Lower Sanctified Docks, Second Cloister, Covenant Holy City: High Charity, 02/14/2526
"That is…"
"Thel 'Vadam," I finish.
Clad in brilliant golden armor, he almost resembles a deific figure. Watching from above, home within an observatory peering over the docks. He isn't Supreme Commander yet, but his name is basically household already. Thel 'Vadam: The Zealot, The Gilded Fleetmaster and The Kaidon of Vadam Keep, for most of us being in his presence is akin to viewing a living saint.
He's a legend already, arguably second only to Imperial Admiral Xytan 'Jar Wattinree himself.
"Why is he here?" I find myself asking.
"Someone needs to take the blame for the Elegy," Tyrh remarks, "Or maybe he's just curious."
Thel's gaze sweeps over the departing sangheili. For a moment I can swear that his eyes lock with mine. Does he know?
He looks away.
"Stop staring," Zoya brushes past me, "You're going to insult him."
Taking her queue I lower my sight along the mass of departing warriors. They filter their way out of the hangar, heading to who knows where.
Whispers among the crowd. Carried by a combined voice:
"The High Prophet of Regret made Ripa 'Moramee the new arbiter."
"A faithless creature such as himself does not belong among the annals of the great."
"Think, with all his new power another rebellion is all but confirmed."
"Is it not the purpose of the arbiter to regain lost honor?"
"A brute like himself would be more at home among the jiralhanae."
"Bah, we've lost our way. The arbiter was supposed to be something great, not lost souls looking for redemption."
Zoya overhears the conversations with a thin growl, "A good fighter, but a horrible sangheili."
Tyrh remarks, "I suppose that's what the High Prophet wants."
We follow the stream of people.
"So what happens now?" I ask.
Tyrh shifts, "Shore leave for a couple of days, then wherever High Command tells us to go."
"Us?" Zoya chuckles, "Unlikely, in my best guess. For the minor successes we've had we've also failed quite heavily. We're likely to be split." She stalks away, leaving behind the remnant of our once squad.
Tyrh shrugs and parts in a different direction, leaving me along in the crowd of departing sangheili, the observation platform looming above us..
The penthouse suit watches from its height. I can see figures, obscured by reflections on the glass. They converse, the shadowy figures, talking about something so much higher than me that I can only hope to one day listen into their conversation. One of them watches, seemingly separate from all the other figures, he's looking at me. Golden armor. Authority emanating around him. He can't be looking directly at me, right? Just past me.
The figure gives a subtle nod, and turns away.
I suppose I should be getting used to Covenant funerals. But this one just doesn't feel right. It takes most of the ceremony to come upon the realization why. I'm not needed here. I'm a stranger at my own father's funeral.
It was the double-edged blade of sangheili culture. The lack of a true family created a path allowing sangheili to cherish each other. Everyone is family for lack of having one. But it's that same reason that disallowed my father and I from ever being family. We had a feeble attempt, but all it did was lead us here. Mourning for a father that I never truly cared for; the only pushing force being the guilt I would otherwise feel.
The funeral drones on, the surrounding sangheili joining their voices in song.
The hymn continues:
"-Oh brother, sanctified.
Guarding the holy realm from all the trespassers.
He who sheds his mortality shall know honor beyond words.
Oh brother, remembered.
It is in our duty that you shan't be forgotten.
Each blow, each scar, a vestige of your memory.
Oh brother, laid to rest.
We shall meet again."
The prayer ends. The music languishes on for just another moment, a baritone horn married with falsetto strings, melodiously weeping.
It dies a moment later.
On the podium where my father's corpse lies a major steps up. It's Taso, my brother.
My brother looks down on our dear father, steely resolve hardened by warfare. "I stand before you, not as the son of an individual, but as a brother to a warrior who sacrificed himself."
Murmurs in the crowd. Not everyone knew how he differed from the norm, how he fathered a family.
"I can only speak in place for those who knew him as a comrade in arms," his face scans the crowd, it lingers on me, "But I can speak for his character. One who knew the path he was on, and faced it with steely resolve. The fear of death did not phase him, nor the failures he would accumulate along the way. He kept on fighting. Honored duty."
"He was a friend, a mentor, a father, a warrior. He will not be forgotten." On the podium lies all of our father's possessions: His weapons, armor, even little trinkets he has collected along the way. Taso stands next to it, deliberately grabbing our father's plasma rifle, "A token to remember him by. I invite all of those who were friends of his to do the same."
A creeping trickle of sangheili climbs up. None of whom I recognize. Items depart the table, finding a home among another individual. Taso barely looks at them, watching me the entire time. A silent challenge.
As the stream of people ends I finally make up my mind. Anything my father owned of worth is already gone. I pry at his armor, grabbing his breastplate. A milky chunk breaks off, cracked and worn. In my own time, I will attach it to my own armor.
My brother watches dispassionately.
The rest of the funeral is a blur.
In the end I find myself staring out a view port. Ashes of my father, glimmering gems, making themselves at home among the calm void.
Footsteps behind me. I instinctively know who it is, "Taso," I greet.
He scrutinizes me, "Vol."
Silent breaths between us. "You've changed," I note.
"You haven't," he returns.
"Is this about father?"
His reply is immediate, "This is about you."
"Another lecture?"
"That would be a waste of time."
"Then stop this passive-aggressive nonsense and get to the point."
"There is no point to get to," even now he somehow retains that smarmy arrogance he lorded over me as a child, "You dishonor our father. Presumptions of care given after his passing."
"You weren't there when father died," I counter, "I was. Don't assume maturity when you thrust yourself into his funeral for your own satisfaction."
"This isn't about father," he repeats. "I know you Vol: Weak, cowardly. You aren't fit to celebrate our father, only taking a memory for your own satisfaction."
He glares down at me, "As a child I thought you as pitiful. Now I realize that you would sacrifice us for the warmth that sorrow brings. Gorging yourself on loss; fattening with the inane attempt that within you will eventually find personal equilibrium. When you told me to, 'not be a hero', I realize now it was for the self-allowed satisfaction of thinking you're helping me."
"You think I let our brothers die for my own joy." He's wrong. I kill them out of necessity.
His anger boils, "In many ways I understand you better than you do yourself. You had no respect for father, as he had none for you. The only care you would give him is that of outlasting him."
"If I could have saved father, I would have done it!" His emotions leech onto me, "Just because you were the favorite child doesn't mean that I hated him."
He snorts, bridging the gap between anger and amusement, "I had grown up with the thought that because we are biological brothers we must stand for each other. I realize now that's nothing more than a play of the mind. I have actual brothers now, not a bumbling fool too afraid of his own destiny."
"Go fuck yourself."
