DISCLAIMER: I do not own RWBY or Destiny. Both are properties of RoosterTeeth and Bungie respectively. I own none of the characters that appear in this series, only the original events that will transpire.

THE FORSAKEN PRINCE

Hold onto hope, I'm homeward bound

In the darkest of night, there's Light to be found

From a spark will be born a fire

Shine through the shadow of doubt

Chapter 1

Lock. Load. Aim. Pull the trigger. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. Reload. Lock. Load. Repeat.

The process was something he had grown familiar with. The gun, heavy, trembled and shook in his hand with each time he pulled the trigger and sent the bullet flying from its chamber. The Tangled Shore light up with each cracking boom from his hand cannon. Each shot took the head of a shriveled monster clean off, leaving blue fluids to spew from its corpse. He gave a quick look, but found himself diving for cover. Thunder and a hailstorm of blue shards came flying his way alongside the wrathful screams of the Scorned.

His lips thinned as he opened the chamber, the empty shells falling from their holes before he replaced them with new ones. Flipping the chamber back into place, he peered over the edge and pulled back, avoiding a near fatal headshot.

No, not fatal. He would come back, so long as he was with him. But he didn't want to rely on that. He had done his best to make sure he survived each and every skirmish he found himself getting involved in.

He sucked in a breath. In, out. Calm down. Cease the shaking. The roars drew closer.

The gun became swallowed in golden light. A warmth spread over him. Something in his chest was lit up, as if a fire sparked underneath his body. The gun's shape changed, but its form and function remained the same.

Thunder came crashing down upon him. He rolled away at the last second, feeling the white-hot heat brush against him before flipping to the front, aim steady and trigger primed.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Six shots, all encased in burning yellow light, streaked across the air and struck their targets. He watched with apathy as their bodies were incinerated, reduces to little more than ashes.

The air grew still. Only the lashing winds against his cloak created any sound – a sign of a brewing storm. He looked around for any sign of reinforcements, or even the enemy, but he breathed a heavy sigh when he found no danger on the horizon.

But trouble would surely brew again. It always did.

What was it about this place? Why was he drawn to the Tangled Shore? Why were the Scorn so determined to kill him, more than any other they laid their eyes on?

Did they know something, just as the Guardians did? Or…

"Sov? Hello? Tangled Shore to Sov~"

Uldren closed his eyes. "What is it?"

"Well, not to worry you or anything, but there's a group of Guardians coming this way. They're chasing a squad of Cabal. Remnants of Red Legion, look like. Huh! Wonder what they're doing here in the Tangled Shore? Hey, wanna go check it out?"

"No. Bring the ship around. We're leaving."

He didn't want to get shot, after all. His lips curved as he moved to a safer location, one where the Guardians wouldn't find him until he had left the area. They were the same, they and he, yet they never treated him with kindness. Only anger and fury.

Not that he cared. Their anger towards him was nothing. At least, not when compared to the wolf that took great pleasure in killing him in the Crucible.

He glanced down at the hand cannon in his hand. Barrel faded white, chips in the paint, its handle and chamber painted crimson like blood.

The line between light and darkness is so very thin.

The words, echoed by someone, perhaps himself, rang in his head. He sucked in a breath and set the gun in his holster before pulling up his hood, vanishing into the shadows of the Tangled Shore.

His name was Uldren Sov. And as far as he knew, every Guardian hated him with a passion. Some expressed their hatred towards him with curses, but they did not resort to violence. The more subdued, but expressive ones saved the violence for the Crucible. Only a bare handful of his teammates in any of the matches he participated him were willing to try and save his skin, and even then, it was not out of kindness or empathy. It was teamwork, and nothing else. The rest didn't bother with him.

The Vanguard didn't bother with him, but Uldren knew they shared the same thoughts as the rest. Ikora Rey glared at him with unconcealed contempt, but never spoke her grievances towards him. Zavala gave him an empty stare and nothing more, but the fury in his eyes was matched by his impressive self-restraint.

The one that hated him the most was a Guardian everyone sang praises towards. Some called them the Hero of the Red War. Others called them the Young Wolf of Saladin.

Uldren dreaded every meeting and preferred to steer clear of them. He kept his visits to the Tower far and few in between, only going there when it was by necessity.

The worst part about the hatred was that Uldren didn't know why they hated him.

"Guardians are not allowed to pursue their pasts and must focus on the present."

