Inspired by the Sands of Inaros. Basically a retelling/novelization of the quest, because how could I resist both ancient "Egypt" and a day trip with Baro Ki'Teer? Set after The War Within.

Spoilers

The Second Dream - MODERATE

The War Within - MODERATE

The Sands of Inaros - MAJOR

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"Operator, you have a message in your Inbox," Cephalon Ordis reported cheerfully.

Bobbing with his legs crossed in meditation about a foot off the floor, Nezha did not open his eyes. If he'd had another name before the Second Dream, the memory of it had not returned to him, and so Nezha he remained – after the Warframe standing at his back, a still and silent protector.

"It is important?" he asked quietly.

"Ordis does not know," the Cephalon responded. "I do not read them."

Nezha doubted this very much. He had no proof, of course, but he suspected that Ordis surfed through his Inbox on a regular basis – not out of malice, Nezha knew his dear companion better than that – but out of an almost comical sense of anxiety, searching for that elusive bill of sale indicating that he'd been sold to Maroo for a handful of endo. Nezha repressed a silent little smile.

"I'm not going to sell you, you know."

Ordis let out a burst of static that almost sounded like a guilty splutter. "What makes you think I'm look- erm, worrying about that?!" the Cephalon yawped, his waveform dancing. There was a long pause. Then, mournfully, "…You're not going to, are you? Sell me?"

"Never."

"Not even for Ducats? The Void Trader's prices are exorbitantly high…"

"It that who the message is from?"

"Yes," Ordis replied miserably. After a moment, he added, "I would fetch you a good price."

Nezha opened his eyes, pale Void-light shining deep in the back of his pupils. His physical form may have sat in the Liset, holding steady just outside of Saturn's first lagrange point, but he was not there, his consciousness expanded far beyond the five mundane senses. Half a kilometer away, the ringed planet orbited slowly, attended by an entourage of twinkling ice chips and gleaming, cosmic dust.

Nezha could feel the planet against his thoughts, aware of the pressure its immense gravity exerted on the fabric of space. The vacuum was not dark, it was not still, and it was not quiet. Storms of electrically charged particles billowed past the Liset in waves, every mote bristling with the jagged scrape of radiation. Not deadly, not dangerous, but present all the same. He could hear it, too, the sound of the great planet howling like a perpetual wind, infinitely chaotic and at times eerily high pitched. And below it all was a rhythmic pulse, so regular as to be almost artificial, the presence of the Void tapping away at the very edge of reality.

Nezha took a deep breath, savoring the simple act of drawing the Liset's cool, metallic air into his own, living lungs. The physicality of the act grounded him, allowing him to pull his mind back from the Void. He unfolded his legs and stood.

"Not even for Ducats," he said to Ordis. "You are worth far more to me than that."

Ordis' waveform brightened and took on a slightly deeper shade of blue. The Cephalon was preening. The sincerity of his relief was so intense, that Nezha couldn't help but place a reassuring hand on the console. With his other, he activated the holo-projector above his palm, scrolled to his Inbox, and opened the latest message. As he'd already gleaned, it came from Baro Ki'Teer. He couldn't decide if that boded well or not. The man had been helpful during their struggle with the Formorians, but that "help" had come with a rather annoying price tag. Nezha wondered what favor was on sale today.

A prerecorded transmission opened above his palm and began to play.

"I have a rare opportunity for you, Tenno," said Baro, wasting no time with his usual, unconscious arrogance. "It's come to my attention that there may actually be a tomb on that forsaken little rock you call Mars – and tombs mean treasure."

Nezha lifted an eyebrow. There was a barely concealed sneer in Baro's voice, but Nezha couldn't tell what or who it was directed at. It was usually quite easy to locate the object of the man's derision, whether it was a generic Warframe or second-rate gear. This time, however, Baro was making a conscious effort to keep such conceit to himself – and all but failing at it anyway.

"Unfortunately, my usual relic hunters are superstitious idiots who refuse to disturb this so-called "sacred" place," Baro continued, fingertips flaring apart, then lightly pressing together again. "You, Tenno, are far more pragmatic… especially when it comes to Ducats, am I right? I would like to solicit your services in this matter."

That much had been expected. What came next, however, took Nezha by surprise.

"I will be accompanying you, of course. I can't expect you to know the different between treasure and mere rubbish," Baro sniffed. His fingertips drifted apart again. "I'm sending you the coordinates for a rendezvous. Do try to respond in a timely matter, Tenno, whatever your decision."

The transmission collapsed back into his Inbox. In the stillness that followed, Nezha found himself thinking. He had awoken twice in his life, once to his Warframe, and once to himself. Thousands of years after the Downfall, the world around him had been strange, alien and unfamiliar. He and the other Tenno had banded together to face it. They'd constructed their own relays, their own conclaves and places of refuge, building alliances with some, making enemies of far more. Mercenary work was not new to the Tenno and Baro's request was not an unusual one. It was, however, odd in some way that Nezha couldn't place. While Baro tended to exude the aura of some exquisite glass thing, there was steel in his spine and cunning in his fluttering fingers. He could not have repeatedly entered the Void and returned unscathed by mere luck. Why, then, would he require the services of a bodyguard?

"Well, Operator? Will you begin this mission?"

