Trigger Warning: Mentions of alcohol. Terrible table manners.

Cause you've been too busy thinking ahead
Of where we're all going after we're dead
To maybe consider our bodies are worth
More than the dust that we can return

Hieroglyphs - The Oh Hellos

May 25, 2957, 23:23; The Farm, EDZ, Earth

Two Guardians sat on the dilapidated roof. The night air was clear and the view of the Shard was fantastic. Neither one was looking at it. The Hunter stared at the scars on her hands. The Warlock was focused entirely on her companion.

"When we went down into the Cradle," Azra said, "it was fine at first. But the closer to the center I got, the more distracting it got. Almost like it was chasing me instead of me chasing it. I couldn't think, I couldn't walk. If something had happened-"

"Sylas was right there," Veera soothed. "And if you had been alone, you would have been more cautious. You pushed yourself to keep up with him. He got you out safely. It would not happen again."

"It shook me," the Hunter said. "I don't know why it happened at all. And when the Cabal… well, they took the Light away from there, somehow it stopped being overwhelming. Like it was all the Traveler's doing."

"It may just be a byproduct of the extra power in the area," Veera reasoned. "The associations, they are a part of how your Light works-"

"They're not," the Hunter interrupted fearfully.

"What?"

"It's not… it's not my Light." And that was the crux of the issue. "It's never been."

"How do you know?" Veera demanded.

The question had been spinning in Azra's head all day. "It happens just the same in Dark places," she said. "In the Vault where I was practically Lightless, it was so strong I couldn't do anything else. And I had to learn how to use the Light. It took time to master it. This has always been there, since the very beginning, and no matter what I do I can't change it."

"You are sure," Veera said gravely.

"I know it," Azra said. Her gut and her brain said the same thing. "I can feel it. It's not Light." She took a deep breath in, tasting the faint ozone in the air, and the fact finally hit her. "Traveler. It's not Light. It… it's never-"

"Stop," Veera demanded. "Breathe."

Azra was nauseous. She was Dark-touched, tainted. There was no escaping from it, no hiding. "Ever since I was first Risen-"

Veera placed a hand on her shoulder. "Exactly. It has always been this way. There is no changing that now."

"I never had a chance," Azra announced. She'd been doomed before the Vault, before she'd ever heard the word 'Vex'. She'd never be free of it.

"Azra…" The Warlock had such compassion in her eyes.

Azra wasn't able to deal with all of the emotions boiling in her veins. She bristled. "Don't look at me like that."

"You have been this way for decades and nothing has happened yet," Veera said.

Azra shrugged the hand off of her shoulder. "Something did just happen!"

"What, exactly?" The Warlock retorted. "You got lost. You did not hurt anybody, you did not break anything."

But Azra wasn't mollified. "This is just the beginning," she intoned.

Veera frowned. "I find it curious that your fall to Darkness would start from your experiences in one of the most well-Lit places in the solar system."

"The brightest light casts the deepest shadows," Azra recited.

Veera straightened, a sudden excitement sharpening her Light. "And you can only see the stars at night. Eureka!"

"What?"

Veera was the picture of a Warlock in the grip of some revelation. She spoke fast, barely taking the time to enunciate her words. "These associations. They were overwhelming in a place with strong Light. But the Vault was very, very Dark. Did you have them too, in Crota's Throne World? In the Dreadnaught?"

Azra shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. But those places were both new, and I was too focused on fighting to sit around remembering things."

Veera snapped her fingers. "This is the heat from the friction, then."

The enthusiasm was a little overwhelming. Azra put her hands up. "Slow down."

Veera's eyes were bits of green fire in the gloom. "The Awoken were born from the conflict between Light and Dark," she explained. "That is what makes us special. Bridging that divide forever altered us. You, too, have known this conflict." She poked a finger into Azra's sternum. "It has changed you as well, but in a different way. When the Light and the Dark clash, there are side-effects. The Awoken people have telepathy, mild Acausality. You have this. And it became stronger because you experienced a bright light that casted a deep shadow."

That reasoning made sense, she guessed. "And in the Vault, it was so dark that I could see the stars."

"Exactly," the Warlock said, a satisfied look settling onto her features.

But that didn't calm the existential dread closing Azra's throat. "That doesn't make me feel any better. I'm still… The Darkness has me, a little bit. Since forever. Was I ever really a Guardian? And what if-"

Veera's excitement died like an extinguished candle flame. "You are a Guardian," she said fiercely.

