Chapter 60

Kepler was a vibrant beast crawling with a vast array of rich microbial life - and fraught with sickness. So much sickness. It was a surface level rot at first glance, but Ikharos knew that the longer it stayed the deeper its roots would reach. The Hive were tunnellers by nature. They ate into the crust of every single world they settled. They carved out nation-sized egg-chambers and built cities on the flesh of the dead. Their royals dove into the depths of world-mantles and gorged themselves on the power within. They'd done so with Luna and Callisto and, to lesser extents, the Golden Age ruins of Earth and Titan.

He was at a disadvantage. He was Risen - he was human. And humans were not tunnellers, dwarves notwithstanding. Humans were marathon runners, built for stamina and the daytime hunt. Human eyes were not adapted to the shineless dark of the below. Human limbs were evolved for forward motion on open plains, not scrabbling through winding narrow corridors. Human minds were more well-suited to the environments dotting the world's surface, where he could pick out prime staging points to put up a fight and snag sturdy resources to form into tools. He couldn't do that underground. He wasn't suited to fighting them on their home turf.

"They're excavating," he muttered, "or soon to be. A carrier's not enough for them. They'll rip up mountains of rock and crust to clear out their murder-kingdom."

He needed to disrupt them. Soon. Maybe not right then, but the window wouldn't last long. It would only have taken the Hive a couple of months to ingrain themselves so firmly that they would never be expunged from Kepler's domain. He could already feel the poison of their presence on his Light, expanding at a slow but steady rate. They were demons, but no old mythos did them justice. No ancient folktales came close to the sheer travesty of their existence. They were a legend unto themselves, etched into the very fabric of the galaxy through billions of years of slaughter and genocide.

"I can't just leave." Ikharos stood at the edge of the slope upon which their camp was nestled away. The slithering, crawling feeling of Hive-magic was almost too much. His Light shied away, only to roar and bristle in hiding. It wanted to fight. He wanted to fight. Almost everything wrong with the universe stemmed from them.

Raksil approached, upper hands held out in supplication. "Mine-father requested-"

"I know what he requested."

"Ikha Riis, we cannot fight them."

"I thought you Scars wanted to fight them."

"Cabal are weak, eia, but so are we. Our House-strength was depleted by Krinok. Cannot face Cabal until Hive are gone."

"It's not the Cabal that bother me." Ikharos crouched. He could practically smell the brood, dozens of miles away. The scent was vile, revolting every kind of disgusting. "Besides, they're probably considering the same thing about you. About us."

Formora neared. "Tarrhis's instructions were clear."

"Tarrhis doesn't command me."

"Do you think this a waste of time?"

Ikharos scowled. "No. I don't. It's an advantageous development, sure, but... I came here to contain and undermine the Hive. We haven't got any of that done yet."

"We will," Formora assured him, "when the Cabal have been appeased."

"Careful with your wording. The Cabal won't be satisfied until your entire world is in their empire's fist. This is just them buying time."

"That doesn't change the fact that they are afraid and desperate. Survival is a greater motivator than ambition."

"Stop making sense." Ikharos closed his eyes. "Fine, so be it, whatever. We'll go."

Raksil exhaled softly. "Thank you, Kirzen."

"I'm not doing this for you."

"Neither am I. For our peoples, yes?"

Ikharos studied the Vandal's features, half-hidden behind a rebreather. "... Yes."

That settled, preparations were made and a route chosen. It was even further westwards, which would put them in the heart of the Spine, but it would help them avoid retreading their own footsteps and potentially getting caught by waiting Harmony.

"There is a slim chance that we find Urgals," Formora commented. "Many of their kind call the Spine home."

Ikharos made a face. "Oh yeah. Them."

"Those who destroyed Kuasta and assaulted Tronjheim were enslaved to Durza's will. Though they might employ distasteful practices, that does not necessarily mean we must engage them as foes."

"I wasn't... I know. They're people too. We can probably work around them on that basis."

"What of Er'kanii?" Javek inquired. "Have the Cabal caught them?"

Xiān shook her pinions, floating at Ikharos's shoulder. "Some. Well, not caught per se, just shot a bunch of them. After some bellowing, of course. And there was some weird Psion stuff too. Still a few at large. Like that big guy, Ruuskn."

"We're in hostile territory," Ikharos declared, "so be prepared for anything."

Telling them was probably needless. The surprise of the Exo ambush hadn't entirely worn off. Everyone was still on high-alert, nerves fired. It was a horrible feeling.

The terrain on their chosen path was rockier, more disruptive to progress, and incredibly aggravating as a result. Ikharos constantly had to remind himself to breathe, unintentionally focusing on how exposed they were to the skies. He feared encountering another Midha-esque Harmony, with wings or some other flight-enabling biological adaptation.

Bodily modifications were a new tactic he didn't know how to prepare for.

He was able to relax only when they found a place to make camp, and that was only because the small cavern the Eliksni had found sported a shallow mountain water pool. It was clean and, according to Xiān, drinkable. Canteens were refilled and faces washed. Ikharos strode out into the water, sat down in the centre of it all, and closed his eyes.

"Oh!" Melkris piped up. "He's doing the sleeping-not-sleeping thing!"

"Leave him be," Formora chided.

The shockshooter cackled, but fortunately he wandered off to find someone else to pester. Javek, if the high-pitched growls were any indication. Ikharos forced it from his mind, veering his attention from outside to inside. His thoughts, his present, his being were all in disarray. It was havoc. He wasn't a clean-freak, not as Jaxson used to be, but the complete disregard for even the slimmest sign of order disturbed him. It was something to be dealt with.

So that was what he did. He tidied up, flushing his brain full of the nullscape's uncaring embrace. It was cool and stuffy at the same time, obeying no norms in the slightest. It ate away at his worries, leaving only the most sly of scraps that he knew would grow back up to bother him another day - but that was okay, that was a problem for later, not now.

The water he knelt within finally stopped rippling. It mirrored the very thing he clutched like a blanket over his entire consciousness - a steady calm.

It was nice.

When he opened his eyes, night had long since fallen. There were no lights to be found but the stars. And the stars looked down on him as strangers fast becoming acquaintances. He looked for the constellations Formora had shown him and with some relief found them unchanged. They weren't going to abandon him yet.

Ikharos stepped out of the pool. Water ran down the base of his robes and over the steel of his boots. The materials were waterproof, and so was the biosuit beneath. He couldn't even feel so much as a speck of cold. His armour cocooned him from the elements.

"Ikharos-Faedhr?"

