The Fallen lay dead around the two Guardians. The walker had exploded into pieces, the prime Servitor only a smoking husk. Saint-14 and Ambrose sat side by side on the ruins of a wall, resting, letting their Ghosts heal them. Ambrose pulled off his helmet and raked his fingers through his sweaty hair. The hot wind of Mercury would suck every particle of moisture from it within two minutes.

Saint-14 held his Ghost in both hands, stroking the shell and talking softly in Russian. The Ghost replied in the same language, his voice weary. After a while, Saint lifted the Ghost into the air. It opened its shell and pulsed Light into its Guardian, mending the awful stab wound at last.

"What brought you here?" Ambrose asked, studying the Titan. After hearing so many legends of this man, it was a surreal experience to see him sitting there in the flesh, battle-weary, weighed down by discouragement.

Saint lifted a hand. "We decide to escape the Warlords, come to Mercury. Was supposed to be a garden world. We scrape together parts for ship, then find Vex already here. They have murdered this planet." He slapped his knee for emphasis. "We build Zephyr Station anyway. Then the Fallen, House of Rain, track us here. I hold them off for many days, but …" He rose to his feet abruptly. "My friends," he said with a catch in his voice. "They all dead. I must bury them. Come. Help."

Ambrose found himself being handed a shovel and working alongside Saint-14 to dig grave after grave in Mercury's hard, rocky soil. Saint carried bodies out of the station and laid them in rows, folding the hands on their chests. He spoke the name of each man, woman, or child, often pausing to kneel over them and whisper prayers.

"You're religious?" Ambrose panted, pausing to rest.

Saint nodded. "I am servant of Jesus Christ. You know this name, yes? Jesus is Light of the world. Is why I take the name Saint, fight for the Light. He has never let me down, but I let him down very badly." He gestured to the corpses. "I let everyone down." He stood with his head bowed and shoulders slumped for a long moment. "I can not do this anymore. I've buried everyone I've ever met. The Traveler bring only war and death."

Peach nudged Ambrose's mind. "Can I show him the Last City from our time?"

"Is that a good idea?" Ambrose thought. "What if we change history?"

"He needs some hope," Peach replied. "Even his Ghost is despairing."

"Very well," Ambrose thought. "Be careful what you say." He held out a hand to summon Peach. "My Ghost wants to tell you something."

Saint wearily reached up and pulled off his own helmet. Beneath, he was an Exo with a kindly face, painted white with glowing blue eyes. "Speak, then, little Light. It can not hurt."

"We came from a different time," Peach said, gazing earnestly at Saint. "It's why we didn't get here sooner. We had to navigate the Corridors of Time and it wasn't easy. So … so let me show you what it's like in our time." She projected a hologram across the entire area, creating a diorama of the Last City in blue light. The Tower's hammerhead shape was clearly visible, as was the Traveler in the distance. The City spread out within the shelter of the seventy-story walls, cluttered and busy, vehicles traveling the streets, monorails zipping along their lines.

"This is the Last City as we know it," Peach said. "Children laugh and play in safety. At night, families sleep in their homes. Not against the walls, weapons in hand."

"Not like my people," Saint murmured, gazing around.

"These are your people," Ambrose broke in. "Their descendants. In your time, the City is still being built. This is what it will look like. Several of my friends live there, in that block there. Oh, and here is my favorite restaurant."

Saint gave him a silent look.

Ambrose faced him. "My point is, sir, your fight is not in vain. Look what you will accomplish in time."

Saint gazed at the hologram for a long moment. Then he shook his head. "I can not do this anymore. I am so tired."

Ambrose didn't know what to say. Instead, he stepped up to the Titan and held out his shotgun. "At least take this. You have need."

Saint-14 carefully took the Perfect Paradox and turned it over, examining it. Then he lifted it and sighted along the barrel. "Is a beautiful weapon. Thank you."

Ambrose wanted to say something else. But suddenly he was dragged backward, the world stretching away into a blur. He seemed to see the Sundial's pylons spinning in great circles, ripping him through time and space, back along his own timeline. He grabbed Peach and held her tight as Mercury spiraled away into sterile whiteness.