The first thing Sylvanni realized was wrong when she woke up was the fact that she woke up at all.

As her addled thoughts struggled back towards fully aware, she focused on the odd thought. Bleary eyelids opened slowly, heavily, eyes refusing to focus on her dim surroundings. She needed her bearings: What had happened? Where was she? And what was going on? Why had she woken up, and why did waking up concern her?

Before her questions for the present were addressed, her memories came back to her, answering her first confusion. She shouldn't have woken up because she was supposed to be dead.

She'd been out, alone on deep patrol, as had become more common after the "Athabasca Incident" on Mars. She liked solitude, she knew how to watch her own back, and she was a good navigator. When the Vanguard wanted information on areas beyond normal patrol routes, Sylvanni liked taking those missions. Sylvanni liked to take those missions.

"Half a Hunter, that one," Cayde had said as she'd walked past. She assumed he'd meant it as a compliment. He didn't understand she didn't like being out there for the sake of the natural world or the untamed wilderness. She just liked the quiet.

With the SIVA outbreak, there were concerns that the House of Devils might be pushing out of the Plaguelands, and the last thing anyone wanted was this madness spreading. She'd been careful, investigating various sites marked "Of Concern" on her dossier, and ensuring she checked in with reports detailing what she'd found at each one. She hadn't thought she'd attracted attention while going about her mission.

Apparently she'd been wrong.

The ambush was coordinated. She hadn't accidentally stumbled upon a group of Fallen. No, they had intentionally come for her with a precise and well-strategized attack. A squad of Vandals, cloaked in stealth tech, rushing her position while groups of shanks moved to flank, swiftly surrounding her. By the time the two captains had closed on her she'd been shieldless and already wounded.

The last thing she remembered seeing was the captain's secondary arm, swinging for her head, and then everything had gone black.

Hence her confusion upon waking up. She should have been dead.

She raised a hand to her temple as she sat up, feeling her head swim. A sharp, yet faintly sweet chemical odor pierced her sinuses as she breathed in, its heady smell making her cough and choke. Reaching for her face, she yanked off a cloth that had been tied there, covering her nose and mouth. The fabric was stiff and a quick check confirmed that it was the source of the nauseating fumes.

Clever, she had to begrudgingly admit, as she put the pieces together.

Guardians were notoriously difficult to incapacitate, nonlethally at least. Light would heal any wounds that didn't kill fairly quickly, and so rendering a Guardian unconscious would usually only last a few minutes. Even poisons or chemical weapons were of limited efficacy, quick to be purged from the system.

If a captor were able to keep a constant source of anaesthetic, however, such as an inhaled toxin over her face, she'd keep breathing it in while she was out, unable to wake up out of it. She wasn't sure what kind of compound they'd used on her, but she guessed it was probably something stronger than a normal person would have been able to handle. All they'd have to do was keep it doused so the fumes didn't dry out and she'd stay under.

Leave it to the Fallen to go for the 'ether soaked rag' strategy.

It was certainly the Fallen who had her. Looking around what she could now see was a cell, there were symbols from their writing system on the walls and outside, golden fabric hung painted with a white icon. The room itself looked somewhat rundown, with cracks through the concrete walls and debris scattered across the floor. The bars on the open side were bent, twisted, and rusted away in places, but she could see a sturdy grid of arc energy covering it over, lest she get any ideas about escape.

The question was why. She'd died at Fallen hands plenty of times, and they'd never shown any indication of trying to take prisoners before now. Her capture had been very intentional and well planned. It had taken effort for them to capture her without killing her. Now she needed to figure out what they wanted.

Focus on the details. They'd taken her weapons and armor, predictably. Thankfully they'd left the tank top undershirt and pants she usually wore beneath her robes. And her socks, she noticed, but no boots. With a sigh she reached down to tug those off. No point in wearing holes in them. It wasn't as though socks would protect her feet anyway.

She flexed her right hand trying to get a feel for her Light reserves. They were shockingly low. Dangerously so, even. Had the anaesthesia somehow drained her of her abilities?

"Ghost, can I get a scan of the room? How long have I been unconscious?"

The empty silence that followed the question hit her harder than any bullet ever had.

Don't panic, she told herself, even as she felt her traitorous veins surge with adrenaline and her traitorous heartbeat thundering in her ears. If they wanted you dead, they would have already killed you.

Whatever was going on, they'd taken great pains to take her alive. She wished that thought were more of a comfort.

Maybe he's just… disabled again, she thought, remembering the time she been stranded on Mars. They'd devised a way to capture a Guardian. It was plausible they'd figured out a way to detain her Ghost. This could be a hostage sort of situation, and they'd keep her Ghost unless she gave them what they wanted.

This truly was an awful situation when something like that was her best case scenario.

She refused to consider the possibility that he was dead. Even if he wasn't with her now, she wouldn't accept that outcome until she saw his shell with her own two eyes. She'd just need to be careful until she found him again. That was all. She could play this safe until then.

For now, she needed to focus on what she did have. Few resources, true, but at the moment, the most valuable commodity would be information. Such would be true of any Guardian, but it was especially apt as a warlock. Her cell was sparse, but there was information to be gleaned here.

Besides, the intellectual puzzle of figuring out the situation would distract her from its horrifying realities, she hoped.

One thing she could intuit right off the bat: this was the Fallen, but it wasn't the House of Devils. None of the group that had ambushed her had been SIVA splicers and their colors were golden, not Devils' red.

Leaning forward through the decrepit bars—though careful not to get too close to the arc field—she tried to get a better look at the banner hung on the wall. It was tattered and askew, but the painted white symbol was visible. Shaped like a pillar, or a T with two lines serving as the base, it had one circle inside toward the top.

She racked her brain, trying to place the iconography, though unfortunately, Fallen houses weren't her area of expertise. This wasn't a common symbol either, though there was a familiarity to it in that she knew she'd seen it recently somewhere.

Shiro's cloak, she realized. It had been patchwork and cut apart, but the color and shape of it matched perfectly. Which means… House of Kings?

She tried to think of what she knew of the House, but unfortunately, it wasn't much. The Kings were reclusive, their agendas and strategies widely unknown. They rarely participated in attacks out in the open and seemed withdrawn even from the other Fallen. It made sense, she supposed, that the unconventional House would be the one trying unconventional tactics, like capturing Guardians alive, but it still didn't tell her why.

She felt for her Light again and realized with a sinking feeling that she'd gained hardly any since the last time she'd checked. Closing her eyes, she focused inward, trying to sense the Traveler innately. Its presence was so faint it may has well have been nonexistent.

No armor, no weapons, no Ghost, and no Light. The situation was unideal to say the least. She paced about the room, trying to think of things she could do to improve her chances here, but nothing came to mind. Eventually she accepted her lack of options, and settled back in a corner where she could see the open sides of the cell easily.

There was nothing to do but wait and see what came about.