Chapter 32 – Peccati reus ero

(7th Cycle, 86 Units – Covenant Battle Calendar)

Aquilla System, In orbit over Actium

Covenant Holy City High Charity

Sanctum of the Hierarchs

:********:

Thel gracefully descended to his knees and bowed his head until his helmet touched the floor. Beside him, Ruca did the same. He only hoped that their prostration would suffice to subdue the tension of the occasion.

From beneath the brim of his helm he beheld the sight of the three Hierarchs.

The Covenant's Triumvirate sat in their hovering thrones and had assembled around the holotank at the center of the sanctum. Their sharpened gazes were locked on the projection of the planet Actium that rotated before them. On its eastern hemisphere, near the center of the second largest continent, there existed a blinking red light highlighting where the Covenant staging grounds were, or should have been. But they were no longer existent, down to even the faintest fragment of rent metal. There was nothing there except for a gaping abyss large enough to swallow up entire nations. It had taken a whole day for the massive mushroom cloud there that was visible from orbit to dissipate. Even then, much of the haze remained. As a result, there were early signs of changes in the region's climate that would eventually lead to the creation of an artificial winter, the likes of which nothing on the ground would stand a chance of surviving. Such realities made it clear that the goals of at least one Supreme Commander were thoroughly thwarted. Thel's only concern in coming here was the chance that Beorda hadn't sealed merely his own fate alone.

The destruction of yesterday was a surprise at best and an object of horror at worst. Hundreds of thousands of the Covenant's warriors were slain in an instant. Massive amounts of time, infrastructural investment and planning were lost all at once. There was also the lost satisfaction at the fact that humans had gotten to the rogue commander before he could, thus stripping away forever the hope of seeing him branded with the mark of shame in public. However, it also put the onus on Beorda who was of course in charge of the construction and its defenses by the stipulation of the Hierarchs themselves. He wondered whether he should be thankful for that or not; to bring one more insulting addition to what was amounting to the commander's devastated legacy. But it still remained to be seen whether the Prophets saw things the same way.

The day after the destruction, High Charity arrived on the system's edges along with the hundreds of ships comprising its defense fleet. Not long after their arrival and the reception of various reports, the Hierarchs personally called in Thel and, for reasons he wasn't quite certain of yet, his second in command.

As he watched the three San 'Shyuum maximize the image of the destruction, seeing their expressions range from disgust to anger, he could sense that someone would have their head mounted on a pike sooner or later. That much might've explained why Ruca was here. They could make an example of the top leaders of the only other fleet that had been in the system when the humans still had a presence in it. It was only at seeing the Prophet of Truth's face switch from an unreadable contemplation to disgusted intrigue that he knew their final verdict was settled.

He tensed as the three finally turned their gravity thrones to face him and Ruca. He quickly averted his gaze to the floor, listening to the gentle drone of their thrones coming towards them. They stopped a few paces short.

"Why do you prostrate yourselves in such a defeated manner when you have attained victory here?"

The question had come from Truth and made Thel unintentionally deepen his bow.

"Rise, Vadumee. On your feet, you and your Fleetmaster."

The surprise overwhelmed him like a sudden flood. It took Thel a few beats of his hearts to come to terms with the words that had just come out of the Hierarch's mouth. His mind, momentarily blank, began swimming with questions, fears and doubts. Mostly questions.

He pulled himself back onto his feet with a cautious slowness. Ruca did the same. However, they refused to look the three San 'Shyuum directly in the eyes.

The elderly Prophet of Mercy seemed to take notice as he asked. "Why do you look so disheartened? Certainly-"

"Certainly, the chastisement that is due in this case surrounds these two." The Prophet of Regret interrupted as he floated his chair closer to inspect the two Sangheili. At refusing to meet his eyes also, a look of pleasured dominance grew over his countenance.

"Surrounds them." Truth said, floating in beside him to give Regret a reproving scowl. "But does not rest on them."

Regret's temper seemed to subside at the reproof. "I still say it does. From the reports, these two failed to send in adequate reinforcements fast enough to respond to the final incursion by the humans. They are responsible for allowing the destruction of the staging grounds that we needed. Penance is due."

