the biggest, he watched Ven scrawl his mask’s design into the face of the middle figure, and Ven’s was the smallest by far. He smiled to himself, and complemented Ven on his craftsmanship, wiping the excess snow off his glove before tucking the child against his side. With a gentle nudge across the bond, he asked Vega to take a picture; he wanted Null to see it when they returned from the Void. He wondered how long it would take for more of the simple, little snowmen to crop up around the Tower once more Guardians started trickling through North Tower. It would make for a decent game to tire Ven out at the very least, and Hakim tucked it away for later.

“Abbi? When is Baba coming home?” Ven asked quietly.

A beat of silence passed between parent and child, then Hakim scooped Ven up in his arms, standing up smoothly while holding Ven against his chest. “Sooner than you think,” he replied. He hoped that Null wouldn’t make him a liar. “It won’t be long.”

Ven’s hands were tucked between them, and he buried the tip of his nose into Hakim’s hood. “Promise?”

Guardian was like that in a sense. A Hunter that trekked around the skeletons of a long dead world, picking at the remains, and wondering who the people from before were, if those people were anyone at all. They swayed through dense forests, pushed around by an unseen wind, fooling any creature into believing they were weak, defenseless, before baring their teeth and striking enemies down. At night, they would listen to star songs as Awoken do. As a Nightstalker, they listened to the whispers in the Void.

As a Guardian, they ventured, and then returned home to the Tower.

They would return to Ira late at night when the stars were the loudest, and the Tower at its quietest.

Hushed stories would fall from their mouth, their raspy voice weaving tales of Fallen and Vex and Hive and Cabal, of nature’s retaking of Earth, of the heavy winds of Mercury as the surface fell into disrepair. They would speak of Titan’s heavy rainfall, of the frogs on Nessus, of the flowers on Io. And as they talked, hair disheveled, eyes shining in the darkness of the Warlock’s room, Ira felt his heart burst.

There was an undercurrent of pride to it, yes. He was the first person Guardian ever met, he laid that first stone in their path to greatness. Over the years he watched them rise and rise and rise, and even when they fell, they clawed their way back up with the kind of resilience that followed someone who wanted to live.

So few Guardians had that.

“You’ve got that look on your face again,” Guardian whispered, slowly laying down on the bed. Their armor was stowed away, leaving them in the loose clothes they wore to bed. Ira threw an arm around them, pulling them close to his chest, and buried his nose into their hair. The sharp scent of gunfire, the low hanging mist of a forest, and the recycled oxygen of a jumpship, and Ira breathed in deeply. Guardian smelled of adventure and the journey home. He felt their heartbeat against his chest, the slow rise and fall of their breathing underneath his hand and against his neck.

“Do I?” He asked. “I hadn’t noticed.” Guardian laughed softly against his collar bone. He knew they weren’t going to sleep for long. Inevitably they would slide out of his arms during the night, and every night he would let them. It wasn’t wise to shackle a Hunter, and less so for Guardian. They always returned of their own volition, and because of that, Ira never held too tightly onto them.

He was half asleep when they asked, “When are you going to Io?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied. “I miss Asher terribly.” In the same way he missed Guardian when they were gone, but differently as well. Asher had a different part of his heart while Guardian had the other, and the ache was different for each of them. He had yet to figure out why.

“I’ll ask Roksana to, um, help me make you breakfast. It’s a long trip to Io.”

“I look forward to it,” Ira said. Fingers traced aimless patterns on his spine, lulling him to sleep. Come morning, his bed would be empty, any lingering warmth from the Hunter gone, but he would see Guardian smiling in the morning and wonder where they would go next.

Anywhere was possible for them.

—

Ira was-

Ira was-

Guardian thought about the Warlock as they sat on the highest branch of a tree that overlooked the Lost Oasis. A sniper rifle sat on their lap, and the back of their boot thudded against tree bark.

Ira was sturdy. Forthcoming. If Zavala was a wall then Ira was a mountain, immovable in every sense of the word. He was honest, but could tell a lie when necessary. Loneliness clung to him in a different way than how it was for Hunters. Somewhere along the line the Void settled into his bones, changing the songs that far off, long dead stars sang, making him miss a home he never knew. Maybe it happened when he was risen himself. Maybe it happened on Luna, where the Hive threatened to consume his Light, and all he saw for days were defunct satellites and stars and the remnants of a dead civilization.

Maybe it wasn’t there at all, and Ira was simply that good at pretending.

Guardian imagined the way he would smile. Warm despite the chill of his skin, the way the corner of his eyes crinkled, how his shoulders would droop, all of his attention on whatever made him smile in the first place. The first time they saw him smile was when they were on the Tower for the very first time, so close to tripping over themself to look over the railing. They were embarrassed back then, but the more he smiled at them, the more they felt happy.

Ira was-

He was home. Their first home. The Tower was a physical place, yes, as was the City, but Ira was the first person they entrusted themself to. He protected them, watched their back, guided them when they needed it. A harsh word never passed his lips, there were no hidden meanings in his lessons, only truth. He was the first person to see them cry. The first to tell them things would be okay. The first to really and truly believe in them.

The sniper rifle was lifted, scope to their eye. Guardian watched a Taken Minotaur rip through a Centurion, and sent the information to Asher.

Ira was-

Ira was-

Ira was the reason the returned to the Tower at all sometimes. Their heart ached when they were gone too long from him. They knew he missed them when they were gone, but he never held them down, never tied them to his side. Which was why they came back to him. To miss each other so deeply meant something.

Right?

Their comm crackled to life, and a smile grew on their face when they recognized the voice talking. “How long are you going to be in that tree?” Ira asked lightly.

“It’s a nice view,” they said instead of giving a real answer. Ira laughed over the line, warm and soft, like a blanket on a cold day.

“There’s no rush,” he reassured them. “Take as long as you need.”

Guardian hummed, and the comm stopped. The back of their boot thudded against tree bark, a sniper rifle was in their lap, and the stars sang in the base of their skull.

Ira was-

Ira was-

The crowing of roosters shocked him fully awake, hands gripping at the threadbare sheets until he remembered where he was. Clucks from wandering hens sounded outside the door, mixing with the Farm waking up slowly and work starting once more. Not for the first time, he wanted to stay in bed, to ignore what was going on beyond the mattress, but duty forced his body to move, and before he had a chance to stop himself, Sunshine was in his armor once more. Amia and Ajay had already left, and Jordan never made it to bed last night. He would have recognized the Exo sliding into bed beside him even if he was half asleep, and the bed never dipped low during the night.

He joined Amia at the station they ran the Crucible out of, and missed having Jordan standing behind them. The day passed slowly, with a prod to Moira every so often in case any word was sent to him about Nirav’s condition. There was nothing every time he asked.

Sunshine knew that no news was good news, but he wanted to know something.

By noon, Amia had left, an apology on his tongue and exhaustion clear in his posture. Even with his helmet on, Sunshine could see how tired the Awoken was, and he waved him off after they gently knocked foreheads.

Sunshine wanted to close the Crucible for the day; focusing was difficult with his mind in too many places at once. Without a driving force, the Guardians were aimless. There was barely any infrastructure, and there were more problems than solutions for him to calm down. Besides, very few people look to him, or Jordan, or Amia for any semblance of leadership. It was irritating, and when he heard footsteps walking towards his station, he inhaled sharply, prepared to snap at the poor fool who decided to bother him.

“You look tired,” Jordan commented.

He jolted, turning his head to look at Jordan. The Exo was standing with his hands on his hips, smiling with his jaw lights, and his head tilted to the side as he stared at Sunshine. Carefully, he fit himself in the stall to stand behind Sunshine, and put a hand on his waist. After taking off his helmet and placing it on the console, Sunshine leaned against Jordan, a sigh of relief escaping him.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Jordan hummed thoughtfully, leaning over to rest his chin on Sunshine’s shoulder to watch the screen in front of them. “Hm, if you say so.” Jordan’s voice was light, but disbelieving. “Nirav is okay. He’s in bed now.”

“Our bed?” Sunshine asked too quickly. He sagged against Jordan when he felt the Exo nod against his temple. Arms wrapped around his waist in a loose hug, and he clutched at the forearms, fingers digging into familiar bracers. A heavy weight was lifted off his back, the tension that had settled between his shoulders finally releasing with the knowledge of Nirav’s whereabouts and health. Out of everything that had gone wrong following the evacuation of the City, he was glad that something went right.

