Bring me home in a blinding dream
Through the secrets that I have seen
Wash the sorrow from off my skin
And show me how to be whole again

Castle of Glass – Linkin Park

?

This place is familiar.

You have never been here before.

You are confused.

You are oddly okay with this.

You are… who are you, again?

Well, you are you. But what does that mean? Are you who you think you are, nothing more? But how can what you hold in private regard even matter if it never impacts the world, if it dies when you do? Surely, yet, you are more than what the world sees- there must be something fundamental about you.

You are… you are frozen starlight and pine sap. You are the giddy feeling of momentum, perfectly in control and balanced even as the forces shift around you. You are the despair of deep pits and habitual damp cold. You are what has survived that despair. You are the river that you fell into when you were young.

You refuse to be told what you are. You have found it out yourself.

"Where am I?" you ask. The medium of this space thrums with ringing harmonies. It's bright but not in a way that can hurt your eyes. You are not dead. You remember being dead and however you got here, it wasn't through dying. You feel confident of this. Besides, if you were dead, surely your Ghost wouldn't be here too? But he floats over your shoulder, just as awed and confused as you are.

Oh, that's right. You have a shoulder. You have a body (and a shell). You feel this is only because you're used to it. Light reacts to its surroundings and you don't know how to interact with the world without a body. It doesn't seem quite real, though. There is no air for your skin to feel, no hunger or thirst or pain that could reach you.

Is this… okay, you have to admit, this is really freaking weird. You feel so tiny. A million thoughts and feelings brush up against you, leaving odd impressions.

You are a small, smooth river stone.

You are a child, full of wonder and hope, with a quiet voice easily lost in the crowds.

You are ancient.

You are a secret, laid out in plain sight but still ignored.

You are a clever turn of phrase, raw understanding.

"Are you the Traveler?" you ask.

It only seems to make sense. You were so close when the cage broke. And you wander so much when you dream, perhaps you just wandered here, into its awareness.

The Light sparkles almost painfully, bringing to mind mica chips and soda bubbles and electroweak fission. You don't understand. How could you understand?

"I am not a Speaker," you say. Suddenly, for a second, you look across a sea of dim stars and find yourself among them- just as deaf as anyone else. "And even if I were…" You don't have to put to words the resentment you'd feel. What chains that identity would put on you. Square pegs and round holes. You think the Traveler might be agreeing.

It is time to be direct, to be blatant. "Why am I here?" you ask loudly.

Why is anyone anywhere? You know the logical answer to the question. You see your path laid out behind you, your years wandering the solar system, looking for your Guardian. The circumstances that led you to her. How you learned together. The mistakes you made, the relationships you built, your failures and triumphs like one long chain reaching from the past to the present.

You understand why the Speaker exists, now. The Traveler is alien. You have known this, but you never quite grasped how utterly different the Traveler is from you. The Fallen and Cabal and Hive are all mortal, at least. They have languages to speak and motivations that you can puzzle out. The Vex… well, you spent a very long time learning how the Vex think. But this place is too big. Everything is a metaphor- it has to be. You can't even tell if there is something else out there answering or if it's just your own thoughts echoed back at you.

What was that thing Mara Sov used to say? Sometimes when we guess at others' motives, we reveal only our own? And you have been standing here spouting nonsense about Speakers when it's hardly relevant.

"I'm just talking to myself, aren't I," you mutter. There's no other way any of this could make sense.

There is a sudden wind, a sigh, a shout. The sensations turn hard and sharp, more real. Fragments of memories whirl, shards of tinted glass coloring the world around you. You see yourself reflected from a hundred different angles, a hundred versions of you just slightly different form each other, viewed through different eyes.

"And however much people sang my praises, I'll never really buy the story of my greatness. At least I never thought I would. But that didn't keep me from looking down on you, and I'm sorry."

It is humility and an apology you were not expecting. You wonder if you're ever going to figure her out or if she's going to keep surprising you for the rest of your life.