My sudden outburst is satisfying for us both. I was the one to break first, to go to direct insults. The competitive nature we always shared gives him the victory in this case. For me, well. He's too honor driven to insult me back.
"Goodbye Vol, may the gods be kind to you. You'll need it."
He leaves, striding away from the remnants of our family. I stay, unsure of exactly why.
Footsteps behind me, "Come to talk again Taso, I told you…"
It's not Taso.
A zealot. Clad in the standard maroon armor. He wants something with me, and my initial fear is that I'm caught. But no, despite the consistent aggressive manner I've always seen zealots hold, there is no pugnacity to him.
"Uh. Hi," I stutter, "Can I help you?"
He's vaguely familiar. Someone from the games? How many named zealots were there, I can't remember.
"Unsurprising you don't know me, it's been far too long," she says.
A wave of shock slithers down my spine. Igniting the pyre of emotions I haven't felt in far too long."Mother," the word escapes my mouth. Another one a breath later, "Shaea," her name.
She sighs, mandibles held low in shame. "You remember me. Far more than I deserve. You look the same as you did 20 cycles ago, the same child, my child."
"I…" questions storm through my mind rushing past so fast that I can't decipher them, "Why?"
A single word, a hushed whisper out of her mouth, "Love."
"Love?" The irritation from my argument with Taso froths, "Is it the same love that caused you to abandon me?"
She flinches, "I have no excuse. I come before you barren, if only to reconcile the past."
The sheer shame exhibited cuts deep. More than I want it to. Any rage I try to manifest falls flat, "So what is it then? What is the truth?"
She pulls away, "Follow me."
We pull into a separate room, sparse and spartan, with a window overlooking the lower levels of High Charity. It's quiet here, away from the constant background chatter of the holy city.
"Why were you never there?" I demand, "20 cycles of what? Two/three visits the entire time? The only memory I have of you prior is when you left."
"And I stand fully at fault," she responds, "But you could never understand. What's in the past is done, I just ask that you give me a chance."
"I could never understand what? You abandoning me, for what! Duty, honor? Do you know how much I hated every second of my childhood?"
"Sometimes the truth is more difficult than what we choose to believe. Sometimes what is in the past is best left forgotten."
"No," I cross my arms, "Ignorance of the truth will only cause more problems. Either tell me what happened or my mother will remain as dead to me as she was."
She clasps her hands together, crushing hesitation underneath "I suppose it is residual motherly instincts that urge me to hide the truth from you. Very well, I owe you an honest explanation."
Her eyes twinkle with the lost past, "When your father and I first married. There was love, true love. When Taso was born I thought it the greatest moment in my life. A love that only a mother could have. But… they wanted to take him away, raise him among the others. My child, my first born child. I would never see him again. Your father. Tradition was paramount to him, having been raised on Sanghelios. Our child, the only truly good thing from our marriage and he was ready to throw it away. I couldn't let it happen."
Her voice sags, "We eventually came to a compromise. He would stay, we would raise him as our own. The second, you, would be the one to be raised according to custom. But when you were born. I saw the stars in your eyes, I knew in that moment I would combat the universe if your life was at stake. But your father…"
"You couldn't do it," I surmise, "So you just left?"
"And made the one mistake I regret with each waking breath," she shakes her head, "I returned a couple of times, with the hope that it could work. But your father… He wanted absolute control. He was accustomed to leading, partnership wasn't a thing he knew."
There's the unfortunate weight of truth, now burdering me. Every time my father and brother told me that it wasn't my fault for my mother leaving, they were wrong. But, even if it was unintentional. I'm not going to pretend I'm distraught at making their lives more difficult.
"Then why did I grow up with him," I exasperate, "I obviously wasn't the favorite child. If all he wanted to do was get rid of me, then why am I here?"
She shakes her head, "I can't speak for him. But I know that he truly did love me, a blind love with no consideration to what he would lose, but true love nonetheless. He would honor my wish, even if I could not honor his," her voice cracks. She steadies herself, "He was a warrior of the Covenant first and foremost. Fatherhood did not befit him. I can only thank him post-mortem for doing what I could not."
It doesn't make full sense. If he was willing to raise both of us, could it somehow have worked out? The rusted inklings of my past life surge forth, yelling from both my parents. A divorce, more memories lacking than there. Maybe some relationships are just destined to fail.
"You waited until he died before you returned," somehow it was funny, in a horribly sardonic sort of way. "For what?"
"You have every reason to hate me, and I will not stop you. Life is a series of mistakes that we have to learn to live with. I cannot pretend to justify what I did to you, or the lack thereof. But if you are willing, I want to try to be the mother I never could be. To do one good thing in your life Vol."
"I sense you're coming to a point," I scoff, "Offering me something after my father died. Do you think I'm that stupid?"
"You can refuse," her voice is soft, "This is not a demand. I couldn't bear it in my heart to do so. If you wish to never see me again then it shall be that way."
Why couldn't she have been here during my childhood. I just met her and even now she can effectively defuse my anger instantly, "Fine. What is it?"
"You'll join me. I'll show you the galaxy from the apex. You'll be a zealot in all but name. Do what I do, see what I see, be the guiding arm of the gods. I may have been absent for your childhood but, the gods be willing, I won't be absent anymore. I'll train you to be the best you can be, no more will you have to squander your life serving those who don't care for you."
"Can you even do that?"
"Anyone who disagrees can take it through me."
"You… I…" I take a breath, "You talked to Taso already didn't you? I can already guess his response."
She hesitates and nods, "He denied my proposition."
"What did he say?"
She grimaces, "I quote, 'I would rather die honorless than commune with a whore.'"
"Sounds like him," If anything now I can get an iota of superiority over him, if only because I'm much softer than him.
I take a moment to think of her offer. It would bring me into conflict with humans, but I suppose so would anything else I do. And sangheili don't show this level of emotion unless they genuinely feel it. She does want to improve our relationship. And… would I really want to say no?
Of course not.
And on the off chance that she's not who she seems to be, then I can leave. I hope.
I turn back to her, "You are my mother in title only. I'm sorry, but far too much has happened for me to pretend that it could have been ignored. But," she stands motionless, "It almost feels too good to be true."
"You don't have to decide now," she says, "Take all the time you need. I made you wait for your entire life, I can wait for a fraction of that time."
"I…" I'm scared of what will happen when my priorities come into conflict with yours. "I don't think we have the luxury of being able to wait," I sigh, exhaling some of the weight on my chest, "I can't say no. In the few moments we've met I feel more than my father ever gave me. He did try though," my thoughts come out in bursts, tailed by another that pushes its way into the forefront of my mind. "Who is it going to be?" I ask, "You and me?"