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Mars filled the viewscreen as the Liset made its approach, a great rusted orb streaked with coal and crowned with smears of pale, powdery ice. The Ostrons sometimes referred to it as Angaraka, the Burning Coal. For the planet's twin moons, however, they usually deferred to the names given to them by the Orokin, Phobos and Deimos. Fear and Dread. The Corpus would occasionally attempt to scratch a meager profit out of the poles, but these days the planet was largely unoccupied save for the invasive presence of the Grineer and their machinery, chugging on day and night as they gouged the dusty surface for minerals. There had been a civilization here once, but no longer, their massive habitations barren of everything but the desolate sigh of the wind. It many places the desert had reclaimed what had been stolen from it, creeping back into the empty dwellings and entombing their memory beneath a mantle of shifting sand.

It was not the first time Nezha had visited the planet, and he suspected it would be far from the last. Ordis plotted the Liset on an intercept course, its advanced stealth systems making it easy to slip past the dozen or so galleons hanging in orbit like fat, bloated flies. The Grineer had all but shattered Deimos with their mining operations, but they'd left Phobos mostly untouched. Mostly, but not entirely. Open pits pockmarked its surface like cancerous sores.

The Liset's vectoring thrusters flared, opening its starboard flaps as Ordis expertly steered them into the atmosphere, crossing the Tharis Rise and angling towards the edge of the southern highlands. Settled in the blinking dark of the docking cradle, Nezha did not see the last few minutes of their flight, but he could imagine the deeply cratered terrain passing below him. A victim of a tortured past, the scars of the red planet were a bleak reminder of its struggle. During the Old War, its surface had been blue with shallow oceans. Now all that remained were empty basins. The atmosphere thinned; the days grew slowly colder. In only a handful of centuries, Mars would die just as the civilization upon it had died, leaving nothing behind but a great stone tomb.

"Make ready, Operator," said Ordis. "We are nearing the rendezvous."

The coordinates Baro had provided lay at the very edge of the highlands, where the deeply fretted landscape dropped several kilometers to the vast desert which dominated the planet's northern hemisphere. More precisely, he'd indicated a particular spot along the rim of the Isidis Basin, a 4-billion-year-old impact crater splashed between the two opposing geographies.

Nezha sank into the somatic link and waited, feeling the Liset began to decelerate. A moment later, the docking cradle spun open, exposing him to a wall of shimmering heat and grit tossed up by the lander's engines. There were no hostiles in sight. His HUD darkened, compensating for the intense glare, and Nezha demagnetized the cradle. For half a second, he was in freefall. Half a second after that, he tucked his knees to his chest and somersaulted, landing in an easy crouch as the Liset arced away into the hot blue sky.

Nezha stood up. The wind snagged at the long sugrata flowing from his helmet, their weighed ends clattering softly against his Warframe. To his front, the rocky ground cleaved away from him, revealing knobby minarets of sandstone and a sunbaked vista looking out over the basin. He was alone but for the furtive skitter of a desert skate.

Nezha opened his HUD and rechecked the coordinates he'd been given. Horizontally, he was right where he should be. Vertically, he was still one hundred and eight meters too high. Nezha walked to the edge of the plateau and peered down into the shadowed depths of the canyon. A moment later he jumped, landing with an enormously heavy thud that belied the size of his Warframe. When he rose from all fours, he found Baro Ki'Teer staring at him and looking unimpressed. A reprogrammed Osprey unit hovered placidly at his side.

"I do hope you checked to see where I standing before you leapt down here," he remarked.

Nezha regarded the man in silence. Baro had kept the pointed helmet concealing all but the lower half of his face, but the restrictive, high metal collar had been replaced with a loosely wrapped viridian cape that'd been pulled up in the facsimile of a hood, shielding his neck from the hot Martian sunlight. Gone was the bulky ensemble he typically sported during his visits to the relays. He now wore something dark and tight, not unlike the Transference suit to which Nezha had grown accustomed. Angular chest and shoulder plates sparkled blue-green in the heat, and there were several expensive-looking rings on Baro's fingers. He had not, Nezha was dully amused to note, sacrificed much in terms of style.

Baro turned on his heel. If he was perturbed by the Tenno's habitual lack of response, he didn't show it. "Well, come on, then," he said shortly. "I don't want to spend any more time on this desolate rock than I have to. I can feel the filth and grit in every breath."

There it was again, the disparaging sneer. Nezha's sharp eyes watched him. Baro's center of gravity had changed ever so slightly, unconsciously aware of some new weight low in the small of his back. The Tenno trailed after him without a word. It was not difficult to see where the man intended to go.

The temple facade was about half as high as the cliff into which it was carved, and Nezha realized he'd been standing atop it only moments before. A palisade of columns lined the dusty walkway leading to the open mouth of the temple, the cobbles nearly obscured by windblown piles of sand. An enormous blue banner hung to one side of the entrance, ratty and sunbleached with age. Another lay crumbled on the ground directly opposite. Imposing though it was, the temple projected an air of sadness and neglect, of something that had once been important, but now lay forgotten.

Ahead of him by about five paces, Baro turned his boot on a loose cobble, not enough to take his balance, but enough to make him reach for a nearby column. Blocks of stones shifted, and a cascade of loose sand tumbled over his fingers. Disgusted by its dry, slithering touch, Baro's plush lips began to curl.

There, there. That's right, shake out the sand, but remember, not all of it…

The voice was soft and consoling. A mother's voice, Nezha reflected with an ache. Baro snapped his hand away from the column as though it'd bitten him. He stared at his open palm for a moment, then dusted the grains from his skin with an abruptness that almost bordered on frantic.

