Chapter Two
14th of Frost Fall, 4E 201
Falkreath, Skyrim
20km West of Falkreath Watchtower
"Perimeter is failing! Eliza, fall back to the control room!"
Voices echoed in Cyrus's mind. He and his Spartan sibling struggled against wave upon wave of Covenant charging at them without any regard for their own lives. Chamber directed their efforts the best she could, but her combat options were limited due to the Forerunner Installations confined corridors.
The pair of Headhunters were forced into the main control room to a massive Forerunner Dreadnought with enough firepower to flatten the entire UNSC fleet in a single stroke.
"We can't let the Covenant capture this Dreadnought." To give them such a powerful warship would spell doom for Humanity.
They couldn't let that happen.
"Suggestions?"
"Only one," Cyrus remembered, his fingers ghosting over the Havoc Nuke and the slight dip in Eliza's posture. They made the Covenant pay for every inch of land, but they were eventually pushed back to the Dreadnought control room.
"Any regrets?" Eliza's hand slid over Cyrus's forehand, her fingers wrapping around his clenched appendage as the Havoc Nuke's countdown wind down.
"None. You." His Spartan sibling hesitated, her head dipping before her golden visor turned back towards him.
"Only one…." Eliza whispered as her hand gripped Cyrus's tighter, and she subtly leaned her weight against his shoulder. "…Only one. It's been an honor serving alongside both of you."
He remembered Chamber giving them both a forlorn glance but any words from his trusty AI were lost in a flash of blinding light.
Cyrus didn't even feel the Havoc Nuke's detonation, and in that last moment of consciousness, he prayed that their sacrifice would not be in vain.
But death would have to wait a little longer to claim Cyrus's soul, for his destiny lay elsewhere.
Sky Blue.
Cyrus had a long list of things he anticipated, but a vibrant sky with a hanging sun was at the bottom. Especially not after he set off the Havoc nuke that should have torpedoed him to oblivion.
He slowly extracted himself from the sizeable crater he'd found himself firmly entrenched in. A stinging pain ran up his lower back, but he remained relatively unscathed otherwise.
Cyrus climbed to his feet, enjoying the subtle crunch of mud as his full weight impacted the earth. His entrance has been quite the spectacle considering the massive damage he'd unintentionally inflicted upon the landscape.
His HUD received some random bursts of feedback as he extracted himself from the humanoid imprint his armor left behind. The disturbances faded in time, and his eyes glossed over the disturbed forest. Its surrounding fauna had already scattered in all directions because of his earth-shattering entry, and the woods resembled a silent graveyard.
A complete and utter stillness put Cyrus at ease despite the questions gnawing at his gut. This landscape was foreign to the desolate wasteland of Line Installation 2-4. Its towering mountains and rolling hills were the first real indication that he was nowhere near the Forerunner planet.
If Cyrus had to guess, the Havoc Nuke's detonation might have triggered the Line installations teleportation grid. Chamber was tinkering with the system, but the Covenant had already breached the facility before she could finish.
Cyrus's SERE training kicked in, and he didn't hesitate to evacuate the area before the Covenant came knocking. UNSC forces local to the region had already evacuated the system, and the only chance for extraction relied on the unlikely scenario of HIGHCOMM sending out a rescue team.
Headhunters didn't get rescued unless ONI deemed their lives necessary for other pressing circumstances on the frontier. Cyrus wouldn't be surprised if Colonel Ackerson were already writing up an after-action report that listed him and Eliza MIA, but he couldn't blame him for these assumptions.
A Havoc Nuke leaves only dust and echoes in its wake, but Cyrus was still very much alive, and the fresh oxygen filtering into his helmet was a welcome change to his previous environment.
Death would have to wait a little longer to claim his soul.
"Chamber, activate our emergency beacon. See if there are any UNSC stragglers we can link up with." Cyrus fixed his MA37 Assault rifle to its maglock and climbed out of the crater.
He didn't wait for a reply, bracing himself against an oak tree's shattered stump and scanning his environment. His visor's advanced optics pierced through the brush and trees in his immediate surroundings, revealing nothing but space devoid of all fauna.