"So was Dredgen Yor, before he fell," Azra muttered.

"Corruption?" Veera asked, too much anguish in her voice.

Azra couldn't look up and meet her eyes.

Veera took her hand, grounding her, pulling her out of the panicking spiral of thoughts. "I am not worried. I trust you."

"You couldn't trust anyone with this," Azra said.

"I can," Veera said firmly. "And I do." The Warlock sat up a bit straighter, taking in the view of the Farm, the tent City, and the Shard with an apprehensive eye. "In all honesty, this may be a good thing. The Red War has shown us our ignorance. There is so much out there that we know nothing about. There may come a threat someday that Light alone cannot defeat."

"That's a dangerous line of thinking to go down," Azra warned. "And a mighty good excuse to seek power for power's sake."

"But you know what you fight for," Veera said. "Is it the Light? If the Traveler gave you a vision tomorrow that demanded you destroy Humanity, would you do it?"

"Maybe the Light's worth following because I know that'll never happen," Azra muttered.

"You have a purpose," Veera insisted. "You know right from wrong."

"I know how easily purpose can be twisted," Azra said sharply. "And if this has been with me from the start-"

"It would still have been for the better," Veera said. "We could not have defeated Atheon without this. If you were given the choice, to go back in time and free yourself-"

"No," Azra said. She felt defeated, still. "Atheon's will is dead. That's worth more than anything else."

"Azra. Look at me."

Azra obliged. There was no doubt at all in Veera's face. "You are brave and you are kind," the Warlock said. "It so rarely is that a person has the experience for such wisdom and also the strength to remain vulnerable. I have looked up to you since I met you. You have endured so many horrible things, yet you remain steadfast."

"I'm just-"

"You never stop trying," Veera insisted. "I know you hold doubts. You must make so many judgement calls. Even these days, with the future of Humanity at stake, it is not always clear which action is the right one. Yet you never stop trying. That is why I trust you to do the right thing."

"I…" emotion closed Azra's throat.

"You know what you fight for," Veera said a third time.

"And if you're wrong?" Azra asked.

"Then we will face it together. You will not have to deal with it alone."

"And if we can't?"

"I would stop you," Veera said. "Is that what you want to hear? I know you would rather die than go down that path."

Lighting skitters in time with your heartbeat. There is a woman before you, with blue skin and emerald eyes. You can't think of her name. She shouts something. Whatever it was is lost in the tide of Arc coursing though you. Her expression is one of heartbreak, and if you could want anything, you would want to care.

But you can't. He has told you to beat her. You can do nothing else.

"I know that will not be necessary. I know this is something you can handle," Veera said resolutely.

Azra sighed, long and slow. She didn't want to deny Veera, but she couldn't just not worry. There was a long minute of silence as she sorted out her thoughts. The Warlock didn't seem to mind the lull in conversation.

Azra finally spoke. "My Pack accepts me for who I am. No questions. And for someone who's always been a little… different, I've needed that. Just being comfortable with being myself has been a struggle sometimes." She squeezed Veera's hand, still in her own.

"You make me want to be better than what I am," the Hunter proclaimed to the night air. "You make me believe I can be." She looked down, doubt still haunting her mind. "I… I'm scared there will be a day in the future when I look back and this will be the beginning of the end. But I promise I won't stop trying."

"I will never live up to what you have shown me is possible," Veera said, "but I can hope to become closer. I promise, too. We will do this together."

July 10, 2957; Trostland, EDZ, Earth

TYPE: Transcript.
DESCRIPTION: Conversation.
PARTIES: Two [2]. One [1] Civilian-type, designate Devrim Kay [dk]; One [1] Guardian-type, Class Hunter, designate Azra Jax [aj]
ASSOCIATIONS: European Dead Zone [Earth]; The Farm [Earth]; Jax, Azra; Kay, Devrim; Red War; Vex
/AUDIO UNAVAILABLE/
/TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS.../

[dk:01]: I know it's hardly been a month, but it seems like longer.

[aj:01]: It always does. Normalcy is quick. Quick coming, but quick broken, too.

[dk:02]: What are you going to do after all of this?

[aj:02]: Back to business, I guess. Map Nessus, poke around the Arcology more. I've got a laundry list of things I wanted to go back and check on, interesting finds I haven't sounded out.

[dk:03]: Nothing lifechanging, then?

[aj:03]: Life is change.

[dk:04]: Fair enough.