"Tenno, that voice... did you-" Baro cut himself off. "No, nevermind. Come."

He turned away quickly and resumed his course down the walkway. Nezha stood still in the middle of the columns, looking up at the temple facade. He'd heard the woman's voice, too, but could not fathom where it had come from, unable to discern if it'd been a rogue transmission picked up by his comms… or something else entirely. They were alone in this desolate place; his radar and motion trackers confirmed as much. Nezha tipped his head to the side. There had been something odd about that voice. Something deep and distant, reverberating softly as though he was hearing it from someplace far away – if indeed he'd "heard" it at all, for the words had seemed to come directly into his mind.

Ten meters ahead, a gelid wind sighed from the mouth of the temple, beckoning them inside.

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The doorway opened unto blackness, thick and heavy, as if it were a physical thing that crouched just inside the temple. Blue light poured over the walls as Nezha stepped inside. Baro flicked him a look.

"Oh, my. You're even good as a nightlight."

The words were openly mocking, but lacked the sharpness of malice. Nezha let them pass, slowly rotating his head to look around the dusty antechamber. Gauzy spiderwebs hung from the ceiling like curtains, stirring in the gravelly sigh of wind that rushed out of the darkness to meet them, so shriveled and hoarse, it took very little imagination to fancy it being exhaled from desiccated lungs. If Baro had been struck by a similar thought, he did nothing to show it. His snapped his fingers at the Osprey and it flared its lights, forcing the darkness to retreat. They pressed deeper into the temple. The floor was made of the same neatly cut, sandstone cobbles as the promenade, but in most places the sand was heaped so thickly that it scarcely mattered. Here and there, entire sections of the walls had collapsed – or had been left unfinished.

Nezha pushed his consciousness out ahead of them, filling the corners and extending his awareness beyond what was available to him via Warframe's expansive sensor suite. It was easier now, this newfound power, and it strengthened with each passing day. All around he could sense the pale touch of memory, the hopes and fears and desires left upon the Void like soft fingerprints.

"This place…" he began quietly. "It is drenched in the shadows of remorse."

Baro jumped at the sound of his voice, swiftly turning the motion into a scoff. "I should think so," he said tartly. "This desolate rock is the former home of a colony of backwards-thinking sun worshipers worth about as much as the sand around you. Nothing. The Grineer took pity on their miserable existence long ago."

Nezha turned his helmet towards the man. That shadow is upon you, too, he thought. It was as if the blackness of the temple corridor had reached out from its slumber, worming beneath Baro's flesh like the purulent tendrils of the Infested. In his chest, a seething knot pulsed like a tumor. You are sick with it.

"Ah!" said Baro, brimming with false enthusiasm. "Now that's what I came to see."

Nezha swung his implacable gaze back to the temple. Ahead of them the corridor was choked with thick curtains of webbing, but beyond that was the gleam of precious gemstones, of electrum and lapis lazuli and deep, deep gold. Baro slowed to a halt, eyeing the webs, and Nezha choked back a laugh. Chubby spiders lounged on the strands, each one easily as big as his fist, with eight bright pink toes The Biz would have thought them adorable. Nezha could easily see the big man stowing one of the creatures in an apron pocket.

In one smooth motion, Nezha stepped forward and hooked one hand through the webs, parting them with a visceral tearing sound. One of the spiders fell on his shoulder and sluggishly moved up the back of his neck. Baro made a high-pitched noise of protest.

"Tenno, it's on your shoulder. Oh, my stars, it's moving… k-kill it!"

Nezha said nothing, letting the arachnid crawl up the side of his helmet without disturbing its progress. Baro shuddered visibly and tucked his arms and elbows close, apparently trying to make himself a small a target as possible as Nezha swiped and clawed at the webs, clearing the passageway. More spiders dropped onto the sand. Baro anxiously danced aside. "Disgusting, horrible creatures… You let any of them touch me and I'm docking your fee!" He said in a shrill voice.

With a grand gesture, Nezha indicated the path he'd made.

After another agonizing moment of indecision, the Void Trader darted through the gap, swatting at imaginary things on his clothes. Nezha followed him with the slow, deliberate steps of a predator stalking oblivious prey.

The corridor ahead split around a large block of stone. Here the ground was relatively free of sand, making it easy to discern the wealth of artifacts heaped against the wall. Baro knelt and immediately began sorting through the hoard. Standing over him, Nezha watched in silence. The air here was thick with the scent of dust and dried flowers, of precious myrrh and black, sticky incense. Nezha's head tilted, observing the trinkets that Baro was picking up and sorting into haphazard little piles. Some were obviously quite valuable, like the golden circlet hung with crimson lobes of jasper, but most were conspicuously plain: handmade carvings in the shape of scarabs and sandskates, bundles of flowers clumsily tied with string. Shriveled husks that had been once sweet, succulent fruit. There were also several large urns.

"Burial vessels!" Baro exclaimed. "They will contain precious relics."

The pile of artifacts toppled, withered petals crumpling to dust beneath Baro's questing fingers, and Nezha felt a disturbing stab of unease. The Void Trader laughed. "There, there," he chided the Tenno, amused. "You're not defiling a tomb – you're helping create wealth!"

The Warframe gave him a look that didn't even require a face. Baro merely smiled his condescending smile and went back to his plunder, ordering the Osprey to unfold a large cargo net. As it did so, Baro popped the cap on a tube of balm and applied it to his lips, then started piling gold and other valuables into the center of the net.