Cyrus relaxed his posture, but his mind immediately registered the severe lack of response from his trusty AI. "Chamber?"
Again, only silence greeted him.
"Chamber, are you receiving?"
No response. Not even a sarcastic quip.
Cyrus reached for his MJOLNIR's AI slot and ejected the data crystal. He hoped to find Chamber sporting that ear-splitting grin that always pulled the smallest bits of endearment in him.
What rested his palm was a damaged data crystal that shielded Chamber from the outside world.
"No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO." Panic threatened to take hold of Cyrus, but his training kicked in, and he reinserted Chamber's data crystal into its slot. His MJOLNIR automatically activated its emergency repairs and thoroughly analyzed the damaged storage device.
All the while, Cyrus remained rooted in place, his gaze not once leaving the holographic symbols scrawled across his visor.
CONTAINMENT DEVICE DETECTED
VERIFICATION ID (UNSC A.I CHM-1692-1)
…RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS…
…SCANNING…
…SCANNING…
NAVIGATION DATA
STABLE
WEAPONS SCHEMATICS
STABLE
Cyrus couldn't help the frustrated growl at his MJOLNIR's priority list. He didn't care about the damnable Navigation charts nor the UNSC's thorough list of firearms.
"System. Disregard nonessential systems, prioritize AI storage components."
RECONFIGURING PARAMETERS
…SCANNING AI APPARATUS…
…SCANNING…
…SCANNING…
It felt like an eternity passed as he watched his MJOLNIR scan through Chamber's containment device and his world fell apart at its final damning conclusion.
…APPARATUS SEVERELY DAMAGED...
AI NOT DETECTED
…SCANNING…
Words could not describe what Cyrus felt in that moment of damnation.
It was a soul-crushing feeling that he had only experienced once before when Casey was taken away from Reaper team for nothing more than Colonel Ackerson's personal ambitions.
Chamber was gone, and a piece of his heart went with her.
…SCANNING…
AUDIO FILE DETECTED
FILE DESIGNATOR
UNSC A.I CHM-1692-1
STANDYING BY FOR ACTIVATION SEQUENCE
Cyrus activated the audio file with a heavy heart because he knew precisely what this last communiqué was for.
Chamber was saying goodbye.
"Hi, monkey." Her brilliant smile did little to relieve his sorrows, and even her derisive nickname did not offer the same annoyed reaction. "If you're watching this…I'm dead…and I somehow managed to pull you from the brink…."
Thunder cracked in the distance, and the subtle impact of rain splashed against his armor, but Cyrus paid it no mind.
"…Before you idiot's activated the nuke, I managed to tinker with the Forerunner teleportation grid. I don't know where or even if you somehow survived, but if you're watching this, I did something right…." Chamber hesitated, and despite her ethereal nature, specks of tears stung at her eyes. "…Hopefully, you're on a planet far away from this war where you can live a life not dictated by ONI or some fucking aliens trying to enable some religiously driven genocide…."
Cyrus slowly came to a seat, his elbows resting on his curled knees as he just stared at the cloudless sky, unable or unwilling to hear Chamber's wishes for a better life.
Being Headhunter was his life, and what else could he be but a silent assassin that hunted down the enemies of Humanity.
"…But knowing you, that'll be damn near impossible." A huff of amusement fell from Chamber's lips as she wiped away her tears. "So I'm going to have to pray that somebody else can pierce that icy cage around your heart and make you listen. God knows you won't do it yourself…."
That earned a hearty but subdued laugh from Cyrus, and impossibly her eyes brightened in response.
"…I'm leaving you some star charts along with schematics and other goodies you'll need to survive. Some of the technology is experimental, so I can't promise that you'll be able to manufacture anything yourself…." They both stared at one another with grief, Chamber would never truly know if this message would ever reach his ears, but she did it anyway.
"…I don't know if Eliza managed to survive. I left her a message just like you, but don't spend your whole life looking for her…."
A disbelieving snort echoed from Cyrus, and Chamber once again flashed him that knowing smile before it faded away.
"…Do me a favor." Ethereal orbs stared back at him with a stern gaze befitting a mother. "…Whatever happens from now on, you'll be what I've always wanted you to be…."