She watches the spectacle of Lord Shaxx and Cayde-6 with a critical eye. She seems to decide something, nodding to herself before turning back to look at you and raising her eyebrows in a question.

"Apology accepted, I guess," you say. What else could you say? Lord Shaxx shouts something loudly and you turn to look at him. Cayde-6 is making some ridiculous claim, but Shaxx is throwing plenty of shade in return.

You glance back at the Hunter beside you and find yourself surprised once again. There is a look of such unguarded fondness on her face as she watches her so-called brother get into an argument. That's when you really get it, how deeply she feels that love she claims towards him.

Of all the angles you've considered, you've never really thought of Azra Jax as loving someone. But she looks at him like nothing else matters. She was wiling to throw away her future for him. She had been willing to die for him. Now he is here and she's so relieved he's safe that she's willing to put up with awkward conversations just to sit here and watch him.

You understand that, you think.

You watch her real closely after the Bow incident. She seemed okay, but you've fallen for that trap before, so you keep an eye out. Losing yourself to the Void could be a subtle process. You know the signs to look for, the loss of enthusiasm, the secrets, self-isolation and bitter laughs.

Instead, it's just… her. What you've known in theory is her all along. The delicateness with which she holds the world. That careful way of thinking, stopping to examine and re-examine her beliefs, always looking for new perspectives, trying to really understand things instead of just knowing them.

In all your lifetimes, you don't think you've ever met someone who watches the sky like she does. She looks at the world with the same devotion and wonder people have with the Traveler. And she loves life so dearly. Even in the storms she never quite loses hope of sunshine.

It's inevitable, the collision course of your lives. You're caught in the gravity of connection now. One way or the other, she will be a part of your life. You are more than okay with that.

You watch her trudge over. There are dark circles under her eyes. You ask her how it went.

"Okay. Well, horribly, but okay." She's not okay, not really. Hardly anybody these days is okay. She sits down when you beckon.

You see so clearly the trust she has placed in you. It's not the naïve trust that kinderguardian-her had, with the confused frown and the uncertainty practically dripping from her. And how you wish sometimes that you could turn back the clock, take away the bags under her eyes and the calloused shields Tevis has put up and the fear of rejection that rides underneath Cayde's easygoing manner-

But you think that you might like this trust better. There is something more solid to it. She knows how easily things can be wiped away, she has worked with hundreds of other Guardians and she has chosen to trust you.

You put an arm over her shoulder, feeling how she relaxes into it, and swear to yourself that you will never break it.

You are so focused on your work that you forget she's there for a second. The spring is really too delicate for its function but anything stronger will cause the magazine to keep popping out mid-clip. You need to find some better parts (or maybe file down the slide from that old hand cannon…)

You look up to ask her a question. She averts her eyes, but not quickly enough to hide the fond expression she was watching you with. You're prepared to just chalk it up to her being sentimental, but…

You remember looking at her with that same exact expression not an hour ago as she shuffled through her map overlays, trying to find no not the tributary one, the watershed one, yes they are different, it's important- and you have to admit it. Nobody will ever quite understand anyone else, but you appreciate each other. That will always be more than enough for you.

She leads the way back towards the City, never once losing her way despite the dark night. You have to admit that despite her young age, she's got some real talent for this. New Hunters usually lack in discipline. They give into fear easily, they forget themselves and make too much noise. She is terrified and exhausted, but she is still here, keeping her footsteps quiet and her senses tuned to the world around her.

Something isn't right, though. She's so lost, scared. More animal than human at moments, driven by a primal need to survive. She's been broken a little by this battle. You wonder how she will be after all this is done. You know from experience that the breaking times give the greatest opportunity for change. Will she fracture deep, causing wounds to be guarded with callousness and cruelty? Or will she take this terrible, terrible thing that's happened, heal from it, and through that healing become something better?

There's a spark of something undeniably good in her. A sincere curiosity, founded in an immediate and irrevocable compassion. You think she'll be more than just okay. She'll be great, someday.