Well, there was more than one way to skin a kavat.

Nezha reached up, pinched the spider crouched at his nape, and gently lifted it off his Warframe. Moving with exaggerated slowness, so that Baro would think any disturbance merely the touch of the wind, he lowered the creature until its lurid pink feet latched onto the Void Trader's cape – then released it and went back to studying the wall. It was obvious the glyphs were meant to convey some kind of story, but Nezha did not recognize the language any more than he recognized the kneeling figures.

"What do these letters say?"

Baro looked up from his rummaging. "Hmm? Oh… those." The Void Trader gave the wall a flat look. "They're nothing but a bunch of nonsense about their so-called God King, Inaros. I assure you, Tenno, the only thing "heaven-sent" here will be the price these relics fetch at auction."

He lobbed a heavy golden bangle atop the rest of the valuables – then erupted into a startled shriek as he finally noticed the tarantula pawing at his shoulder. Baro surged to his feet, swatting frantically at his person as the alarmed spider scuttled down his cape and attempted to huddle between the folds, causing the Void Trader to go into epileptic spasms. He clawed and hopped and jerked until finally, having no luck at flushing the monster out of his cape, he resorting to hauling it off over his head and flinging it away. The shimmery garment landed with a plop. A moment later, the spider darted out from under it and raced into a gap in the wall. Baro's hand twitched at the small of his back.

"Tenno!" he shrieked accusingly.

Nezha gave him an innocent look. He didn't actually say 'Who? Me?' but it was written all over his posture. Baro swatted at his neck again, presumably where something furry may or may not have brushed his skin. The air around them stirred.

Hush, my little dune. You don't need to be sacred. Shake out the sand and I'll tell you a story.

Baro went stiff. He shot Nezha a reproving glare. "Tenno, what is this? How are you doing that?"

Nezha looked deeper into the tomb. Despite the close proximity of the voice, they were still very much alone. The cobwebs stirred and fluttered. Long ago, the sands of our colony were cursed, soaked in fear, the woman continued. The Golden Skymen would come and take our children away. Young and old alike cowered before them, afraid to lose their most beloved.

Nezha cocked his head to the side. It was very little to go on, but somehow, in an instant, he knew. The Golden Skymen. The Orokin that were. Frightened children brought before the withered and diseased. Nezha grit his teeth, feeling acid in his stomach. He was Ten Zero; he had not needed to face the mountaintop theater, but Teshin's words – and the vision of that lonely place – haunted him still.

But then he came, the Fear Eater, the skykiller! He was called… Inaros!

Baro seized hold of Nezha's wrist. "Tenno, stop this!" he ordered sharply.

His grip was tight.

He was shaking.

"I am not doing anything," Nezha answered softly.

A dark wind sighed through the tomb, so deep it was almost a growl. The brazier at Nezha's back suddenly flared to life, filling the corridor with fire. Baro's grip tightened even further, swallowing what might have been scream. Nezha eyed the crackling flames with a preternatural sort of calm, observing how they danced on the sandstone walls, shadows twisting and leaping, until the glyphs almost seemed to move.

Inaros began not as our King, but as our enemy, a warrior of the Golden Skymen. But for each child the Skymen took away, Inaros grew ever more angry – until one fateful night.

More braziers ignited further down the passageway.

The invitation was an obvious one.

Nezha appraised the corridor in silence, weighing his curiosity against whatever it was he was likely to find deeper in. After a moment, curiosity won out. He took a step forward. Baro clamped down on his arm. "We came here for relics," the Void Trader hissed, "not your Tenno soma-void-resonance… 'thing'!"

His voice was thin and upset. Nezha gazed at him without speaking. Most of Baro's expression was hidden behind his helmet, but his tanned skin had gone pale and his lips were flattened into a thin, bloodless line. He was not far off in his assessment. The Void was strong here, filling the tomb with its latent presence, and the voice was merely an echo, a record of past events imprinted on the Void like the mass shadow of a distant moon. That explained how Nezha could hear it, but lent nothing towards an explanation of Baro's distress – or how he even heard at voice at all, as it should have been far beyond his ability to sense. It was possible that Baro's repeated exposure to the Void had opened certain neural pathways, just as it had the cursed children of the Zariman, but even so… it was obvious something else awaited them in the depths of the tomb.

Nezha waited another beat before resolutely striding forward.

Baro's clutching fingers reluctantly slid off his arm, but he stayed close behind Nezha as he walked, alert for any sound or movement that might indicate the prelude to an attack. Sand slithered. Nezha flicked it a cautious look. Had something moved above the roof of the tomb? Baro crouched, retrieved his cape, and quickly wound it about his body again, almost as if the airy garment would serve him as a shield – if a purely psychological one.

The corridor turned, then opened into a massive antechamber. Nezha tipped his head back until his gaze was finally able to meet the ceiling, vaulting nearly eighty meters above their heads. The cavern was a natural formation, but here and there were signs of human hands, like the worn sandstone steps climbing a hill in the center of the grotto. More grubby blue banners were draped from the ceiling, shielding potential visitors from the daggers of sunlight stabbing through a gap in the roof. Beneath those tattered awnings stood a massive statue, one arm raised towards the ceiling, but Nezha was still too far to make out any detail. A low, guttural tone resonated through the tomb.

