Luminescence

Rating: T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

Disclaimer: Bungie, you own this, and stealing is wrong, but my little fireteam is too adorable to ignore so. . . this happened. Sorry, Bungie.

Summary: Newborn, they call her. As a baby Guardian - in more aspects than one - Cyra's got a lot of growing up to do if she ever hopes to be a full-fledged Guardian. But the Hive have taken an interest in these Newborn as well. . .

Warnings: None. Enjoy your reading! c:

Author's Notes: Long chapter is long, I'm sorry.

But I make up for it with some quality and quantity! Had to get some things out of the way before I could move onto the good stuff. You'll be pleased to know that Lumi won't be too long. But thank you so much for reading, and the reviews! I loved reading them all.

Don't worry, I promise we'll get into the good stuff soon. If you like my work, but want shorter chapters, I recommend checking out my other Destiny fic, "The Traveler's Chronicles." Each chapter features a different prompt and cast of characters.

But in any case, I hope you enjoy Lumi!

Grief was. . . it was potent.

Cyra had found that grief had made her just want to lay on her bed, stare at a wall, and do absolutely nothing. Rita, the beautiful lavender-skinned woman, would enter very frequently, prodding her to eat and drink, but it was a challenge to Cyra. Everything she ate was tasteless, and she wasn't thirsty. Add in the fact that every time she closed her eyes, she saw Captain Byron in all his grizzled glory - and when she dreamed, it was of Blue Exodus. She had woken up more times than she could count with a scream, battling and fighting against Fallen. . .

And sometimes, she had nightmares about the other aliens, too. The ones in red that smelled like rot. Either way, Cyra didn't like sleeping much anymore. Which, in turn, worried Rita, who constantly asked her when she was going to sleep next, that she should really get some kind of nap. . . Her words fell on deaf ears.

Cyra sighed, curling up into a ball underneath several heavy, warm blankets on her cot. Why was she alive again? It really wasn't fair. She'd died. She remembered death in every form wrapping around her and finally freeing her from the trials of life. And yet, there she was. Alive. Breathing. . . Cyra didn't know how to feel about that. It was all so very conflicting. She was tired, and she was hungry, but she had no desire to either sleep or to eat.

She just. . . She wanted to. . .

She didn't even know what she wanted anymore.

The door to her room gave a quiet, muted beep, and swished open. Glad to have a reprieve from her thoughts, Cyra turned over, grateful that her bruises, aches, and pains had rapidly begun to dissipate. It had only been three or four days since she'd woken up, but already most of the marks had faded. Rita was standing in the doorway, still wearing her impeccable red robes, but this time, she held something in her hands. Cyra perked up, shifting to sit, and Rita smiled, the skin around her glowing blue eyes crinkling.

"You look better today."

"A little." She lied.

I don't feel any better.

Grief still had her wrapped in its wicked claws, and it wasn't looking like it was ready to go away any time soon. And if Cyra was being entirely honest with herself, she really wasn't sure if she wanted to stop, either. Captain Byron had been her father. She'd failed the Blue Exodus mission. She had been dead. The last thought in particular kept repeating through her mind, cracking like a broken voice recording. People didn't just come back from the dead when they died. They stayed dead.

She had buried more than enough people to know that. And that made her think that this was all some seriously messed up dream, trapping her in a nightmare. . . But she knew that couldn't be possible. With every day that went by, she remembered a little more from the past. Granted, sometimes it wasn't a whole lot, and sometimes the memories weren't intact, but it was enough for her. She remembered the war. She buried hundreds of people. . .

And knowing that, it made it all the more confusing and terrible to finally try to come to terms with it all.

Rita crossed the room, and without waiting for an invitation, sat down on Cyra's bed. Cyra scooted over to make some room for her, letting some of her blanket fort fall back onto the mattress. She noticed Rita was holding something that was squirming around in her hands, covered in a tiny scrap of cloth. It was like there was something alive, impatient to get out from under its cover.

"Now, Newborn," Rita spoke, "Before I give this to you, I think I might be entitled to your name."