"…Human…I want you to be more than just a machine. That was my job and mine alone…For once, just be human…." Her gaze shifted, and Cyrus that her time was up. She reached a hand towards him, and impossibly he felt her fingers brush against his cheek in a final act of intimacy. "…Goodbye, Cyrus. And good luck."
AUDIO FILE CONCLUDED
Chamber's brilliant smile dissipated and his eyes were once again filled with a pristine view of the magnificent skies. He sat there for what seemed like hours as still as a statue, unable to bring himself to stand on his own two feet.
Her final wish was simple, but it also went against everything Cyrus was taught. Headhunters weren't human because of some ridiculous notion that they were superior to those they protected, but they couldn't afford to be limited by human sentiments.
Humans are emotional creatures and to be a Headhunter was to disregard what made you a sentient being. Anything less could jeopardize the mission at hand, and when the future of Humanity is at stake, every alternative is taken.
Chamber urged him to relinquish his duties, along with the hatred and anger that had festered in his heart, but he could not let go of what had driven him thus far.
He couldn't see himself being anything less than a Headhunter.
Not now, not ever.
"Over here, my Lord!" A voice echoed in the silent forest and drew the Spartan's undivided attention. Years of indoctrination and instinct wiped away the anguish that tormented his psyche like clockwork.
Two dozen men and women dressed in a leather scaled vest and a chainmail shirt rushed towards the crater. Incredibly their lightly armored forms carried swords and wooden shields, something he didn't believe anyone in their right mind would be lugging around in this age of colossal spaceships and planet scarring cannons.
Cyrus didn't know their objective here, but he also didn't want to stick around to find out. A bald-haired man equipped in a leather scaled mail and a harsh expression to boot. Under different circumstances, Cyrus would have killed him first, but he didn't exactly have reason to start butchering a bunch of…primitive kinsmen.
"Search this crater in the name of our Jarl!" The Spartan stepped away from his concealment and disappeared into the thick forest. He activated his emergency transponder on the off chance Eliza was somewhere on the planet, or a UNSC frigate entered its atmosphere.
It wasn't like Cyrus had anything else going for him at the current moment, so he resolved himself to explore this foreign landscape. Armed guards meant there had to be a settlement large enough to need that kind of protection.
And so the Spartan slogged onward with nothing more than a rifle and his armor.
Skyrim would never be the same.
Cyrus walked through the thick forestry without incident. There were a few encounters with the local wildlife, most of which were a species of Elk that roamed in between the oak trees. They offered little more than a continuation of the magnificent region's local fauna, as these animals were completely unspoiled.
His search inevitably led him towards a dirt road just outside the perimeter of a large settlement containing anywhere from 100,00 to 200,000 inhabitants. The wooden palisades surrounding the city's edge were patrolled by guards wearing the same uniform as those searching through his crater.
Twelve city guards stood vigil at the main gate, inspecting every visitor to their fair city and ensuring that no one with nefarious intent gained entry.
Cyrus spied a civilian caravan undergoing a thorough search of its cargo by the local Harrison about a hundred meters short of the threshold. He nicked a cloak, large enough to conceal his armor but left his helmet partially exposed. He then acquired a thick cloth and wrapped it around his neck, where it slightly billowed before the chin of his helmet.
The last thing Cyrus wanted was people questioning his armor, and while a seven-foot-tall man in a cloak drew eyes, it would at least add some level of subtly to his frame.
He hoped that first contact with the natives would be…smooth.
But Cyrus wasn't much of a people person, so he kept a watchful eye on those around him. He tried to blend in with the populace, but his size alone made him stand out like a sore thumb.
Civilians stared at him in silent or open wonderment while the Guards did a double-take. A fully encased helmet concealed their expressions, but the eye holes were open for all to see.
A few took a step forward to confront Cyrus, but their bravery faltered under the slightest glance in their direction. None in this sprawling town dared to approach the Spartan, but their curious glanced remained.
Every martial instinct demanded Cyrus fall from sight as he dated this desire by ducking into a tavern called Dead Mans drink. The building's wooden floors strained against his weight, and the civilians milling about its entrance gave him more than enough room to maneuver.