[aj:04]: How about you? Going back to the City?

[dk:05]: I was thinking about sticking around for a bit. I'll admit I missed being in the field.

[aj:05]: The view tends to grow on you.

[dk:06]: Quite. And we've done something new here, with the Farm. There's going to be a transitionary period. It'll take a lot of work to make the City habitable again. But even afterwards, I don't think everyone is going to want to leave.

[aj:06]: I see the appeal. It certainly is quieter.

[dk:07]: We've been living behind the walls for so long. I think people are beginning to realize that they can't protect us from everything.

[aj:07]: Well, you'll have my support, whatever it'll be worth. Assuming.

[dk:08]: Assuming what?

[aj:08]: The usual.

[dk:09]: Still holding your survival in question?

[aj:09]: Always.

[dk:10]: Have you thought about what you'll do if we don't succeed?

[aj:10]: I'm not going to be the last one alive. That's what I've decided.

[dk:11]: You don't seem the type for a blaze of glory.

[aj:11]: Glory, shmory. If we have to fall back and regroup, sure. I'm no Firebreak Titan. I'm just…

[aj:12]: I can't look down eternity on my own, not again.

[dk:12]: Again?

[aj:13]: The short story is 'Vex time travel BS'.

[dk:13]: And the long story?

[aj:14]: Too long for teatime.

[aj:15]: But I've concluded a life alone is not worth living.

[dk:14]: Ah, but enough doom and gloom. Let's speak of lighter things.

July 16, 2957; The Farm, EDZ, Earth

On the last morning, Azra woke up late.

It had been a long night of tossing and turning. She hated 'last nights', always had. Once upon a time they hadn't been too big of a deal: just one sleep before a mission. Now she'd been in Vaults and Throne Worlds and faced off against literal Gods.

It was enough to give anyone insomnia. Frankly, she was insane to keep throwing herself into these types of things. She'd hovered in a semiconscious state of stress for most of the night, plagued by worries. In the early morning she'd managed to slip into true blessed unconsciousness, only to be woken a few hours later by sunlight and the sounds of activity outside. Her body begged her for just a little more rest. For once, she listened to it.

Cayde didn't help. The day was unusually chilly and he was a warm weighted blanket. His presence was a treat. She missed him often, on account of him being stuck in the City these past few years. Time with him was something to be measured, bartered for. Lazy mornings were something to treasure. And on top of that, there had been the few weeks where she hadn't been sure if he was alive or dead-

She held him close and buried her face in his chest. He was more than happy to oblige her sleeping in. The tent fabric turned the morning light to a muted orange. Azra could have happily stayed there for days.

She thought her plan had been ruined when the tent zipper opened, but it was just Shiro.

"Get in here and close the flap behind you. You're letting out all of the warm," Cayde scolded.

"Up and at 'em," Shiro said. "I've got food." Indeed, the smell of oatmeal was permeating the tent. It was almost enough to make Azra un-bury her face. Almost.

"We had a rough night," Cayde said defensively. "So we're sleeping in."

"…I know," Shiro said. He'd been in the tent, too, probably also roused by Azra's inability to lie still. "Alright."

The fabric of the floor shifted a bit as Shiro carefully stepped over the mess of legs and blankets and sat down on a clear space. His Ghost, Pace, zipped the door shut.

"I got my hands one some maple syrup," Shiro offered. "Don't ask how."

That was enough to tempt Azra into full consciousness. She lifted her head and cracked an eye to peer over Cayde's shoulder. Shiro sat, barefooted and still unarmored, balancing three plastic bowls in his hands. Azra's stomach growled.

Cayde's arms tightened around her. "I'm comfy," he whined.

"But food," Azra complained.

Shiro was a man of many temptations. He set the bowls on the ground and brought a hip flask out from his belt. "Broke out the good whiskey, too."

Cayde froze, then with a groan let go and rolled over.

"Day drinking?" Sundance asked judgmentally.

"We have four hours before takeoff," Cayde dismissed. He and Azra worked to untangle their legs, careful of the still-steaming bowls.

"Lord preserve us and protect us," Shiro quoted dryly.

"We've been drinking whiskey 'fore breakfast!" Cayde followed enthusiastically. It was one of his favorite drinking songs.

It brought back memories of happier times. When was the last time they had sat around and gotten drunk together? Would they ever again?