Another child had been taken and the villagers gathered in a mourning circle, weeping… until they heard a small voice, the woman's gentle voice continued. With her came the ghostly imprint of lilies, of sweet varnish and the warm glow of an alabaster lamp. It was the child, returned! As he approached, the people gasped, for they saw he was drenched in blood. His father rushed to the boy and embraced him – and saw that he had no wounds. "Whose blood is this?" the father asked, and the boy replied, "This is the blood of the Skymen. This is the work of Inaros."

Ah, thought Nezha. The Yuvan child had stood before the mirror, naked save for the gold dust on his skin – and the crimson blood of the Golden Lords, beings of peerless beauty inhabited by rotten souls. Nezha climbed the stairs, lost in the echo of memories not his to remember. Baro's shoulder brushed his as the Void Trader crowded close.

"That story… it's more than just a myth, isn't it?" he murmured. He gazed up at the statue. They were close enough to be in its shadow now, close enough to see something familiar in the planes and angles of its body. "Tenno, do you think… do you think the story of Inaros was drawn from an actual Warframe?"

"Yes," Nezha replied softly, his deep voice resonating in the stillness.

Baro licked his lips, looking shaken.

The woman's voice continued on. By the sand and stars, the Skymen raged. They set upon Inaros with their armies, but none could prevail, for he commanded the sand. He commanded Death. And so they left us and took with them our fear. On that day, Inaros became our King, ascending into the sky in a whirlwind of sand to watch over us from his throne in the sky.

Baro let out an angry scoff, but the sound was oddly muffled, as if he'd tried to smother it in his throat. He was looking up at Inaros with a pained expression on his face. Nezha knew that look. It was betrayal. A sigh of wind gusted into the chamber, rippling the shabby awnings. There were no tomb offerings here, no burial urns hoping to share the afterlife with their God King; his worshipers had been too leery of penetrating the sanctity of the inner chamber. There was, however, a massive stone sarcophagus at the statue's feet. Nezha approached it slowly. It was a magnificent work of craftsmanship, inlaid with gleaming tiles of gold and carnelian. The suggestion of physical form was only a vague one, but it was there, visible in the wide shoulders and folded arms.

And so for years we lived without fear, said the woman, but the sands of peace are ever shifting. Years later, a plague came to the desert. The Infested. With all lost, our people gathered in the mourning circle to prepare for the end, when suddenly a storm rose about them! A colossal, spiral storm of sand, piercing the sky!

Nezha trailed his fingers across the splendid lid of the sarcophagus.

"These desert people… were they a wealthy civilization?" He asked Baro quietly.

The Void Trader swallowed. "No," he said at last, looking at the vast wealth of gold and precious gemstones, the labor of hundreds of hours. "No, they were not. For some elusive reason, their artifacts have only recently become fashionable."

Nezha waited for the rest, darkly certain he knew what was to come.

Our people called out to the sky: Inaros! And as they huddled in the eye of the storm, the plague was swept away… never to be seen again. Our people went out into the desert, hoping to catch a glimpse of their beloved Inaros, but all they found was his glorious metal body, broken and still, lying in the sand.

Nezha bowed his head. Even though it had occurred centuries in the past, the knowledge was like a fresh wound. It was a rare thing, the death of a Tenno. His brothers and sisters were few, and the loss of one of their own was always deeply felt. Had the Lotus mourned this child? Was she even with them yet? Perhaps it didn't matter. In her stead, the people of Mars had laid their savior to rest with every honor they could muster.

They gathered his body to keep it safe from thieves and raiders, and entombed it… knowing that one day, Inaros would rise again. Our people had no need for fear, my sweet little dune, and neither do you. Take these grains and keep them under your pillow. Inaros will watch over you.

"Lies," Baro choked. "Nothing but lies!"

The statue of Inaros shifted with a desiccated snap.

Nezha jumped back. Grains of sand poured from the ceiling. Cracks daggered through the sandstone and with an unsteady jerk, like a machine grinding on dirty servos, the statue stepped down from its dais. But it was no machine. Deep within its core, Nezha could sense a condensed bead of Void energy. Not alive, not in the traditional sense of the word, but sentient all the same. In one hand it held a polearm carved from the same sandstone as the chamber. Not sharp, but heavy and deadly. Nezha's hand swept behind his back and grasped the hilt of his Orthos, drawing the double-bladed staff over his shoulder.

"Ki'Teer! Get back!" he ordered loudly.

The statue swept at Baro with a growl. Nezha expected the Void Trader to be knocked flat, but Baro neatly pirouetted to the side, avoiding the swipe that would have knocked him ass-over-ankles down the stairs. The statue took a step after him, casually allowing the polearm to slide through its hand, lengthening his grip on the weapon. Nezha leapt into the air just Baro's hand went beneath his cape and drew a primed Lex from the holster in the small of his back.

Nezha brought the Orthos down on the statue's head and expected it to crack. Instead, the rubidium blade turned aside with a sharp chink. The statue reached for him. Nezha kicked off with both feet, arching clear of the danger. He was in the air when Baro opened fire. Bullets smashed into the statue's head with unerring accuracy, but ultimately had no more effect than the Orthos. The Void Trader began backing up. He slapped his gauntlet with his free hand and there was an answering chime. Nezha landed on the banister of the stairs.

The thirteen-foot statue pivoted towards him with alarming speed, swinging the polearm so hard the air around it seemed to split open. Nezha leapt again, narrowly avoiding the heavy blade as it crashed into the banister, breaking off great chunks of stone. He slashed the Orthos' primary blade across the statue's wrist as he tumbled to safer ground, but even with his Warframe's unnatural strength, the weapon only left an ineffectual scratch. The effigy of Inaros was more than just stone, more than just the sum of its parts.