Truth held up a robed hand that stilled the younger San 'Shyuum's rising ire. "And our earlier verdict still stands." He rotated with grace to Thel and Ruca. "It is obvious to us that you did not bring about or in any way contribute to this destruction. Your fleet carried out its preassigned purposes in purging the western hemisphere of this world. Therefore, the events that took place in the east were not within your purview. If anything, it makes your actions commendable that you chose to intervene as you did...at seeing the abundant failures of Niccoramee."

Thel shivered at the sudden shift in tone of the last sentence. It lacked Truth's characteristic air of grace and instead held one he rarely ever heard: disappointment. He had to remind himself once again that it wasn't aimed at him but at his dead counterpart.

"It is regrettable." Mercy added. "There were important materials vital to ship production that only existed in that region of the planet, and now they are mostly destroyed. Even worse..." Mercy faded out in a somber remembrance. "Even worse, the relic there was also destroyed. Whatever understandings about the Gods or the Great Journey that may have been gleamed from its precious facets have perished with the Supreme Commander. To think, a holy relic lost forever...may the Gods have mercy on us."

"You bear no part in your fellow commander's heresies." Truth declared. "The loss of the cities, the unnecessary sacrifice of thousands of Covenant soldiers, the negligence that caused the death of the Minister of Iconography, those are not your sins. They are Niccoramee's. As such, Niccoramee's blood rests upon his own head."

Thel instantly knew what was meant by the Prophet's last statement. It was a tragedy to say the least. What Truth was insinuating was that Beorda's clan would pay the price since the council did not have his corpse as recompense. It was a punishment reserved for the most heretical and dishonorable acts imaginable in Sangheili society, warranting the complete annihilation of the offender's entire bloodline and relatives, however close or distant. He knew that the Niccoramee clan was a relatively small one of middling status among those that resided on the outskirts of Ontom. He wondered if that had something to do with it, that Beorda thought he had something to prove since he came from such a lesser background, lesser than Thel's. That possibility alone only heaped tragedy upon tragedy, because in his efforts to raise the honor and status of his comparatively smaller clan, Beorda had effectively become the cause for which they would all be slain, from the oldest keep elder down to the youngest infant. That way the blood of such a dishonorable blight on the Sangheili species would be forever removed, leaving room only for the dutiful and honor bound. The magnitude of his many sins would be exacted on every generation of any that bore his name.

Magnitude.

The word made Thel instinctually glance at Ruca.

His Fleetmaster was standing tall on his right-hand side, just as he normally did. But his presence here alone was a rebuke to that idea of generational sin passed on from the offender to the innocent. In fact, it slowly dawned on him that this was the first time he had brought Ruca to come face to face with the Hierarchs, a meeting he was initially wary of for that exact same reason. Yet not even for his namesake did the Holy Ones seem to mind his presence here, and Ruca didn't seem worried at all.

Rather, it was Ruca's words to him that echoed from the depths of his thoughts to coalesce around that word, magnitude. He could still vividly remember the conversation they had after their duel on the Ascendant Justice following their capture of the human world of Miridem. Though he had disregarded it at the time, he now found himself reminiscing on Ruca's response to one of his questions, an answer that had stuck with him without his conscious awareness.

"What if…a small number of us, a fraction…did something so blasphemous in its magnitude that our entire species was declared irredeemable, and deemed unworthy in the eyes of the Gods to join the Great Journey?"

If his old friend was a prophet in his own right, Thel couldn't say for sure, but it chilled him how those words were manifesting themselves before his eyes. Beorda was its fulfillment incarnate. His crimes and failures were so blasphemous in their sheer size that they were now about to cost the lives of those that were his blood relations, those who had nothing to do with his abominations. The innocence of the many was to be cancelled out by the guilt of the one, one Sangheili.

So then, how right was he to laugh when Ruca first brought it up to him? After their meeting, he'd instructed the Fleetmaster not to doubt his own species or those that served under him. Before dismissing him, he gave him a stern but subtle order not to let it get out of hand again. How things had changed. Here, in the face of recent events, he was the one in need of such an order as his well-disciplined mind dared pose a single question: What if he and Beorda had switched places?

He stifled the thought.