"The squad I am a part of is a group of three. I cannot promise you will join us in every encounter but they will allow you to follow us if I say so."
A plan creeps into my mind. A way to have my cake and eat it too, "Can I ask a condition?"
"Provided it isn't excessive."
I think of the best way to phrase this, "I don't want to surrender the connections I've made so far. I want to spent time with you but…"
She finishes my statement for me, "The bonds of brotherhood generated in combat can be stronger than blood ties, I understand. Who is it you want to bring?"
A smile burrows into my face, not quite for the reason my mother thinks so, but I don't care to correct her. In a universe of problems things finally seem to be looking up.
"Kurc is… here," I say. Even outside the building I can hear music thundering inside, crawling up my spine and shaking my entire body. The entrance is lavish, obscenely so. Golden foliage sprouts in front, artificial sun-blessed vines creeping up the arc that leads to the entrance. Windows dot every wall, brilliant panes of multicolored glass, cut in trapezoidal shapes looking like miniature stars in an artificial sky. The entire building is a monument to needless opulence that only the san'shyuum could manage.
The unggoy who helped me nods, "Am I free to go sir?"
"Yeah, you can leave," I respond. He waddles away.
I step through the entrance, as if it's going to kill me. Glittering lights, held up via antigravity, shift and open, forming the curved shape of a door. There's a desk, arcing into the wall. Like most things san'shyuum it's 90% decoration and 10% usable space. A bored young female san'shyuum darts up from behind it, gives me one look, and decides I'm not worth the trouble, "Whaddya want?," she asks.
"I'm looking for Kurc," I say.
She sighs, "I don't know who that is. You can go find him if you want, but if not then leave. You're scaring away the customers."
She gestures behind herself. Another floating gem door heading to the interior of the building. I depart, just as a group of 4 young intoxicated san'shyuum stumble their way in behind me.
The interior is uncomfortably smoky, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Beams of light dance past, in tandem with the new offspring of classical music and electronic rhythm. I feel lighter, almost imperceptibly so. A san'shyuum serving girl struts past, decorated in a far too revealing outfit, she carries a serving platter with three neon drinks suspended above it.
She gives it to three cackling sangheili males, who quickly cheer the addition of drinks.
She walks back, stopping in front of me, "Are you lookin' for a girl hun?"
"I…" I pause at the implication of what she says. "No. I'm looking for a… patron, his name should be Kurc."
"Of course, follow me," she strides away, not even turning to check if I'm following.
I chase her into the recesses of the building. We pass by booths full of san'shyuum: drinking, smoking, leering at girls, or some combination of all 3. The music roars around us, tinnitus inducing EDM blaring throughout the halls. As we go deeper the booths depart to make way for private rooms, most of which are closed with an electronic 'occupied' sign hanging above.
She stops next to one near the end, swipes her hand over the door which opens. "Here you go hun. I wouldn't mind seeing a sweet thing like you some more," she walks past me, trailing the tip of her finger across my armor.
I should take a shower after this.
I peek into the room. 3 san'shyuum sit there, crowded around a single hookah. One is overweight, guffawing as he holds his hands to his stomach while smoke trickles out of his mouth. The other is cleaner, in a fine robe, leaning back with a half-scowl. The final is Kurc: my san'shyuum mentor.
He looks up at me, as he takes a drag from the hookah. His face morphs from confusion to surprise then happiness. "Oh shit," he stammers, smoke leaking out of his nostrils.
The other two san'shyuum, look at me and then him. Kurc, who is trying his best to not break into a coughing fit, squeezes out, "Kid. Shit! I didn't realize you were coming back."
He stands up, "Gimme a second. I'll be right back," stepping out of the room as it closes behind him.
Kurc takes a breath, steadying himself, "Didn't expect you to be back so soon. Also didn't expect you to find me here."
"Having fun are you?" I prod.
"Actually I'm in a work meeting, believe it or not," he taps the door, "My compatriots here got a bit bored of meeting in offices all the time. Hence this," he sways a bit, he's tipsy. "But enough about me, how've you been doing kid? Been some time, was worried that I might never see you again."
"I'm not gonna die yet, I hope. But," I pause, "We can talk later about what happened. When you aren't busy." As I need to figure out my story for what happened.
"In the meantime," I say, "I've been thinking about your offer."
"About building you a custom weapon?"
"Exactly. I have a rough blueprint, I sent it to your terminal, let me know if you think it's possible."
He pulls a datapad from his endless clothes, tapping away and presumably pulling up my message. He focuses, pulling himself out of intoxication with surprising ease. "You wrote here, 'I don't know how plasma containment fields work.'"
"I mean. I don't," I reply, "I was hoping you could figure it out, and hopefully let me know if its even possible."
He grimaces, "Well first off, there's no such thing as 'plasma containment fields'. You're thinking of: magnetic plasma induction generator, MPIG. And second, I'm not so sure, kid. With any blueprint, I need exact details. See," he shows me the datapad, "This is scratch. I would need a team to figure out if it's even possible, much less actually building…"
He stops, letting his grimace morph into a smile, "Ah, I'm just giving you shit kid. Yeah I can get it done. Are you still here by the start of tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"Then you'll get a gift from me tomorrow," he smiles, "I expect that you'll fill me in as payment."
"I don't think that's how gifts work."
Another girl walks past me, giving me a parting glance as she strides into the room Elkh was in. I can hear cheering as the door closes.
"Work meeting, huh?" I ask.
"Yeah, I don't have anything to say about that."
I hear shouting from the room, "Look at you, you beauty! I could drown in that ass!"
I can't help but smile, breaking the stoic facade that is so very sangheili. "Is any work actually getting done, or are y'all just enjoying the 'view'?"
The look Kurc gives me is playfully shameful. "Believe me, I would love to have more meetings in our office." I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not, "But if my coworkers are to be here then I won't argue against it."
"Don't get too caught up in your work. I still want a weapon if possible."
He smiles, "Of course kid."
A moment of silence, music permeating through the air. He walks up to me, "I heard what happened. I'm sorry. Truly sorry. The loss of a relative is hard to accept."
More laughter from the room. "Lucky me that the most I had in common with my father was genes."
He chuckles, silencing himself for fear that it would upset me. I'm unsure if it does. "Kid," his voice is low, alcohol staining his breath, "Do you enjoy what you're doing?"
I now chuckle, "No. But that's irrelevant."
He focuses, "I can pull you out of the Covenant," his eyes dart across the hallway, "I have friends that could do so. Damn the weapon, damn the fighting. We could leave, go to the ends of the galaxy where no one could find us. I never enjoyed this life, let's abandon it together."
"I wish I could."
"You can," he urges, "You aren't tied down by duty."
