Being a Guardian has its perks.
Immortality. Fame. Power. Adventure. That driving, adrenalized feeling of not knowing when your last breath would come, or if your Ghost would even be able to bring you back, or to rez you, as it was more commonly known.
I was resurrected on Luna, that gray orb holding orbit above Earth. Home of the Hive, a vile and terrifying race of aliens that seemed always hungry, always wanting to grind humanity into nothing but dust, and to eat that dust.
I was rezzed on the same day that the Hero slayed Crota in his own realm. I remember waking to the shaking of the Lunar soil, hearing terrible ripping screams echo across the landscape. I hadn't known then, but I'd heard the mourning wails of the Hive. Crying out for the loss of their God's son. A monster.
I've seen the Hero. Once. They're not much more different than you or I, but there's a bit more to them. A gleam in their eyes. An unbending posture. A terrifying certainty in their stride. But this isn't quite their story.
It's mine.
My name is Al-Jestis-13. I'm an Exo and I'm a Hunter.
Exo's are a remnant of humanity's old grandeur; anatomically correct self-aware automatons. Before you ask about the functionality of my faux reproductive organs, let me change the subject.
Being a Guardian had its perks. The roaring Light within my body and my cells makes me a target, especially for the sick machinations of the Hive. Most of their rank and file would be content to maim and maul me.
But not Sarthuk, Silvered Brood. That witch had other plans for me.
Plans that I, being a foolish Guardian, fell and became trapped within.
Recording of Al-Jestis-13, during the year of King Oryx's fall.