Baro's reprogrammed Osprey whizzed into the room, rotors angled for maximum velocity, and loosed a barrage of laser fire into the statue's back. Inaros turned with a roar. Nezha stabbed his Orthos into the sand and reached around to unhook his chakram. The band of light around its circumference flared. Half a second later, it ignited in a conflagration of lazuline flame. Nezha hurled it across the chamber, the deadly ring orbiting so fast it seemed a solid, burning comet. It struck Inaros in the side and kept flying, opening a deep gouge in the effigies' insectoid waist.

The chakram arced around the chamber and returned to Nezha's hand, drawn by the will of his mind. There was gunfire from somewhere near the stairs. Nezha watched as several rounds hammered into the wound he'd just opened, splintering the cracked and broken stone. The Osprey circled around to target the same area. Inaros whirled after it. Fire blazed in the center of its helmet and a lethal shaft of energy spiked through the Osprey's core, setting its components ablaze. The rotors locked, then shredded apart. It spiraled into the side of the chamber and exploded in a burst of melted shrapnel.

The effigy slowly turned back to face them.

Nezha hurled the chakram again.

This time, the whirling disc slashed through Inaros' neck. The statue took a few staggering steps, then the helmet completely separated from its body. Inaros keeled over onto the sand and was still. Nezha caught his chakram as it whirled back towards him, not taking his eyes from the pile of crumbled rock. A moment passed. Then another.

Behind him, the sarcophagus split open with a brittle crack.

Nezha cautiously shifted his gaze to look. A seam opened down the length of the casket and the two halves slid apart, moving on unseen hinges. Seconds later, everything had gone still. Nezha straightened, his stance slowly becoming more relaxed. The chakram continued to hum against his palm. He regarded the tomb protector with a wary eye. The battle had been easily won, but only by the grace of the Void. Whatever had compelled the thing to move, it had also rendered it impervious to normal weaponry. Neither blade nor bullet had even made a dent in that sandstone carapace. A common intruder would have found himself lying dead upon the sand, reverencing Inaros with blood.

But not a Tenno.

Such an outcome must have been deliberate, but even still…

Danger weighed heavily on Nezha's thoughts, dragging cold talons through his mind. In the distance, he could hear the dirty chugging of an engine. Footsteps shimmered against the Void, heavy and bruising.

"Ket klem!"

Nezha turned around. To his surprise, a ragged deployment of Grineer heavy gunners, lancers and bombards were pouring into the chamber, numbering a score or more at least. He wondered how and when the Grineer had picked up on their scent. It was doubtful that the Liset had been detected on approach, and Nezha didn't have enough information on Baro's personal craft to make a judgment regarding its stealth systems – or the relative skill of its pilot. The Grineer could just as easily have detected them on a routine sensor sweep, drawn by the tell-tale signature of Void energy. Either way, it mattered little. Nezha calmly moved his center of gravity into his naval, cold blue flames licking between his fingers. Thirty feet to his right, Baro whirled to face the sound of the Grineer.

"No!"

To Nezha's shock, the Void Trader immediately stumbled back. Gone was the controlled, economic sense of grace he'd possessed earlier in the fight. Half a second later, Baro tangled his boots together and fell. He frantically pointed the Lex at the intruders. "You won't take me! You won't! Tenno, do something!"

He clumsily opened fire. Most of the rounds went wide. Only a few opened the Grineer's suits with a hiss of escaping air. Baro scrambled back on all fours. The latent pressure of the Void darkened, stealing the heat of the sun and becoming a maelstrom that licked at Nezha's mind in short, jagged barbs. The abrupt sting of fear was so potent, he could do little else but act. He sent the chakram hurtling into the Grineer and broke into a run, seizing his Orthos as he passed. Two lancers went down in a fountain of blood. The chakram curved, beginning its return arc. Nezha caught it one-handed as he plunged into the Grineer. Limbs flopped to the desert sand, shot through with violet tongues of radiation.

The Void spasmed. The woman's voice returned, no longer consoling. No longer gentle. This time her voice was full of terror. They're coming. Quickly, in here! Don't make a sound, Baro. Here – hold these grains tight. Inaros will protect you.

The impression of a dark, cramped cupboard slashed across the Void, but there was no time to succumb to the visions pressing at the edge of reality. Nezha twirled the Orthos, peeling flesh and severing bone. Gunfire chattered. He knocked the bullets aside. In his stomach, there was a hollow pit of pure knowing. The Void darkened even further, reacting to the union between past and present. Behind him, Baro screamed out a curse, his voice thinning, echoing alongside the tremulous prayer of a frightened boy stumbling over the name of his god.

The sound of his mother's voice rose to match.

What do you want? No! You have no right!

Grineer butchers growled a response in their mushy, discordant tongue.

Nezha shifted his grip on the Orthos and swung behind him, opening the belly of a nearby gunner. Ropy intestines sluiced out at his feet. The woman had possessed no weapons capable of doing the same, nor the training required to make use of them if she had.

There was the snap of a mechanized bolt. Nezha pivoted to face the sound and found himself staring down the barrel of a Ogris rocket launcher. He sprang into the air to avoid its fire. Missing him completely, the cluster of missiles slammed into the sandstone wall of the chamber and exploded. There was a blast of heat as the expanding pressure wave caught him in the back, hurling him unceremoniously to the ground. Nezha skidded, putting one hand out to control his tumble. Chunks of rock, some large, some small bounced off the skin of his Warframe as the wall collapsed. His shields flared, liquid bright against the dust, as a slab of sandstone the half the size of a Dargyn clipped his shoulder and slammed his right half into the ground, pinning everything below the hip.