"But I am, in a way that you could never understand," I sigh, "And I'm not referencing honor."
He wrings his hands, slowly as if the skin itself was harmful, "I can't pretend to understand you kid. But I want what's best for you, and I'm starting to think war ain't that."
"You're right," I purse my mandibles, "Maybe once this war is over, then we can go to the ends of the universe. But until then…" my voice fails me.
His hand comes up, clammy yet calm. He rests it on my shoulder.
For a moment I'm back at the space-elevator. Thin wiry hands reaching down at lavender filaments.
Reality rockets back. I hold his wrist in a steel grip, both of us shaking by virtue of my own panic. I let go, feeling like I'm working against my own muscles. He nurses his wrist, yet keeps a calm face.
"Are you sure this is what you want?"
"No," I rest against the wall, "But its what I must do."
As much as my mother was ready to kill anyone who argued against my new placement, there still are some formalities that need to be done.
The Ministry of Resolution's headquarters, named Hall of Records, towers over me. It's an old building, dating back to the original construction of High Charity. They handle anything related to the military including: records of who is stationed where, what their specialties are, any medical conditions, etc. See, because my mother is a Zealot, it should technically be under the Ministry of Fervent Intercession to handle the change, but because I'm technically not becoming a zealot and…
Am I boring you yet? It's shameless bureaucracy that would put even the most zealous san'shyuum to sleep. What matters is that it needs to be done.
Luckily I'll spare you the details. Half a cycle of boring administration later and we exit the building. Only for me to spy Zoya, conversing with an unggoy menial.
My mother follows my gaze, "Is that the squad mate you told me about?"
I nod.
"You didn't mention she was a female," my mother trails a hint of playfulness in her voice.
"I know what you're thinking: No," I respond.
The amusement continues, "Well get to it then." She paces away before I even have the chance to retaliate.
I bite down the annoyance and stumble up to Zoya. She notices my approach and shoos the unggoy away.
"Hey," I greet.
Zoya smiles, mirth spreads across her face, "Following me are you?"
"No," I defend, "I was actually coming here because-"
"I'm just prodding you. You're fun to poke. What can I do for you?"
Why am I so nervous? "I know you said that you didn't want to come with me. But I have a new opportunity, I was given the option to bring someone along. I want you to come with me."
Her smile creases, "What is it that makes you so invested in me?"
"It's not that," I shake my head, "My mother. She came back after all these years. It's kinda a long story. But she's a zealot and wants me to come with her. I asked if I could bring someone along. Hence… this."
Something comes over her. A sense of calm, she pulls me to the side out of direct earshot of everyone around us. "Your father died, now you tell me about your mother. I'm starting to see the oddity that is your life. You said it was a long story, you want something from me, explain."
So I do. I tell her about my childhood, and the explicit differences between ours. Occasionally she nods, or her mandibles widen in some sort of surprise. I can almost see a distant longing in her, she never quite had what I had. She, like almost all sangheili, grew up with no parents. With the attempt to remove bias of family. Her family was always the brethren she grew up with, only she has already made her opinion of them clear.
"I want to reconnect with my mother," I continue, "She's honest, and there's a sort of realization that I haven't seen in anyone else but you."
"I would, but my fear lies in the fact that I would only be a sort of follower to both of you. To give up my own path to follow yours? It feels in line with everything I've tried to avoid, to be the pawn of a male that cares only for himself."
"Then don't be a pawn," I stress, "I don't want you for what you are. I want you for who you are. I've told you my entire life," Or most of it, "People who I like are few and far between, people who the reverse applies are even more sparse."
And I don't want the same thing that happened with Khore to happen with Zoya. I like her too much to risk having to kill her. If I have to manipulate her to side with the humans than it is what I shall do.
"I appreciate the thought, but I can't know your intentions by your word alone."
"Why are you so afraid to trust me?"
The question bites into her and takes hold, "I have my reasons. I'll admit that, but I'm not going to surrender the thought that care is necessary."
I see now, "What happened? Who betrayed you?"
She stumbles, struck by an invisible force. Her hand slips up, and drags over the rough skin of the scar over her eye, "The cold can do terrible things to an individual. Both the cold of weather and the cold of hearts. The way it creeps like an unctuous tumor. It starts out benign, a hushed word here, surface chill there. By the time the frost has crept its way to your heart," She stops, suddenly realizing that she's sharing sensitive information. Her hand darts away faster than I have ever seen her more in combat.
"You don't have to share."
She shakes her head and then the floodgates open, "When I was young, full of wonder and hope, I thought I could impress my way into the Covenant. Everyone on Hylde thought otherwise, even the old dried heap named Tanth who trained me, but I was used to that. Tanth," her voice trails off for a moment caught on the crossroads between nostalgia and hate, "Tanth. He caught me one night. I had spied on the male's training session and was attempting to teach myself to fight. He took pity on me and trained me."
She snarls, "I made the mistake of trusting him, treacherous worm. I thought of all the time we had spent that I could convince him that I was more than just livestock. He repaid my kindness by stranding me in the frozen wilderness," her voice lowers, barely above a whisper, "You have not felt cold, one that slithers into your very soul, the desperate plea for warmth that you know shant come. Trust, hope, will. All words we like to say that mean nothing then. The way the frost creeps into the mind, when you can shiver no more and your thoughts only focus on a single thing. Rage: the will to survive, that's what kept me alive. That's what keeps me going. Trust only slows me down."
"What happened after that?"
She laughs, there's no joy in it, "You should know what happens to nameless females. Nothing happened, what would my word be against a male. They didn't care about my near death, by the gods they reprimanded me for being gone for so long."
"I'm sorry."
"Hah, so were they."
"You killed them?"
"I wish. When the destroyer came to retrieve all the new recruits I demanded entry. They laughed and jeered like they all do," she laughs, a mimicry of how I assumed they did, "They weren't laughing when I forced them to the cold ground. Khore was one of them. I suppose it is divine comeuppance that I was forced to squad with him."
"After a handful of sorties I found myself knowing your impertinent self. I'm sure you can remember the rest."
"Do you ever want to go back to Hylde?"
She grimaces, "No."
"Then what are you trying to prove?"
She hesitates, suddenly looking past me. I try to follow her gaze but I realize that she's lost in thought, "I suppose it's not that I'm trying to prove my worth to an individual," she has a softness to her voice I haven't heard before, "I want to prove myself to the galaxy. That an individual without can do more than one with."
"I don't mean to discount your vision. But doesn't that seem unattainable, a goal that keeps on being pushed further away the closer you get to it."
Her eyes focus, "If you have seen the progress I have made then you wouldn't say so. I shared my goals, what's yours?"
"To end this war."