Things weren’t perfect, but having Nirav back was more than enough for him at the moment.

“He’s sleeping, which is more than I can say for any of us lately,” Jordan said. He pulled Sunshine against his chest, lip plates brushing over his temple, soft ventilations moving his hair.

Sunshine turned his head, pressing a kiss on the underside of Jordan’s jaw, and closed his eyes. “When he’s better he’s going to sleep the least, and we both know it.” He smiled when he felt the vibration of Jordan’s chuckle deep in his chest.

—

Nirav’s chest was moving up and down in a steady rhythm. It was rare to see him asleep. The amount of tea and coffee he drank on the Tower kept him awake through the night most of the time until his body quit on him and sent him into a dreamless sleep that often lasted too long for anyone to be comfortable with. The fact that he was asleep at all now was a balm on Sunshine’s frazzled nerves, and each breath Nirav took was a reminder that he was there on the bed and not lost to him forever.

His Ghost was nestled in the crook of his left elbow, optic dark as he rested beside his Guardian. Between the doctors that had been found in the camp proper and Bacchus using what little strength he still had in his shell, Nirav was going to be fine. Beat up, worse for wear for a while, but he was going to heal and he was going to live.

Sunshine glanced over the wounds for the third time that night. Nirav’s face was covered in stitches and butterfly bandages, bangs pushed to the side by heavy gauze that kept the wounds from getting infected, and his right eye had to be covered with an eye patch. His fingers were in splints from having to be broken again and set properly. If the doctors had the materials, they probably would’ve set his hands in casts, but broken bones were Bacchus’ specialty, and the splints were to keep Nirav from moving his fingers too soon. Despite all the injuries, he reveled in Nirav being in front of him, tucked underneath the blanket and surrounded by pillows.

He wanted to lie in bed next to him, to curl around him and keep him safe, but the injuries kept him seated at the foot of the bed. His limbs burned with the desire to move, and it was a fight with his own body to stay still. He curled his twitching fingers into tight fists and kept them on his lap, then bounced his leg when that didn’t work. Waiting wasn’t his forte, and watching Nirav sleep was torture with nothing else going on.

But he had to stay.

He had to make sure he would be all right.

Nirav stirred, face scrunching up as he fought through the painkillers, and Sunshine shot up, the pent up energy releasing in a sudden rush. Sunshine held in a huff of amusement at the obvious attempts Nirav made to move his fingers, a half smile making its way onto his face as Nirav’s mouth dipped into a frown, frustrated with the lack of movement. On cat’s feet, Sunshine made his way to the head of the bed, placing a hand on the mattress, and leaned over the barely conscious man, body tensing in case something was wrong and he wasn’t waking up at all. He waited on bated breath as the half swollen left eye slowly blinked open, glazed over and looking at nothing. A bandaged hand reached up to touch the eye patch, and Sunshine lurched forward to stop it. Gently, he placed the hand on Nirav’s stomach to rest on top of the other one.

“S’nsh’ne?” Nirav’s voice had always been a touch deeper than everyone else’s, and now it seemed to reach a new octave, laced with drugged sleep and exhaustion. It was rough, gravelly, lacking any enunciation, and more bass-like, but it was the only thing Sunshine wanted to hear.

Sunshine swallowed tears that had been waiting for weeks to fall. “Yes, it’s me. You’re okay, Nirav, you’re safe.”

And he would remain safe if Sunshine had any say in the matter.

Carefully, he reached up and ran his fingers through Nirav’s scruffy beard, thumb tracing gentle circles over a swollen cheek to reassure him. His throat clenched when Nirav turned his face into his hand and soft exhalations blew over his wrist. Dry lips pressed a kiss to the heel of his palm, the touch lingering until Sunshine moved his hand to brush back curled bangs.

Nirav took several breaths, left eye fighting to focus on Sunshine’s face, and frowned. “Th’ others?” He slurred, sliding heavily on the ‘s.’

“They’re okay too,” replied Sunshine, quick to reassure Nirav before he tried to leave the bed well before he was ready. “They’re fine, they went to spend time with Saladin for the evening.” A breathless laugh slipped out of him when Nirav wrinkled his nose at the mention of the Iron Lord. “Yes, Saladin is here too. He’s been worried about you. We all have,” he finished softly, and blinked away tears again. Nirav didn’t need to see him cry.

Nirav hummed tunelessly, his focus getting better as minutes ticked by. He grit his teeth when he had to turn his head to look to his right. His eye flickered over the wood paneling, the cobbled together toolsets, noting the lack of everything that was home. When he turned his head to look at Sunshine again, he frowned. Once more, he tried to move his hands, but Sunshine was quick to stop him.

“Don’t,” Sunshine whispered. “They have to heal.”

“B’cchus?”

“He’s fine, but without the Light, healing is… slower now.” Slow enough that Sunshine gave it a day before Nirav would get stir-crazy and start climbing the walls. He sighed through his nose, sat on the edge of the bed, and helped Nirav put his head on his thigh, guiding him to lay on his side. A bandaged hand reached up to stroke his lower back, while the other cradled Bacchus after he toppled out of Nirav’s arm. Sunshine combed through unruly curls, smiling at the pleased sound that came out of the other man. “You worried me, worried us, Nirav.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. With the left side of his face pressed against his thigh, Sunshine couldn’t see the expression Nirav made. “Red L’gion was c’min’, had t’ draw ‘em away.”

A retort threatened to slip through his teeth before he managed to shove it to the back of his mind. There was no need to argue over something that had happened months ago, and Sunshine would rather not start an argument with someone under the influence of enough painkillers to take down a horse. With gentle fingers, he combed russet hair out of Nirav’s face, tracing the white tattoos that decorated his brow, and decided to be grateful that Nirav was next to him at all.

Nirav made a noise deep in his throat, something caught between words and a whine, and for a moment Sunshine thought he had somehow hurt him, fingers stilling immediately. The noise happened again, more annoyed this time, and Nirav turned his head enough to look up with his good eye. “Lay with me?” He asked. “Missed havin’ you beside me. Missed you all.” He shut his eye, bandaged fingers scratching at Sunshine’s skin.

The decision was made before the question had been finished. Sunshine carefully laid Nirav back on the bed, leaving enough space behind him for either Jordan or Amia to lay at his back when they returned, and laid down himself, sliding underneath the blanket with a pleased sigh. Legs tangled with each other the moment they made contact, and Sunshine could feel a stiff wrap around one of Nirav’s ankles, making a mental note to avoid touching it. Nirav slid an arm over Sunshine’s waist, holding him loosely, and Sunshine drew him against his chest, tucking his head under his chin until he felt the beard brush against his collarbone and Nirav’s nose was pressed to his neck. Bacchus’ shell poked them both in the gut, but neither of them cared.

With their chests touching, Sunshine could feel every breath Nirav took, each exhale against his neck. Having Nirav back in his arms again, feeling every thick muscle underneath his palms, was more real than simply watching him sleep, and far more comforting than carrying him on his shoulders. All the restless nights, the moments he expected to hear booming laughter or a dry comment and heard none, the twist in his heart when he didn’t feel right without Nirav close by eased the moment they wrapped their arms around each other.

Sunshine’s hands splayed out on Nirav’s back, holding him close as if he could take away all the injuries that marred his body. Dark imaginings of how every hurt was acquired made his gut twist. How many Cabal did Nirav fight off? How many Fallen? The wilds weren’t kind; they were survivable, yes, but how long did Nirav wonder through it, reaching out to his Ghost as his only guide? He thought back to the staggering steps Nirav took in the forest, and he swallowed thickly. His breathing stuttered, forcing him to take a gasping breath, and he buried his nose in Nirav’s curls.

It was then that he allowed the tears to fall. They made his face warm, and his shoulders tremble with the force it took to keep quiet, praying to anything at all that Nirav had fallen back asleep. His throat was tight, chest burning as he held Nirav tighter, and reminded himself that everything was finally okay.