He glanced around and, spotting the speaker, joined him by a row of rain-smoothed rocks. "Narí."

Four bright eyes flickered open beside the elf.

"And Raksil. Sorry, I didn't see you."

The Vandal murmured something approaching politeness in Low Speak. He and Narí were moving a set of steel-cast marbles covered in numerical glyphs, not dissimilar to dice. The Eliksni equivalent, he surmised, or something along those lines.

"Are those building spheres?" Ikharos inquired in Eliksni.

Raksil chirped. "Eia."

"What are you building."

"I am not sure. Elf-human art."

"Fair." Ikharos switched over to English. "What has you up?"

The elf avoided his gaze. "Those... those things that attacked... You said they were Grey Folk."

"The giant ones, sure. The littler guys were Exos. Human minds in metal bodies."

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know the specifics, but the Exo project was all Clovis Bray. Driven on the desire to outlive our biological bodies."

"I mean the Grey Folk. The Eyddrkyn. They were rendered extinct millennia ago."

"According to whom?"

Narí faltered. "I don't know."

"There you have it. Alagaësia's just one continent, and not even all that large. There's an entire world for the Harmony to inhabit. I've no doubt they found somewhere nicer to settle down; your planet's a scenic one."

Narí shot him a strange look. "You continue to speak as if you are not from here."

"I'm really not."

"Nonsense."

"Yeah, I've been here a year now and hearing people tell me that is still aggravating as hell. I'm not a habitual liar. I'm telling the truth. Like I was telling the truth about me being Risen."

"That's..."

"Different? Vastly so, yes, but both are equally impossible to you, right?"

Narí frowned.

"Eka eddyr frá annar wieral-gardr." (I am from another world.)

"You believe it."

"Yeah, I believe it," Ikharos said firmly. "I went through a lot of trouble just to get here, mate. I almost got gutted by Dusk scavs getting that damn warp drive. When someone tells me it didn't happen, I get annoyed - because they're wrong, it did."

"I have upset you."

"No, the Hive upset me. You're just tickling my grumpy mood." Ikharos hugged his knees. "Let's just settle for not talking about topics that'll have us butting heads. I'm sure there's so much more we can talk about."

"You want to talk?"

"We're both social creatures, and you're another elf who doesn't hate my guts, so yeah. I'd like it, but if you don't want to talk, I'll pick Raksil's brain instead."

The Vandal glanced up, then went back to stacking his spheres. A weak magnetic force kept them arranged in the exact shape he left them.

Narí looked dubious, though intrigued. "I would like that."

"This is beginning to feel like a bigger deal than it should be."

"We do appear to be over-dramatizing our current predicament."

"See? There. Some idle banter. That's what I love."

"What did he say?" Raksil asked. Ikharos shortened it down and translated. The Vandal nodded and went back to his spheres. They needed more translators - gadgets and people both. Being one of two truly fluent speakers of both Eliksni and English in the entire world was starting to get exhausting. Formora was getting there, and Melkris understood more than he let on, but more progress needed to be made.

Ikharos mulled it over. He thought about writing down some introductory papers to cycle through Eliksni and human populations, then disregarded it. He didn't have the time. Maybe after the war, if the Scars stuck around.

He sincerely hoped there would be an after.

They reached Palancar Valley in good time, at least. All it took was a day and a half of travel. However, that was still plenty of time for the Hive to get something darkly nefarious done.

"Skiffs will be nearby," Raksil explained. "If Cabal turn on us, Nyreks will assist our escape."

"This is just a taster; a way for both us and them to see if negotiations are even a possibility. This could go bad. Cabal pack too much firepower. Won't be anyone left to escape but me," Ikharos said. "I'll go in to talk with them - alone. I've got enough Light to Warp out if things take a turn."

Formora nudged him. "You can get us both out."

"And I," Melkris added. "I will guard you, Ikha Riis."

Ikharos frowned. "Did either of you hear what I said? I'm going alone."

"Eia. With me and Zeshus."

"Melkris, no."

"We'll be close," Formora assured him. "You can do what you did in Ellesméra."

"I don't need guards."

"But you will need witnesses. Melkris and I saw the Hive treat with the Er'kanii. We can attest to the evidence you offered them."

"That's... fine. Fine!" Ikharos huffed. "Raksil, you're in charge while I'm gone."

The Baron's son bowed his head. "As you decree, Kirzen."

"If there's trouble, get out. Don't do anything else."

"I understand."

Satisfied, Ikharos swiveled around and fixed Formora with a glowering look. She arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Is something the matter?"

"This isn't a game."

"I'm well aware."

"These are Cabal. To them, life is cheap. They'll have no qualms about killing us."

"We won't die at all. Not if you do your part."

"This is reckless."

"How is it any different if you go alone?"

"Because death isn't final for me, as you well know."

"We don't need to fight them at all. They have offered to negotiate. Considering what else we face, I feel we should be inclined to chase even a flimsy kind of peace with them. Yes?"

"Cabal aren't like Eliksni."

"They're people, are they not?"

Ikharos briefly closed his eyes out of sheer exasperation. He didn't feel like he was winning. "Sure."

"Should we not then at least make the attempt?" Formora pressed.

"This is dangerous."

"Tarrhis chose you because-"

"I'd limit the damage done if it goes bad, I know. It's a little tougher to manage with you two to watch over."

She touched his arm. "We'll stay close."

"Eia." Melkris conspiratorially bumped Ikharos's shoulder with his own. "Very close."

There was an welcoming honour guard stationed five miles outside Carvahall. The regiment were all muscle-bound Phalanx, with two Centurions bearing wing-like ceremonial garb over their jump-packs and tusks jutting from holes roughly bored through their helms. The third officer between them stood taller yet, and hefted a not-quite-activated heavy slug-thrower. Its helmet's glowing eye pieces settled on Ikharos, roving over the Warlock with a critical air. Long banners of gold thread tumbled down from its back, bearing what was probably its legion's coat of arms.

"You are the human?" It gruffly inquired in surprisingly coherent English. It sounded like a he, but voice was never a reliable indicator of Cabal genders. They were all so deep-voiced. "Merida-X8?"

Ikharos slowly indicated to himself. "I am a human."

The Colossus rumbled. "Answer the question."

"What human are you talking about?"

"Were you in Ceunon?"

"Yes." Ikharos straightened and held his chin up. "I was."

"Did you slay Val Brutis?"

"You're going to have to specify."

The Colossus loomed over him. "The Commander of Ceunon's garrison."

Ikharos frowned. His mind jumped to the Centurion with the aerial-pack. The one who'd run him through with one of her tusks. "I might have."