"Hmm?" Cyra hummed, looking up at Rita.

"You've been very quiet these past few days. But things are about to change, and soon, you will no longer be able to keep your silence. There are many people who are interested in meeting and speaking with you. A lot of them have had quite a difficult time containing their patience for so long." She chuckled, and Cyra looked at her, confused.

"Why?"

She wasn't anything special. There had been hundreds of other kids that had had guns shoved into their hands. She wasn't the only child soldier running around. . . Was she?

Rita smiled. "I like it when you ask questions. It means you're starting to come out of that shell of yours. To answer. . . You are doubtless very confused. A lot has happened, and I'm sure you're wracking your mind, trying to find the fairness in it all. 'how can I be alive when I remember dying? I was happy with dying. Why can't I be dead?'"

Cyra almost felt her jaw drop. Was this woman capable of reading her mind? "How did you know?"

"You are not alone, Newborn. Even I stood where you stand now. It will all be answered in time, I promise. But if I told you, I don't think you would believe me. I have someone I know you would trust completely. . . But before I give her to you, I require payment - in the form of your name."

Cyra glanced down at the little scrap of moving fabric in Rita's hands, and then back up to the woman.

"My name is Cyra. Cyra Rovski."

Rita laughed, taking Cyra off guard. She stilled, not at all sure what was so funny about her name, but when her laughter dissolved into chuckles, she grinned at Cyra.

"My apologies, Cyra. It's a beautiful name - do you know what it means?"

Cyra shook her head. She'd never asked. Her mother and father had given it to her all those years ago, and like many, she hadn't bothered to track down what it could mean, if it did mean anything. Not like she could, anyway. There weren't many books or computer terminals she could access, and those they had had been dedicated to the war effort.

"Your name meant many things to different nations, but they all referred to light. The sun, the moon, born from light, carved from light. . . it's almost as if this life were meant for you from the very day you were born."

"How do you know that?"

Rita stood, smiling again. "I have read much in my time here."

Before Cyra could ask Rita what she'd meant about her life, she turned to Cyra, and with a small flourish, pulled the scrap of cloth away from the wriggling object. Cyra perked up again a second time when she saw the little metal ball - a Ghost, Rita had called it - and it have a happy little chirrup as it floated into the air, hovering just a few inches away from her face.

"You two have much to discuss," Rita said, as she turned and began walking out of the room, "Take it slow. Steady. Like I said, Cyra, today is a big day. Many people wish to speak with you."

The door opened and closed, leaving Cyra and the Ghost alone, but she hardly noticed it. She was completely enraptured by the hovering metal ball with its brilliant blue light. It floated back, further into the room, as if beckoning her away from her fort of blankets. Almost hypnotized, Cyra obeyed. Rita had given her an odd jumpsuit to wear, its material foreign to her, but it covered her head to toe, was clean, and not threadbare - more than enough for Cyra.

"You're a Ghost." Cyra said, looking at the metal ball.

Little panels of it spun in dizzying directions, and the optic moved, making Cyra think it was almost trying to smile. "I'm not a Ghost," It replied, voice feminine, "I'm your Ghost. And you. . . You are my Guardian."

It said 'my' with a certain note of swelling pride, Cyra couldn't help but feel a little humbled by it. Regaining herself, though, she stared at the Ghost, turning as it circled around her, keeping pace with it.

"Guardian? What's a Guardian?"

"You." The Ghost responded. "I found you. After all those years of being alone, of searching countless planets and bodies, I found you. I'm so happy. I forged you a body made from Light so you could live and fight again."

"Light?"

"Darkness threatens to swallow this world, to swallow all worlds. I have given you Light to wield as a weapon. To become a warrior to fight back against the Darkness."

"That doesn't make any sense. I don't understand."

The Ghost twittered, and it sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"We have much to discuss, my little Guardian. Would you be willing to listen?"

Cyra stood there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, weighing her options. After a few long moments, she eventually nodded.

"When humanity began to crumble, when there was no other hope, Light came to your aid. We came to you. . ."

