.x.
Sunrise on Mars was a contrast in viewing, a pleasure/pain experience. The first rays to creep above the horizon always seemed so tentative, belying the power of what they heralded. As more of the sun edged into view it would stain the sky brilliant reds and oranges, the truest canvas of dawn to be found anywhere. And then there was pain to counterbalance that pleasure, as the full force of the sun shed the fetters of the horizon, as the glare was too much to look at even from behind the visor of a helmet. And then Mars was as she was meant to be, bathed in the harsh, haggard light of a star that ruled with impunity.
Sunrises, the Guardian had long ago realized, where her favorite part of day. Sunsets were nice too, but sunrises—well, there was no comparison. With one hand shading her eyes—hidden even as they were behind the tinted visor of her helmet—she stared at the sun a bit longer, welcoming the burn, welcoming the heat it provided. Her armor was cooled properly, of course; without an internal thermal regulator she'd already be overheating, soon to be dead, exposed as she was entirely to the unforgiving sun. She could feel the sun warm the surface beneath her, seated as she was on an exposed piece of bedrock jutting out from a hill of sand. In a short matter of minutes the stone beneath her would become even hotter, and if she'd bothered to touch it without her armor it would blister her skin.
There was a reason she'd chosen to linger here now, in the middle of the inhospitable desert that was Mars, seated on a rock that was easily overlooked. Once, a long time ago, she and her Fireteam partner had made this place their own. Once, a long time ago, this had been a place for meetings, a place for conversation, a place for companionship. They'd staked their claim on every planet, the two of them—they'd sought out spots like this, where nobody else would venture. Each location had something to it, something that had drawn them individually or together, something that gave it meaning—
—once, a long time ago.
After a moment she sighed and got to her feet and began making her way down the hillside, stepping off the bedrock and walking carefully down the incline. The sand shifted beneath her with every step, causing her to slide the last few feet. When finally she stood on solid, even ground, she brought up her Ghost in order to summon her vehicle. Her Ghost hovered just above her palm, its blue ocular unit focusing and refocusing, but it remained silent. A long time ago the Ghost had talked to her often. A long time ago she'd learned how to override its vocal protocols. Now it was her constant, silent companion, and she preferred it that way.
Her Sparrow was before her now. She dismissed her Ghost and approached the vehicle, grasping the handlebars, swinging one leg easily up and over. A heartbeat later she was seated and with the twitch of a finger she was moving, her Sparrow sailing smoothly over sand dunes, carrying her toward the many destinations she had here, toward the work and the bounties that would keep her occupied, earn her money, improve her status.
But a part of her had been left behind, seated still on that rock, a fragment of herself still clinging to a point in time when she hadn't been alone in all of this.
.x.
On Venus, the sunrise was a thing of majesty. The sky at any given time during the day was a riot of colors, bright flashes of lightening created from the volcanic eruptions ripping through the tumultuous, tempestuous bluish-grays of the subsequent clouds of ash and fumes that were constantly swirling. All of this was streaked intermittenly by the frequent, ethereal tailings from meteorites. The Guardian had chosen her perch well, scaling the pillar of ancient Vex architecture, and was now seated on an outcropping with her back to the cold stone. The vista from this height was breathtaking—she had an unobstructed view of the ruins and of the jungle that had conquered them over the centuries. And the sky, ah, the sky—tilting her had back, she focused on that sky and the colors it presented her with and remembered that once, a long time ago, her partner had taught her to see dragons in it.
That particular memory stung more than most, catching her off-guard. It was like that, now and again; some fragments of memory were more dangerous than others, carrying within them jagged shards that consisted of words said or looks exchanged. In the beginning, she'd been able to navigate them carefully but as time went on she became more careless. And it had caught up with her now, assaulting her with emotions that she thought she'd long since buried.