"You're the human," the Colossus decided.

"Let's go with that. I'm... the human. Whatever that means."

"And you speak for the brigand organization referred to as the Great House of Scar?"

"I do. I have Baron Tarrhis's signed permissions to prove it." Ikharos procured his datapad from transmat. There was a shuffling from the ranks of on-edge Phalanx. He held it out for all to see to prove it wasn't a weapon.

The Colossus barely glanced at the screen. His gaze darted to Formora and Melkris. "And these?"

"My retinue."

"Who are they?"

"You don't need to know that."

The Colossus huffed. "I am Shu'av, born of Tlu'varan and sired by Ghiraet, and I am Valus of the Soulrazer Legion. I greet you as bond-brother to Primus Invoctol. State your names."

Ikharos drowned his exasperation. How the Cabal loved their ceremonies... "I am Ikharos Torstil, born to nothing of import and no one of note. I owe allegiance to none but myself."

"A mercenary?"

"Not quite."

The Colossus rolled his shoulders. "The rest of you. Bark."

Melkris chirped coolly. "Am Melkris. Of Scar."

"And you?"

"I am Formora, of the Láerdhon name and House Rílvenar."

"What's Rílvenar."

"We are an elven family of some standing."

"Nobles," the Colossus guessed. He paused. "You all carry weapons. Disarm."

"No," Ikharos bit back. "That wasn't mentioned in your Primus's invitation."

"This is non-negotiable."

"My thoughts exactly."

"You will-" the Colossus cut himself off, head tilted. After a solid moment, he growled and stepped back. "So be it. The Primus has offered you this courtesy. Do not squander it."

At a single shout from the Valus, the Phalanx formation closed up around them. The two tusk-bearing Centurions took up position both in front and behind them, with bronto cannons at the ready. Ikharos didn't know if he was supposed to feel like an honoured guest or a prisoner. It felt very much like the latter. He reached out to the minds of Melkris and Formora and said, "Stay close. I mean it. Keep alert, don't stray, and lock down your thoughts. The Psions might get curious."

Carvahall was still intact. It had changed since he'd last been through, so many months previous, but Ikharos reckoned that it couldn't have been helped. The Cabal had moved in, after all. They were bound to have had some impact. Still, seeing everything largely intact was... well, it was a surprise. Maybe he was too accustomed to the Red Legions' razing and bombing tactics. Maybe not all Cabal legions were so merciless.

There was a thought.

Rudimentary barricades had been erected along the perimeter of the village, and then hastily put away not all that long ago. It wouldn't have put up any sort of resistance to a Cabal charge, but Ikharos wasn't sure it was for the Cabal. They wouldn't have given the villagers time to prepare in the first place. And what with the lack of flattened buildings or smoking craters, it was pretty clear that the village had surrendered to the Cabal without a fight. Then what happened?

They took to the main street. More soldiers dotted the alleys and paths leading beyond, armed to the teeth and organized as best they could have been. Their Primus was evidently of the cautious sort. Ikharos didn't blame him; Eliksni at large weren't always as honourable as Tarrhis's bunch were. One only had to look to Sol to know it.

A Psion peeled away from the front of a low-roofed cottage and kept pace with them. Ikharos felt a tingling sensation from within - the creature was softly probing his mind with tendrils of barely perceptible inquisitiveness. He locked down his defenses, widening them out to form a rudimentary barricade large enough for both Formora and Melkris too. The former joined him, reinforcing the barricades with her own mental blocks and filling in what faults had formed across their unified shield. Melkris didn't contribute in the slightest. He walked on beside them with his rifle leaning against his shoulder, totally oblivious.

The Psion blinked, slowed, and fell behind. Ikharos could almost taste its surprise. It was like cranberry juice - tartly sweet. Something to savour.

Shu'av led them to one of the few two-storey houses and turned about. He indicated to the open door with a flick of his head. "Here. Wait inside or out, doesn't matter to me."

"What for?"

"Our Flayers will check your intentions."

Ikharos hardened his expression. "By entering our minds?"

"Yes."

"No."

"This is non-negotiable."

"I'm negotiating anyways. That's what we're here for, right? To negotiate? No one's getting in my head."

Shu'av grumbled. "You pose a danger to my Primus. I cannot allow you to go to him unless we know you are no threat."

"I'm never not a threat," Ikharos boldly asserted. Cabal liked bravado, didn't they? Or were Calus and his Loyalists just that different to the Uluru norm? "Surely Ceunon taught you that much."

The other presence, the one temporally joined with him, shook. "Ikharos!"

"This is how Cabal operate. Watch."

Shu'av rumbled. "You're a presumptuous little human, aren't you?"

"I've always considered myself moreso on the modest spectrum, but okay." Ikharos crossed his arm. "Your Flayers are not to enter my mind, nor the minds of my compatriots here. If they do I'll kill them."

"You're stretching our hospitality."

"And you're overreaching. Our thoughts are off-limits. Find another way to assure yourselves. One that doesn't set me off." Ikharos thought for a moment. "Here: Vae weohnata néiat vergarí du Primus Invoctol ëfa vae eddyr néiat haina." (Unless we come to harm we will not kill your Primus.)

The Colossus gave a start, fingers curled into fists like sledgehammers. "What was... that was your magic?"

"Seems to be, doesn't it?"

"Who are you?"

"Ikharos Torstil, as I said."

"No." Shu'av stepped closer, as if to emphasize the height difference between them. "What are you? Some ill-born Witch-spawn?"

"Oh please." Ikharos cocked his head to the side. "You know all you need to. My oath is binding. Let's go meet with your boss and get this over with."

"You try my patience, smallman."

"Let me introduce you to this human expression of mine: it's called apathy. I don't care."

Shu'av snarled. His grip on his slug thrower tightened. Ikharos narrowed his eyes, focusing entirely on the Colossus's movements. He didn't expect a fight, but if one reared its face then he would have to be-

Three Psions marched out of the building and saluted the Valus. The leader of the trio said, "Primus Invoctol is satisfied with the human's claim. The truth has been spoken; the oath is indeed binding." It turned around and said to Ikharos, "We propose the same. Supply the words and we will speak them."

Ikharos frowned. He didn't really want to-

"Say Vae malabra né haina, wiol vae aíran threyja eom ilerneo," Formora told them. (We mean no harm, for we only want to talk.)

His frown deepened. Ikharos reached out to her consciousness and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Helping you. He looked ready to kill."

"That's just him being an Uluru. They're always angry at something. Leave this to me. I mean it."

"I can speak to them."