His breathing hitched when the hand around his waist moved up to pet his hair. Bandages caught his curls, and he felt the frustrated huff of air against his neck when Nirav remembered he couldn’t move his fingers. “‘S okay,” he whispered. “‘M here, S’nfl’wer. ‘M right here.” He patted the back of Sunshine’s head, not minding how tightly he was being held or how wet his hair was getting. “‘M not goin’ ‘nywhere.”

“I missed you,” Sunshine rasped through his tears, clutching at the back of Nirav’s shirt until his knuckles were pale. “So, so much. I knew you weren’t dead, but I was terrified that you wouldn’t make it to the Farm. And when Bacchus showed up without you, I-” His voice cracked, and he closed his mouth, teeth clicking together. The worry and anxiety that settled along his spine when Nirav ran off without them didn’t matter anymore because he was safe and sound, so he shouldn’t be so upset. He got what he wanted.

A kiss was pressed to his neck, just under his ear, and he felt the vibrations in Nirav’s throat as he talked. “Missed you, too, S’nfl’wer. ‘M sorry I sc’red you, didn’t mean to.” As he talked through the painkillers and the pull of sleep, Sunshine’s tears fell harder and faster, quiet sobs of relief escaping him as he curled around Nirav to hold him impossibly tight. “I’ll be caref’l,” he promised at a particularly harsh sob, “I’ll even l’sten to th’ doctors.”

Sunshine coughed out a laugh, burying his face in Nirav’s hair to hide his watery smile. “You should listen to them anyway. They’re doctors for a reason.” He laughed again at the indignant sigh Nirav made against his neck.

The tears slowed to a stop, leaving Sunshine’s eyes red and itchy, but the knot that settled in his chest months ago loosened enough that his chest stopped feeling tense, and the dread that made a home in his gut went away. It wasn’t perfect. There was still a hole in him where the Light once was, and his lower body continued to ache terribly. Both were very real, very present issues that had to be dealt with, but now they seemed more manageable. Doable despite the odds stacked against them.

“We’ll be okay,” Nirav continued softly, slipping off to sleep when Sunshine quieted down. “Th’ngs ‘re gonna be okay.”

The fear that had settled into his stomach lightened. Nirav was alive, and he clung to that. Nirav was alive, and he would find his way to the Farm without his Ghost because he liked to tempt fate. Sunshine cradled Bacchus close to his chest as he, Jordan, and Amia made their way back to the barn. The space allotted to them to oversee training was small, and under normal circumstances wouldn’t fit three men of their stature, but they made it work.

Amia leaned against Jordan, listening to Ajay babble more than the sparring schedules being made in front of him. Jordan had an arm around both Sunshine and Amia, slouching against wood that creaked under his weight. Sunshine had a loose grip on Bacchus, and made valiant attempts to steer his mind away from scenarios that involved Nirav’s death. He succeeded. Barely.

The absence of their fourth member was noticeable, like a missing limb that was bleeding slowly. None of them spoke of what was on their mind. If they did, it would make the loss too real.

—

Bacchus had taken to staying in the collar of one of the Shaxxes’ armor, shifting his plates until his core was safe and barely peeking over the collar. Without his Guardian, there was no safe place for him to stay. The next best thing, of course, was staying close to one of the others.

There were things he noticed. Amia getting sicker by the day was one, the biggest really, but Vincent had made him swear not to say anything, that Amia would tell the others when he was ready. Another was Jordan working himself to the struts making sure that any Guardians left from the evacuation would survive without the Light. He watched as Salutem quietly spoke with Jordan about taking care of himself, feeling too much like a voyeur to cut in with what he believed Nirav would say if he knew what was going on.

He knew that would hurt too much.

Sunshine was in a similar situation, though not for the same reasons. Without his pain medication, he spent nights lying in bed awake, and there was nothing Moira could do to help him. Bacchus understood that. The type of helplessness from not being able to help one’s Guardian was a feeling he understood well. The most he could do to help was lay on Sunshine’s chest and speak quietly with him. It kept him in bed, and it eased Moira’s worries during the night.

Bacchus would never say it out loud because he didn’t want to see the empathetic nods of agreement, but he missed Nirav. As nice as it was to fit himself in the collar of one of the Shaxxes and witness the goings-on that he would surely miss when (not if, he didn’t believe in if) Nirav found his way to the Farm and kept him stowed away for safekeeping, he felt incomplete without him.

He was tucked in Sunshine’s collar a week after he floated haphazardly into his shaking hands, optic looking towards the forest while Sunshine worked. He had taken to watching the tree line, a flicker of hope burning where the Light used to be every time he saw a figure shadowed by the trees, holding out for at least one of them to be his Guardian. Every hour he would reach across the bond, begging Nirav to tell him where he was, and received a gentle nudge of comfort for his troubles.

When Nirav got to the Farm, Bacchus decided, he is going to get scolded within an inch of his life.

Another hour past, and Bacchus tugged on the bond again. What he got in return made his plates close in around his core and stab at Sunshine’s neck.

There was a brush of terror and anger, and then chilling silence.

“Bacchus? What’s wrong?” An undercurrent of worry betrayed Sunshine’s steady voice, or it could have been the exhaustion leaking through.

“Nothing,” he said. It was a vain attempt to soothe him, and he would have to tell the truth eventually, but not yet. “Everything’s okay.”

He hoped that Nirav wouldn’t make him a liar.

—

A week went by, and still there was no sign of Nirav.

Sunshine stood on top of the hill overlooking the tree lines every spare moment he had, Bacchus in his collar again as Moira told him to rest. He had noticed Nirav’s Ghost scanning the same tree line he was standing in front of, and figured that it gave him some measure of comfort. The number of refugees and Guardians has trickled down exponentially, all the larger groups finally making their ways to the Farm. Guardians traveled together, leaning on one another, and he asked every single one the same question and received the same answer.

No one had seen Nirav; no one knew where he was.

The feeling of dread had grown ever since Bacchus had arrived at the Farm alone and weary. With each passing day, Sunshine’s gut twisted itself into knots that kept his mind racing and his feet planted on the hill despite the pain that laced around his hips and knees. Maybe it was in vain, but he refused to let himself believe that Nirav was dead.

He couldn’t let himself think that.

The sun was setting behind the trees, coloring the leaves in gorgeous reds and purples. He would stand until after the sun went down, and only leave when both Moira and Bacchus urged him into the waiting arms of Jordan and Amia.

When stars started to dot the sky, the Ghosts began nudging him down the hill, their shells knocking into each other, both of them chastising him for not resting like he should. He brushed a finger over Moira’s shell. He had felt her worry for him leak through their bond, and she’d scolded him several times for not taking better care of himself. It was the same thing he used to hear in the Tower when he’d stay up too late or forgot to take his medicine, but now there was urgency to her voice whenever she brought it up. Sunshine felt for his Ghost, he truly did, but without Nirav around, he simply couldn’t let himself rest. Not when there was a chance that Nirav couldn’t either.

If it weren’t for Amia getting worse by the day (and Sunshine noticed because while they had all been affected by losing their Light, none of them were deteriorating like he was), Sunshine would have left the Farm the moment Bacchus appeared.

The large Ghost had stopped echoing Moira abruptly. Sunshine turned to look at him, dread building up. What if this was the moment? What if this was the moment that Bacchus sank to the ground and tells him that Nirav was lost? Bacchus hung in the air, focused on the tree line. His plates were shaking as he wobbled in the air. Sunshine had half a mind to take hold of him lest he start to fall, but then he darted off towards the trees.

Sunshine’s body screamed at him for sprinting in full armor as he chased after the Ghost. Moira had taken one look at him and hid in his backpack, and tried her best to keep the pain that jolted along his legs under control. He had to slow when he crossed the tree line to avoid getting hit by low hanging branches that Bacchus had slipped between with relative ease. He’d never known the Ghost to move anywhere fast unless he was causing trouble for Nirav, always swaying in the air like a drunkard attempting to walk until Nirav’s fingers wrapped around his shell to keep him steady. The speed at which he was moving was out of the ordinary, but Sunshine took it as a good thing.

He had lost sight of Bacchus the further into the forest he went, and was close to calling out his name until he heard a gruff, wet laugh and a familiar rumble to his left. Sunshine breathed heavily, eyes wide as he focused on the sound. He clipped a root, stumbling, and felt a body crash into him.

Or rather, he crashed into a body.