"What if I say neither of you wins?"

That stings more than a little, you have to admit. She's given off the air of friendliness. You've been building a rapport. She groans at Andal's jokes and plays along with your antics, she doesn't poke at Tevis and watches Shiro work with an unabashed awe. This is a very sudden dismissal- no, I'd rather do this on my own.

"You don't want anyone to teach you the Gun?" you blurt out. "Not… that you need it, I guess, you've been doing fine with yourself so far…"

Andal has a better read than you do. "The bet was for who got to, not for who had to," he says gently. "I know the field hasn't been overflowing with mentor figures so far, but we Hunters watch each other's backs. Nobody else will."

And that face she makes- part realization, part embarrassment- he's right. She thought nobody would want to help her. That she was an annoyance to be leveraged on someone else.

That's a hundred times worse. You know that feeling, the sick, ashamed mix of loneliness and self-hatred. You'd sell the cloak off of your back before you'd make someone feel so forsaken.

You dare to steal a glance at the Hunter. She lounges in her perch, head turning almost lazily as she surveys your surroundings. You know what she is thinking about. She will be looking down at the meadow, the life growing there, and thinking about how nature doesn't need to be cultivated.

No. She will be focused on looking out for the Fallen. She does not shirk her responsibilities. You know the Hunter can point out every flower in that meadow by name, tell you which ones you can eat without getting sick, which ones are in their full bloom and which ones are reaching the end of their season. She probably has some flower-related story that is hilarious at her own expense.

And you know Azra can tell if bad weather is coming hours ahead of time, days. You know if there are any Fallen nearby- any danger at all, period, she will know and she will handle it.

So you relax, and you think of friendship, of trust, of admiration. You think of the gentle set to the Hunter's expression when you described your troubles. You think about how the Hunter is now spending her afternoon sitting in a tree and watching the wind blow just to help you relax.

Tentatively, you touch the idea of catastrophe again. How may catastrophes have you seen with her at your side? The Vault, The Wolves, Crota- even the more mundane dangers, raiding Hive nests and exploring the Ishtar Academy- all of that pain, the danger, the dozens of deaths you've suffered.

The reward for all of that sits in a tree a dozen meters away. And if the eruption comes again, and Azra needs you like you had needed Azra this morning? You will set yourself ablaze and rise meet it.

You know them before they are ever there. You've been looking for them your entire life, wondering, imagining. It's a pull that keeps you searching even as the centuries pass. This one will be worth the wait. You know how brave they will be, how selfless, how inspired.

You find her, but it's just a beginning, not and end. Life takes some getting used to living. She is so scared at first, then confused, then unsure. There are moments when she is absolutely miserable. There is grief and bitterness and an aching loneliness that is never assuaged by your presence. Once or twice, privately, you wonder if you did the right thing by Raising her.

But the storm passes, as storms do. She holds you and it feels like everything is going to be okay. You had been worried about friction- having to make sacrifices, to give up the interests you've curated in your time alone in order to work with her- but you fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. You know this is right.

You are suddenly staring at a mirror reflection of yourself. She isn't quite right but it's close enough. She is almost see-through. She holds herself confidently, Ghost just above her shoulder, hood pushed back. She has no scars. There is an air of cheerful friendliness about her.

"Uh… hello," you say. It seems the polite thing to do. This is not what you were expecting.

You grin back. "Hello!"

There is a long moment of silence while you two just stare at each other dumbly. This is even weirder than talking to the disembodied metaphorical voice of the Light. But the you in the mirror looks kind and it's not like this will hurt you, right? You work up the nerve to speak. "What is this, then?"

You tilt your head. "You survived the Darkness, found the Light, helped free the Traveler and save all of Humanity. Doesn't the Traveler get to say hi?"

"Didn't you already say hi?" The words escape you before you realize that backsassing a cosmic power might not be smart.

You just laugh, long and genuine. Reality sparkles in humor. "Technically, I said 'hello'."