She struggled with it as she watched the sun rise, bursting over the horizon with all the pomp and circumstance of a celestial emperor, assailing the sky and the land and any eyes that viewed with regal shades of red and gold, with searing and indomitable hues of orange and yellow. When it was over the Guardian was struggling still, taking deep breaths from within the confines of her helmet, trying to reconcile what was then with what was now. It was hard. How many sunrises had she and her partner watched together, just like this? Seated by side, weapons carried on their backs, taking a break from bounties to appreciate just for a moment the splendor all around them, they would talk and jest or just take it all in in silence. He'd been her rock and she'd been his, and there had been times when the world—this one, and all the others—had been theirs, only theirs.
It took her longer than she thought to regain control of her emotions, to calm herself to the point where her eyes were no longer burning and her throat no longer felt constricted. When she'd reached that point she stood and hopped off the ledge, floating gently to the ground a considerable distance below. She summoned her Ghost, ready to head to orbit, and tried to ignore the fact that her small companion's eye seemed to harbor a light in it that was unwelcomingly speculative.
.x.
Earth was the hardest place for her to be, but also the one she missed the most. Once, a long time ago, her partner had asked her which planet she'd loved best. Earth, she'd told him, because it reminds me of where I grew up. The fact that she'd been dead for centuries prior to her awakening and the fact that any such memories shouldn't in all likelihood exist didn't matter to either of them. It had been her answer then. It was her answer now.
She stood on a snow dusted cliff overlooking the ocean. Vegetation grew sparse from crannies in the rock, rugged evergreen shrubs that thrived even in the frigid air. Behind her was a rusted and warped chain link fence, erected centuries ago to keep people away from the danger this cliff face presented. The fence in itself presented a challenge to the Guardian—it was another of those tricky memories, something that shouldn't matter so much but did. A long time ago, shortly after she'd been resurrected by her Ghost, she'd been as awkward and ungainly with her powers as a newborn foal with its legs. Her Fireteam had still been new then, and her partner had patiently done his best to train her. Part of his lessons included teaching her how to properly jump over obstacles. That rusted chain link fence had been the instrument of his lesson.
She'd cleared it easily, just now. And now she was standing on the cliff, watching as the night sky steadily and slowly brightened. Dawn was muted here on Earth, which mirrored how the Guardian herself was feeling: muted. Timid. A little lost. The sun's light was pale, wavering, but still it found its way beyond the dark line of the horizon to span across the world. And as she stared into that light the Guardian suddenly had to close her eyes and turn her head away, because she shouldn't be here alone, didn't want to be here alone—
But she was.
It was the fence, that goddamn fence—but it wasn't just that. It was the small tunnel they'd found together in the Black Garden. It was all the places he'd taught her to scavenge for chests. It was the subway lines beneath Earth. It was the top of a ruined skyscraper on Mars. It was the Ghost they'd found in the back of an old, rusted car on Venus. It was everything they'd ever done. It was what they could never do again.
It was loss.
And she hated it.
.x.
The Tower was where she was safest from recollections, she found. There were memories everywhere here too, riding the air like particles of light and sound. But she could filter them out, lose them among the voices of other Guardians, phase them out and focus on the duties she performed here every day.
The sunrise here was something she watched often as well. She walked up the stairs that led her to the landing above Eris. It was a small matter to vault over the safety railing and walk out onto the protruding overhang. And then she sank down, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head on them. A breeze, cool and refreshing in these minutes before dawn, caught the short lengths of her hair and carried to her the voices of other Guardians, other Fireteams. More memories battered at the doors of her mind, and she closed her eyes and forced them all away.
She watched the sun climb into the sky without the protective shading of her visor, her eyes focused wholly upon it at first. Later, as the light grew stronger and brighter, she turned her head to the side and watched from the corner of her vision, until that was too painful. And then morning had fully arrived and a new day had begun, and she got up and made her way back over the railing and back down the stairs. To Eris she went first, and then to the bounty board, and then she was ready to go again, to continue the repetitious cycle of what it meant to be a Guardian. It was what she was meant to do. It was what she had to do. It kept her from dwelling too much on what she'd lost. It kept her from chasing those memories that made her ache from the inside, that made her regret and grieve so intensely.
Instead she chased sunrises.
.x.