Familiar orange and white armor was the first thing he saw. Though this set was scorched and cracked, desperately in need of repairs, it was the same kind of armor that he wore. He made note of where spider web cracks branched out of a dent on the chest, the dark brown spots that must be dried blood and not caked on mud, and general wear of plasteel that had gone through hell. Sunshine looked up into a one horned helmet, swallowing thickly at the long, thin crack going down the right side. His mouth went dry, stopping him from saying anything at all. A wounded noise managed to escape him when he noticed Bacchus twirling around, cautious joy evident with every movement.

Trembling fingers reached up to take the helmet off, and Sunshine clutched at the tree so hard that bark cracked under the pressure.

“Nirav,” he whispered.

Nirav had definitely seen better days. His right eye was swollen shut, and his left eye barely looked any better. His nose bled sluggishly, and there were cuts on his lip that stained his beard a darker red. Russet curls were heavy with sweat and grime, covering more bruises and discolorations from sight. He had to lean against the tree just to remain upright, and when he grinned, blood was settled between his teeth.

Nirav Shaxx looked terrible, but the only thing Sunshine cared about was that he was alive. After weeks of not knowing, weeks of scanning through crowds of refugees for a familiar face, Nirav was standing in front of him. Beaten to hell, yes, but he was close enough that Sunshine could reach out and touch him, solidify him in his mind. Everything else could be dealt with in time.

With a wet sigh, Nirav closed his one good eye, and rested his head against the tree. “Sunshine,” he breathed, a smile still on his swollen lips. “Sorry it took so long. I got… a little lost.”

If he didn’t look like was about to keel over, Sunshine would have throttled him.

(No, he wouldn’t. He would never even think about hurting Nirav. Just like he didn’t think about the ache that settled along his legs as he carried Nirav back to the Farm.)

—

He wasn’t sure how Amia and Jordan knew to meet him at the tree line, he supposed Moira might have sent a message to them, but all he cared about was that they were there to meet him. Sunshine teetered under Nirav’s weight, having thrown him across his shoulders when he started to sink to the forest floor. He gripped Nirav’s cracked helmet in his left hand, chest heaving from the pain spiking around his lower body and the disbelief that Nirav had been so close to them.

Amia sucked in a sharp breath when he finally saw the state Nirav was in, the sound being echoed by Jordan. The Exo wasted no time in gently removing the unconscious man from Sunshine’s shoulders, cradling him in his arms, and murmured soothing words that were lost on Nirav. Now that he was out of the forest, Nirav looked even worse under the artificial lights of the Farm. His face was almost purple, and more than half of it was swollen. His fingers were skewed, as if he had set them himself, and Sunshine was sure that he would have done it without his Ghost. Most of the feeling was gone from his hands, setting fingers wasn’t a daunting task for Nirav. Whether or not they were set correctly was an entirely different matter.

He watched as Jordan carried Nirav away. Bacchus had settled on his chest the moment he could, listing off every hurt he could feel that belonged to his Guardian at the swarm of people who witnessed Sunshine emerge from the forest with the missing Shaxx on his shoulders. Several of the people were doctors, Sunshine knew them by sight, and that was when his knees started to buckle under him.

Amia was quick to catch him, an arm snaking around his waist as he kept him standing. Sunshine turned his head to rest his forehead against Amia’s, and breathed a sigh of relief. The Awoken chuckled, and he felt the soft press of lips against his cheek. “Let’s get you to bed,” he said, and Sunshine didn’t have it in him to argue. “Moira told us how bad your knees had gotten when you ran through the forest like some Hunter.”

“Snitch,” he huffed. Through their bond, Moira jabbed at him for the comment. “I’m fine, Amia, really.”

“You’re about as fine as I am, Sunshine,” Amia said. He started leading Sunshine in the opposite direction of Jordan and Nirav, taking the familiar path to where their meager room was. “Which, all things considered, you’re still doing better than me.”

All things considered, the room they all shared was decently sized. If there had just been one of them, then they could reside in the room easily. But with three (four now, not three) of them sharing the same space, things were… cramped. Two large beds had been pushed together to accommodate their large frames, while a small crib was pressed up against one side for Ajay to sleep in that someone was kind enough to scrounge up for Amia. It didn’t see much use, as Amia held his son most of the time, but there had been a few nights when the Ghosts had hovered above the infant and listened to the tired coos that gave way to a peaceful sleep. Knowing that Ajay was sleeping safe and sound let them pretend that everything was fine and Nirav was outside, carving another piece of furniture they didn’t need.

Sunshine sat down on the bed with a groan. His hips and lower back screamed at him in protest at the new position, but he pushed the sensation to the back of his mind. Amia waved his hands away, and removed his greaves and belt with quick fingers. The same swift movements were used to take off his chest armor, pauldrons, and gauntlets, and Sunshine rolled his shoulders once all the weight he physically carried was off his body, leaving him in the under suit. Amia gently helped him lay down on the bed, and drew the thin blanket over him. “You had better be asleep when I get back,” he said, voice stern.

“Where are you going?” Sunshine started to prop himself up on his elbows, but a hand on the center of his chest stopped him.

“To get Ajay. I handed him to Saladin when Jordan and I got Moira’s message, and I need to tell him about Nirav, if he hasn’t heard already. I’ll be back shortly.” With a kiss to Sunshine’s forehead, Amia left.

Carefully, Sunshine flipped over to lie on his front, arms acting as a pillow. Moira appeared next to his head, her optic dull, and her cap tipped forward as if pointing an accusing finger at him. “You do need to sleep,” she said. “Nirav is back, he’ll be fine, and you know he won’t like that you’ve been neglecting yourself because of him.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” he sighed. Despite exhaustion seeping into his bones, Sunshine couldn’t close his eyes. His body ached too much to flip over onto his back and count the cracks in the ceiling. People were too far away for him to listen to hushed voices talk amongst each other. There was only himself, his Ghost, and a bed too large for one person to lay in alone. “He looked awful, Moira, like he fought every day just to get here.”

The Ghost bobbed in the air, an absent nod. “Knowing Nirav, he probably did. You’d have to ask him what happened when he’s feeling better.”

The image of Nirav’s bruised and bloodied face flashed across his mind, and Sunshine bit his lip. They lapsed into silence. The clucks of chickens being disturbed and the rustling of leaves were the only sounds that reached the room. Sunshine rested his cheek on his arms, eyes fixed on the door for the moment Amia would walk through with Ajay. He could feel Moira brush over his hair, her plates moving his curls with every twitch of her shell. The pain that she had been keeping at bay was started to recede, though a lingering ache had settled into his muscle and bones, something she would never be able to fix regardless of how much she wanted to. He had long since accepted that there would be a constant throbbing pain settled around his knees, but he didn’t try and stop his Ghost from her attempts to help him.

Familiar footsteps reached his ears, and he smiled when he saw Amia walk through the door, Ajay wrapped up in a blanket that sported the Iron Banner symbol. He waved at the Awoken, and grinned at the glare thrown at him. Amia set Ajay on the bed beside him, and Sunshine curled an arm around the baby. He listened to the babbles, nodding his head seriously as Ajay talked to himself, and unwrapped the blanket (that might have been a cloak the longer he looked at it) to allow Ajay the freedom to move.

“If he falls off the bed,” Amia said in the middle of taking his armor off and stacking it along the wall, “I’ll be very upset.”

“He isn’t going to fall.” With Sunshine’s arm around him, and the fact that Ajay was barely old enough to roll off of anything, the baby was fine. Still, that didn’t stop Amia from lying near the edge of the bed to block a disastrous fall that would never happen. “Amia,” he began.

Amia cut him off. “You were supposed to be asleep.”

Half a shrug was his answer. “Couldn’t. You first,” he challenged. Sunshine grinned at the arched brow, curling his arm around Ajay even more to pull him against his shoulder.

“I’m not the one who ran through a forest, and carried Nirav over my shoulders. Sleep, Sunflower, Jordan is staying with Nirav for the night.”

Sensing that he lost the battle before it even started, Sunshine sighed and closed his eyes in defeat. Fingers ran through his curls, and he heard the beginning notes of a lullaby. The same one he had heard Amia sing to Ajay dozens of times before. “Will you wake me up when there’s news?” Sunshine asked before the song could begin in full.