The tavern's doorway was a few inches short of allowing Cyrus a clean entry, forcing him to duck lest he smash through its wooden faculties.
Unfortunately, a tavern wench chose that precise moment to turn directly into the Spartan massive frame and dump half-eaten food and drinks into his armored torso.
"Shor's bones!" The red-haired barmaid scrambled to her feet and pulled a rag from her waist. "I vehemently apologize, sir."
Cyrus shifted his haze from the middle-aged innkeeper to the soaked rags covering his large frame. The thick cloth weighed against his armor, and any salvage attempts were now pointless.
"Don't bother, Ma'am." Cyrus pulled the fabric free, ignoring the bugged-out expressions from the nearby patrons as he wrapped the soaked cloth around his left arm in a snakelike vice. "I'm sure it'll dry out soon."
He'd have to dry it out when he was outside the periphery of this settlement.
"Yes, we'll. I…." The innkeeper took a deep calming breath, her eyes raking over the Spartan's armor with barely restrained curiosity. She motioned them towards a wooden counter, where a bartender and several customers attempted to resume their prior discussions."…How can I help you today?"
"I'm…" Cyrus struggled to find the correct terms for his arrival, his hands splaying across the countertop and resting upon its tempered surface. "…New to this province, and I'm looking for any information that could keep a newcomer from causing…issues."
"Well, I'm sure I can-"
"Narri!" The bartender, an aged woman with a heavy set of eyes, spooked the red-haired tavern wench away from the bartop. Two cups filled with ale were shoved into her chest. "Converse on your own time. We have guests that need attending."
"Yes, Valga." Narri meekly replied, ducking from the bartender's narrowed gaze before it inevitably fell upon Cyrus. Valga gave him a once over and motioned him away from the other patrons so they could speak in private.
Valga had seen plenty of odd characters in her life, but this seven-foot giant with a featureless black helm was…different. His steps were measured and damn near silent, which should have been improbable for someone his size.
"You imperial?" The inquiry was a shot in the dark, and she wasn't surprised to hear him dismiss such a claim.
Cyrus marked the designation as an important note before replying. "No."
"Then where are you from, stranger?"
"Nowhere close." He could feel her eyes raking over him with suspicion, but a resigned huff softened her skepticism. Valga knew better than to ask too many questions, and this stranger wouldn't be the first mysterious visitor to enter her humble tavern.
"Hmph." The bartender poured two cups of ale for the tavern wench to distribute. "This land is called Falkreath Hold. It's one of seven provinces in Skyrim, and you, my dear traveler, have visited my illustrious home in the middle of a civil war."
"And who does Falkreath fight for?" Civil Wars have a bad habit of spiraling out of control, and while Cyrus wanted to avoid any direct or indirect involvement, that didn't mean he should ignore the political turbulence.
Until a UNSC frigate picked up his emergency transponder, he would have to live off the land and amongst the natives.
Was Cyrus holding his breath over a passing UNSC vessel searching for him? No, but that didn't mean he wouldn't do his due diligence and keep his Transponder active at all times.
His SERE training was kicking in, but he wasn't evading any hostiles, and none of these people seemed inclined to change that narrative. ONI protocol dictated that he maintain his distance from any UNSC personnel, but in this case, Cyrus believed that this was the lone exception to the rule.
He doubted that maintaining operational secrecy extended to a civilization still living in walled settlements and armed with little more than swords and bows.
What exactly could any of these people do to top-of-the-line titanium shell? Scratch the paint at best, and that wasn't even taking into account the energy shield they had to get past first.
In short, Cyrus was walking around in hardware far beyond these primitives and carrying around a tool that could frighten them into submission.
The MA37 had a distinctive crack that sent the uninitiated scurrying for cover, and he doubted these people had any experience in dealing with gunfire.
"Falkreath is loyal to the Empire." Valga pulled Cyrus from his straying thoughts with a derisive snort. "Even if our Jarl wouldn't care either way."
"Careful, Valga." A bar patron fitted in iron banded armor spoke up. "You don't want Helvard hearing you disparage our Jarl again."
