For Here There Are No Stars
"They call it the Lighthouse. Only the most mighty of Guardians are allowed here."
"How?"
"What?"
"Well, it's on Mercury right? I could just fly my jumpship, land here, and say, 'yeah, I did well in the Crucible. Give me loot.'"
"…it doesn't quite work like that."
No, I suppose not. But if a lifetime of death coupled with a short life of undeath has taught me anything, it's that you have to take what levity you can find. I mean, the people in the Tower are sombre to the point of depression, the Awoken of the Reef keep calling me "it," and there's the nasty fact that every other alien in the solar system wants me dead. Well, except Xûr, but I don't know if Jovians count.
"I'd make a joke about sunscreen," Sparky says. "But since the Light prevents your skin cells from undergoing mutation brought on by UV rays I…"
"You've ruined the joke already," I say.
"Oh. Sorry."
Poor Ghosts. They try so hard. Yeah, sometimes they succeed, but I just have to fight Hive wizards on the moon to remember certain…incidents, that put a dampener on the whole humour thing.
But I'm not in the joking mood anyway. Because I'm here, on Mercury. On the top of the Lighthouse. I'm as close to the sun as any living being has ever been, the sun itself filling the sky. Some say the greatest light casts the darkest shadow, but I can't agree – there's no shadows here. Only light. Light that would incinerate me in an instant if not for my armour and the Traveller's powers, but light just the same.
"Why do they call it the Lighthouse?" I ask.
"What?" my Ghost asks.
"This place," I say. "Why the Lighthouse? I mean, it was constructed by the Vex, for one thing. And I don't think an actual lighthouse has been used in centuries."
"Maybe a reference to the sun?" Sparky asks.
"Maybe," I murmur, the sun still filling my eyes with its light. "But lighthouses are used at night, aren't they? There aren't any stars here." I gesture towards the sun. "None but that one at least."
"Who can say?" Sparky asks. "We call our home the City, even though others exist on Earth, ruined as they are. The Awoken call their home the Reef, even though reefs are oceanic ecosystems. Every planet of this solar system was named by a deity of one of mankind's cultures. Who is to say what is in a name?"
I remain silent. Names. I have a name. Everyone just calls me "Guardian," or "it," or "a Fallen insult that is too vulgar for me to translate" (thanks, Varkis). Perhaps names are meaningless.
"So, what now?" Sparky asks. "Inside? Outside? We could try the dark side of Mercury – it's a cool minus one-hundred and seventy-three degrees over there."
I still say nothing. I am an Awoken. Supposedly on the cusp of light and dark. I've been as far out into the dark as I can. I am now here, as close to the light as well. Standing here, I reflect that I feel at home at neither. That if Earth is the boundary between dark and light, then it is indeed my home.
"Come on," I say. "Let's go home."
"Home?" Sparky asks.
"Home," I say. "To Earth." I glance at the sun, its brilliance bathing the Lighthouse in its rays. "I miss the stars."