There was no pain, only knowledge of the impact. The perverse legacy of Orokin hubris felt nothing so mundane. Both within and without, however, Nezha's ears rang with the agony of the woman's voice.

No – no, it's just me. There's no one else!

The chatter of gunfire tore through the Void-

-and everything grew terribly still.

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of Baro's Lex continued to hammer away at the silence, desperate and defiant. Four shots later, Nezha heard the slide blow back and lock. He wrenched against the debris, the Warframe's enhanced visual suite piercing the smog of dust. Still on his back, Baro had retreated against the side of the chamber. The butcher standing over him fell aside, a hollow-point round lodged in his throat. Another eagerly jumped in to fill his place. Widely regarded as suicide troops, butchers did not carry any weapons beside their trademark cleavers and this one was no different – save for the streak of malice that compelled him to abandon the blade in favor of wrapping both hands around Baro's throat. The Void Trader choked as hard, knotted fingers closed over his windpipe. He dropped the empty Lex, clawing uselessly at the Grineer's armored wrists, but the butcher was twice his weight and half again as strong.

There wasn't enough air in his lungs to scream.

Nezha dug his fingers into the boulder, splintering everything directly beneath his fingertips, but the bulk of the stone remained intact. The angle was too awkward to gather the force required, not in time to make a difference. His Warframe was strong, but not all-powerful. Panic seeped through the discipline and rooted in his chest like poison.

In the back of Nezha's mind, he felt the touch of sand.

Warm sunshine falling on cold stone.

All at once, he understood.

He flung himself from his Warframe, dropping the empty vessel in a heap and hurtling his consciousness up the stairs. The sarcophagus lay open at the top of the hill. As Nezha rushed forward, moving between the folds of the world, he saw glorious bronze Warframe lying in repose, arms crossed over its chest. It was badly damaged, wounded by the struggle that'd taken the life of its Operator, but still mostly intact, a gleaming carapace of bronze and dark, glossy obsidian. Inaros, the Protector. Nezha pushed his consciousness into the Warframe, a broken, empty shell-

-and brought it back to life.

Images flashed through his mind.

The Infested.

The Plague.

Liquid forma dribbling between fingers that'd once carried a bloodied child home unharmed.

The stench of tears as beautiful children were bartered, appraised and turned to empty vessels. All the innocent who'd suffered from stubbornness and pride. The Golden Skymen had sent him to enforce their will. Once, he'd been their sword. Now he was their scourge.

The desert sands were his to command.

With them, he would scour flesh from bone.

With them, the unworthy would be forced to kneel.

Nezha lurched from the sarcophagus; the Transference circuit had been damaged, but the Warframe still functioned. And besides, he didn't need the circuit any more. At first the unfamiliar limbs felt alien to him. Somatic rejection spiked for a moment, but they were not so different, he and the Tenno who'd given his life to protect the innocent. What was the desert sun if not a burning halo?

-Transference at 95%

-97%

-99%

-Somatic control established.

-Selenic lensing locked.

-WAR PLATFORM ONLINE.

In a hurricane of sand, Nezha tore across the chamber, the Inaros frame channeling his Void energy into new forms, into patterns he'd never visualized. The nerves burned with the intensity of connection – yet once again, there was no pain. Only knowing. He could feel every grain of sand that surrounded him, sense the lifebeat of every insect sleeping, feeding, or scuttling in the walls of the chamber. Nezha called to them, and felt them answer.

In less than a second, he was upon the Grineer strangling the life from Baro Ki'Teer. With Inaros' strong hands, Nezha seized the butcher's head and twisted, wrenching bone and cartilage with a muffled crack. The butcher's gnarled hands fell slack and Baro sucked a ragged breath into his lungs, convulsing in a moment of pure, desperate instinct. Blood and spittle ran from the corner of his mouth, and bruises were already swelling on his throat. His helmet had been knocked askew. He lifted trembling eyes to the Warframe standing protectively over him, its metallic skin glistering in the hot sunlight.

"In- Inaros?"

Scarabs erupted from the walls. They swarmed over the Grineer troops, chewing holes through their suits and burrowing inside, seeking mouthfuls of tender flesh. Screams shook the sand from the ceiling. Nezha took that sand and shaped it, weaving it around it him in a deadly, spiraling storm. By the handful, he sent it forth to devour. The terrified Grineer broke into a run, but in a moment, the remainder of their number had been culled, leaving Baro and the Warframe alone on an altar of bloody sand.

Nezha looked down and stretched out a gleaming hand.

Dazed, Baro slid his fingers into the Tenno's grip, his lacquered nails chipped and broken from clawing at his attacker, and let himself to be pulled up to stand. He wobbled unsteadily, lightheaded and weak from lack of oxygen. Nezha touched a finger to Baro's jaw and pushed, gently tilting his head. There was a thin stream of blood oozing from one of his ears.

"You need a medic," said Nezha.

Baro looked up at the towering Warframe, biting his lip to keep it from trembling. Capillaries had burst in his eyes, stippling them with spots of blood, but the malachite orbs were staring at him in astonishment.

"Tenno…" he croaked, one hand fluttering to his wounded throat.

