"Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. Its the transition that's troublesome." - Isaac Asimov
Long ago, before the feats of the lone Guardian who killed the Heart of the Black Garden…
I hate Russian winters. The cold air clawed at my face and tore me away from my dreams, as the cauterized hole in my abdomen forced up the memory of my last encounter. They weren't Fallen, or Hive, they were my friends; the thought sent words fleeting from me as I tried to put them to rolling sea of emotion burning within me.
The snow-covered woods of Russia greeted me as I willed my eyes to open, drying them out immediately. Cursing the sting of the cold air, I turned to my right to see a scorch mark burned into the ground, seething with such heat that the snow refused to pile onto it still hours after. There in the middle of that crater lay smoldering robes and chunks of armor plating coated in ash, and with a grimace I the recognized the remains of a comrade...and a lover. My concerns returned to myself when felt something prick my finger, and looking down upon my clenched fist I discovered that nestled in my gauntleted hand was the hollow, dead shell of my ghost. The pure white octahedron was washed in shades of crusted crimson and char, with just the tip of just one of its four spines lodged inside my index finger. I couldn't help wincing a tad as I withdrew the remains from my appendage, watching the blood spill freely over my palm. For the first time in a long while, there was a small droplet of water running the length of my face as I buried my hands in the firm snow to clean them, and then lowered my companion gently down into one of the holes. Don't worry pal, we ain't done yet, that I promise. With the vow made, I buried my ghost.
It must have been hours that went by, time was a beginning to blur, and it wasn't until the winds died down and the sun appeared crested on the horizon that I knew evening had struck. I seized the moment to look around in the trees as best I could while sitting down, and studied the scene of the battle. Bullet holes riddled the ground and tree trunks, and black swaths of char painted what remained of the immediate flora. Off in the distance there could be heard the rallying cries and roars of Fallen pirates, echoed by the shrieks of Hive spawn, no doubt ready to move in on what was left of the skirmish, what was left of me. The haunting exchange of gunfire reverberated through the air like a drum cadence, but the chorus of whining Fallen weapons and thunderous Hive armaments was joined by a third, more familiar voice. When the woods grew silent at last I knew that the forces of darkness had been defeated for the time being. The trees seemed as if they were relaxed now, their branches noticeably drooped as tension left their bodies. The loose fauna made it difficult to distinguish, but in the bushes some distance away there was a faint figure trudging through the deep snow. It was then I noticed that I myself was covered waist deep.Damn snow, damn cold, damn everything!
He was watching me, scanning, probing, all of the trademark signs of a fellow hunter. After a few minutes of trading gazes with each other he approached me slowly, dusting snow off of his shoulders and thighs; he was wrapped in the furs and pelts of his trophies, but I could still see he adorned some kind of armor suit beneath it all. As he knelt beside me I could feel the silent rays of compassion emanate through his visor as he sized up my wounds. He reached as if to check my pulse before I waved his arm away, to which he retracted his hand in utter confusion.
"You know you'll freeze out here right?" he asked. The kid obviously thought I had any delusions of surviving. I played his game and nodded my head.
"Grab onto my arm, I'm getting you inside somewhere." he commanded. I offered my hand complacently, and with a mild huff from him he threw me over his back, causing my wounds to explode in an intense gout of flaming agony. I wanted to scream.
The sudden bark of his voice took me by surprise, as he called out to his ghost, "Icarus!" The octahedral companion materialized front of him, spinning about in an excited manner, and unlike mine, this one was very new and untouched.
"Yep, right here. Already found a cave, so stick close and follow me. This blizzard is rather fierce tonight." said the ghost. It scrutinized me with its eye for just but a second before vanishing into thin air. Funnily enough, I could feel the winds picking up again now that he mentioned the word blizzard.
Now that's a team, I thought. Admittedly, I don't think much of the way the Vanguard train the new bloods, but these two aren't half bad, at least not thus far, but maybe that was just my optimism speaking.
"Looks like we're here!" chimed Icarus. I looked over the Hunter's shoulder to catch us walking through the mouth of the cave, and saw that it was fairly small and unassuming, nestled underneath a plateau saturated in natural cover. He set me down in the back of the cave, up against the rock wall to support me. He waved in the ghost who watched the winds rage outside.
"Icarus, see what you can do for him. I'll get the fire going." said the Hunter. His manner was all business it seemed, and that suited my ends just fine, he'll be perfect for the job I have in store. As he walked away I turned to the bright blue eye staring me in the face. Its rigid teal form swiveled for just a moment before it spoke.
"As you could've guessed, my name is Icarus. My guardian over there is, well, I'll let him introduce himself. He's very secretive…but he's nice!" exclaimed the ghost. "Let me examine those wounds guardi – whoa!" he started. "How are you alive? You should be dead right now." he muttered as his shell rotated erratically. "I may not have enough light to heal…"
"I'm already dead, I fully accept that," I interrupted, tasting the blood in my mouth as I spoke. It was then that the Hunter stepped into the cave with some wood. Again he stared, but he didn't say anything and continued walking over to where he would pile the wood in the cavern. For a long while we all sat mired in deep silence, while I sought to work out how I would tell him everything, how to make things right, until my new-found conscience spoke for itself: Tell him from the beginning, you owe him that much. Thus with all my strength I returned to my words. "There's only one thing left I need to do," I grunted, "so pay attention son. I won't live long enough to tell this twice."
Just as he sparked the tinder and kindled the fire, he caught the notion my stare, and slumped against the wall opposite from mine. He lowered his wolf's head cloak and removed his helmet, tucking it beneath his arm, with his emerald eyes intent on me, and the rest of his chiseled features unreadable. Good, I thought, he's all ears. With the last of my strength, I cleared my throat and prepared my story…