“Six months,” Hakim replied. The path Null followed was invisible to his eyes, but there were moments where he would catch the faintest glimmer of Light, followed by a tendril of Darkness that chased after it.

Smoke blew out from between Null’s teeth. “Such a short amount of time,” they sighed. “I have been in the Void for centuries.”

“Is that why you look as you do?”

For a moment, Hakim worried that he had crossed a boundary as they landed on an asteroid and didn’t continue on. His feet slid on the built up ice, and the only that kept him from sliding off was the grip Null had on his wrist. Three eyes peered down at him, but Hakim was undaunted. He stared into the eyes of creatures far larger than Null. He listened to the discordant song of a sleeping god daily. Compared to such things, Null was small, manageable, but no less dangerous.

Null’s free hand plucked their cigarette from their mouth the moment their eyes closed. They blew out a ring of smoke that swirled into its own galaxy before it vanished with a wave of their hand. Ice clung to their face, sticking to the gentle slope of their cheekbone and their rounded chin. “I do,” they began gently. “And I don’t. I was made like this because of what resides in the Void. I wander the spaces between stars looking for people I have lost, otherwise I would have left ages ago. I have seen many things, Speaker, humanity laid to ruin is but one, but I have a fondness for your reality. Places where humanity has survived an apocalypse gives me hope that I may find my crew, my family again.”

Hakim stored that bit of information away to study later. There were hidden meanings in Null’s words, and when he was safely in his own body again, he would take the words apart. “You became… this,” he stared into Null’s half empty face, hoping they would understand what he meant, “because someone made you? I’m sorry.”

Null tossed their head back. Booming laughter shook the planet and rattled the stars. Hakim felt his heart squeeze in his chest, eyes wide underneath his mask. He had never heard a laugh resonate the space around anyone, and if Null didn’t have a hand around his wrist, he was sure that he would’ve slipped off the icy rock.

Teal teeth grinned at him as the laughter slowed to a stop, points sharp and too big to fit in a normal human mouth. If they had eyes at the moment, he was sure he would be gazing into nebulas of mirth. “There is nothing to be sorry for,” Null told him. “I made this decision, and for the people I have loved and cared for, I would make it again.” Their hand went from Hakim’s wrist to hold his hand loosely. “Without hesitation, I would face the veiled creature as many times as it takes to protect people I love.”

“Would friends fall under that category?” Hakim asked without thinking. His face pinched in embarrassment immediately. He was centuries old, and here he was in the Void flirting.

If Nirav ever found out, he wouldn’t let Hakim live the moment down.

Null chuckled, their shoulders rising and falling in an exaggerated motion. “Do you consider yourself a friend?”

Faces of Guardians passed, many of whom looked to him for guidance because of his ties to the Light, and a precious view who knew who he was behind the mask. He thought of the burden of speaking for a slumbering giant and the visions it granted him. His trials, his failure with Osiris, other Guardians who he had seen one day and then never again, and the Ghosts who had yet to find their Guardians in the vast solar system that hung around his study and danced in the orrery. He thought of the dead Ghosts that would pass into his hands, their cores cold, their shells dented, and what little Light they had left as he returned them to the Traveler.

To Null, he answered, “In a sense.”

“Do you ever regret being made into who you are now? A Guardian, a faceless being who watches a sleeping god? Brought back from the dead for a purpose unknown?” Null hunched their shoulders, lowering their head so they were face to face with Hakim. Their mouth was too wide to be human, even without a grin, their mouth took up too much space on their lower face. Every word was enunciated clearly, though there was a static-like quality to the deep rumble of their voice, as if it were an old recording rather than being used in the moment.

Hakim raised his chin, half in defiance to the questions, half to steel his nerves. He was starting to feel the lingering effects of the Void. Stars pulled on his organs, gravity wells tugged at his robes, and for some odd reason electricity was zipping up and down the arm that Null was holding. “There are things I have come to regret. Such things happen when one has a long life. But, I do not regret becoming a Guardian. I do not regret the visions from the Traveler, nor my decision to speak for it. I have found my purpose.”

“And that is?”

“To await the Traveler’s awakening, and to aid any Guardian that comes to me for guidance.”

Silence filled the space between them. Distantly, strangely, Hakim could hear asteroids crashing into each other. The grip on his wrist lightened, and, out of a desire not to slip off the rock he was standing on, he grabbed Null’s glove. A too wide grin split their face, and for a second he noticed the emergence of several eyes before they sunk back into the skin.

Null tugged him off the asteroid, and carried him back to his body. He was breathless when he opened his eyes, fingers reflexively reaching for his Ghost. For a sightless moment, he felt electricity dance up his spine and a voice whisper in his ear.

“You’ve given me much to think about, Speaker. I await your return to the Void.”

His Ghost blinked her optic up at him, her shell fitting neatly between his fingers.

“Are you all right?” she asked

Wordlessly, he nodded. An ache had settled into his knees, and he focused on the pain to make the world real again. Pigeons cooed outside his window, and beyond them, the Traveler was hanging in the sky, oblivious to all. On the edge of his mind, he could hear an old song, and the resonating tune that only happened when the sun was shining.

He has never gone so far into the Void that he’s stumbled across the Nine, and he isn’t sure if that’s a boon or not.

When he sees a towering figure standing in his path, a lit cigarette hanging out of their mouth, he doesn’t stop walking, though he is cautious. The figure has broad shoulders, and stands at an incredible height. Their skin melds with the Void to a point where Hakim isn’t sure where their head begins and ends. The space around them vibrates, and it takes a moment for Hakim to realize that they’re speaking with an impossibly deep voice that rattles the stars and disturbs icy rocks from pre-determined paths.

Hakim does not stop walking until he’s standing in front of the stranger. He tilts his head back, and back, and back just to look into their face. Instead of two eyes, there are four that are a startling blue filled with galaxies of their own. He’s about to introduce himself when the stranger closes their eyes. His not real breath catches in his throat when a fanged mouth opens, and he can feel his body rattle with every word spoken.

“I’ve seen you before,” the stranger says. They give a short bow, and Hakim is quick to return the gesture. “The Speaker, others call you. Even here, you wear a mask.” Hakim unconsciously touches his mask. “You aren’t lost. How did you find me?”

“I fear that you have me at a disadvantage,” Hakim starts. “You know my name, but I have no idea who you are.”

The stranger chuckles deeply, their shoulders trembling with the force of their own laughter. “The Speaker is not a name, it’s a title. However, I’ll give you my name regardless. I am called Null.” Again, they bow, at the waist this time with a hand over their heart. Stars chase after them, forming new constellations until Null straightens their back.

Hakim regards Null with hidden, discerning eyes. They look as if they used to be human going by their shape. Either they were lost to the Void long ago, or the Void itself made them to interact with visitors. He watches as their mouth closed and their eyes open. They stare at a far off point behind him, and before Hakim can ask what was seen, Null wraps a large hand around his wrist. Despite the size difference the hold is gentle. Once more their eyes close and their mouth opens.

“I’m afraid you’ve overstayed your welcome,” they say. “I can help you find your way back.”

“Will we meet again?” He wants to know more about Null. He has questions that settled in his mind without his approval. Null gazes down at him, lips quirked into a smirk.

“I’m certain we will,” they tell him. “You’re the first person in… in a very long time that’s talked to me.”

Guardian smiled to themself. It wasn’t the first time Ozzy had pretended to sew along with them, and it wouldn’t be the last, but his hands were too small, too unsteady, still. Once he grew they would pass him a needle and show him the stitches used to repair cloaks with a reverence saved for hushed nights under the floating figure of the Traveler. They would teach him how to mend fraying edges just as they were doing now, and how to save the stories and promises in the stitches. And they would show him how to bear those oaths with squared shoulders and an iron spine.

When he was older, of course, and more prepared for the heavy weight of a cloak.

Idly, they wondered what he would have thought about Ozzy. Would he be proud? Curious? Indulgent but weary? Or perhaps something else entirely?

He was nothing at all, Guardian thought. The dead weren’t anything.

“This is not a cloak,” Ozzy said. His words were halting, each word sounded out carefully as they always were. English was not made for young Eliksni mouths, but Ozzy was trying. “Your scarf?”

Guardian hummed an affirming tone, light and short. Their fingers moved mechanically now, allowing half of their attention to be devoted to Ozzy and his questions. “It’s old,” they told him. “It wasn’t mine to begin with, and I’m not using it right.”