He willed his racing soul to focus on the words of the Hierarchs. To his amazement, Truth was still moving to the next sentence. He realized that they weren't slowing down their speech. His mind was simply too fast, too self-insulative for its own good, and that made him worry. The last thing he needed was to order one of his officers not to fret over the faithfulness of his own fleet, then to let doubts persist within his own soul. Maybe that was why someone like Ruca, for all his similar discipline, was able to harbor such doubts for so long in secret. No one ever asked him what he thought before then.

"The 2nd Fleet of Theophanic Revelation started out its mission with 120 ships." Truth said thoughtfully. "It maintained most of its ranks throughout the course of the battle, but after the most recent of travesties, its numbers have been reduced to less than a third of its original strength. Only those on patrols that were too far out from the staging grounds were able to avoid the destruction." He pointed a finger laden with power at Thel. "This remainder shall be tasked to your fleet of Particular Justice as an auxiliary force. Should such a need arise or a target be found of sufficient value to warrant their inclusion, they will be added to your naval forces to operate under your command for the duration of that mission. Until then, the remnants of Theophanic Revelation will be held back from their previous service under the Ministry of Resolution. Instead, they will be relegated to a merchant fleet for the Assembly Forges, as punishment for their commander's failure."

There it was again, the sin of one over the innocence of many.

Thel bowed his head in respect. "May the will of the Gods and of their Prophets be done."

"I'm certain it will." Regret said impatiently. "That is, should the divine will of the lowly not intervene once more."

Truth eyed him from the corner of his periphery with a look promising a consequence if he did not heed it. Regret spotted the warning and held his peace, albeit begrudgingly.

"There will be other occasions by which the Gods will see fit to bless us. New planets with better resources and close proximities to the spatial territories of those under their wrath. Until that time, we shall maintain our course."

Thel caught on to the inference and dared raise his head just slightly to look Truth in the eyes. "You...wish for me to destroy this world?"

Truth turned slightly in his throne to see past the semicircular window that hemmed in the inner chambers. Beyond it were the many ships of High Charity's defense fleet, the close and distant, large and small that swam around its outermost perimeters. Those perimeters overlapped with the nearby planet of Actium whose bright, northeastern hemisphere took up most of the view.

"This planet is of no further use to us. Without the staging grounds, the precious materials beneath it and the relic, it is now nothing more than another human world in need of our cleansing." He rotated back to Thel. "After all, you scoured it and found no further reliquaries, correct?"

"It is so, my prophet."

"Then its fate is sealed."

"...Understood. I will do as you have ordered."

"Indeed, you will." Truth looked over to Ruca, briefly examining him. "And what of you, Fleetmaster?"

"Just as you say, I am but a Fleetmaster. I live to follow the words of my Prophets and the dictates of my commander. By those I shall abide."

That much seemed to bring a pleased smile to the San 'Shyuum's wrinkled face. "Indeed." His eyes, old but ever discerning, shifted back to the Supreme Commander, making him wonder if the prophet had some deeper intention in asking the question. "After you have completed the cleansing of this world, your fleet will stay at High Charity to refuel and resupply. Then you will be given your next mission."

"And may the Gods see fit to bless you with success in your new incursion." Mercy said encouragingly from his right.

"And may you take heed the lesson of your former equal not to let that Sangheili thirst for glory get out of hand, less it should become your overreaching loyalty." Regret added with a hint of a warning in his tone.

Thel raised his head to fully face them. "I shall not fail you. We shall not fail you."

"No." Truth declared as though it were a fact already set in stone. "You will not. Now go. Leave us."

The two Sangheili bowed once more. They turned and walked through the nearest set of doors that cycled open for them. Thel felt the three San'Shyuum watching them leave before the droning whine of their gravity thrones indicated their return to the chamber's center. He only felt free to breathe a sigh of relief once the doors had closed behind them.

The tension of the moment slowly released him of its bondage, though not completely as they still had to walk past the group of Honor Guards manning either side of the way back. They steadily walked down the ramp, through another set of tall doors into the main hall.