He swayed on his feet.

Nezha silently moved his hand to the Void Trader's arm.

"Tenno, I…" Baro swallowed painfully. He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, looking at the cerulean banners and the blistering glow of the sun beyond them. "I tried so hard to forget."

His voice was thick with emotion. Nezha couldn't even tell if the admission had been meant for him at all. He gazed Baro without speaking, sensing his anguish and inner turmoil. "Inaros never came that day," the Void Trader continued in a cracked whisper.

He closed his eyes.

Tears flushed from the corners and down his cheeks.

Nezha found he had nothing at all to say. The wound was too deep, and had festered too long to be soothed by something as banal as mere words. Baro's entire world had been shaken to its very core and the pieces were lying about him in ruin. Nezha understood that feeling. Understood it very well. He looked around at the empty tomb, feeling the echo of those who'd come there to pray, as Baro had once done in vain. Inaros couldn't have saved his mother; he hadn't been there to listen. But things were different now. In the end, the protector of Mars had saved its last son. Struck by a sudden moment of inspiration, Nezha slowly went to one knee and pulled his fingers through the sand, gathering a fistful of it into his palm.

Baro watched him mutely as Nezha stood up-

-and offered him that handful of golden sand.

Pain knifed through Baro's eyes, then melted into pure gratitude. Another flush of tears rolled down his face as he held out a hand and allowed the Tenno to gently pour the grains into his palm. Much of it trickled through his fingers, but at the last, Void Trader closed his fist and held tightly to the rest.

"We're done here, Tenno," said Baro huskily. "Let's go home."

All at once, it was clear to Nezha why the Void Trader had requested his services. He hadn't needed a bodyguard; he'd wanted someone along to ensure he didn't have to face the past alone, even if he could never have planned for the way that particular dagger had been unearthed and shoved into his gut. That was what Baro had really been searching for among the shifting sands. Not riches. Closure. He'd needed it for a very long time.

They walked out of the tomb. Pausing at the rockfall, Nezha did not abandon the Warframe destiny had bequeathed him, did not break the dream he sensed that Baro needed so very desperately. Touching each of the boulders, he dissolved them into sand and gathered his previous vessel into his arms. Baro had recovered enough strength to walk unassisted, though his knees shook with every step. Together, they left the antechamber the way they had entered it. In the corridor beyond, the braziers were still burning. Firelight gleamed on gold, and despite the distasteful task, Nezha had never failed to satisfy the terms of his employers.

Shifting the weight of his usual vessel, Nezha went to gather the net – and its valuable cargo – into his fist. Baro stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Leave them," he said hoarsely. "I don't care about the money anymore. These few grains of sand are all the treasure I need."

They left the offerings at the mouth of the tomb. Baro did not speak to the Tenno again, not even as they boarded the Liset and left the Red Planet behind. He sat in utter silence, bruised and trailing sand from the folds of his clothes, as Ordis hastily piloted them to the nearest relay. He did not say goodbye and Nezha did not press him for conversation, silently escorting him through the concourse and into the care of a waiting medical team.

For months, that was the last he saw of Baro Ki'Teer.

In due time, however, Nezha found himself at the Larunda Relay. Today, he'd eschewed his original vessel for the one entrusted to him on Mars. He had a particular destination in mind, a particular purpose for wearing the gleaming bronze Warframe. There was no trace of impairment in his stride. Inaros had been fully repaired and Ordis had made absolutely certain that the Warframe's deep bronze skin had been polished to a mirror-like shine, reflecting every nuance of the flames burning to either side of the concourse. Today, he bore the mantle of the desert.

He found the Void Trader at his kiosk on the 2nd floor, surrounded by the usual knot of eager customers and financially challenged onlookers. A rig jockey from Fortuna was nearest to the kiosk, his heavy augments scratched and battered from labor, grasping a leather purse as though it contained his every worldly possession – which, given circumstances, was probably exactly what it was. Nezha loitered at the back of the crowd, listening to the haughty tenor of Baro's voice as he conducted business with the man. The Void Trader was only short with lookie loos and people who couldn't pay, after all. Moments later, the rig jockey moved away clutching his purchase. Nezha slipped through the crowd. Seeing him approach, Baro abruptly smiled, not a condescending twitch of his lips, but a genuine expression of warmth.

"Tenno, you honor my people with your Warframe," he said, his chin dipping forward. There was a note of fondness in his voice, a sincerity that had been absent during their previous interactions. He beckoned to Nezha. "Come! I think you'll appreciate what I have today."

There was a golden chain around Baro's neck, supporting a tiny glass vial filled with Martian sand.

Nezha smiled.

He stepped forward to have a look at the Void Trader's current inventory.

"Operator... are you certain you can afford those prices without putting me up for sale?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx-O-xxxxxxxxxxxxX

TRIVIA

-o- Story/chapter title comes from the Egyptian-themed Therion song of the same name, specifically the fourth line of the chorus: "Son of the Sun, your God will let you down."

-o- Audio descriptions of the Saturn are based on actual radio emissions as detected/recorded by the Casini spacecraft between 2002-2004. Have a listen on the official NASA website!

-o- The Isidis Basin (also known as the Isis Region) is a real geographic feature on Mars. Isis, of course, being the Egyptian goddess of magic, fertility and motherhood.

-o- Baro is wearing pieces of the "Foros" armor set occasionally available in his inventory.

-o- Inaros is wearing the "Ramses" deluxe skin.