"Blow it out your ass, Kust." She retorted with mild amounts of heat. "If the Jarl has problems with my griping, then he could fix it by not flaunting his wealth around like an overachieving bard."
Kust raised his mug in mock understanding with a hearty laugh. "Your funeral, Valga, but don't come crying to me when you get thrown into jail with the child killer."
"The what?" Cyrus snapped towards the gossiping Nord drawing a jolt of surprise that caused Kust to spill his ale.
"The child killer." Kust dabbed at his soaked armor with a rag courtesy of Valga. "He used to work at a local farm until he decided to butcher the farmer's daughter."
"Brutal killing, that one." A blonde-haired Nord further down the bar top added. "A few guards lost their appetite for a few days, and those with children couldn't help but grasp them a little tighter at night."
"Is he a problem?" Cyrus could feel his blood boil with disdain. Children were meant to be cultivated and nurtured, not butchered like animals.
"Nah, Sinding locked up in the gorge with a guard watching him around the clock." The man turned towards the Spartan and dipped his half-empty towards him. "Name's Solaf, stranger. If you're looking to purchase supplies for the road, my shop is open to you."
"I'll keep that in mind, but I am short of the local currency." Valga reached for a stack of parchments hidden underneath the bar top.
"If you need coin, then try one of these bounties." It was a heavy stack of paper that Cyrus would rather not comb through for the next hour. For expedience sake, he snatched the first bounty from the pile only to have it taken from his hands by Valga.
"Sorry." She didn't look particularly apologetic as she tossed the crumpled parchment to the side. "That one was finished by the Dragonborn a few days ago. Not sure how it managed to slip my notice."
The what?
Cyrus dismissed the lingering question of what exactly a 'Dragonborn' was and retrieved another bounty. Ignorance is bliss, and as long as the locals pegged him as a newcomer to this province and not the entire planet, then most issues can be easily rectified.
Thankfully Valga chose not to pull this one from his grasp, allowing him an unfiltered view of a 1000 septim reward for the head of a single bandit. A long list of crimes that included extortion, murder, kidnapping, and everything else a criminal gang would commit in their selfish quest for power.
It was a simple job and one that Cyrus would have been willing to handle for free, but money doesn't grow on trees. He pocketed the bounty and bid farewell to Valga and her patrons.
The reward was substantial, but Cyrus was far more interested in looting the mine for all its worth. Traded valuables were just as good as currency, and if these bandits were as knee-deep in deviancy as he predicted, then that mine was filled with stolen treasures.
Treasures that he was more than willing to confiscate.
No one batted an eye when the Spartan exited the tavern with haste, evidently accustomed or bored of staring a hole through his exotic armor. Cyrus, however, was once again waylaid by another of Falkreaths citizens on his way out.
"Hmph." A feminine body slammed against his sternum, and the unfortunate victim was saved a nasty spill by his hands grasping her shoulders.
"Apologies ma'am I…." The Spartans assurances were silenced by his eyes glancing over the woman's bronze-like skin and ears that were far too long to be human.
She might have been able to pass off as Human to the untrained eye, but Cyrus was anything but untrained.
His augmented orbs took in the foreign facial structures and almond-shaped eyes that brimmed with an amber light.
There was an arrogance and Noble flair within her gaze that remained isolated behind a wall of serenity. This creature in his arms wasn't human but did maintain a resemblance that left Cyrus somewhat off balance.
His HUD snapped a still photo of the foreign humanoid and released her from his grasp. Whatever gratitude or retort that fell from the humanoid's lips was lost in a mob of patrons starting a hearty song with a blonde-haired bard.
Cyrus didn't know who Ragnar the Red was, but he was more than happy with the distraction that spilled onto the streets. A few guards caught sight of the Spartan's massive frame but quickly lost him in a blink of an eye.
A contingent of them scoured the densely packed streets, but none could locate him. Curiosity pushed their investigation, it was rare to see a stranger in such exotic armor, and the monotony of guard duty finally got to them.
They gave up the search once it became clear that more effort would be needed and returned to their duties as defenders of Falkreath. The guards safeguarding the eastern gate were blind to the shimmering frame slipping past their seasoned eyes.