The two dozen or so guards there were stationed at their usual positions in front of the hall's decorative columns that rotated over gravity repulsion units. Still, seeing them with energy staves in hand made Thel uneasy. Had Regret had his way and demanded that the council have its corpse then these same guards would not be so passive towards him as they were now. It was a hair's breadth kind of judgement where the ultimate decision had once again fallen to the calculating tiebreaker of the Triumvirate.

He was truly sorry for Niccoramee's clan, that their fate would be extermination on that fool's account. Nevertheless, it was better that it was that clan rather than his own of Vadum. Looking over at Ruca, he saw that the Fleetmaster, unlike him, showed no hint of the same worries. Because, in truth, he had no need to.

"Why do you think he asked you about what you would do?"

"Pardon?"

"The High Prophet of Truth, he asked what you would do, not just what I would do as your commander. Why do you think that is?"

"Hmph, well, I believe Regret said it best. He was testing to see if our loyalties are still to the Covenant and that we haven't fallen prey to Beorda's vice. Although, he was likely only making us aware that we should have no other allegiance to supersede the one we have to them, and the Gods of course."

"And that would be why he chose to see us both then, to test both levels of leadership in the fleet personally?"

"Perhaps. Maybe they perceive Sangheili pride as some viral infection and want to inspect anyone near the sight of this newest outbreak for symptoms."

"Or maybe they are convinced that what happened back there was an aberration and are curious about those that came into contact with it."

"Aberration?" Ruca clicked his lower mandibles in thought. "With respect commander, it does not sound like the Hierarchs or I are the ones you are trying to convince."

Thel said nothing to that. It wasn't an aberration, he knew. It was simply one with the greatest consequence he'd ever seen.

He looked around. His eyes searched about for the sight of one Honor Guard in particular, the one he'd seen and spoken to the last time he was here. The guard called Sesa Refumee whom he'd had a relieving conversation with after what was a disappointing briefing was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the guard standing where he once stood was someone else entirely who paid him no heed as he passed.

He considered if the ambitious Sangheili had actually taken him up on the offer to join his fleet when something further down the hall caught his eye. The sight elicited a feeling of equal parts bewilderment and deep revulsion, a kind only outmatched by that which he felt towards the humans, and even then, just barely.

The sight was of a creature whose muscled mass was covered almost completely from head to toe in a snow-white coat of fur. Though most of its gray-skinned body was covered in it, when it came to the head, its fur gathered together at the middle into a bristled, fin-like protrusion.

With one hand, it held over its shoulder the long staff of a hammer. The type it carried was different from those he knew its kind to normally use. Instead of a metal head, on the top of the hammer was an imposingly large stone. On the striking side of the stone were four circular gravity generators that emitted a harsh, turquoise light, undoubtedly the last luminescence many ever saw.

Walking alongside it were two Jirilhanae attachés that sported browner, more youthful fur but a lesser bearing than that of their leader. Their rank was obvious judging by the uniform sparseness of their armor. It was nowhere near as protective as a Sangheili combat harness, but where armor failed their bodies made up for it with sheer stopping power of will and ferocity. If Thel had to guess, the one with the spiked left shoulder pauldron as well as a second belt running diagonally from waist to shoulder had to be the Chieftain. Several of the creature's canine teeth were long enough to curve out from its mouth which formed into a deep scowl as its amber eyes settled on Thel and Ruca.

What irked him was that the pale-haired Jirilhanae carried himself down the hall in such a manner of dignity that was not due his station. Even worse, the creature stared at them as if it were sizing them up, regarding them in the same way that he was: an ally in name only.

The two groups spotted each other moving down the hallway and stared as they passed by before continuing on their way. But Thel peered back over his shoulder. He watched while the three headed towards the doors of the Hierarchs' inner chambers. It wasn't the first time he'd seen that specific, white-haired Jirilhanae go through those most holy of doors either.

Several times already he had run across it as it headed back towards the prophets' residence, always with that oversized hammer in hand. It was nothing short of a disturbing sight since the semi-sapient, semi-feral species to which it was kin were known for their instability and brutality. So why then would they allow a Jirilhanae to bring a weapon with it into the chambers of the Hierarchs, especially when Sangheili visitors were held to a much higher standard? Unless the Hierarchs were simply accepting of their vicious nature and willing to make exceptions for the newest additions to the Covenant's interspecies alliance. Regardless of if they were or not, the question remained as to why the High Prophets, in their infinite wisdom, were entertaining meetings with the Jirilhanae with a seemingly increasing regularity. It was a treatment that no other species was privy to within their first century of conversion.