"You really can't. Cabal aren't like elves; they enjoy war as much as your people do peace."

"I will, irrelevant of your claims. There is too much at stake."

The Psions repeated the phrase. Ikharos bit his tongue and kept silent. He didn't like giving them even one word of the ancient language, let alone an entire sentence. Letting them experiment with something as subjectively powerful as gramarye was likely to work against him down the line.

They started moving again. Shu'av grumbled some more, but as they left the village and entered the Cabal camp proper, his muttered complaints died away. Ikharos tensed; there were too many gun-toting Cabal around for his liking. Worse was the pressure of the metaconcert gradually falling over him. It was like walking through a thick field of tall flowers, only the flowers had eyes and those eyes were perpetually watching him. He could tell, too, that Formora felt it just as keenly as he did. The walls of her mind pressed inwards, solidifying her defense so thoroughly that all the weak telepathic links they'd set up to talk with one another in safety were cut off.

At last they arrived at a hastily put-together prefab of some sort. The doors slid open of their own volition. The airlock inside hissed with cleansing agents. The Phalanx and Flayers stayed outside as they entered. Only the tusked Centurions and Valus Shu'av went inside with them. Beyond the airlock was an office of sorts, fitted with a fancy war-table displaying live feeds from the BattleNet and a hologram of the Palancar Valley. The room's sole occupant was a Psion - but a massive one at that, so tall that Ikharos stood only as high as its waist. It wore pristine armour of ivory-painted metal and a golden cloak fit for royalty. Its pallid face was left as bare as the rest of its alien head.

"I am Primus Invoctol," it warbled in a flanged voice. "I am Dominion's Triune, God-Thought, the Father of Soulrazer, and acting commander of the Worldbreakers." It stared at Ikharos in particular. "I should demand that you kneel to me, human, but I suspect you would object."

"You would be right," Ikharos grunted. He raised his voice. "I'm here on behalf of Baron Tarrhis of the House of Scar."

"Baron?" Invoctol reclined back into a rather luxurious armchair and crossed its - his, maybe? Psions had no obvious marks of sexual dimorphism, even in voice - long legs. "Not a Kell? Surely even those ether-guzzling brigands have the capacity to acknowledge that this is beneath me. I am a Primus, not some errant Val."

"The Scar Kell is indisposed."

"Indisposed? Ah yes - she's dead, isn't she?" Invoctol flicked a hand towards the table. A holographic screen flew up. Lines of code danced across. "I heard. An Eliksni upstart blared the news across all the channels he could - just to instate himself as her replacement, I'm sure. What was his name... Krinok? The Ether-Thief? Krinok-kel now..."

"I'm not here for Krinok."

"No. Tarrhis, you said. Who lives in opposition of this Krinok. Who has been announced as a traitor by the very Baron who slew his own Kell. Oh Eliksni..." Invoctol glanced at Melkris. "Such savage creatures. But savages can be useful. Until, of course, they bite back. I must thank you, human, for exposing the Erechaani conspirators. Though I cannot help but suspect foul play; after all, you stand to gain from our failings. Your evidence is compelling, yet it is not enough - not for the price of being mistaken."

Ikharos nodded slowly. Things were moving too fast for his liking, and the Primus knew far too much. Or maybe that was just virtue of him being a Psion - either way Ikharos wasn't comfortable. Not that he would have been with an Uluru to contend with, either. "It doesn't matter if it's enough."

"Does it not?"

"You've already acted on it."

"We have." Invoctol paused. "Human... have you been spying on our network?"

"What if I have?"

"Then I will have to request that you cease immediately while we bolster the protective firewalls."

"And if I don't?"

"Then we will have to cut these negotiations short." Invoctol looked past him. Weapons whined to life.

Psekisk. Ikharos grimaced and nudged Xiān. She pulled out of the BattleNet with not a little reluctance. "Fine."

"Thank you." Invoctol made another gesture. The hologram disappeared and the Cabal behind him offlined their firearms. "Your name, human, is... Ikharostorstil?"

"Let's work with Ikharos."

"Ikharos, then." Invoctol clasped his hands together. "You were at Ceunon. You attacked our comrades stationed within the city."

Of course. That. "Your comrades attacked a human city," Ikharos said. "I was just retaliating."

"The humans of Ceunon didn't know of you. We sifted through the minds of their leaders and there was not a single thought where you were present. Ceunon is not your home. Your only link to the place is that members of your species lived there. And even that is not true, is it?"

"Witch-spawn," Shu'av grunted.

Ikharos exhaled. He removed his helmet slowly, so as to not draw the ire of the Uluru present. "I'm human enough. And I consider humanity at large my people. So yeah, it doesn't matter how you spin it, your people struck first."

"We did not strike. We welcomed the city into the arms of the Cabal Empire."

"After massacring every soldier within."

"The cost of uplifting a primitive civilization. Had you not interfered, those humans would have enjoyed new medicines, greater educations, the means by which to live in relative luxury - not to spend their days groveling in filth."

"They didn't ask you to."

"No. But it is my duty to give it to them, regardless of their barbaric notions of independence."

Ikharos sighed. He wanted to do more than that, but anything even a smidge dramatic would have been unseemly. "This isn't why we're here."

"You speak the truth. We are here to discuss mutual foes." Invoctol pressed a button on the side of the table. All the holograms morphed into a single still image of a winged Harmony in the midst of flight - of Midha himself. It had been caught at just the right time, because in one of Midha's hands was the form of a little human man.

"Oh Traveler above," Ikharos murmured with a cocky half-smile he didn't feel, "I'm gorgeous."

Melkris snorted. One of the Centurions groaned.

Formora ignored his little remark and made her way to their side of the table. "Harmony."

Invoctol's gaze swept over to her. "You are Formora."

"Yes."

"Human? No. You are..."

Formora removed her helmet and held it under one arm.

Invoctol's singular eye narrowed. "Elongated ears, slanted eyes, slender frame... You are an elf - an overspecialized human subspecies."

She raised her head. "I am an elf, yes."

"What do your people have to gain from all of this?"

"Survival."

An uncomfortable silence stretched out for a too-long moment. Invoctol nodded. The gesture looked wrong coming from a Psion. "Survival. Nothing beyond that? No glory? No renown?"

"Those things are meaningless."

"They lift us to the stars."

"No. Hope lifts us to the stars. Ambition leads us to the jaws of death."

"Your people have not reached the stars," Invoctol pointed out, all inquisitive.

"The Harmony rendered us hopeless some time ago. I want to change that."

"You name them Harmony? Like the Singers of old?"

