AN/New Chapter! This one's a bit short, but it serves its purpose. Also, fair warning, this is an abrupt tone shift compared to the last chapter. Anyway, enjoy or don't, leave a review with your thoughts as always!
LINE BREAK
Shard of the Traveler, European Dead Zone, Earth, Sol System
He had come here in the hopes of finally resting for a moment, to just be at peace, and bask in the still strong Light of the Shard of the Traveler. He had come to escape his responsibilities, if only for a bit. But above all he had come here simply to be… alone.
He had asked Ghost to wait back in the ship, and make sure no one followed him here.
Because right now, more than any time he could remember since the horrible day Cayde had died, he needed to think.
He had seen a lot of terrifying things in his short years of life, battled many great and powerful foes, watched friends and allies die, time and again, and yet what he had seen in the Corridors of Time had struck him deeper than any of that. For what could be more terrifying, than to find one's own tomb?
When he began his final journey into the Corridors, he had expected to find yet another powerful Vex mind, he had been prepared to do battle, to vanquish, but instead, all he found was a tomb, his own tomb, and was forced to listen to a eulogy given by his new acquaintance Saint-14.
He knew not what threat would bring such a future about, or if said future was avoidable. All he knew was that, in that moment, staring down at the dead shell of his Ghost, his Little Light, mounted onto his coffin like some kind of morbid decor, he had never felt so afraid. And there was nothing he could do about it. No one he could tell, no one who could help dampen this deadening weight around his soul. The only true friend he had really ever had was Cayde, and with him dead…
As he returned to his ship, he barely noticed his Ghost whirling around him nervously, his focus entirely inward. And when they made it back to the Tower, he didn't notice both Saint and Amanda Holliday calling out to him in some concern. When he finally made it back to his quarters, small as they were, he didn't notice his Ghost quietly leaving his room to explain their absence to Commander Zavala. When finally he removed his helmet and saw his own face in the mirror, he was mildly surprised to see tears on his cheeks, and with a small, self deprecating snort, he wiped them away.
Crossing the room to sit on his bed, he stared at his helmet in his hands, his knuckles going white from how tightly he was gripping it.
"You're not brave. You've simply forgotten the fear of death."
He had mostly dismissed those words when Ghaul spoke them, at the time he had bigger things to worry about. But now, he realized… Ghaul was right. After all, here he now was, truly confronted with his own death for the first time, and he was sniveling and crying like a child.
The Young Wolf, brought to his knees by the mere thought of death. What would the other Guardians think, or the people of the Last City, who he fought so hard to inspire?
A coward.
That's all he was, a coward who couldn't even save himself, let alone the only friend he ever had.
"This… this ain't on you, kid."
An animalistic roar escaped his throat, and the next instant, his helmet was buried at least half a foot into the wall across from him. He was left panting, his fists clenched and shaking.
Clearly the trip hadn't helped. After all, here he was, feeling no different from before. Feeling as he always did these days.
Afraid.
Angry.
Alone.