The lack of plausible answers as to why was unsettling beyond words.

"Why are they entertaining that savage lot?"

It was beyond words for Thel perhaps, but not for Ruca.

"I do not know." Thel replied as they both turned back to the path leading to the next doors. "And I wish never to need to know."

"What do you mean?"

"I should hope that it is nothing that might concern us."

"Certainly, it is so pressing a concern for the Hierarchs that they see it fitting to convene with the Jirilhanae. How long then do you think it will be before we are left to wonder if we too should be concerned about the matter?"

Without the feeling of his robe being dragged behind him that he was used to, Thel folded his arms behind his back to regain his usual air of dignity. "Do you still have your doubts, Ruca, about the intentions of the prophets?"

Ruca scrutinized him from the side. "I never said it was the prophets that I doubted."

"Right." He considered his next words as if deciding on the outcome of casualties that would amount from a change in battle strategy. "Do you still hold doubts about us, your own kind?"

For a moment, Ruca was quiet. He could tell from the occasional shift in his mandibles that he was running through the same thought process as he did.

"In relation to what?"

The question, when it came, was really a wise answer. That way he could avoid giving any unnecessary or undesirable revelations about his kin on a broader scale, if he still bore any that is.

"In relation to Niccoramee's failures. Despite my words to you at Miridem, you were partially correct. There was now a Sangheili we knew whose actions or lack thereof will lead to the doom of many. However, I was also correct in saying that you would not find that one in the fleet of Particular Justice."

Again, Ruca went silent.

"There is no threat of punishment or discipline awaiting you for anything you say here." Thel assured him. "So, tell me, what do you think?"

"...I feel...two things...one is sorrow."

"For Niccoramee?"

"For his clan. The fool has caused their deaths. I'm certain that while he wasn't one, his bloodline surely may be full of young warriors waiting to prove themselves in the eyes of their brothers and the Gods. Now because of him, they will never get that chance. It is...sorrowful."

Thel could see it in Ruca's eyes when he began looking at the upcoming doors, that he was looking past them to something else. He watched a veil of somberness drape itself over his Fleetmaster's face, though he wondered if it was actually for Niccoramee's clan like he said.

"What is your second sense?"

Ruca gradually came back to a more attentive bearing. "Fear."

"Fear?"

"Fear that I was right." His eyes shifted to Thel's, allowing him to see the tension behind them. "I didn't want to be right. I wanted to be wrong. I hoped that you were the one who was correct out of the two of us. Here today, we're settling for being half-right. That worries me." He looked back longingly to the doors. "Because half is already far too much."

Thel also turned to the doors as they cycled open for them. Stepping over the threshold, they entered into another hallway smaller than the last. It was still manned by Honor Guards. On the other end was the final door marking the outer exit of the sanctum.

Thel noticed that without his purple robes, the two of them looked to be the same rank. If just briefly, he imagined them both walking down that same hallway, both wearing the proud purple robes of a Supreme Commander, each with his own fleet to his name. It hadn't happened the way either of them thought it would or in the time-frame. Still, while they yet lived there was a chance of seeing such things brought to fruition.

"If we are only half right then let us fight to maintain the other half as wrong." Thel said, standing straighter. "We will not be like Beorda. Unlike him whose soul is already on its way to damnation, we will continue to advance from glory to glory while we live, and then into a rewarding eternity when we find the path." He saw fit to reach out and rest a hand on Ruca's shoulder which more than surprised his fellow Sangheili, something that he wished hadn't were it not for the distance of rank. That was exactly why he wanted Ruca to advance, so that they would no longer be at a distance of commander and subordinate, but share the stride of equals as they were now. "Promise me this, Ruca, that you will not depart from the path that leads to glory until you are well at the threshold of the Great Journey."

Ruca looked at the hand as if recognizing it for that of a lifelong friend and not just a superior. He nodded. "I will not depart, brother."