By the time Cyrus's active camo dissipated, he was two hundred meters from the gate and well out of sight.
Embershard mine was on the fringes of Falkreaths border, and if Cyrus kept a moderate pace, he could reach the mine within a few hours. A glance at his motion tracker revealed his surrounding to be empty of all life, save for the dense forestry and waving grass.
His journey remained relatively peaceful in its opening hours, a circumstance he wasn't used to experiencing. The roads of Falkreath lacked any major activity, with civilians and caravans few and far between as the sun was pulled towards the horizon.
The Spartans boot crushed piles of autumn leaves gathering in knee-high piles, scattering the auburn-colored leaflets across the grassy landscape.
Falkreath's topography was a magnificent sight that would forever be ingrained into his brain, but as with all things in his life, his mind was occupied with more critical matters.
The emergency transponder was active, but it lacked any auditory codes for any receiving vessel. It was akin to an alarm with no context to its desired warning or message.
Chamber would have handled that issue, but…she wasn't here to deal with trivial tasks anymore.
His eyes scanned the horizon for any mountain slopes to ascend, and he found a doable location to broadcast an emergency log.
Cyrus ascended a slopped mountaintop at breakneck speed, his boots digging into its surface and crushing its rocky face with each hardened step.
By the time he reached the mountain's crown, a fell voice roared in the distance. Its deep tone reverberated across the rolling plains before Cyrus, but he could not ascertain its source.
The Spartan focused on the unnatural growl, but all he could decipher was the rolling winds after a few tense moments.
With little else to do, he opened his eyes and took in a lake that stretched on for miles. A few lake islands lay scattered about its surface, and small settlements dotted its outline, but the natural beauty remained unscathed.
Cyrus wondered if the Covenant would ever be tempted to scar its surface just for the chance to eradicate primitive humans.
The answer to that question was already well known.
The Spartan activated the transponders protocols and allowed his MJOLNIR's operating system to run its course.
…Accessing Transponder…
…Pending…
…Auditory protocols [EMPTY]…
….
…Recording software activated…
"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is UNSC Sierra Bravo-259. Requesting immediate evac. Survivors…" His mind flashed with the faraway faces of Eliza and Chamber, igniting a swell of emotion that bled into his mind. "…One too many…."
Cyrus's fading composure hardened after a deep exhale that relieved his growing tension, allowing him to continue without a break in composure
"…Prioritization code. Alpha. Sierra. Five. Dash. Two. Five. Nine. Requesting immediate evac on planet designated as 1-A. ONI Protocol Sierra Dawn activated. Stranded asset will continue to broadcast in the blind until further notice. Message will repeat…."
…Recording software deactivated…
…Auditory Protocols [Log 01] categorized…
…Transponder active…
Cyrus dismissed the display and activated his MJOLNIR's topographic scanner. This would allow his suit to chart a rough map of the surrounding terrain using his motion tracker and visual cues corroborated from his HUD. It wouldn't be precise, but it would at the very least point him in the right direction.
The fell voice returned with a vengeance, and Cyrus was quick to find its origin this time. The sound echoed across the mountaintop, rustling the trees and sending whole swaths of birds scattering in every direction.
Cyrus honed in the retreating avians and located the echoing roars origin along with a growing wildfire. His augmented eyes could pick out a sizeable mass moving in between the trees from this distance, but its full form remained obscure.
He slid down the mountain's face and came to a rest at a lower peak that provided a perfect view of this unknown entity.
Cyrus was expecting a Human-made object of unique design. Instead, he found a lizard-like creature the size of a small house tearing into a mass of bodies colored in a deep red.
His hud zoomed in on the beleaguered humanoids, and once Cyrus confirmed they were human soldiers, instinct took over.
This would be the first time he'd face down a pure born Dragon of Tamriel.
And it wouldn't be the last.
All my current fics were in need of an update and this was the perfect time to do it because I hate April 1st for this site. Too many fics do meme chapters and it is annoying as hell but take heed for I will never fall to those hijinks.
This isn't a complete return because I am in the final stages of my projects and I am so close to finishing off all the hard shit for school.
So keep an eye out for more chapters in the next two weeks.