That was what they told all new Guardians. It was the rule that had been imposed upon them for who knows how long. Uldren didn't understand why the law was there, but seeing as how he had been treading thin ice since day one, he was not going to question it.

Resting comfortably in his ship, Uldren looked at the vast expanse of space. Occasionally, he'd see other ships fly past, but didn't stop and attempt to converse with him. They either knew that it was his ship and avoided him purposely, or didn't pursue him because they were in a hurry. Maybe a bit of both.

He liked the silence.

"You know, we really should head back to the Tower." The voice in the back of his head called to him. "I mean, do you realize how many Prime Engrams you have waiting to be decoded?"

"They can wait." Uldren said firmly.

The voice sighed. Soft blue light flickered into his field of vision, forming into a ball wrapped in soft purple steel, a blue glowing eye in the center.

"Sov, I love you. You know I do." Pulled Pork (Uldren still questions why anyone would accept that name) said. "But come on. You can't keep avoiding the city. No offense, but your gear can't protect you forever. I mean, they just opened up the Moon for exploration and all!"

Uldren gave his Ghost an odd look. "What are you talking about?"

"Not sure, really. Sometimes, I think I've got a glitch in me somewhere. If I can get a glitch. Hey, do you think Ghosts can have glitches?"

He shook his head, wondering if all Ghosts were this chatty.

But the little light had a point. He couldn't avoid the Tower forever. Sooner or later, he would need to replenish his supplies. Not to mention better gear.

As he prepared himself for another mentally exhausting run to the place he would never be welcomed, Pulled Pork spoke up. "Heads up! Incoming transmission."

"Who?"

"Dunno. Somebody named…Eris Morn?"

Uldren raised a brow. He knew that name, if only by reputation. One of the few experts in all things Hive, and up until now, she had not been seen in a very long time.

"Patch it through." Uldren told his little light.

Pulled Pork lowered itself, as if nodding, before it gave a small pulse of light. Moments later, the radio on his ship sparked to life.

The Moon looked as desolate as it did lonely. Save for the man-made structures that dotted its craters, and the hellish monsters that roamed its surface, the ever-present black starry void above gave it a gloomy atmosphere. Eris Morn's appearance didn't help, dressed in tattered robes with a rag of a blindfold over her face, skin as pale as the ground beneath his feet.

"…I had heard that you had become a Guardian, but seeing you for myself is an odd experience indeed."

Uldren stared at her. "You know me?"

"Only by reputation. The Uldren Sov I know was…not a pleasant man."

"Hm, you don't say?"

Pulled Pork floated over to her. "Why do you have three eyes? Are you an alien?"

"Pork!" Uldren admonished his Ghost.

Eris smiled thinly. "A story for another time. I take it you received my transmission?" He nodded. "I have felt something rather disturbing. Not from the Scarlet Keep…but from another place. Something vile and wicked is there."

"Hive, Fallen, Taken or Cabal?" Pulled Pork asked. "Please say its one of those. We've had to deal with Scorn all day."

"None of them. It is something else. Something that…once belonged to the light." Eris' face turned grim. "I fear that, whatever it is…it came because of the Scarlet Keep. I would ask an acquaintance of mine to do the work, but they are dealing with another mission I'm afraid."

Uldren nodded. He wasn't about to turn down a request for help, after all. Though the Guardians may not like him, he held nothing against them. Whatever he did in the past, he wanted to atone, whatever it may have been. However long it would take.

"Where is this anomaly?"

"In the Shrine of Oryx. Be wary, Sov… Whatever this darkness is, it is not pleasant. And will not greet you with open arms."

Uldren's lips thinned. "Neither will I."

He turned on his heel. He pulled the hood over his helmet and took out his gun – the heavy hand cannon held firmly in hand. Pulled Pork flowed back into him. Eris Morn watched him go with apprehension before she returned to the whispers. The echoes of those she once called friends.

Whatever had stirred…it was familiar to her.

It was not a good sign.

Same meat.

Same bones.

But so very different.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: You would think that I would have better things to do. Like homework and work on other stories, but no. My muse decided to take over my hands.

Curse my inability to restrain my fingers. At this rate, I will have more stories than I can handle. That being said, I do hope you will all stick around.

There will be bullets. There will be action. There will be Guardian hijinks. There will be Uldren. But most importantly…

There will be Cayde.