Prologue: Selector of the Light
I remember feeling cold.
How long had it been since I took a moment to sit down to rest? How long had it been since I told Kyla, Ben, and Jordin-9 to continue on in the Super Carrier without me to finish off Thumos, the Unbroken for good?
The small Fireteam I was a part of was assembled by Hawthorne to take out the Cabal—one of Ghaul's "Chosen" generals—after his countless attacks and invasions in small settlements nestled on the outskirts of The Farm, the social hub Hawthorne founded where we non-City residents gathered to set up missions. We set up scavenging and assault teams and provided provisions to the other human settlements in need if supplies ran low.
Things were good; we fought for survival against all factions of the galaxy that would see the human race eradicated. We won some battles. We lost even more of them. But even though things seemed bleak and we were oftentimes unsure about our own future, our present made sense. Strangely, it all fit into our bizarre puzzle of life, and for the first time, I finally felt a part of something good, something decent, something noble.
That all changed once The City fell.
Once the Red Legion invaded The City, abducted The Speaker of The Traveler, and forced the surviving Guardians to flee, that's when my sensible puzzle fell into utter chaos and disarray. That's when the Guardians came to us for help because they were no longer protected by their precious Light.
I hated Guardians. Sure, they stood for the Light and the preservation of the human race, qualities we "lesser beings" should be thankful for, but at what cost? Our freedom? Our civil liberties? We were forced for many years to take shelter in The Last City, the so-called "final bastion of the human race". It might as well have been a prison for those of us who wanted to experience the outside world like our ancestors did. If you weren't a Guardian or if you had no business or affiliations within the scope of the Vanguard, you were unable to come and go from The City as you pleased.
Which is why, as soon as I saw Hawthorne take the lead years ago and leave, I up and left with her to enjoy and experience and respect and fear what the world had to offer outside the confines of The City instead of living life like a canary trapped in a cage.
But this is how we ended up here, isn't it? This is how it all lead to this moment.
My eyes betrayed me, took away my sight.
My ears betrayed me, took away my sound.
My nose betrayed me, took away my smell.
My mouth betrayed me, took away my taste.
My hands betrayed me, took away my touch.
All five of my senses had betrayed me at that moment, and I was still unclear as to how and why I was alone in an open field of darkness completely devoid of any and all light. I felt trapped within my own thoughts, my mind acting as my would-be captor that made sure it kept me rooted to the spot. But where exactly was the "spot"?
And then…warmth. Seemingly out of nowhere, a pinhole of light burst through the darkness, filling my vision with nothing but pure light. It pulsated through my body; first in my mind, then into my arms and finally into my legs, allowing me to wiggle my toes and move both legs slowly.
What is this? I thought, my head shifting aimlessly left and right. What is this light?
And then…oxygen. Air. I opened my eyes and gasped for breath in what seemed like the first time in eternity. An irregularly shaped figure—no bigger than my fist—floated above me, scanning me with a blue reticle, blinking every so often as it finished scanning a particular portion of my body that would later allow me to freely move it.
More than not, it was focusing on the large hole in the side of my torso where no doubt my intestines had spilled to the floor after my hands could no longer hold them in. That's the last thing I remember before blacking out. I pleaded with the others to leave me behind and focus on the mission at hand so they can end this senseless Cabal threat once and for all.
That's right, I thought. It's all coming back to me now.
It had been a Psion's fusion rifle that caused all this damage to me; of that, it can be no doubt. It was down a long stretch of hallway that ran parallel with the area Hawthorne had told us to infiltrate to bypass the Carrier's security systems. Once we reached the hallway, I quickly aimed down my sight and took out a Psion with a clean headshot, watching the satisfying mist of oxygen fill the air as it clawed helplessly at its throat before crumpling to the ground. At this, I collected myself and kept pushing with the rest of my Fireteam, hell bent on doing the same to the others.
That's what separated the "lesser beings" from the Guardians. We knew there would no coming back for us if we died right there in that hallway, but there we were—myself, Ben, and Kyla—ready and willing to take the fight to the Cabal, to show them that it's men who are indeed brave, not the Guardians who know the Light will revive them.