She laughs, music returning to her voice. It's at me but not in a vindictive way, "I can't see this war lasting much longer. Maybe it is you who should join me, get in some good fights before there are no more humans to kill."
"Maybe. But I can tell you one thing, this war isn't ending soon. At all."
A wave washes over her, a cold realization "You want to save lives."
"I've ultimately come to realize that I make more mistakes than things I do correct. It's a plague that I can't cure. Sometimes I feel like I should stifle the infection. Throw myself to the void where I can cause no more harm."
"Then why don't you?" She isn't accusatory, nor trying to convince me. It's just a moment of extrapersonal introspection.
"That's a good question. I don't think I'll ever really have an answer for that." A sangheili passes by, sending an inquisitory glance as he passes. I give him a wave. "There won't be a happy ending for us. It's the black lie of society. It comes down to the little moments, the glittering ephemeral joys of life. That's why I want you to join me."
"There's plenty more of us out there. You don't need me."
"But I know you. And…" You're more human than most. "I'm afraid of losing this, this connection. My mother. She will understand to an extent, I'm not trying to control you. I just want you, you as an individual."
She shakes her head, "I don't love you. Not like you do me."
As much as I tried to deny it, that I was better than every other person, part of me dies upon hearing that. I had died previously before ever finding what I would call 'true love'. The hopeful part of me always subconsciously wished that Zoya and I had something special.
But there is something nice about the situation. Our own silent camaraderie; our own lament of sacrosanct woes.
"However, I can respect you. Not as a fighter, since you're god awful, nor as a honorable warrior. But as an individual," she hums, a wordless song that rings vaguely familiar, "I'll come with you Vol. Don't make me regret this."
"Thanks, I... " I can't find the words, "Thanks. And Tyrh?"
She dismisses the notion, "I can convince him easily, provided your mother will take him as well."
"She will," I debate asking the next question. It feels wrong to break the bonds of brotherhood, "What about Brok?"
Her mandibles flare, "Leave him. You said you want meaningful connections? He won't give you that. He doesn't know compassion nor kindness."
I smile, it's a scared smile but I can't help it. "How about that? We actually have a team now."
She scoffs, "Three unruly failed rangers, quite the squad."
"I said team, not squad."
"Does the difference matter?"
"To me it does."
"Excellent form Zoya," my mother watches from a couple paces away, having followed the entire duel, "Not as much for you Vol."
I spit out blood on the ground. Cerulean liquid streaking across the ground, "Yeah, I know."
I flop into a nearby chair. The seat grasping me softly after my practice duel with Zoya. My mother watches me with indignity, turning to her star pupil instead, "Who trained you?" she asks Zoya.
"I was trained on Hylde honorable Zealot. By Tanth Kel'Yntrian."
She nods thoughtfully. The 'Kel' in his name denotes a former kaidon. "I thought I recognized the technique. It's a duelist form, leaving yourself open to attacks from others. Remember that when you get in an actual fight."
"Of course honorable Zealot."
My mother turns to me, I can already taste the lecture she's about to give me. "Vol…"
"I know, I know."
"...Don't interrupt me," she snaps, "In spite of your thoughts I was going to say well done. You indeed lost, but you are improving. You are a quick learner, but that's where your faults lie. In battle there is no time for thought, everything must be immediate and rehearsed. You hesitate after every strike, build space when you could be applying pressure," Shaea sighs, watching me slouch in the chair, "Think then act. Don't act and then think."
Tyrh shifts from nearby, eyes focused as he watches our conversation. He's barely moved from the wall since we started training, as if any unneeded thought would cloud his mind.
My mother's armband rings. She focuses on it, pulling the polarized screen towards her face. "I'll return in nary a moment," she walks towards the door, "Practice more in the meantime."
Zoya looks at me hopefully, I spit some more blood out.
Then to Tyrh, he shrugs and moves from the wall.
"At least Tyrh has motivation," Zoya prods. She walks over to the wall, grabs two sparring staffs, tossing one over to Tyrh. Her fingers patter on a device over there. Something crackles… and then music.
A song starts playing. A sort of punk rock song among san'shyuum youth that exploded in popularity during our last tour.
You've got my blood running
You poor little dumb thing
Now that you've let me free
I'll soon have you begging
Tyrh's face scrunches. Zoya laughs and says, "Who says training can't be fun?"
"I'm not disagreeing," he twirls the staff in his hands, "But this is just horrible."
She gets into her stance, "You're starting to sound like one of our elders."
They start the duel. With all the deliberation and speed of trained warriors yet the paradoxical caution and hesitation of training.
Break all the rage
Or you just might not see me coming
Fate, how's it taste
And I'll meet you at the summit
A pause in the duel, Tyrh adjusts his grip while Zoya stalks around him in circles. "Remember the time back on Hylde that…"
Tyrh takes a step back and groans, "By the gods, don't remind me again."
Zoya smiles, eyes distant as she remembers a fond memory.
"Oh come on," I say, "You can't tease a story and then not fill me in."
Tyrh covers his face while Zoya grins, "It was during the winter solstice. The Festival of the Black Sky," she rests on her staff, "This huge local festival. Me and a bunch of other young woman were supposed to do a dance routine near the end. Something for all the old pedophiles to get off on, I'm sure you understand."
"But then…" Tyrh tries to suppress a smile.
"But then!" Zoya chuckles, "Someone had turned the volume up a minutia too high. It started a miniature avalanche for the covering we were under. Buried the entire audience under a thick layer of snow."
I smile, pausing half-way through, "That sounds like a good way to get frostbite."
Zoya dismisses my concern, "You worry too much. Plasma heaters made it so they weren't buried for more than a moment. But our good friend Tyrh," she gestures to him, "We found him upside down, ass presented to the gods themselves."
"And you've never let me forget that since," he covers his face with his hand.
Zoya's smile only grows, "You were the one trying to boast about how agile you were to all the females. Challenged Khore to a race to prove your point."
"We were children, what did you expect of me?"
Zoya gives a mirthful shrug, "To outrun it obviously."
The door to the training dojo opens. My mother strides back in, two more zealots behind her. There's a silent standoff between us, the stark knowledge we were relaxing against the militaristic workload a zealot would expect.
"What is that gods forsaken music?" the zealot to the right of my mother asks. A mountainous sangheili that is contrastingly calm.
"I told you," Tyrh mutters.
Zoya just shrugs yet again and stops the music.
My mother walks over to the center of the room, "Training is over. We have a mission."
"Already?" I ask.
"You three do," she clarifies, "No need to worry. It's a simple mission with a potential for honor."
"Oh?"
The other zealot next to my mother speak up, "'Worry not, those of faith need not fear but the justice of the gods themselves.' Psalm of Faith, 3:4"
"Even more calming," I drawl.