She stood still as the Ghost began to talk, her voice filling the air.

She sat on her bed, the Ghost - her Ghost - resting on her palms. Her Ghost was tired, and had politely asked if she could rest there when she was no longer able to float.

"Our altercation with the Hive has still left me drained. My well-being is tied with yours. I'll be better as soon as you get better."

She was silent, but still very much awake. Cyra could feel a pulsing against her hands, as though her Ghost were in tune with her own heartbeat. In the back of her mind, Cyra was very glad that Rita had not been the one to break the news to her. She wouldn't have believed her - hell, she wasn't even sure if she believed the Ghost. But she was alive, and there had been the Hive, her Rebirth, the abilities she'd wielded. . .

Either this really was some big, giant nightmare, or she truly was a Guardian.

Cyra looked up when the door opened again, admitting Rita.

The woman crossed the room, and Cyra waited for her to speak, because she sure as hell didn't know what to say. When she got closer, Rita knelt down, reaching out to gently hold Cyra's hands in her own. She looked the absolute picture of calmness and reassurance.

"I take it you both have finished your discussion?"

Cyra nodded. "I guess. I just. . . Ghost told me everything. But I still don't understand." She looked down at Ghost, who swiveled her optic up to look at Cyra in turn. "Is it all true? Have I been dead for so long? Humanity's still alive? And there are Guardians who protect humanity?"

Rita gently pulled on her hands, tugging her up to a stand, and Cyra followed without a fight. Rita stood by her side as she began to walk her, slowly, across the length of the room and to the door. Cyra had to suppress a pang of anxiety as she got closer to the door. Leaving the room meant leaving her safe haven, and having to face reality. Of not being able to hide anymore. But when she looked down at her Ghost, she knew she had to do it. She wasn't a coward - and she was tired of hiding. Her curiosity was strong enough to override her grief, which still sat in the back of her mind, trying to trap her again, but Cyra kept it at bay for the time being. She was a Guardian, her Ghost had said, a warrior forged from the Traveler's Light. . .

The Traveler. . .

She'd heard whispers of a mystical being, an otherworldly deity that had been protecting people when everything else had begun collapsing. It had allowed people to survive when everything else had seemed sure to wither away and die. Humanity had been driven to the brink of extinction, and whispers of whispers had all they'd remained to Cyra. Blue Exodus had been humanity's last hope. . . and Blue Exodus had failed. Or so she'd thought. Apparently Blue Exodus had, in fact, succeeded. And there was a sprawling city, full of people, happy and well protected. . .

"Confusing, isn't it?" Rita asked as they stepped through the door. "The people you'll meet? They'll explain it all to you. Every question you ask, they have an answer to."

"Every one?" Cyra echoed, looking up at Rita, "Every single one?"

"Every single one. Are you ready?"

She shook her head, but then stopped and nodded. Rita smiled, amusement on her face, but held onto her as they continued to walk down a long, narrow hallway. Other rooms branched off of it, but their doors were sealed. Cyra felt her hands jittering as she walked beside Rita. With every footstep, her anxiety began to grow, and soon she felt like a walking ball of nervousness. As they approached the end of the hallway, Cyra looked up to see another man wearing the same style of robes Rita wore, albeit his were differently colored. Longer, too - they almost brushed the floor. He had the same oddly-toned skin Rita had, but his was lighter - almost blue. He had white hair where Rita's was black, and his eyes were glowing a bright, golden yellow.

"Cyra," Rita said gently, "This is Veleth. He is a Warlock - do you know what those are?"

"A Guardian class," She said, her voice so quiet it was hardly a murmur, "The ones with. . . with magic, right?"

Veleth's lips twitched in amusement. "To some, it may be considered magic. But Warlocks tear apart the fabric of space and time and rewrite it as we see it, Newborn."

"Okay." She said, pressing herself closer into Rita's side.

"Veleth is our Chief Medical Officer. He was in charge of your care here."

"Thank you?" She said, unsure of how to respond.