At hearing the word 'brother' over 'commander', Thel was satisfied. He nodded as well at the renewed sense of kinship as he returned his hands behind his back. "Good."

Or was it? He saw the Fleetmaster's countenance revert to a worried thoughtfulness that also made him worried.

"What else is there?"

"What?"

"You look concerned for something else."

"Oh...I was thinking on the battle, the one in the east at that second capital."

"What of it?" Thel asked, noting that they were halfway to the doors.

"Other than the death of the minister, there was another moment that shocked me about that broadcast. It was that duel between Field Marshal Duracomee and that human shock trooper. To see how the latter cast away his helmet as a sign of his defeat to let himself be cut down by that human, it was almost as if it were..."

"As if it were what?"

"...An honorable duel. As if Duracomee was admitting in that moment to an honorable loss. I never knew the humans to be able to fight that way, not ever. At present, I'm curious as to what else they're surprisingly good at, and whether they also have a genuine sense of honor as we do."

Thel had let him finish his sentence despite that he wanted to stop him at several key points. His own response hinted at the bubbling vehemence lurking below it.

"Their honor is in ashes. Their pride is the very dust beneath their feet, as they themselves become dust beneath ours. Soon enough all their worlds will be cinders among the stars. But our honor is eternal. It will last for our people and even beyond our time as they enter into the Great Journey. Do not mistake this, Ruca. You must walk carefully between respecting the resourcefulness of vermin and respecting vermin themselves, for the moment you do the second, you cannot call yourself anything better than they. Is that understood?"

Ruca took in a deep breath and released it in a long exhalation. "I understand. And I should hope that other Sangheili understand that as well."

"I'm certain they will. But for the time-being, the worth of our own souls is what should concern us most."

They stopped at the door.

"Then let us make our souls more worthy in the eyes of the Gods who concern themselves with our war, brother." Ruca replied with a firmness that pleased Thel.

"Indeed."

The door hissed then cycled open for them. Together, the two strode out into the light of the holy city.

:********:

R'tas and Zuka both walked down the hallway before them, each step holding a casual determination bound for one of the cruiser's exits. They were dressed in their Silent Shadow battle harnesses. However, they chose to carry their helmets in the crux of their arms rather than wear them. R'tas was the only one of the two with a metal satchel strapped over his back. In it were contained all of his possessions that he'd bothered to carry with him into his service with the Silent Shadows. Today, he would be exiting that very same service with them as well.

He could easily recall the exact instant that he chose to leave the unit that so many other Sangheili would go their entire lives dreaming of entering. It was on the same day that the humans launched their final assault on the 3rd Tier of the eastern capital. While he was mildly discontent before it, his own distastes were exacerbated when the Demons whose fate should have been settled at the bottom of the sea were able to assassinate the Minister of Iconography. They were lied to by Nerulee who'd espoused an untruth to their very faces that morning, telling them that the operation was a success. Though he and Zuka had their doubts, what made it disastrous was that the entire affair cost the life of a San 'Shyuum, a prophet. How much worse, how much more hellfire would Nerulee have brought upon them were it a Hierarch instead? Damnation at that point would be too light a punishment.

It was no surprise to him then when he found out later on that day that shortly after he and Zuka tried to flank the Demons' position, the creatures went on to annihilate their entire unit. He felt no sadness in him for Nerulee's demise. Rather, the deaths of his comrades who had nothing to do with their superior's lies was what struck him the hardest. They merely followed his orders to set a preemptive ambush for anyone that would attack the minister during the broadcast, not knowing that they were in fact covering for Nerulee's failures.

Their blood was on his hands. The same went for the minister's blood. No, more than anything, it was all on Niccoramee's hands for not doing what he could to save the city.

For that purposeful negligence he deeply hoped that the former Supreme Commander was enjoying nothing less than the worst chastisement the Gods, in their infinite wisdom, could assign to the most contemptible of souls.

R'tas and Zuka would have similarly passed into the world after this one had they not escaped. In the wake of the humans' advance and the broadcasted demise of Field Marshal Duracomee, they grew certain that nothing could be done to save the city. Dying for what they deemed a lost cause was less than desirable. To make matters more definitively settled, by the time they found out where the Demons had repositioned to, their location was surrounded by hundreds of human reinforcements. Not even their best attempts would get them anywhere other than in a mass grave alongside their fallen brothers.