My mother turns to the towering sangheili, "Nthe, show them to the armory. Get them suited up and give them cloaking modules."
"Of course," in spite of his humongous size he bows his head in deference, waiting at the door for us to follow.
"And Avis," my mother turns to the preacher, "Follow me, I have need of your expertise."
"The god's will be done."
Tyrh, Zoya and I walk over to the door. My mother grabs my arm as I pass, whispering in my ear, "Relax, I'm sure you can handle this."
The building shakes with laughter. Among ash drenched golden lamps shrouded in poor lighting and lung-choking air, hundreds of ibie'shan kig-yar scutter like ants. Alcoholic drinks of all types, some homemade lighter fluid, others luxury illegal imports, dance among the denizens. The combined chatter of the compound has caroused into a cacophonous climax, cozy cuisines of all kinds crossing through the chamber as the celebration circumvents all cares of continued sober continence. At the head of it all a single ibie'shan, his chin held high and clothing bejeweled in numerous dissonant trophies, spilling drink as he slams his mug into the table.
It expands like a wave, each ibie'shan who notices joining in slamming on the table. "My comrades," the head ibie'shan starts. My mind recalls him having the self appointed name of Chur'R-Mik. "It is a good day to be a pirate!" Cheers echo from the crowd, "As well as my marriage to my lovely mate, this is a message to all those who thought us nothing more than lowlifes! We are here to stay! Bring out the casks!"
More cheers. The wife looks up from her spot beside Chur'R-Mik, gives a meek smile and gently toasts the celebration, cautiously eyeing more alcohol being brought out.
Above it all, I lie in the rafters. Nothing more than a shimmer in an already heated room. The more time has progressed the more sure I have felt of my safety: They didn't notice me when security first sweeped the compound, they didn't notice me when they started, and they certainly won't notice me as they get increasingly drunk.
"We're through the door," Tyrh says on the comms, "Any reaction?"
I peek over the edge, my eyes happening to lock onto a group of particularly rowdy ibie'shans currently in a drinking competition. A bottle flies out of the closer one's mouth, vomit chasing afterwards.
I reply, "You're good." Laughter wallowing up from below.
"Dare I say I'm starting to miss fighting humans," Zoya comments, "They were at least perceptive enough to catch us."
"Well, when they find some more artifacts we can fight them some." I watch as Chur'R-Mik gathers near the drinking game, forcing himself into the competition, much to the disdain of his now wife. I continue, "In the meantime let's hurry up. At this rate if we're caught they are going to have drunk too much to even try to stop us."
"Vol wants a meaningful fight," Zoya replies in a sing-song voice, "I'm starting to think he is inebriated as well."
I play with a vent on the back of my left leg, feeling the heat emanating through my gauntlet. "At least that would provide some entertainment. What's your status?"
"The same as when you last asked."
Tyrh speaks up, "We're at the vault now: Biometric lock, automated turrets, and a latent EMP field. Everything we were told in the debriefing."
"You can get through it right?" I ask.
"Easily, I just need to-"
Whatever he says next I can't hear over the screeching roar of an alarm. It takes a second for the partygoers down below to realize what's going on, over the already epilepsy inducing lights and music.
God damn it.
I jump down, the sense of vertigo breaking me out of my calm stupor.
I do not so much as land as I use an unfortunate ibie'shan as a landing pad. Crushing him under the weight of my armor. Another moment passes and the surrounding kig-yar realize they're not alone. One of them is different, a T'Vaoan, surprised as all the others. I rush towards her, picking her up, as I activate a detonator with my other hand.
My thruster pack ignites, barreling over a couple unlucky ibie'shans. The explosive charges I had placed on the ceiling explode simultaneously, sending ash coated boulders down. We manage to barrel out the main entrance, an actual physical door that I slam shut and hold as the inhabitants are crushed under the roof.
The T'Vaoan groans, and stands up, coughing as she does so, "Appreciate the help but I could've used a warning darling."
Some pounding on the door that I'm holding shut. With a close rumble it vanishes.
-{}-
Earlier that Cycle
I stare at the ocean colored hologram, taking in every detail about it. My mother steps up from behind me, "This is Kim. She lacks finesse, typical of the kig-yar. But her information is reliable. In fact it will be her's that this mission's success relies upon."
The T'Vaoan slowly rotates on the hologram, lacking the subtle movements to make it look realistic. She has a permanent grin affixed to her muzzle, with such ferocity that even the hologram seems to smugly watch the world spin.
"Provided my confidence is not misplaced you won't interact with her."
"If things go to shit, don't kill her I got it."
"The opposite actually," she presses a plasma pistol into my hands.
"Kill her?"
"Defend her with your life. I'm sure you can accomplish that."
-[]-
Kim looks the same as she did in the hologram, grin and all, just minus the artificial bioluminescence.
"Was wondering when you would show yourself darling," she says, her grin etched onto her tone.
"You knew I was there?"
"The entire plan was my own," she drawls, flexing her back and popping some bones, "Why do you think they didn't check the rafters?"
"Hmph."
She coughs some more, muttering, "Damn Ibie'shans. Don't know how they can handle the air," she wipes some spittle from her muzzle and turns to me, "Considering what happened I assume one of your friends made some mistake."
Her words remind me of the fact that I haven't heard from my squadmates since the alarm went off. "This is Vol," I start, "What's your…"
Zoya's voice crackles over the comms, "We're fine. Stop your worrying."
"Good to hear, what's your situation."
I hear labored breathing, the electronic chatter of plasma fire, "The Kig'yar are not all that happy about us trying to steal their relic." She curses under her breath, "Gods forsaken kig-yar. I'll kill you all!" A pregnant pause followed by her continuing, "Forces are holding us in the vault, nothing we can't handle, but your help would expedite the process."
I turn to Kim who is already facing the pirate cruiser. She either seemed to hear enough to understand or literally overheard my entire conversation, "Fighting's not my forte darling. I'm gonna leave all the dirty business to you and lurk in the meantime."
"You're sure you don't need someone to guard you?"
She scoffs, "From any more drunken males? I'll be fine, thank you."
I nod, "Stay safe. I don't want to find you dead."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
I cross the smoky cityscape. Heading to where the pirate cruiser has crawled into. White lighting sprints across the sky, smoky particles filling the air and blanketing the entire planet in an electromagnetic field. It prods at my shields, slowly wearing them down despite not being in combat.
It's the magnetic field that made this planet such a hotspot for piracy in the first place. Easier to do illegal business when you don't have to worry about someone spying on you, or a stray signal getting out. Combine that with a natural galactic central location as well as enough plausible deniability to make a lawyer squirm, this planet quickly became a large enough headache for the Covenant to pretend it doesn't exist.