"That's probably them." Ikharos cleared his throat. "They attacked you."

"And you interceded. Why?" Invoctol took to his feet. "Ah. I can see it. The answer is bleeding from your mind. We are, to you, a useful distraction. A necessity you would prefer to see last as long as possible while your schemes unfurl."

"We're all a distraction for something else. There's too many players in this game."

"And you would narrow that list down."

"Don't you want the same?" Ikharos sighed. "Look, you invited us here, so you know as well as we do that our collective situation has deteriorated too far. The Hive have crippled you and the Harmony hunt us. Both serve the Dark - the Black Fleet, the Deep, whatever. By virtue of not serving that same cause, we've got crosshairs pinned on us."

"You propose an alliance?"

"No. You're going to propose it. To Tarrhis. I'm only here to make sure you're serious about this."

Invoctol's eye tightened. "You are being wasted, human. The Eliksni treat you as a tool. If you joined us, we would shower you in honours."

"The Eliksni have been good to my people. You haven't. I know where I stand."

"Do you truly believe that? Look outside. The village we found was under siege from its own kind. We saved it. We protect it. We're teaching them how to defend themselves."

"You're making slaves out of desperate farmers. Look, you're not going to change my mind. We've made ourselves clear - so let's just stop."

"So be it." Invoctol glanced back to the image of Midha. "Enlighten me - what are the Singers doing here? I had thought them extinct."

"Eating."

"Eating?"

"On death. On violence. On strife." Ikharos breathed in quickly. "Their leader's an Ascendant. And a powerful one at that."

"... As the Hive are?"

"Yes."

"Impossible. Only Worm-power makes an Ascendant. Singers cannot take on Worms."

"We've seen him," Formora said, joining in. "The Ascendant. He's grown as large as a mountain."

Invoctol looked at the two of them for some time. Then, at long last, he said, "Show me."

Ikharos had always considered the mind an untouched battlefield. Guardians only ever used it defensively, knowing that there were undoubtedly foes beyond the safety of the City walls capable of exploiting unguarded thoughts. In that aspect the elves of Kepler were stronger, bolder, more adaptive. They could attack just as well as they could defend themselves.

The minds of Psions, though, were of another calibre entirely. They could build entire worlds. They could pull moons out of their natural orbits. They could see into the future and relay it back to the present. It was no surprise, then, that the Cabal made such heavy use of them in all things military. Aside from being extra bodies to throw at their enemies, Psions were logistical wizards and tactical geniuses. The BattleNet was their domain for just that reason. And the Soulrazers had a Psion for a Primus. Ikharos didn't know how he felt about that. Frightened felt like a fair descriptor. Unsettled was another.

Invoctol had effortlessly reached out and gripped the attentions of both him and Formora and dragged them from their defensive shells into his own mindscape. Everything was blank at first. Colour only gradually leaked in, and shapes with it. A pleasant otherwordly seashore was painted around him, around them, and the solidifying of the psionically-manifested world only spread out from there.

Three Psions were arrayed in front of him. One knelt in the sand with a disassembled rifle laid out before it. A second sat cross-legged on a rock and flitted through an archaic tome. The third and last hovered out above the gentle waves, its eye alight with mental sway.

It was strange. He knew it was merely a telepathic connection, but everything felt so real. It was as convincing as any Vex simulation. More, even - he could feel the currents of the imaginary wind pulling at his Arc, the sun caressing his Solar, and the emptiness in the air drawing on the Void. He didn't like it. Ikharos would have preferred the usual means by which he and Formora communicated - less hassle, less existential dread, less Cabal. He was under no illusion who was in control. It may as well have been a Throne World for all the power the Psions had.

The rifle-Psion stood up and turned around to face Ikharos. "You spared me."

"Wh... what?"

"You spared me in Ceunon. Why?"

"I didn't-"

"Because he's not without mercy," Formora said. She looked just as lost as he felt, but still somehow had her bearings. Ikharos could barely tell which way was up, let alone form a coherent answer. "And neither are you."

The Psion's eye widened in recognition. "You were my guide."

"And you my coercing saviour." Formora glanced around. "Where is this?"

"Brand!" Called out the tome-Psion. "You're standing on the sacred soil of Brand. It's our home. Our moon. Our reason to fight."

"We fight out of duty," the rifle-Psion retorted.

"I fight for Brand." The tome-Psion glanced at the third member of their triumvirate - at the Flayer. "And he fights for love."

"His love's broken. His love's gone."

Tome-Psion's eye settled on Ikharos. "Is it?"

Ikharos frowned. "Wait, sorry, what?"

"Your mind is clenched in the vice-grip of your shielding bubble, yet scraps of thought are pooling out of the cracks. An admirable effort, if a failed one. You've met with other Cabal, haven't you?"

Ah. That. Ikharos took an imaginary breath, though there was no air to draw on. It was fortunate his false-lungs didn't feel like they needed anything. "One of the terms Tarrhis-Baron instructed me to set out was the return of prisoners we collected while striking against the Hive, in exchange for a little something."

"Name the prisoners."

"There was a... Neirim, Neuroc, Thu'uarr, Zhonoch, a-"

The Flayer swiveled about and shot back to the shore. "Zhonoch?!"

Ikharos took a step back. Or he tried to. The distance between him and the Psions didn't increase. Damn mindscapes. "Yes."

"Release him."

"That's not up to me. If you want them back, you'll have to appease Tarrhis and I. We want the body."

"What body?"

"Midha's body."

"Who?"

"One of the Harmony I killed. You found it, right?"

"Yes."

"Well that beats tracing our steps to the other one... We want it. Only then will we give back your people."

The Flayer's face tensed. "We could seize you."

"Take a moment to realize who you're talking to," Ikharos snapped back. "I crushed the garrison of Ceunon. I killed the Hive Broodqueen. I singlehandedly slew two Harmony where your soldiers couldn't put a scratch into them. You invited us here under the pretext of peace. Break that and I'll break you."

The Flayer recoiled, eye narrowed. "You dare make threats here, in our domain?"

"Yes. I dare."

"You-"

"Enough." The rifle-Psion stepped forth. He looked between his brothers, settling his gaze on the Flayer. "I am relieved for you, but that is not why we are here."

The Flayer reluctantly leaned into his brother - and phased through, together, losing all physical cohesion. The tome-Psion joined them. In the place of the three stood Invoctol, daunting of height and imperious of presence.

Ikharos exhaled slowly. "You're a fusion."

The great Psion opened its eye and looked at him, critically. "You know more about us than you should, human."

"You're not the first group of Cabal I've met."