“It is a scarf,” Ozzy pointed out. His lower hands made an aborted move to grab Guardian’s work before he tucked his hands against his stomach.

“It wasn’t always one.” There was a time when their scarf was a cowl, granting anonymity to a masked man who had given them a mission. Someone who had believed in them the moment they stepped into his study, fresh from death and marveling at a sleeping God. A man who never minded when they sat with their back to a corner and played with Guardian-less Ghosts. The scarf reminded them of heady incense, of late chess nights, of the whispers in the Light when they looked upon the once sleeping form of the Traveler. “It was a hood.”

“A cloak?”

The image of a cloaked figure rather than a hooded one crossed Guardian’s mind, and they couldn’t contain their amused huff. He might not have minded, but they were sure many others would have. “A cowl,” they corrected gently.

“Whose was it?” So young, and, between Guardian, Hemlock, and Ronin, Ozzy understood the type of promise made by wearing a deceptively weightless item.

Guardian refused to think of a time when Ozzy would wear their cloak, and what kind of promise he would make to them.

For a moment, they were quiet. The frays were repaired mindlessly, the thread being tied off and Guardian used a sharp canine to snap the leftovers off the knot. They wound the thread around the spool, stuck their needle in it, and took it out of Ozzy’s hands to place it on the side table. With a gentleness they save for Ozzy, they turn the scarf inside out to show the white symbol.

“I knew him as the Speaker,” they started. “He wore a mask all the time, and wore a cowl to keep himself a secret. He spoke for the Traveler, so he was always… always kinda serious, but he was kind. He always knew what to say to make me feel better.” All four of Ozzy’s hands held the scarf, eyes focused on the symbol. He chirped, and Guardian continued. “I liked him, still, uh, still do I guess. It hurts, sometimes, to think of him, but it’s because I cared for him.”

“Will the hurt go away?” Ozzy asked.

Guardian sighed through their nose. “I don’t know. I’ll tell you if it does. I think he was always halfway stuck in the Light. He noticed things no one else did.”

“What happened to him?” The trepidation was clear in his voice, as if he knew the ending of the story before he even thought to ask.

“He died,” they plainly said. “He was captured by Ghaul, and he died just before the City was taken back.” Guardian’s voice grew softer, strained, and they hoped Ozzy couldn’t hear them. “He was there, below my feet, and he died alone.”

Ozzy pulled them back with one more question. “What promise did you make?”

Guardian flipped the scarf inside out again, and wrapped it around their neck. They lifted Ozzy up to their shoulder next, not minding how his claws dug into their shirt and scratched their skin. “To always find the road that leads to home.”

Null sits next to an open window, elbow resting on the sill, hand propping up their chin, and watches smoke float high into their air from their cigarette before dissipating. Two eyes are focused on the sky above while a third tracks useless shapes in the smoke. The sounds of the City slowly falling to sleep become soothing noise in the background, a thing to shuffled away to focus on later. The sounds in the room are much more important for them to pay attention to, but they have not been asked to help and so they will stay at the open window, acting as if they weren’t paying attention.

Behind them, they listen as the Speaker shed his mask and robes, going from a figure of near-holy anonymity to a simple man. Heavy robes hit the floor followed by a sigh, and Null can hear the pops of bones with every moment. Their eyes close in an indulgent smile, and the smoke from their cigarette becomes thicker. The robes are picked up to be stored properly, along with the cowl, and boots are placed out of the way, while the mask is left on a table with a soft click. They could turn around then, but they don’t. Dresser drawers open and close, the sounds of bones popping happen once more, and then there’s a muffled sigh.

That’s when Null turns their full attention to the man behind them.

Hakim is standing, swaying on his feet, hands covering his face. The large bruises on his arms are finally starting to heal, though the scars where his skin was rubbed raw in his shackles stubbornly remain. Over time, those will heal as well, becoming nothing more than a reminder of his captivity, but Null knows from experience that it will be a long time coming. Hakim is small in the pair of sweatpants and an overly large shirt that definitely does not belong to him that he wears, nothing like the imposing figure he cuts as the Speaker, but there is strength that Null admires in him; a quiet strength that comes from age and wisdom. That’s part of the reason why they don’t unfurl themself from their seat and pull him into an embrace, and wait patiently for Hakim to come to them.

The other part is that they are far too comfortable to move.

Hakim makes his way into their lap anyway; feet shuffling on the ground until he’s close enough for Null to tug him closer. Picking him up would be too easy, and he hates when they pick him up as if he’s nothing more than a doll anyway, so the soft chuckle that escapes them when Hakim tips forward is the most they do. They adjust in their seat to accept Hakim’s figure on his lap. By the end of it, his legs are thrown over one of their thighs, and his head is pillowed on the arm that their chin rests on. Null plucks their cigarette from their mouth (though with their eyes still open it looks as if they’re taking it out of their face), and they hum softly.

They are delighted when Hakim hums as well.

Four eyes close, and a mouth opens. Razor sharp teeth that glow teal click together, tongue and jaw working over as it gets ready to be put to use. “No one would fault you for taking longer to rest,” they say. Their chest rumbles with every word they speak, and they don’t miss how Hakim tips his head forward to put an ear against their chest. “Certainly not me.” Null can feel Hakim’s eyes roll behind his closed eyes. A smile tugs at the corner of their mouth, and they pull him up higher onto their shoulder. There is grumbling, the kind that has Null outright grinning, until it stops when they press their lips to Hakim’s gray hair.

They love the feel of his hair against their face. Despite the disheveled state of it, his hair is soft as it brushes against their cheeks. Cowlicks tickle their chin, it seems as though the sections that stick straight up have grown in number, and they know Hakim will never bother with something so trivial when he wears a cowl for most of the day. They bury their face in his hair, rubbing the part of their face that used to have a nose in it, and catching the scent. Smoke and sandalwood and the stifling heat that follows Hakim whenever he meditates deeply.

Null does not remember if there were any scents that reminded them of home in the same way Hakim’s does. They do not ponder on this thought.

The steady rise and fall of Hakim’s chest brings Null back to reality. “There’s a bed. You should sleep on it,” they comment.

Hakim sighs heavily, as if he was roused from a deep sleep instead of a light doze. He’s annoyed and half tempted to fall back asleep just to avoid the silent order. “Will you lay with me? To sleep?” He clarifies.

“Of course,” Null concedes easily, not one to deny Hakim anything. They do jostle him, though, after a minute goes by and he still has not moved from their lap. Then there is softer grumbling when Null keeps him from walking away, hand gently holding his wrist. They took in the bags under his eyes, the slouch that only appears behind doors, the way he seats on the balls of his feet, the bandages on his wrists and ankles, and say, “I love you.”

A smile blooms on Hakim’s face, laughter lines appearing in force and dimples marring his cheeks. Even with his eyes half closed, there is a spark in them. “I love you, as well.” He whispers. “Sleep?”

Null stands up from their chair. They reach over and place their ever-burning cigarette into an ashtray. Their mouth disappears, and four blue eyes open. It’s tempting to carry Hakim to bed, and it would be so easy, but they let him go when he shuffles away. Dutifully, they follow, removing their own robes and draping the heavy fabric and belt over the back of their seat. They take their boots off as well, and are left in the tight shirt that they are half sure they died in and thick pants. They wait until Hakim is laying under the duvet to climb on top of the bed, and pull him into their arms.

“Will you actually sleep?” Hakim asks.

Sighing, Null thinks of all the nights they were awake for. Every sunrise and sunset in all the horizons they watched. Time stretched into eternity for them, and they were sure that if they were human, they would’ve gone mad centuries ago. “I’ll try,” they say.

“The EDZ,” they answered. “I tried to find his family, or- or a Ketch, but…” Guardian trailed off, eyes downcast and fingers clutching the fabric of their cloak a little tighter. A small thing found in the rusted carcass of a Golden Age vehicle, no one around for miles on end, the sun in the sky, all components of nostalgia for a simpler time, when the biggest threat was a Fallen Captain ready to kill them as a newly risen Guardian. They couldn’t leave the infant alone.

They couldn’t.