Escape was the only option.

That much proved nearly impossible as they moved stealthily through the shadows of a city whose streets were swiftly falling back into enemy hands.

At nightfall they were able to move more freely. They used their access to the local BattleNet to discover that some Covenant aircraft still remained stationed in the city, unused. They set out to acquire one of their own once they located several Seraphs lying driverless in a park. Their chances came close to falling to zero when one of the humans' armored convoys stumbled across the site simultaneously.

Several dozen meters of walking in active camouflage and a few snapped human necks later they were able to reach a Seraph. But they almost didn't get to take off after a patrol took notice of them activating the impulse drives, causing several of their tanks to start turning their way.

Just as he thought they were finished; a Phantom dropship swooped in and assailed the hostile tanks before they could open fire. He took the sudden distraction as a chance to take off and rocketed away through the city's skyline. They headed over the sea on a course for the planetary capital, all in the hopes of rendezvousing with Particular Justice and delivering to Thel a cumulative report of everything that had occurred.

Along the way from the coast, he noticed that that same dropship was following after them at a slower speed. They were both headed in the same direction. Out of curiosity he checked the directory on it while it was still visible. To his shock, the dropship was assigned to the usage of a Jirilhanae pack led by a Chieftain named 'Archoneus'.

Shortly after that, Zuka informed him of an incoming contact from the Phantom. It was a single audio message possessing the distinctive predatory baseness of a Jirilhanae.

"You're welcome, Sangheili."

He didn't reply. He watched on a rear feed as it fell behind them and disappeared beneath the nighttime horizon of the sea.

The notion that a Jirilhanae had saved their lives was a reality he wasn't willing to contemplate. Neither was the fact that again, he had run away from a battle. Having run or stayed put by that stage hadn't meant much to him at all mostly because he wasn't done running. During the flight back west, he told Zuka in no uncertain terms that he would be leaving the Silent Shadows. Zuka said nothing in reply. He remained silent for the remainder of their journey.

R'tas noted that he was as silent in walking down the hallway with him as he was the day that he broke the news. His plan to transfer out of the Shadows was in the making for a while. Calculating the reaction of his fellow Shadows wasn't included in that plan.

He shifted his attention away from his last remaining teammate to the hallways of the CCS Battlecruiser that surrounded them.

The Truth and Reconciliation was a fine ship of its class. It had been in service with the Fleet of Particular Justice since its birth some 14 years ago at the Aanrar Shipyard. However, he doubted that the Muse of Yevon, the shipwrights that built it, could have imagined it serving out its current purpose as a medical ship rather than a ship of war.

The vessel was among only several in the fleet that were willing to grant their request to come onboard before the glassing of the western capital. That was due to it being used to take in Covenant survivors of ship-to-ship battles who required medical attention. From what he could see with his own eyes, the number of those needing such attention had climbed over the course of the fighting.

The majority of the throngs sitting and resting on the floor of the hallway, or lying unconscious atop levitating gurneys, were wounded personnel from the Subfleet of Ardent Admonishment. That set had taken the bulk of the casualties for this latest crusade with nearly two thirds of their ships being lost to engagements in-atmosphere and in space. Such losses, though not in vain, had ended with thousands of Sangheili, Unggoy, Kig-Yar and Yamme'e requiring care.

The Truth and Reconciliation's med bay was overwhelmed with wounded as well as the dead and dying. There were so many that the surplus had to be set out into the hallways just to avoid overcrowding.

As they walked by, R'tas was able to get a proper gauge of the situation.

Several Huragok were busy moving to and froe between patients in this hallway. No matter the species they dealt with, they would place their tentacles around the wounds so that their fine-cilia could slowly regenerate and reseal the damaged flesh.

He and Zuka stopped to let one float past. He watched it arrive at a levitating gurney off to his right where a Sangheili Major was seated. His bare chest was signed with spots of black scorch marks, leaving cauterized scar tissue behind. Two minors held him down by his arms and refused to let his struggling form free until the Huragok wrapped its tentacles around his chest.