"No other legion has been sent to this system."

"It wasn't here that I encountered them."

"Do tell."

"No. We have more pressing matters to address."

"The Harmony," Formora added, voice firmer than his own. It was so very hard to keep calm when standing in a Psion's consciousness, but she managed it where he didn't. Elves and their curiosity, he thought, but wasn't he one to talk? Ikharos reckoned that he was finally out of his depth. All his confidence was little more than a pride-fueled bluff; he wanted out, and he wanted out now.

"I trust your claims are not baseless?" Invoctol pressed.

"We've seen him. Nezarec."

"The Prince of Strife?"

"You know him?"

"Rumours," Invoctol corrected, "nothing more. There have been tales of silver-skinned corsairs on the fringes of the empire, but with the Hive hordes gaining ground the legions were unable to investigate. That name came with those tales. He was supposedly a pirate of some renown. But an Ascendant?"

Formora looked at Ikharos. It was more a press of mental intention than any ordinary gaze, but he felt it all the same. "We have come to the conclusion that he governs his people with the very same laws that the Hive worship."

Ikharos nodded. "We have. It's like a heavily modified Sword Logic. The particulars are all theorized, but the base of my hypothesis has already been proven time and again."

"Show me this Nezarec."

Their - Formora's and Ikharos's - combined barricades shivered and... well, tilted. It weakened on one side, albeit only slightly, as Formora rummaged for the memory. Ikharos was left hefting the weight of keeping them separate from the suffocating pressure of the metaconcert-made-real all around them. He didn't know if the manifestation of sights, smells, and feeling was for their benefit or Invoctol's - or for any singular part of Invoctol's three-way identity. It didn't matter, 'cause he didn't care - only that the Psion kept its distance from their thoughts and that they could wrap this up in a short time. Everything about the psionic environment around him was daunting. It was a show of power. A display of how far beyond a Psion's power was to that of a measly human person.

Formora finally procured a short scrap of memory - fitted with all the senses one would expect of a human being, but altered all the same. Everything was sharper than Ikharos predicted. Her vision and hearing was keener than his own. It was an odd sensation to experience.

When the buildings gave way to the monument, they found it surrounded by a wide circular plaza. The centre of it gave way for the gargantuan hovering object, lined with railings, and hole beneath descended into an eternal abyss. But they never truly focused on that. No, their attention was on the ovoid.

It was clear and bright, cut of a smooth shining diamond with not a single flaw. Within floated a vaguely humanoid figure curled up into a fetal position. Its skin was silvered metal, and this looked natural as opposed to the artificial design of Frames or Exos. Twin horns spread outwards from its skull like outstretched wings. It had no face, just a single jewel in the centre, dulled and dimmed. Its form was lined with muscle, with a powerful body and lithe digitigrade legs. And it was tremendously enormous. The creature within the monument rivaled great Belgabad, largest of the dragons, for sheer size.

Invoctol recoiled. Actually, genuinely recoiled. He didn't say anything - just stood there, eye flashing in an irregular pattern and staring at the sand under his feet. The manifested environment abruptly collapsed around them.

And Ikharos...

... was back in his own body, looking out at the world from his own eyes and standing in his own boots. Tendrils of decaying psionic energy stretched between him and Formora, right back to Invoctol. He became aware of a growling sound - only to remember Melkris. He dropped a tired hand on the shockshooter's metal-padded shoulder. "Nama."

Melkris looked at him, outer eyes shuttered and inner pair narrowed. He was worried.

"I'm fine," Ikharos said. It was only a half-lie. "We're both fine."

Formora looked a bit pale, and her hands trembled, but she didn't refute his words. Maybe she should have.

Invoctol leaned against the wartable with both hands. If there was one word to describe the Psion Primus, Ikharos would have settled for troubled.

"What have you done?" Shu'av stomped into sight, slowing as he neared his superior. He, on the other hand, was decidedly concerned. And maybe furious. Perhaps even livid - it didn't seem like quite a stretch.

Invoctol raised a hand. "Leave them. They are not our foes."

"... Brother?"

"We made a mistake to come here." The oversized Psion pushed away from the table. "Our presence here has only expedited matters. This world is a mire; we cannot win it. Nor can the Hive. I am declaring the Calatonar System a strategic loss. It is in the hands of a nihilism cult bearing allegiance to the Dark."

Shu'av froze up. "What?"

"This world doesn't belong to us. And it never will. We must retreat."

"You can't," Ikharos hoarsely called out. Both Valus and Primus swiveled to face him. "There's a Warmind besieging the planet. Those are warsats up above. They're blockading us all in. There's no running from this."

"There is no fighting an Ascendant either," Invoctol shot back, voice echoing three times. He sounded nervous.

"Yes there is. Eka kenna hvérsu eom vergarí Nezarec." (I know how to kill Nezarec.)

"How?"

"By cutting his legs out from under him. We're going to starve him to death, or at least into emerging into realspace while in a weakened state. Tarrhis has agreed to follow me on this. That's why I stand with the Scars."

Invoctol stared at him for a time. It was uncomfortable. "And what do you need of us?" he asked after a while.

Ikharos thought about it. "Go talk with Tarrhis. I don't care how suspicious both of you are; we all stand to die with both the Hive and the Harmony hanging over us. Don't backstab us either."

"We are hardly in a position to do so."

"Good."

Shu'av snarled.

"That'll be us, then. A pleasure, Primus."

Invoctol begrudgingly dipped his head - and only then by a smidge. "Merida-X8. It has been an experience."

"That it has." Ikharos took hold of his compatriots' shoulders and channeled the Void through him, briefly tearing reality asunder. They Warped.

An hour later, and a great many miles away, Ikharos finally settled down against the trunk of an old ash and listened to the rain pitter-patter against the tail of the Skiff hanging overhead. Nyreks passed over a bottle of maybe-stolen faelnirv topped with some ether - evidently the mixture he and Kiphoris had created had caught on. The drink was divine.

"I like this," Formora remarked, toting a bottle of her own. Raksil, Nyreks, and Javek each had bottles to themselves too. There had been more, but Melkris, Beraskes, and one of Nyreks' crew had run off with the lot.

Ikharos nodded. "The faelnirv or-"

"Celebrating. We haven't done near enough of it."

"Weird thing to celebrate," Ikharos muttered, "but I suppose it's due."

She raised an eyebrow. "You almost mangled all our efforts."

"Nah, you just don't speak Cabal. Things were going splendidly. No, it did go splendidly, period. No one got shot, the Primus somewhat listened to us, and we're all still alive. That's a victory."