With a soft sigh, Apollo considered the cloak and the Hunter in front of him. Guardian was skittish, ready to bolt and hide, but they wouldn’t because they had someone that relied on them. They were out of their element, unaware of how to proceed, and not thinking of the consequences a well meaning decision like this would bring. He would rather not think of how the Vanguard or the Consensus would come down on Guardian, of how they wouldn’t be able to find the words to fight back. “What do you plan on doing with him?” At Guardian’s look of confusion, he continued. “Do you plan on finding the nearest Captain and handing him over? Or do you plan on keeping him, raising him yourself? Whatever decision you make, Guardian, I’ll help you. No one will know until you’re ready.” And, Traveler willing, he’s had time to prepare as well.

Guardian chewed their bottom lip, eyes darting from Apollo to the door to their bundled cloak and back again. “Help?” Their voice was hushed, on the verge of cracking, and Apollo nodded.

“A name would be appropriate for him first. We can’t just call him pup, or Eliksni, or Fallen. I know there’s a few dictionaries on Eliksni linguistics and naming conventions, perhaps we can-“

“Ozzy,” Guardian cut in shyly.

“Ozzy?” The name threw Apollo off. If Guardian was hoping for a name that would help the infant, he was sure that Ozzy wasn’t it.

“Ozymandias. From the poem you read a while ago.” They held their cloak up higher to their face so Apollo couldn’t see their expression.

Ira inclined his head towards Rime. “Just a bit,” he conceded. “Don’t tell him that he’s gone soft, though, he’ll definitely shoot you. Hemlock, Apollo, Roksana- they’re all very old. They’ve only lived through everything because they had each other to lean on. And you being… well, you, Hemlock thinks that we’d be lucky to have you.”

Rime glared. Her Ghost shifted next to her head, floating right beside her ear piece, and through their bond, she could feel the gentle push to accept. The first instinct was to say no. After all, she had only worked with Ira and Guardian. There was a good chance that she wouldn’t mesh well with the rest of the group at all, and she’d rather not be the one thing that unravels group cohesiveness. The last person she worked with in a professional capacity had gone off to Mercury to chase an ego driven Warlock, and she had no idea if he was alive or not.

“You don’t have to of course, but we’d like it if you did.” Ira put down his tea cup, hands disappearing under the table to rest on his lap, and regarded her cooly. “Guardian and I need a third member for our team, someone we can trust.”

“And that’s me?” Disbelief colored her voice. There was no way it was just over her skill, she’d heard too many whispers about her looks for this to be over how well she fought. Except Ira kept throwing her curve balls like the Warlock he was. He nodded, making her mind race around the honesty.

“We,” and he meant himself, Rime, and Guardian, “work well together. I hang back a lot in fights, Guardian needs someone who’ll stand ground with them. Plus, your propensity for being a striker works well with Guardian’s Shadowshot and my Nova Bomb. If you’d like, we can run a few missions together first before you make a decision.”

Rime scoffed. “We already have,” she pointed out. “We’ve run field missions together already.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of strikes.”

“Oh.”

Rime picked up the tablet again, fingers hovering over the screen. Her Ghost kept urging her on, prodding her to accept because she could find no faults in the man’s assessment.

“Will I just work with you two?”

“If you’d like. As a whole, every one is willing to go at your pace, and that includes wanting to wait.”

Humming noncommitally, Rime drummed her fingers on the screen. She heard the kids Guardian was playing with call for a dog pile, followed by Ira laughing softly under his breath.

Neither of them were Saint, but they would do.

She would try for them, and for him.

“You’ve got yourself a fireteam member, Aurum.” The grin she got was full of teeth and a wicked glint in ice blue eyes.

Gold lights hung around him, bright and out of place in the darkness, but they led him to Ira, forming a path beneath his not-really-there feet.

Ira’s void was lively. Filled with stars and planets and bits of gold that flaked off of him that became the lights that trailed after him. Everything circled around Ira, the man creating his own gravity strong enough to send the swirling space into a tizzy. His braid held newborn suns, and around his head was a crown of ice and gold. With every twitch of his fingers asteroids danced, every motion of his hand causing the void to ripple and warp around him until it settled into a new shape. The darkness clung to him, and it seemed like he never noticed.

This was why Asher didn’t like the void.

The space itself was purple, however, instead of the blackness of infinity, and Asher wasn’t sure if he preferred one over the other.

Ira tilted his head, surprised to see Asher hanging in the void. Gold peeled off his skin, and if they weren’t in the void, Asher would be (almost) worried about him.

“Edix is lost,” Asher said without preamble. “Find him before he’s lost forever.” Ira turned, glowing eyes piercing through the darkness. Asher kept himself from wondering what he was looking at.

“I’ll try,” Ira promised. “Ask Guardian as well.” Asher nodded, or it felt like he did, and he could feel Sela pulling him back to his body. “I love you, Asher.”

“Then why did you leave?” He hissed, and the last thing he saw was a set of planets crashing into each other and Ira fall apart.

Sela has tucked herself under his chin sometime during his meditation.

“Did you find him?” She asked, optic focused on a wall.

“I found Ira,” he clarified. The void had buried itself beneath his skin, freezing him from the inside, and he brought the collar of his robes up higher, fur lining resting against the back of his neck. It did little to combat the chill. Sela floated to his hand, and settled in his palm, turning her gaze to him.

Both of them had to ignore the sharp sting of grief when they looked at each other.

“Will you be going back?”

“No. Not for a while. I shall ask Guardian to traverse the void in my place for the time being.”

A month passed before Asher dared to step into the void again. There was no change in Edix, Ira still hadn’t surfaced, and the void was simply too large for Guardian to map out on their own.

Asher needed a guide though. Which was how he found himself meditating with Guardian moments ago before he opened his eyes and was standing (floating?) in the void. Guardian was beside him, and the space folded for them perfectly, letting them hide in the nothingness, and Asher wondered if it was because of how the Hunter warped perceptions in order to stalk around. They stared at him with unblinking orange eyes, waiting for him to make the first move.

Guardian’s niche in the void was different than Ira’s. They weren’t the centerpiece, nothing orbited them, they were simply part of it, and content with being nothing more. Their cloak catches stars and asteroids, dragging bits of space along until they break free and float in the void once more. Guardian is neatly folded into the darkness, and the only times Asher knew where they were was from their eyes burning like suns or the quiet humming that would fill his head and make his ears buzz.

They trailed after him like some elongated shadow. Out of his peripherals he could see stars hang perfectly still, and, if he focused hard enough, there were cracks that spilled out green light. If there was time (if he was brave enough), he would’ve peaked through a crack, just to know what Guardian saw.

It was almost a comfort to find Ira.

“Have you found him?” Asher spoke first, refusing to give Ira the chance to ramble on about nothing. His answer was a hand sweeping to the side, as if parting a curtain, and stars and planets moved away.

“He’s starting to build his own space,” Ira said, and in the void his voice echoed in a way that made Asher’s bones rattle. “He’s taking some of mine, but” Ira shrugged “it’s not like it matters. Guardian did the same thing.”

“But we still can’t find him,” Guardian hummed, fingers twirling around the rings of a planet.

Ira didn’t so much step closer as he did blink from where he was to standing in front of Asher. He was colder in the void, as if he was succumbing to the vacuum of space. Asher could feel the cold coming off of him, seeping into his skin when slender fingers cradled his face and a soft kiss was pressed against his forehead.

“I’ll be back soon, I’ve almost found what I want,” he said, lips moving against the tip of Asher’s marking.

Asher said nothing, and felt himself disintegrate.

(Guardian knelt in front of him, smaller now despite their considerable height. “Are you okay?” They asked.

“I’m fine!” He snapped, and ignored how his Vex arm twitched violently.)

Asher moved his work into Edix’s room.

It was easier to keep an eye on him that way.

The void was the space between stars and galaxies comprised of dark energy.

Void users often heard whispers when they reached out into the nothingness, some unknown entity hungering for anything and nothing. It consumed everything. Physical matter mostly, but really, anything would do.

Even emotions.

And Edix, in all his desperation, with all the anger and sadness he carried with him, fed the void without even knowing it.