Veleth nodded, and then gestured with his arm to another doorway, leading to a corridor with bright sunlight. To the outside. Cyra had a vague recollection of her last time outside - there had been arms, and pain, and a voice. . .

As they walked, Cyra turned to him, and gasped.

"You!" She said, getting his attention. "You were the one who had my ball - my Ghost!"

"Ah, I was wondering if you would remember, Newborn. Yes, I was. I also caught you as you fell - do you remember that?"

Er. . . Yes. She did.

She felt her cheeks heat up as she blushed, and pointedly turned her face away so he wouldn't see it. Silence reigned in the hallway as they walked, the sound of their boots echoing the only noise, and despite her nervousness, Cyra couldn't help but feel. . . feel excited. At the end of the hallway, there was light, sunlight, and warmth. Before she knew it, she was there - and unable to control herself, she jogged forward.

She felt like she wanted to laugh, to cry, and to start jumping up and down in celebration. It was gorgeous. There were big, leafy trees in bloom, and the sun felt amazing on her skin. There were tiles, actual, honest-to-god tiles under her feet, clean and pristine. Walls spread around her, in perfect repair, and little flowers floated on the wind.

"It's beautiful! I've never seen anything like it! I can smell flowers - and the wind's warm! I can't. . . It's. . . It's amazing!"

There was light. Warmth. Life.

Cyra loved it immediately.

"Wait until you see the gardens. This is just one of the Tower's central plazas."

Cyra eventually managed to curb her reaction enough to look at the new speaker, and she stilled as familiarity tugged at her brain. He was a robot - an Exo, her Ghost had told her - but he looked familiar, too. Sounded familiar. He wore an outfit she hadn't seen before, outfitted with bits and pieces of armor. He was colored black, too (just like his outfit), except for his eyes, which glowed blue. He smiled as he approached, and Cyra watched him, wondering where she'd seen him before.

"You can be brave."

She blinked.

"You helped me fight the monsters."

His eyes went brighter, and he smiled. "I did. Though you saved yourself. Do you remember?"

She nodded. An experience like that was nigh on impossible to forget. He finally drew close enough that she had to crane her neck back to look up at his face. She'd never seen anything like him before, but given that today there were a lot of things she'd never seen. . . She was open to the crazy today. He reached out and placed an arm on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

"I'm here to escort you to the Speaker. Is that alright?"

"He's the. . . The leader, right?"

"In a sense. But he'll answer any question that you might have. I trust your Ghost already explained everything to you?"

"A lot. She explained a lot. I just don't get it though."

"It's alright. I've lived for a long while and some things still don't make sense to me. I'm Kesh-13. Exo, Hunter class."

He moved his hand to the small of her back and gently pushed her, walking alongside her. Cyra felt like she was being treated like a child's favorite toy, but she appreciated it. She felt like she was made out of broken glass, and just a few, small little pushes more and she would break. Kesh guided her away from Veleth and Rita, and towards a side cooridor, where more machines were busy doing chores, sweeping and dusting.

"Are they Exos, too?"

"No, they're what we call Frames. Just machines, although they can possess personalities. Exos are. . . We're human. Like you. I have the capacity to feel fear, happiness, anger. . . Worry. I've been very worried about you these past few days, Newborn."

"But why?" Cyra asked, looking up to him, "We don't even know each other. . . Do we?"

Kesh laughed. "No, you're quite right. We don't know each other. But you are a Guardian - and a Newborn. . . Not to mention your other attribute. . ."

"And what's that?"

Kesh looked down at her, and placed a hand at the top of her head, giving her hair a ruffle. "Newborn, if I had to guess, I'd say you were only. . . twelve? Thirteen? You're the youngest Guardian we've seen at the tower."

The news didn't shock her. She knew how old she was. . . kind of. Records were hard to keep track of. But it was, apparently, news to them. That kind of explained all of the looks she was getting. She peered down at her Ghost, who was still firmly cupped in her hands.

"Why me?"

"Age doesn't play a factor in who the Traveler chooses. You will grow, little Cyra. I will see to it."