It was dishonorable for any Sangheili wounded in battle to allow himself to be tended to by a doctor. It was better that they who, by the very nature of being damaged and relinquishing blood, regain their lost honor by cutting down whoever or whatever had injured them. They would then endure through the natural healing process. Said doctors that denied them this chance for redemption were no better in Sangheili society than the lowest of the low. Their dishonorable practice of making others lose honor in tending to their wounds was shameful. It was probably why they were having Huragok do it instead, the species known for their value in both technological and occasionally biological repairs. The offense would also be lessened thanks to the species being a value-neutral party, not officially ranked in the Covenant's caste system. They were more so assets than subjects. It made it so that the idea of being healed by creatures of lesser rank didn't necessarily come into play.

The two moved down a number of crisscrossing hallways with similar sights of medical overflows.

They soon came into a curving corridor with a starboard side window spanning its full length. Their newest view was of the many docking platforms on their level of the Spires of Gifting, the long, tail-like extension beneath the main body of the holy city whose length rivaled the width of entire moons. From their level, they could see half-a dozen of the nearest ships from Particular Justice who were similarly connected to the city via umbilical docking tethers.

They came to a stop at the external door on the corridor's other end, an hourglass-shaped passage by which the docking tether was linked to the Truth and Reconciliation. A stream of levitating gurneys with unconscious wounded were already being ferried by their conscious counterparts into the umbilical beyond the threshold.

"You will be greatly missed, brother." Zuka said as he finally rounded on R'tas. "May better fortunes await you in finding what it is that you are after."

"I'll hope that is the case. The Special Operations branch is looking for those already with field experience to command their units. At least in that regard I will be welcomed." R'tas looked over his comrade from the side then turned to him after a cursory examination. "And what of you, Zuka, what will you do now? Perhaps a reassignment to a different team in the Shadows?"

"You need not worry about me." Zuka assured him. "I will not be reassigned to a different Shadow unit."

"Oh, and why is that?"

Zuka slowly held out his helmet like he was upholding an example for his point. "Because I will also be leaving the Silent Shadows."

R'tas had to blink a few times to process what he'd said. "You're leaving?"

"I decided it during my dawn meditations. The Shadows have treated me well enough. However, I fear that I will never get the chance to attack those special humans in the way that I would like if I stay under their charge. So, I will also head to Special Operations, though I doubt I should ever see you again."

R'tas' stare turned to a glower of suspicion. "You want to get revenge on the Demons? You do know that I am not simply leaving because we were beaten by them, correct? I'm going because our style of combat no longer suits me."

"You were right about that first question, wrong about the last." He held his helmet up between them. "I know that you are leaving and have wanted to for some time. It was obvious by your discontent. But do understand that we lost the entirety of our unit to those Demons. We can surely blame Nerulee or even Niccoramee for their treachery." He brought his helmet back to his side. "Nevertheless, at the end of the day it was the Demons who pulled the trigger. They were the ones that wiped everyone out."

R'tas saw his dark eyes dart up from their concentration on the floor to meet his.

"So forgive me if I seem brash in wanting to return them a similar favor."

The two stared the other down, testing their individual resolve. After several long seconds, their hard expressions softened and the two relaxed.

R'tas extended a hand. "Then I wish you well, brother, in whatever task you set out to do. Keep in mind that from hereon I won't be there to watch your back."

Zuka grasped his comrade's upper arm with R'tas doing the same to his, a reflection of respect only shown between Sangheili that saw each other as both warrior and friend. "And may the Gods bless you also in your endeavors, brother. Remember that I won't be there to watch yours either."

"May we meet again, in this life or the next."

"May it be so, however the Gods please for it to be."

With that, R'tas gave a final nod. He turned his back on the last surviving member of his Silent Shadow unit, the last living remnant of what was now his past, and headed through the doors, joining the procession walking into the holy city. In crossing the threshold, he knew that from hereon he would be consigning himself to a new future in the special operations branch, and to whatever end, he would not run from it. Whether it was for good or ill, this time he vowed that he would face it head-on.

Peccati reus ero - Blame