"Hey," Shiro said, snapping Azra out of her rumination. He nudged her with a foot and held out a bowl. "So stick to the cratur," he rasped (in an approximation of Azra's own favorite song), "the best thing in nature for sinking your sorrows-"

"-and raising your joys," Azra continued, taking the food. "Oh lord, it's no wonder if lightning and thunder was made from the plunder of whiskey, me boys."

"Are we going to sing the duck song next?" Spark asked sarcastically.

"Just trying to raise the mood a little," Cayde answered.

"Alcohol- in moderation- can steady your hands and improve your aim," Pace mused. "If you're not a robot."

"Last time Cayde got drunk on a mission we ended up with a new hole in the Cosmodrome wall," Sundance pointed out.

Azra couldn't hide a little grin. "It is a very useful hole."

"The City has enough holes as it is."

"Relaaaax," Cayde said. "One shot four hours before the mission even starts won't hurt anything." He unscrewed the cap on the flask and raised it in a toast. "To old holes- and to new ones." He took a swig and passed the flask to Shiro.

The once-Bladedancer took a second to consider his words. "To the enormous party that will be held in our honor," he toasted. "And all the free alcohol of the future."

Azra dumped a little whiskey into her oatmeal before raising the flask. "To us," she said. "Crazy bastards. May we do this again someday."

"Buzzkill," Cayde said.

"Only if they kill us first!" Azra took a long pull. The burn of the alcohol was a comfortingly familiar sensation. She passed the flask back to Shiro, who secreted it away under his cloak once more.

"I think we're all set, anyway," Shiro began as Azra dug into her maple-whiskey oatmeal. "We've far from standard armament but everyone's got something. And ammo to spare. Still glad we'll have Sylas with us- he is a monster with that shield. You see the new technique he's developed?"

"He says it's more economical than a full Ward of Dawn," Azra said through a mouthful of oatmeal. "Lets him be more dynamic on the battlefield."

"Plus, he can throw it," Cayde pointed out. "How cool is that? You never saw Saint-14 throw his Ward of Dawn."

"Are you and Veera all set for your assault on the Almighty?" Shiro asked. "Got enough breaching charges? I know it's technically on a ship, but the area's large enough a sniper rifle might be useful."

Azra shook her head. "Everything's taken care of. Just one loose end to tie up on my part."

"Well, you've got four hours to tie it," Shiro said.

"Three and a half, actually," Azra corrected. "Our transport's not that fast."

"What loose end? Cayde asked. "Your will?"

Azra shrugged her shoulders and stared at the remains of her oatmeal. The will felt like a touchy subject.

"I thought you got that sorted days ago!" Cayde exclaimed.

"Well, yeah, where all my stuff is going," Azra bit back. "But for final words… I didn't want to have to re-do it or anything."

"Pretty lame excuse," Cayde said.

"Bite me," Azra said.

Cayde looked at her for a long second. "No," Azra commanded, realizing her mistake, but it was too late.

He lunged. Whether he was just joking or was actually going to go through with biting her, it didn't matter. He was stopped by a half-bowl of oatmeal to the face.

Stunned silence for a second, then Shiro burst out laughing.

"You little-" Cayde said, sounding more incredulous than angry. A glob of oats fell from his horn.

Azra swiped his bowl from his hands, replacing it with her now-empty one. Spark opened the tent flap and Azra booked it out and away across the field before Cayde had time to process the theft.

She slowed a little as she approached her ship so she could shovel the rest of her breakfast into her mouth. "We'll come back when Cayde's clean," Spark reasoned. "No need to rush."

Azra needed space to think, and she needed to not be around the Farm so Cayde couldn't plan any revenge. She could have gone to her cliff in Portugal, but that seemed to be a waste of her last day. She wanted to go somewhere she'd never been before.

She ended up orbiting a few times before settling on a barren island somewhere in the South Atlantic. It was a starkly beautiful landscape, even at nighttime. The rock rose sharply out of the black waters, crusted in snow and ice. The wind made the scraps of clouds scuttle hurriedly across the night sky. Behind them, an infinity of stars and the shifting southern lights spread from horizon to horizon. They painted the snow a luminous green. The choppy sea reflected chinks of white and pink.

Azra stared up at the sky for a few long minutes, then out at the horizon for another few. Waves crashed. She tried to keep the hope and good humor the morning had given her, but alone under the sky the doubts and trepidation leeched in like the cold numbing her fingers.

Eventually, she gave up on trying to format her thoughts and just spoke.

THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF AZRA JAX

Can you believe I've never made one of these?

Well if you knew me, it'd be very believable. It's not like I don't like thinking about dying. I can pull a Bow just fine. Heck, I've been presumed dead and come out on the other side. There was some confusion with all of my gear- I never specified where all my stuff went after the Vault, and it ended up technically going to a bad person. So I've been a little more scrupulous with that this time around.

But the testament, my last words- people seemed to mourn me and move on without some final message the first time. Right? Everyone I know already knows how I feel about them. Everyone else… I didn't think anyone would care.

People care now. I find myself… unprepared to deal with that. I'll admit I'm pretty resentful of the fame. My identity seems to have public stakes nowadays, and I can be a private person. I feel like I should get to choose who I share myself with.

That choice has been taken from me. I'll be remembered anyhow. And I guess if people are going to know me, I'd rather be able to tell my side of the story too. Maybe that's what these are about- not so much telling people things they already know, but getting to set the record straight. Not like it'll put a dent in my public image. People will believe what they want to believe. But hell, I've been alive for almost thirty-three years now, plus or minus infinity. Maybe I've learned something that someone else needs to know.

…Maybe I don't like these because I have to look back and take scope of my life. I've spent it looking forward, testing limits, pushing further. Reflection is good, but to try and sum this up… I've left some pretty heavy things behind me. Trying to gather them all back up is hard.

I've always been weird. The only Arcstrider of my generation. It wasn't really obvious 'till I got to the City the first time. It wasn't some months after that it actually started to be any sort of deal, but when it did… it hurt me. Because of that, I've spent my whole life chasing everything that makes me normal. Well, not like average normal… but I wanted to choose my own fate, yeah? I didn't like that the first thing that people thought of me was going to be something I had no say in. So I fought and I learned and I made myself into a scout and a mapmaker just because I didn't have to be either of those things.

But at the same time, I couldn't be where I am today if I never learned to accept myself. I am an Arcstrider. I have been, and maybe continue to be, temporally displaced. Embracing that has made me stronger. You can run from other people, but it's very, very hard to run from yourself.

Arcstriding is… all about finding paths. There was the path of least resistance, to become what the world expected of me. It's hard when you're new. If I didn't figure out who I was, everyone else was going to figure out for me. And I felt particularly helpless in those first few years, because I felt that I had no choice in that.

But you're always making choices. That's what I had to realize, I think. Bending to the pressure, remaining neutral, passive… it's easier, but it's still a choice. And at the end of the day, sure, there's blame to be placed on everything that made it harder to do the right thing, but you can't escape the fact that you made a choice. I could choose to run from the things I couldn't control, or I could choose to reckon with them. If I couldn't change them, I could at least decide what they meant.

I'm rambling. I guess, a point I'm eventually trying to meander my way towards, if I can find the path to it…

I really hate this. If it were just about telling everyone I love that I love them… I'd make a clip show from my recordings or something. But this is here now because a lot of people will want to know what I was thinking before I went into this. You know what I've been thinking? For years, but especially lately:

This isn't who I am. The attention, the expectation- it's like a weight. No wonder the Titans get so strong bearing it. So many people I don't know think they know me. There's what's good for morale and all, so I've made sacrifices. Hope is the currency that buys tomorrow. So I've let other people decide who I am, who they need me to be.

But that's just it. I'm not an inspiration. Sure, I've helped kill Gods, but I'm no champion. This celebrity, the savior, this hero… they are a different person than the Hunter who survived The Vault of Glass. You can't have them both. I guess that's the choice I have to make.

Man, I really have to hope I survive now, right? Imagine that being my last words to the public: fuck all of you, I'm going to do what I want. But that decision's the one that's kept me going so far. I've always held the betterment of Humanity as one of my core goals. But… I'm part of Humanity, too, right? My health and my happiness are worth something. And I'm the only person that can decide how I spend them.

So.

Maybe, like how funerals are there to benefit the living, not the dead… maybe testaments aren't worth as much after you've died as they are before you have. Take a good long look at everything, decide what you think is important.

Eh, I'm tired of this rambling. Let's go kick some Cabal butt.

Note: If you're wondering which specific drinking songs referenced, they are 1)Whiskey 'Fore Breakfast, 2)The Humors of Whiskey, and 3)Rye Whiskey. I recommend the versions by Mike Cross, Hozier, and Pete Seeger respectively. There are sure a lot of songs out there about the joys of this certain alcohol.