Oh, good. The cosmic power has sass, too. You don't know how to feel about that.

"There's no need to be afraid," you say kindly. "Hasn't Zavala dragged you through enough after-action reports? Is this much different?"

"Maybe I should be afraid," you say. "Gods, the amount of paperwork that awaits me... it's going to be a week before I can get back out in the field."

"No good deed goes unpunished," you quote in agreement.

There's another moment of silence. "Did you bring me here?"

You tap your chin. "Well, I'm you, so... yes."

"This is confusing," you complain.

"It can't not be," you say cheerfully. You spread your arms in a grandiose gesture. "But, literally. You brought yourself here. Your choices made this circumstance. The Traveler did not make your friends and family for you. The Traveler did not fight in Twilight Gap or the Vault of Glass."

"The Light-" you interrupt.

"Is a tool," you dismiss. "Plenty have wielded it poorly. Brought suffering and hardship. Protected only their own interests. The Light may have allowed you to fight, but it was you that did the fighting."

"So," you say, not knowing what comes next.

"So,' you agree. "Don't these after-action reports usually end with a payout? The world owes you a debt. The Traveler is included in that."

That doesn't jive with you. "Does the Traveler think in deals and debts?"

"No," you say. "But you do, so I do. The Traveler is free because of you. Many, many people owe you their lives. Doesn't that deserve a reward?"

You shrug. "I'm not going to ask the Traveler for a new gun like I'm turning in a Vanguard bounty. That's ridiculous."

"Still," you say.

"I just want everyone to be okay," you proclaim. "That's all I ever really wanted."

Mirror-you crosses your arms. "You want certainty." There is a hint of disapproval in your tone.

"I want tomorrow to be better than today," you say. "If we have to work for it, fine. But I want us to be able to work for it." You hated not being able to see the path forward through this war. Those early days had been a desperate scramble for survival.

"You want your sacrifices to mean something," you muse.

"I want to be able to help," you say.

"You already did." Your mirror smiles at you. "You deserve some thanks. For yourself." But you don't really know how to ask for a personal reward. Surely the people in the real world will heap glimmer and praise on you, even if you don't want it.

"I didn't do this for me," you say defensively. "And I didn't do it for the Traveler, either."

"And you are loved for that," you say. "Your selflessness is worth so much more if it comes from a place of genuine compassion. You're living proof that this all will work out."

"I-" you say, emotions overwhelming you for a moment. "I just want things to be better. Life is so hard for so many people. It'll be even harder after this." You can't help but think of your own future- so much hard work, yes, but even more celebrity. Finding your own Light has taken you another step away from the average Guardian.

The other you puts a hand on your shoulder. It feels like a low-voltage wire. Tingly. "You want people to understand," you say. "You'd want to trade the fame away for camaraderie."

"I don't want to force people to think a certain way." That is utterly abhorrent to you- to both of you. "And you can't really take away the fame without taking away the deeds that earned it, right?"

The silence from your double speaks acknowledgement.

"I just…" you're tired, suddenly. "It doesn't seem right. I don't know what I could ask from you. What you could even give me."

You beam brilliantly. "I do."

"Well... okay," you say as you shrug. It's not like you have all of the time in the world, anyway. Something is shifting here. Something changes. The Light itches against your skin now instead of tingling. "Why'd you even ask, then?"

"It's always worth asking. Every voice has something to say," you reply sagely. "Plus, you're the one that came here."

"You know, for a face-to-face meeting with God, so it were, I have to say this has been really disappointing."

You smile. "I'm glad."

You chuckle. "Me too."

For a second, your mirror is more real than you are. You take a step back, breaking the hold on your shoulder. "It's time to go, isn't it?"

"There are hard times ahead, Azra," you warn. "May you not face them alone." And one last time is that brilliant smile. Your mirror looks at you, steely-eyed like it sees all of your flaws, but warm and proud like it loves you the more for it. "Be Brave."