It was Guardian who stumbled across Edix as they floated between planets, and then felt across the bond Ira shared with them, tugging him to their location and Asher had unexpectedly come along. He had gotten stuck in Ira’s orbit, gold hung around him and he seemed more solid, less of a ghost, though Guardian would say that Ira got stuck in Asher’s orbit. The older Warlock picked up a few asteroids without even knowing it, little bits of rock floating around his right shoulder.

Oddly enough, his Vex arm was still missing in the void.

Perhaps it couldn’t survive in a state of paracausality.

When Guardian shifted the void, Ira drew Asher to his side as if to shield him from the sight of Edix being consumed.

Space was slowly enveloping him, anchoring him to a single point, eating through his robes and skin, and replacing it with nothingness. Stars dug into his right eye, as if deliberately looking to destroy something, while his left eye gazed out into the distance. His hair fanned out, the ends hung off of planets, and strands were tangled by asteroids. The void circled around him angrily in a way that reminded Asher of a Voidwalker’s grenade, dark energy swirling hungrily and slowly closing in on itself until there was nothing left, and Edix was right in the middle of it.

“Guardian, take Asher and get out of here,” Ira said abruptly. The space around him rippled and grew colder, gold flaked off of his skin in larger chunks, and the ice that made up his crown multiplied. Asher was prepared to argue, his bones vibrating with frustration, as Ira whispered something in Guardian’s ear and he was whisked away, placed gently in his body with Sela watching him as she always did.

(“What did he tell you?” Asher waited until Guardian had come to him. He refused to wander around the Tower trying to find the one cranny they had managed to shove themself into.

Guardian regarded him in the same quiet manner they look at everyone with, their single orange eye drilling into him. “I know where he is now. He said to worry about Edix first though.”)

Edix had woken up.

Most people would cry with relief, Asher certainly saw Zavala’s shoulders fall in a moment of weakness, but his eyes were dry because Edix-

He was empty.

Oh, he could still talk and think and move around on his own, but there was nothing there. Edix was a shell of who he used to be, and it seemed that the only people who weren’t surprised were the ones who visited the void on a near daily basis. Ikora Rey had sighed when Edix had monotonously debriefed her on his reckless behavior, and he didn’t even react to the outburst from his brother (though Asher certainly did).

Guardian had taken both Edix and Asher back to Io, staying for a few days before leaving to find Ira, and was seemingly the only person not perturbed by the lack of emotion. Asher hypothesized that it was due to Guardian’s own lack of emotions, particularly of anger. They expressed patience with Edix, nudging him along gently around the small home he and Asher (and Ira) lived in, as if they were aware of how the silence unnerved Asher.

The Hunter left, Edix barely managing to wave goodbye, and Asher jabbed at his computer keys.

The less said about the void blade Edix managed to call while practicing the Dawnblade again, the better.

Emotions were slow to return, but if Asher was a little gentler with Edix when he laughed long and loud over Rosalind getting stuck in a bag, well, that was his secret.

He kept Edix close, and was hard pressed to admit to himself that he did so out of worry. Yes, the young Warlock could take care of himself, he certainly had the skills and means to do so, but the mere idea of Edix wandering off in his state made Asher’s chest ache with worry. If Edix wanted to venture off, then Asher wouldn’t stop him. Except wanting was a desire, and Edix desired very little past curling against Asher’s side and running his fingers down Rosalind’s spine as the cat purred loudly in his lap.

(There was one day, months down the line, when Edix mentioned the inexplicable want of having Ira back with them. Asher only nodded his head to show he had listened to his partner, but on the inside he agreed vehemently.)

Ikora Rey was a patient mentor, guiding Edix back into an emotive state as gently as she possibly could. Some sessions had Edix smiling properly again, and he would seek out Asher just to grin widely and say, “I love you!” Others would leave him a sobbing mess that Asher had little idea of how to comfort him, and made Ira’s continued absence all the more prominent. The Warlock Vanguard promised that this was all good, that emotions weren’t something to rush into again.

Asher didn’t have it in him to argue anymore.

Sela tucked herself in his collar while Rosalind sat on his shoulder, and Asher took what comfort he could from that.

“He’s getting better,” Sela commented. She had taken to watching Edix while Asher worked as a way to soothe her Guardian. “He can use Dawnblade again. The solar version, not void.”

“How fortunate to know that Edix will not be destroying the Rupture in one fell swoop,” Asher said. “And here I thought I would have to move. Again.”

“He’s been missing Ira.”

Asher was quiet for a moment, fingers pausing over the keys of his computer. “As have I.”Sela made a chirring noise and said nothing else, content with watching him work.

It was almost like a switch had been turned on. The night before, Asher had gone to sleep with Edix keeping an arm’s length of space between them, neither of them saying that it was meant for Ira to fill but both of them knowing it. In the morning he had been jolted out of sleep by an explosion of sound, hands squeezing his shoulders, and wet babbling. Asher looked blearily up at Edix, tears running down his cheeks and apologies spilling out of his mouth, and found that he didn’t have the energy to be furious with him.

He rarely instigated contact, but on that morning Asher pulled Edix into a crushing hug, tangling his fingers in long, white hair, and hiding his own bright eyes against the column of Edix’s throat.

Finding their rhythm again was easy. Asher didn’t realize how much he missed it.

A year after Edix regained his emotions, Guardian returned, and with them was Ira.

Edix was, of course, ecstatic that he was back, but the way Guardian stared at Asher made his skin crawl.

Guardian nudged Ira with their elbow and mumbled something to him. The motions were methodical and deliberate, which was odd in and of itself as it missed the flair Ira had with every single move he made, and there was no witty quip or apology either. Once his helmet was off, his once light blue skin was tinged with purple. Instead of the pale glow attributed to Awoken, there was gold shining through, and if Asher wasn’t absolutely certain he was standing in reality, he’d be concerned that the gold would start flaking off. His hair was singed in places, longer than it had been in almost a century, and, most notably, had begun to darken.

It was his eyes that forced Asher to grit his teeth and Edix pale.

Where there was once light shining through teal colored eyes, there was nothing but the dull affect of emptiness.

Guardian led him to stand in front of Asher and Edix, and nudged him again, this time for something else. “Hello,” he said, voice flat and missing his melodical inflection. His greeting out of the way, Ira fell silent, and Guardian hummed.

“He’s empty,” they said. “He had to pry you-“ they nodded at Edix, politely ignoring the way his lower lip trembled “-from the void, and ended up taking your place. By the time I found him, he, uh, well…” Ira regarded them all, and said nothing, not noticing the dawning horror on Edix and Asher’s faces and the unease rolling off of Guardian.

“Is there anything we can do to help? What about Ikora?” Edix was desperate for answers. He had gone into the void to look for Ira when he had left looking for answers to questions only he knew, and now he was right there but not really. He had done this.

He had to fix it.

Asher didn’t know how to say that there was no help that could be given to Ira now. Despite knowing the answer, Guardian’s shake of the head was a blow to the gut.

“He’s still recovering from void burn,” they mentioned. “Rayner’s okay too, he’s just having to relearn Ira’s body again. There were some… changes.” Asher was almost afraid to ask what changes there were, but Guardian continued talking. “He’s like Edix was when he woke up. Emotionally empty. But he, uh, he still has the void in him. He’s really cold now, so we’ve been keeping him bundled up. Ikora doesn’t- she doesn’t think that he’ll recover.”

The sound Edix made was reminiscent of a wounded animal, and it caught Ira’s attention. He tilted his head, blinking slowly, and reached for Edix’s cheek. A tear caught on his finger and he stared at it blankly, as if confused as to what the tear meant at all. Edix hiccuped, holding Ira’s hand in both of his and brought his knuckles to his mouth, kissing it softly. “I’m sorry,” Edix whimpered against freezing skin. “I’m so, so sorry.”

It took Ira a moment to remember that he had to reply. “It’s okay,” he said.

Asher sighed heavily. It wasn’t okay. Edix would have to bear the constant reminder that Ira was filled with the void because of him simply because he was back. The only comfort Asher could take from this moment was that Ira had returned at all. Later, he’d ask if it was worth it, knowing that he’ll get an honest, straightforward from Ira in the state he was in.

“Thank you, Guardian,” Asher said quietly. They hummed, nodding their head, and watched Edix wrap his arms around Ira’s waist to hug him. The fact it wasn’t returned stung. “Where did you find him?”

“The Vault of Glass. Whatever he found in there, I hope it was worth it.”