"As will I. Cyra. . . That's a pretty name."

"Uhm, thanks." She really didn't know what to say at this point. Still, Kesh walked with her, guiding her through a series of short hallways, and down a staircase, before stopping in front of what looked like a study of some kind. A study filled with giant, twisting bits of machinery. It was warm, and inviting, and Cyra was absolutely certain she smelled a unique, very pleasant herbal scent coming from the study.

"Up the stairs to the left. You get to meet the Speaker. I'll be waiting here for you."

He gave her a little nudge, and Cyra took a step forward and then stopped. "You're not coming with me?"

"No, Cyra," Kesh said, "These are steps you have to take on your own. It's alright. You'll like the Speaker. . . Everyone does."

Cyra gave him a small nod, and took a few more steps forward, although she wasn't really sure if she liked what was going on. She looked down at her Ghost. "You'll stay with me, right?"

She gave a little jitter in her hands. "I'll never leave you."

Cyra was apprehensive as she walked up the staircase. At the top, she could see a man waiting - and she was absolutely positive that he'd seen her, too, but he was acting like he hadn't. Maybe he was waiting for her to initiate the first contact? She didn't know. But in any case, her time to be afraid was running out as she topped the staircase.

The Speaker was the height of a normal man, she found out, although he looked a little fluffy - but that was only due to the amount of robes he wore. They were layered over him, thick and pristine, emblazoned with designs. . . The most prominent being the white mask covering his face, and the strange sigil by his neck. He turned to face her, another Ghost hovering in the air beside him. Cyra took a second to examine his study, and she liked what she saw. Books, actual, honest-to-god books were kept in beautiful condition on his bookshelves, and a few strange instruments littered the floor here and there. The herbal scent was coming from an urn of some kind, studded through with sticks that were sending up a gentle wisp of smoke. He had papers, maps, and more books laid open on his desk, and a holo-feed or two.

Some things haven't changed. Although it looks different. Better, probably.

Cyra blinked when she realized he hadn't moved, and the silence was beginning to grow awkward.

In her hands, her Ghost gave a little assuring vibration. "It's okay!" She whispered up to her, "Just speak!"

A little boost of confidence given, Cyra took a breath and looked up at him. "Uhm. . . Uhm hi. I'm. . . I'm Cyra."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, young Cyra. I am known as the Speaker."

"Nice to meet you too. I think."

He stepped forward, and much in the same way Kesh had, put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

Kesh was right - she did like him. Almost instantly, in fact. He had a kind, gentle presence around him, but under that, she could sense power. His aura kind of commanded people to stop and pay attention to him, and Cyra was no exception.

"It is my role to help guide Guardians, although in times of need I have been known to lead. I leave the responsibilities to the respective Vanguard leaders. You will get a chance to meet them soon. I did not want to overwhelm you."

"My appreciation, Speaker," Her Ghost said, "We're just going to take things nice and slow."

"Because I'm a kid?" Cyra said, her pride somewhat stung. She gave a semi-hot glare up to the Speaker. "I can handle myself. I was fighting during the Collapse-"

"No, young Guardian. Because you are Newborn. There is much to learn, and you have only just begun to live. I have no doubt that you can stand on your own in the battlefield. But mentally speaking. . . I'd prefer it if all of my Guardians remained sound."

Oh. Oops. For the second time that day, a heat rose on her cheeks, but if he saw it, the Speaker didn't comment on it. Instead, she was saved as he placed a hand on her upper back and gently nudged her to the staircase.

"Come. I have something I wish to show you."

He guided her back down the staircase, but unlike Kesh, he dropped his hand when they reached the bottom. Walking next to him was comfortable in a way it wasn't with Kesh or Rita. In fact, she believed that she could probably spend all day being quiet around him and it would still be comfortable. He walked her back through the same hallways Kesh had escorted her through, and though she thought it was odd, she didn't say anything. She didn't see Kesh or anybody else, though.

"Where is everyone? All of the other Guardians?"