Compases are useless here. Only from studying the locale enough do I know exactly where I'm heading. A hangar, minus the guards that are probably dealing with the internal problem, I turn on my cloaking generator and sneak inside.
The cargo space of the ship, however, is full of personnel. The sort of 'innocent' looking dock workers hiding illegal firearms under their clothing. A lightly armored squad of them duck inwards, using a door on the far side of the room. I could theoretically sneak through the opening, but I would have better chances of asking them to let me through.
Well oh well, it isn't like I'm under orders to avoid killing.
I manage to pick off 3 of them before they notice. Workers hidden from their compatriots that collapse with nothing more than a whimper. My mother would disapprove of such 'dishonorable' tactics, but she isn't here to complain.
The fourth assassination is spotted. Rousing the group as they try to locate where I am.
I unlcoak myself. I will give the remaining troops the dignity to know where I'm coming from. This, my mother would approve of.
The hilt of my weapon flies off my hip. The feeling of it in my hand isn't quite home yet, but close enough for the rush of predatory hunger to sweep through me.
-{}-
The dummy crumbles, bisected and spitting out molten nanolaminite in slow dribbles.
"Good cut," Zoya remarks, "I still think your weapon is unwieldy."
I twist it in my hands. The twin ghostly white blades extend out of the hilt a little over two-thirds of my height as the blade, hooked at the end like a crescent moon. A curved crossguard sticks out above the grip, and two parrying spikes further along the blade. A 'makeshift' fuller extends down the shaft of the blade, reminiscent of the gap in a typical energy sword but closed at the end. Not to toot my own horn, but it's a beautiful weapon, however, yet to be tested in actual combat.
My sword sheaths with a gasp, the smell of ozone retreating. "It's meant to be used with two hands," I reply to Zoya, handing her the hilt for her to experiment with, "Gives you more leverage in combat."
She snorts, "It's going to get you killed. Do you expect your enemies to give you time to change weapons?"
"Not if I kill them all first."
-[]-
The weapon screams through the air, cutting an unfortunate ibie'shan in half.
I now realize a partial advantage, my sword is extremely light. Far lighter than the European longswords of old.
A brilliant wall of plasma greets me. My shields are already weak from the atmosphere, so I hold my sword in front of my body, the supercharged energy field deflecting plasma away.
I vanish behind one of the cargo containers. Over the ambient noise of combat I can hear them stalk over. I stick my blade in the ground, brace myself with the hilt and kick the crate away. It tumbles, metal on metal screeching as sparks fly around us. A stab, towards the nearest kig-yar. He falls.
8 left.
One is hit by the crate, and is slammed unconscious.
7
Another one steps too close to me. I thunder over to him. Another swipe and another one dead.
Move
Plasma races into my back, my shields crackling and falling. Subconscious instincts keep me alive, another cargo container in the clustered hanger becoming my cover.
They take a wide arc now, afraid of a repeat attack of last time.
I climb over the box, vaulting over as shots whizz past. I dig the tip of my blade into the ground, flinging towards the right side sending red hot liquid metal in their direction. It buys me enough time to face left and rush the two enemies there.
An overhead swipe. The kig-yar sidesteps and pulls in close, trying to use the size of my weapon against me; priming to stab an energy dagger into my gut. I grab my sword and pull it in, the crescent end catching the ibie'shan in the neck and decapitating her.
The next closest one scrambles away on all fours. I run up, grabbing him by his neck, holding him in front of me with one hand using him to block incoming shots. His body shutters as plasma strikes him.
The distance between the remaining 4 closes.
Dodge low, sweep the feet, aim for the chest. Another one dead.
Wide arc, create space. Push towards one, dodge around and strike.
One of the last two tries to stab me in the back with another dagger. Angle my body so that my shields deflect the blow and riposte.
The last one drops his weapon, scrambles on the ground, trying to hide away, "Please. I'll forget I ever saw anything."
I take a moment to catch my breath, "Sorry, can't leave any witnesses."
He doesn't put up a fight.
A moment to survey the graveyard I created, the feeling of danger ticking at my neck. My adrenaline dies down, replaced by the satisfaction of a battle won.
Enough wasting time, I need to push deeper into the ship.
Another open room, on the path to the vault. Some break room with crew quarters leading off in the side. Two kig-yar are suspended up on the ceiling, a trap having been placed there and now anti-gravity pressing them onto the metal with nothing else to do but look at me fearfully.
"I'll be back for you two later."
They nod in response.
By the time I finally reach the vault Tyrh and Zoya just finish up clearing out the stragglers. A cursory glance on myself and they can tell that there isn't much fighting left to be done.
Zoya groans, "Shouldn't have asked for your help, the fight was just getting good."
I look at Tyrh, "You have the artifact?"
He pulls it from behind his back, where it was attached to one of the hardpoints on his armor.
I nod, "What even happened? I thought you said the security would be no problem."
He shrugs, "It's on my honor, but I have no idea. I ran the decryption algorithm your mother gave me. Cleared the system but set the alarm off."
"Well doesn't really matter now does it?" I respond, "By the way you left two friends in the ship's break room. Probably should go deal with them."
"Two friends-" his face scrunches. "Oh. Yeah."
He hands me the artifact, "I'll deal with them. Get this out of here."
"Killing an already incapacitated enemy? Dishonorable," Zoya scoffs, "You're better than this Tyrh."
He bends down and grabs two discarded plasma pistols. "I'll give them a fighting chance. Not that it will mean much. But at least they will have the chance to die with honor."
"Do you need help then?" I ask.
He chuckles, "Do you think so low of me Vol?"
"Just giving you the option."
"I'll be fine. I'll meet you outside the ship, it shouldn't take me long."
We depart, Tyrh heading back to the crew quarters while Zoya and I exit the ship. As we leave, an individual rounds the corner, meeting us eye-to-eye with burning hatred.
The baron's wife, covered in a dust cloak. Her eyes are frenzied watching each individual particle of ash fall to the earth. In a trembling hand she holds a device, primed and emitting a loud whistling sound, in the other a plasma pistol aimed directly at us. "I swear, take another step closer and I'll end us all."
Zoya emits a low grow. I rest my hand on her arm, sharing a look that's enough to calm her down.
"What do you want?" I ask.
She jerks her free hand holding a plasma pistol, "The artifact, a crew, my ship. And a fucking apology letter."
"I can't do that."
She fires, a shot flies right over my shoulder, "You're not in a position to negotiate. I know what you cock suckers like. Honor and all that bullshit. Try dying honorable in an explosion, losing to a lowly kig-yar woman"
"Vol," Zoya whispers.