"I don't feel very victorious."

"Neither do I. Hence me saying it's a weird thing to celebrate."

Formora shrugged and leaned into him. "I suppose so."

"Don't worry, you did wonderfully."

"Thank you."

"... No?"

"No what?"

"Nothing good to say about my performance?"

"I'm not entirely sure we did anything well. We did something, just... perhaps not to the best of our ability."

"And?"

Formora sighed. "You were very handsome."

"I can work with that." Ikharos grinned and wrapped an arm around her. "What about the rest of the time?"

"What do you mean?"

"How good were my efforts? At... the thing."

"The thing?"

Ikharos nodded. "The thing."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"The c.o.u.r-"

"Courting?" Formora's voice took on an amused note. "I'm not sure you quite grasp what courtship entails, but... I suppose you were courteous. Polite. Thoughtful. Charming, even. I'm impressed."

"That's what I was aiming for. Still am."

There was a rustle only a few metres away. Nyreks ceased whispering with Raksil and raised up his seized glass of cider-and-ether. "Kirzen! Gift us a tale."

"A tale? You want a story?"

"Eia!"

"I can't say I know any good ones."

"A tale of battle. With Oryx!"

Ikharos's expression fell. "I can't do that."

"... Kirzen?"

"I'm not going to talk about Him. He's... no. Too much." He briefly closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of closeness and warmth, of the sound of rain, of the aftertaste of the sweet elven-brewed ambrosia mixed with Servitor ichor. "How about... Yeah. There's this one story. It was me and the Hunter Vanguard at the time - guy called Kauko Swiftriver. He was a devious sort, with a snarky sense of humour. We hit it straight off. Hence what comes next, 'cause he came straight to me with a scheme in mind. See, he'd been listening in to Devils' comms, and he'd caught wind of certain scandalous happenings near Caracas in Venezuela. Apparently a Devils Baron was caught... well, meeting with a Winter Baroness. Lovers, essentially, who feared being found out by those who would cut their relationship short. Whole 'forbidden romance' kind of thing. Now that's not the juicy part; the big surprise was that Solkis - newly-instated Devils Kell at the time, taking over for long-dead Drifis - didn't much mind it. I suppose he would've wanted links with Winter for the next attempt on the Last City. Or hell, maybe it wasn't Solkis, it could've been Craask pulling more strings. Doesn't matter; the short of it is that the two were allowed to continue their tryst, with plans of matrimony in the air.

"That's where Kauko got to me. He wanted to gatecrash the wedding - you know, gun down a few nobles, rob the rest blind. Of course I had to tell him that not only was it suicidal, it'd put him on every Devil and Winter hitlist. Even the Kings would take notice, and I wanted no part of that. The Kings and I had an unspoken agreement: you don't mess around with me, I don't screw with you. It was a little lasting legacy from my old independent days, but even in the ranks of the City... yeah, don't go around pissing Craask off. That'd be a quick way to find yourself in the gutter, run through with a shock blade. But Kauko wasn't hearing any of it. Selective hearing was his game. All he heard from me was 'Devils', 'Winter', and 'Kings'. And maybe 'dead'. He started organizing a hit. So I went to his office, Lennox in tow, and told him right then and there, in front of Osiris and Saint-14 no less, 'You're a fucking idiot'. The tool didn't hear of much of that either. He went right back to work. So I, uh... I volunteered to help. I reckoned I could be the damage control. Make sure we either did a glancing blow or we hit so hard the houses would be left in the dark as to what the hell just happened. It... yeah, okay, like all things Kauko-related, it got weird. The moron snagged us invitations to the wedding, meant for one Altris-Veskirisk and one Caurix-Mrelliks. He got me an invitation for a damn Baron. A twelve-foot tall Baron. Look at me, I'm... oh, I forget, six-ish maybe? Doesn't matter. The Baron was twice my height, four-armed, and very, very loud. I met Caurix once. He's the kind of guy who fills a room by virtue of just being in it. The total opposite of quiet old me.

"But I went along with it. Why not? We don't live forever anyways - or so Lennox told me. I tried to tell her 'Well, we kinda do', but she'd already planned to have her girlfriend of the time - Awoken gal, and a Coyote at that - over while I was out. I had no choice in the matter. Exos don't take no for an answer. Neither did Nadiya. I mean, the three of us usually got on like a house on fire, but they wanted a night to themselves, and I... yeah, I was hightailing it out. Had half a mind to crash over at Jaren's place, since he was never home and I knew he'd say 'go right ahead', but for some reason Kauko being an idiot weighed on me. He always thought of himself as the modern Robin Hood. He really wasn't. And damn me, I really liked the guy. His patronage of spicy foods saw the rise of ramen in the Last City, and for that we as a nation owed him everything. Plus he always gave Josef big tips for working on his Sparrows. I couldn't let him down. So I joined up. Turned out it was just me and him. No snipers, no demolitionists, not even missile-Titan for emergency back-up. We were screwed from the get-go. Kauko having stolen Baron Caurix's personal Skiff didn't help matters. I remember asking him how the hell we were supposed to get inside. He told me 'with disguises'. Fucking idiot...

"So we threw on Devil cloaks and sprayed ourselves down with Eliksni-masked scents - don't ask me how he got it, I don't know and I don't want to know. We got as far as the front doors. Then we got into a fight - knife only, no guns, so it involved me getting shanked three times and Kauko utterly owning just about everyone. Hunters love their knives... Anyways, after that we scurried into a corner, aware that the Devils were going to crash down on us at any moment. But then, just then, the universe tossed us a bone. And that bone came in the form of a gangly Exile Baron. Apparently one of the husband-to-be's clutch siblings, banished for patricide. Turned out he was sweet on the Winter Baroness too, so he wanted to be the one to receive her hand in marriage. You might be thinking - and I'm talking to you 'Mora - 'why wasn't he just killed upon arrival?' Well, the answer to that is Eliksni law dictated that the matter had to be settled with a duel. And so a duel commenced. I don't remember much of it, since I was trying to tackle Kauko down to the ground before he blew our cover, but I do know that mister Exile broke his word and had his cronies open fire. So the Devils opened fire. And so did Winter. And something happened that turned Devils and Winter against one another. I honestly have no idea why. There was a lot of shooting and shouting. Then Kauko tumbled into the open, Golden Gun drawn, Devil cloak burning up around him. Three shots. Two dead Barons and one very broken shank. Don't know why he went for the shank instead of the Baroness. She had a very mean look on her face - maybe that's why? - and started shooting at us almost immediately.