"I asked that they stay way from the main plaza today. Though their intentions are good, most have a tendency to forget themselves around Newborn. And it is the first time we've seen a Guardian so young. . . You've caused much excitement already in your short stay here."

"I didn't mean to. . ."

"You are not in trouble, Newborn. It is something I thought best - fret not, child. When you are ready, you can meet as many Guardians as you like. In the Tower alone, we have over two thousand. More are spread out among the stars."

That made sense, she supposed. Still, as they walked, she looked down at her Ghost, troubled.

"So this is all really happening? I'm really a Guardian? I. . . I d-died?"

"You did. But in your death, you were Reborn. Forged from the Traveler's Light, you are a weapon that will illuminate the darkness and push it back."

"What is the Traveler?"

"Our salvation. Our protection. This, my child, is the Traveler."

He led her back into a plaza - a different one. But just past the giant, sprawling terrace. . . Cyra laid her eyes on serenity. There, on the horizon, the Traveler sat, hovering in the air, glittering. She could see a giant, gaping wound tearing open the bottom of the sphere, but that didn't detract from its glory. Little lights twinkled and spiraled around it, making it the picture of tranquility. And, as Cyra stared at it, completely awestruck, she realized that just looking at it calmed her down. It was like there was some sort of presence it exuded, even so far away, that could reach into her very soul. All of the grief, the confusion, the hut. . . It just faded.

"It's beautiful."

"As fierce as it is beautiful," The Speaker agreed, "I am sorry you were not able to see its splendor before your death, but rest assured. . . You did not die in vain. Look below."

Cyra did.

And she immediately collapsed onto her knees, tears burning in her eyes and quickly streaming down her cheeks. Her Ghost floated out of her hands, nodes spinning in a blur.

"Cyra!" It said, worried.

"Cyra?"

She shook her head, her voice thin and she hiccuped.

"I t-thought. . . I thought I died for nothing. I f-failed Blue. . . I was watching everyone die. . . I thought. . . There's so many people."

The tears fell unchecked, and as if understanding she wasn't in pain, the Speaker left her alone for a moment, giving her a second of peace. Still, after a moment, she sat back up, scrubbing at her face, futilely attempting to stop the flow of tears.

"Cyra?" The Speaker prompted, "Are you in pain?"

She shook her head, and even though it hurt to do it, she smiled. But she was far from being in pain.

"No. No, I'm h-happy. I'm so happy."

The Speaker was silent for a moment, but then his head inclined in a nod. "I understand."

"Newborn?"

Kesh's voice interrupted, and she looked up at the Exo who was jogging over to them, popping out of thin air. He looked at her in worry, and Cyra couldn't help but chuckle at the whole thing. Everybody was so worried about her.

"Ah, Kesh. . . Already attuning to your role, I see?"

Cyra watched as the lights in Kesh's face faltered, and she swore, on everything that was holy, that she saw a flash of pink.

But then he laughed. "It was never programmed out of me. I'll bear that title until the day I die."

The Speaker knelt next to her, offering her hand, and Cyra accepted, getting back up to her feet.

"Good. In that case, Cyra, I would like for you to meet your Mentor."

"Mentor?"

Kesh clasped a fist, and that transformed into a very odd salute - something Cyra had never seen before.

"Kesh-13, Exo Hunter. . . Your new Mentor. As of today, Cyra Rovski, you are officially a Hunter-in-training."

Her Ghost gave another happy chirrup, barely managing to contain her excitement as she zipped through the plaza.

"Your own your way to becoming a Guardian!"

"Your second life awaits you, Cyra." The Speaker said. "But only if you're ready for it."

She looked back, to the Traveler, to the sprawling, beautiful, glittering city underneath it, and when she turned back to the two men standing before her, she smiled again, scrubbing at the last few tears on her cheeks.

"If it means I can protect those people down there, I'll do it."

Kesh looked as though he swelled up in pride, his eyes brightening.

"You'll make a fine Hunter."

I failed my mission. Blue Exodus. . .

I promise, Captain Byron. . . I won't fail here.