And because of that pride, because of that mentality, because of that stubbornness, I made an oversight that cost me dearly. I noticed a Psion with a charge ready to fire. My mind didn't take into account that it was aiming for Jordin-9, the Titan Guardian assigned to our small Fireteam as additional support courtesy of the ever-virtuous and can't-take-him-in-large-doses Commander Zavala and the Vanguard. Jordin-9 was also one of the few fortunate Guardians to have the Light restored to him after The City fell, causing other Guardians and non-Guardians alike to revere them as the true saviors of mankind who would eradicate the threat of the Red Legion and liberate The City from their tyranny.
Once the Psion released its charge, I instinctively shoved Jordin-9 to the side out of the trajectory of the beam and moved too slowly; I thought I had more time to dodge the beam myself. Instead, I felt a great sensation of heat penetrate the left side of my body, like a knife easily gliding itself into a soft piece of meat. Crimson colors filled my vision and my drive sent me tumbling to the ground in front of my Fireteam, who continued to press on despite my injury, to kill the remaining Psions and clear the hallway.
At that moment, pure adrenaline filled my body, and I still had the strength and will to prop myself against the cold metal grating of the hallway as I made a quick assessment of my wounds. The fusion beam had eroded a complete section of my left hip and belly. I tried with all might to apply as much pressure to the wound to no avail; blood was seeping through the laces in my fingers as quickly as air was surely leaving my body.
I was going into shock; I knew it then, I know it now. It was just a matter of time before I lost consciousness due to the blood loss.
Ben was the Fireteam medic, Kyla the Fireteam Leader. They were both on me in an instant after the firefight had concluded to assess the wound themselves. Ben had quickly taken a "Salve"—a liquid solution that filled open wounds and hardened them long enough to get a patient into surgery—to my side and bandages in an attempt to close the wound to no avail. After all, how can you close a hole in a body that was nearly the size of a softball?
"Go on without me!" I gasped, "Thumos needs to be taken down! He knows we're coming! Finish the mission!"
Jordin-9 needed to be told once before he grabbed my rifle and slung it over his back, assuring the others I would no longer be needing it in my current state. He did, however, leave me with his hand cannon, which he blessed with the name "Bad News".
"If you see any Cabal, give them some," he said in his autonomous voice. Jordin-9 was an Exo with lavender "skin" that complimented the white iris' his creator chose for him. Since he was an Exo, Jordin-9 lacked much of what made humans compassionate, sacrificing sympathy and empathy for precision and calculation on the battlefield, which made me wonder how he came to be a Guardian in the first place.
Ben and Kyla, however, did not leave as quickly. "I told you we were all going to see this through together," Kyla said, grabbing my hand. "You tryin' to make me look like a liar?"
I shook my head and fastened the fakest grin I could muster at that moment to provide a false sense of security to a leader who would no doubt abort the mission in favor of her team.
"It's my job to make you look bad," I wheezed, laughing slightly. Unlike the grin, the laugh was real. Kyla, Ben, and I have been a consistent Fireteam throughout the years and have proven time and again to overcome the odds in favor of success. To Kyla, every mission was a failure if someone in her Fireteam was injured or killed despite the completed objective. After the mission was complete and we were safely returned to The Farm or another settlement, she would mercilessly beat herself up about her tactical decisions and leadership qualities until either Ben or I would reassure her otherwise.
"I'll be fine," I lied. "Not going anywhere. Just don't forget to pick my big ass up once you're finished with Thumos, you hear? I don't want to spend my whole Saturday in this ship; I got a game of soccer waiting for me at The Farm with five hundred Glimmer on the line."
"Want to make it a thousand?" Ben grinned. "I like my chances at winning now."
"Fine," I agreed. "One thousand. And another thousand if you give me Thumos' left middle finger. Not the right, not the ring, not the index. And don't you dare think about giving me a thumb!"
Ben smiled weakly; he knew this would be the last time we would be speaking to one another. He pressed his forehead to mine and reloaded his scout rifle before helping Kyla—who was still holding my hand—to her feet and followed in line behind Jordin-9.
The last sound I remember was the echo of their footsteps running down the hallway.