"I grabbed Kauko, dropped a Nova Bomb behind us, and got us out in Caurix's Skiff. The job was done. We were none-the-richer, but I was disguised so there was no chance of anyone pinning it on me. Kauko thought... I made sure his ass never left that Vanguard chair for years. And you know what? When all was said and done, the bastard had the audacity to turn to me and say 'that was fun.'"

Silence. Javek started clapping, but when no one joined in he stopped.

"What..." Formora half-turned around while leaning against him. "What happened to the Baroness?"

"She didn't get married."

"Yes? And?"

"Oh. Well, she died - no, wait, almost died during the Taken War. Rose to some prominence afterwards, though her house didn't. Did some jobs for the surviving houses and the syndicates of the Reef, got some salvaging rights in the mid and outer system, and generally lived on. Better than most, I might add. I think I talked with her over a radio a couple of times. Interesting woman."

"Did she ever learn-"

"No. And nor will she ever."

"What of Kauko?"

"Oh, he disappeared some time before Twilight Gap. After two years of nothing the Speaker told the Hunters to cop on and produce another Vanguard. Poor guy, that Swiftriver. His mistakes probably caught up to him. The survivors of the wedding put a bounty on him, and with Kauko outside the walls on a secret jaunt... yeah, easy pickings for someone like Taniks. At least that's probably what happened. It's what I like to think happened. The alternative is he got cornered inside a Hive nest."

"... Ah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was his own fault."

Nyreks cleared his throat. "That was a... a very strange story, Kirzen."

"Kauko was a strange guy, even by our standards. He tried feeding a Wizard a roll of bread this one time. He had this idea it would poison them. Chucked it right at her. It got caught on one of her head-spikes and half-blinded her. It allowed Lennox to rock up and unload a shotgun-mag into her face."

Raksil snickered. "I like this Kauko."

"So did I. He was an idiot, but he was a charming idiot. No idea how he qualified to be the Hunter Vanguard, but oh well. Cayde called him the Bread-Wizard for a while after that." Ikharos leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Weird, but beats psesiskar any day of the week."

"You were named that?"

"Primarily by Devils, yeah."

"Not Kirzen?"

"Oryx was a mere five years ago, mind you. I've only recently come into godslayer status."

"I've heard," Formora began, "that you are occasionally referred to as Ike."

Ikharos scowled. "Who told you?"

"Xiān."

"That brat."

"I take it you don't like it?"

"What gave that away?"

Formora hummed. "I'll be sure to remember that."

"... Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't ever mention that word again."

She chuckled. "I don't know if I can promise that. What's wrong with it?"

"I just... I don't like it. It's not sophisticated. It's not respectable. It doesn't carry weight. It's just... Ike."

"And Ikharos carries weight? What does it mean?"

"It's the non-anglicized version of Icarus."

"... That doesn't entirely answer my question. What does Icarus mean?"

Ikharos tried to shrug. He could only move the one shoulder; Formora had the other pinned. "It's a name from the old Greek mythos. Pre-pre-pre-Golden Age stuff. I think maybe my parents - or the parents of past-me - wanted to remind me of said myth, of the dangers of complacency and hubris both. Or maybe they were Greek and thought the name was nice as it was. I don't know." He shifted in place of nudging her. "What about you? Where does Formora come from?"

"The Formoreans of Alalëa," she told him, voice soft. "They were traveling elves learned in the laws passed by the aristocracy and sworn to neutrality in all matters, save for when passing judgement on those parties deemed guilty."

"Like judges?"

"Yes. Though early elven communities had no courts per se, only the decisions of the grove-elders. We were young in those days, without the long-livedness granted to us by our pact with the dragons."

"So…?"

"My parents thought, or hoped, that I would become a practitioner of law and lore. A bard, in other words."

"Instead you became a Dragon Rider."

"Yes. And now I'm... well, I'm not sure. A soldier, though I do not profess loyalty to any one army."

"You're Formora. That's enough."

"For me or you?"

"... Um..."

"I joke. Thank you." Formora rested her head against him.

"What next?" Nyreks urged after a while. "What are your orders, Kirzen?"

Ikharos groaned as he tried to drag himself back to coherence. "Go back to Tarrhis. Whatever happens next with the Cabal is up to him. I have Hive to hunt."

Formora moved. "I'll go with you."

"With me?" Nyreks inquired.

"Yes. I want to help where negotiations are concerned."

"You're going?" Ikharos frowned... then relaxed. "Well I can't stop you. Nor should I. Probably safer."

"It's not safety that guides this decision."

"Maybe not, but it reassures me all the same. Somewhat."

"Somewhat?"

"I don't trust Invoctol."

"He seemed the reasonable sort."

"Practical. He's dangerous and he knows it. They could put a dent into everything we've got going for us. If you must deal with him, step carefully."

The night ended far quicker than Ikharos liked. Nyreks and his crew packed up what few supplies they'd laid out the previous evening and prepared to disembark. Ikharos sat some distance away, watching the sun's light slither through the upraised fangs of the Spine. It was an encouraging sight, if a distracting one.

"This could be for a while."

Formora tightened her hold on him. It got a little harder to breathe. "From the day we've met, we've always been within short distance of one another. It's strange to consider. But so are you."

"If I had a glimmer cube for every time someone called me strange..."

She laughed. He would never, ever, not-in-a-million-years grow tired of hearing it. "But you are. And I appreciate it. The differences are indeed worthwhile."

"Oh, they certainly are."

She smiled at him. He smiled right back, helpless to do anything else. It was like being under a spell, but he couldn't sense anything non-causal at work. And then, to his ice-cold shock, she leaned in and kissed him. It was little more than a brushing of her lips against his own, but-

He couldn't think. Couldn't muster a single thought beyond wow.

Formora slid something past his ear. Something long and thin, with a firm structure and feather-light tufts at the end. "I will see you soon, Ikharos-Dunei."

And then she was gone. The Skiff's thrusters growled to life. It took off, veiled itself in an Arc-powered stealth field, and was gone. Leaving him alone with their pack of Hive-hunters. Ikharos-Dunei, she'd called him. The exact meaning escaped him, but it sounded like something sweet and full of adoration. He grinned, then remembering her fading touch, reached up and grasped the... yes, the very same mountain flower he'd given her. A spell had been cast over it, preserving it from decomposition.

Oh yes. He was very much in love.

AN: Massive thanks for Nomad Blue for editing my rambling story.

I like writing fluff. It's simple and easy - one aim (romance!/being total bros) and only the rare opponent. Even easier when drawing up plans to end a fictional planet, but that could just be me. Thanks for reading!