"Sinara?" I called out, lifting a hand that felt it was attached to the body of a drop ship. "Sinara? Is that you? Where's Jordin-9? The others?"
The small Ghost finished its assessment of me, the blue filter surrounding the room vanishing into the central core of the machine's reticle. It looked at me as a puppy looks at its master at the mention of food and shot into the air two meters out of shock.
"Alexander!" it shrieked, beeping twice. "I'm so glad I got to you in time! We need to get out of here; Cabal forces are closing in on our position!"
"The others?" I asked, noticing Sinara was alone. "Sinara, where's Kyla and Ben?" The Ghost floated in front of me, its blue reticle looking in all directions before I firmly grabbed it with my left hand. "Answer me, Sinara! Where's my Fireteam!?"
Sinara beeped softly in my hand before her blue reticle dimmed. "Dead," she said simply. "Jordin, too; I couldn't bring him back this time. Thumos was just too much for them to take, especially with his Blood Guard defending him. The fight was over in less than a minute." She beeped softly again before turning its gaze directly at me. "It was more than they expected, which is why we need to leave while we still have the chance."
The realization of losing both Ben and Kyla hit me with the intensity of a hurricane. Dead, I thought. That can't be; they always come back. Always.
"We need to get out of here," Sinara repeated. "We don't have much time before the Cabal arrive!"
As soon as Sinara finished her sentence, a small troop of Cabal entered the hallway, coming through the open access panel my Fireteam bypassed in order to navigate through the ventilation system of the Carrier. There were two Psions on the left and right of one of Thumos' Blood Guard, a Legionnaire that boasted yellow and red plate armor with the Red Legion symbol embossed on its pauldron. In his hands was a Scorch Cannon, ready and willing to be used to eradicate any more of the fools who thought to attempt to assassinate his general.
"We're too late!" was the last thing I heard Sinara shriek before I fell into a trance. An unknown power surged through my fingertips and illuminated the hand cannon, Bad News, with a heat and golden hue that reminded me of the solar waves of the sun.
I heard a voice speak. It said, "Arise, Guardian, and take up your charge, for this is the will of The Traveler," before fading out entirely.
What followed next all happened too quickly for even me to process. Thumos' Blood Guard, mouth open in shock, evaporated in a brilliant flash of orange and yellow, the two Psions on opposite sides of him meeting the same fate mere milliseconds later. In an instant, all three of my aggressors were gone, and the only presence within the hallway was once again Sinara and I.
"What the hell was that?" I asked in shock, Bad News dimming back to its original shade of matte black and glossy silver. "Sinara, what's happening?"
"No time to explain!" she retorted. "You can't do much in your current state; we need to get back to The Farm and report back to Hawthorne!"
Kyla and Ben reentered my mind then. Even Jordin-9. I couldn't leave their corpses in there for the Cabal to do what they wished with them. The thoughts of seeing my friends strung up or displayed as trophies caused my stomach to turn in knots. "I can't just leave them in there, Sinara! They're my friends! If the shoe was on the other foot they wouldn't leave me behind!"
"Yes, they would, and yes they have!" the Ghost shouted back. "Look at you, Alexander! Look inside! Don't you remember what happened after they left? Don't you remember what happened before I found you?"
I thought long and hard about those few moments I had as the sounds of their footsteps dissipated. I felt the cool grating on my back, felt the warmth of the blood once again pooling out of my side, and the strong taste of iron on my tongue that took away my speech before my vision faded and my senses failed me.
I died, didn't I?
{break}
Author's Note: I have been hankering to write a Destiny story for quite some time now since there are currently no novels I can sink my teeth into. Since the story and lore is mostly shadowed and dense as of now, I can only go by the limited information available to me and hope I can do this story justice once it continues.
If you like the story and would like for it to continue, please don't forget to review so I know if people have taken an interest in it. It really means a lot to me as a writer to know people are reading and actually enjoying what I'm writing.
If there is anything wrong with the canon as far as you can tell, I would appreciate you telling me, as there may be some oversights here and there because of the limited information on the plot, etc.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. Looking forward to giving you some more to read soon. God Bless.
Wild