"Relax," I whisper back, "Listen…"
"No you listen shithead," she interrupts. "I'm not gonna let you fuckers take this from me, and if I have to kill myself to stop you then…"
That's all she gets. Plasma covers her back, wrapping around her in a grim hug. A moment of realization washes over her, anger, fear then nothing.
Movement ontop of a nearby building. A catlike form drops down from the roof and lands in front of us.
Zoya readies her energy sword but I stop her.
"Thanks for the help Kim," I say.
She nods, "Of course, you dropped this darling."
She hands me a plasma pistol. It's high quality, right off of the High Charity assembly vats. My mind realizes a moment later it's the same one that my mother handed me before the mission.
I frown, which in turns makes her only more elated. "Relax darling, it ended fine anyways."
"Don't do it again."
She grins, trailing her fingers on my glove as she retracts her hand, "Or what?"
I ignite my weapon. The sword blazing out long enough to make her reflexively take a step back, "Got you," my weapon dies, already reaching the end of its short battery life, "Seriously though. Don't."
"Hah, my sister would like you."
Tyrh emerges from the depths of the ship. More blood on him, but none if it is his own. He gives a curt nod.
The mission's over now. The final order was supposed to detonating the explosives I set up. But that's obviously a null need now. We return to the ship hidden away in the nearby hangar. My mother is waiting on the landing ramp as we approach. One look, spotting the blood, marks, ash and evidence of battle and she nods.
The test was never to get the artifact. But we passed nonetheless. No congratulations, no reward, just the knowledge that we can continue. Her mandibles curve into the grim sister of a smile.
Dare I say, it feels good to be back on High Charity. Albeit my otherwise unusual location: a sangheili youth boarding academy, next to a luxurious manor, built into the wall of the Western Tower in High Charity. The hands-on approach of teaching sangheili youth has been traded for a general education program, an uncomfortable amount of sangheili childlings out in an artificial field. As Tyrh and I pass by I can feel their collective attention lock onto us, whispered tales of imagined valor being shared among them.
Honestly I kind of like it. It's been so long since I've had someone look up to me.
Tyrh seems to catch where my attention lies, "You were once raised here, right?"
I nod, "I had my own household, I went to a school on a lower level for teaching. Most of these kids probably have some benefactors; some parent or relative who wants to guarantee their success."
"It wasn't like that on Hylde," Tyrh notes.
"This is High Charity, every metal slab, every arch, light, and hallway probably has some bribe behind it. Hell the only reason I even went to the academy I did is because my father knew some sangheili councilmen."
We silence ourselves, coming upon the manor. Two sangheili guards stand guard past a great gilded gate. The gate itself is just for show, if I found some way past it I would most likely have plasma lodged in my skull before I could take another step.
"We're here on Zealot Shaea's orders, delivery for the Prophet of Learning."
The guards nod, "Continue."
The gate swings open. Behind lies a delicate garden, exotic species of plants from every planet I know and probably every system I don't. Purples, magentas, navy blues, sky blues, every shade of the same boring I've seen for my entire second life. Surrounded by fountains and waterways probably worth their weight in gold. But even then, I have to admit, there's a sort of beauty to it all. Otherworldly wealth I can only dream of.
Tyrh brushes his gauntlet against a passing leaf. The plant pulls back at his touch, "Useless pleasantries. Imagine what could be done if this effort was put to other use."
"There's always going to be some san'shyuum with a penchant for grandiose displays of wealth."
Tyrh questions, "You are fine with this?"
"Of course not, but it's gonna happen regardless," we pass by a fountain, I can feel the cool moisture in the air, "Besides, the Prophet of Learning is rather good for his kind. His power comes from control of education on High Charity, if he was bad at his job he wouldn't be here."
"By your own word he probably paid for his position."
I chuckle, "He didn't. His ancestors did. His family effectively inherited the position. The only place for them to go from here is High Prophet, and that's not happening. So he made damn sure they can't replace him."
We silence ourselves as we come upon the front door to the manor. Two more guards outside, who let us through when we explain our purpose. The interior is as you would expect, glimmering floating chandeliers, stairwells that would make an arthritic cry, and more space than they know what to do with.
A unggoy servant meets us at the door, gives us the expected pleasantries and leads us deeper into the manor. We enter an elevator in the back of the manor, with windows watching the interior of the building as we ascend. The population of workers alone could probably field an entire platoon.
We reach the top floor, a single hallway leading to another grandiose door. Two more guards there who nod as we pass. And then we enter the study. Not surprisingly the room is ginormous, the walls lined with bookcases with what I think are actual books. The entire room is partially supported by wooden structures, completely unnecessary, giving it an almost log cabin feel. The Prophet of Learning sits behind a wooden desk on his antigravity chair. Behind him is a screen… no a window, opening to the vastness of space. It climbs up the entire wall.
"Ah, perfect timing!" The Prophet of Learning stands up, beckoning us over, "I would come over to greet you myself, but my knees aren't what they used to be."
His assistant, another san'shyuum next to the desk, meets us in between. "That's far enough," the assistant orders, "You can hand me the artifact and leave."
"Relax Sark," the Prophet of Learning says, "They risked their life to help, I think we can trust them."
The assistant grumbles and steps to the side. Tyrh stays behind as I walk up. The artifact, small enough to fit in one hand, is retrieved from my armor and placed on the table. The Prophet of Learning grabs it excitedly, holding it up to his eye, examining the seemingly shifting surface, "Exquisite! My dear child you may have ushered in a new age of technology!"
I smile, he's exaggerating obviously. "Of course Holy Prophet," I respond.
He sets the artifact on the desk and focuses on me, "Vol 'Zotanee, correct?" He doesn't wait for me to respond, "You attended the Sangheili Youth Academy on the 42nd level. I am glad to see you have made such a noble profession from your teachings."
"I, uh, thank you."
Sark jumps back into the conversation, "You shall address his holiness with the proper respect. Holy Prophet, Your Eminence, My Lord are all proper titles."
The Prophet of Learning smiles, affable and wide, "It's okay Sark. We can skip the titles for now," he leans forward and rests his arms on the table, "We are all equal here, I can't in good conscience lord my title over you when I haven't seen a lick of combat."
"I thank you. Again?"
He laughs, resting his hands on his belly as he does so, "Wondrous, simply wondrous!" He straightens himself, grabbing his glass and taking a gulp of wine, "Eh, but I must be wasting your time. My dearest apologies. I'm sure you must have other duties to attend to, we want not be restful when wickedness plagues our society, yes? I thank you once again my good friend and pray that the gods are ever favorable upon you."
"Of course Holy Prophet."
Sark nods, seemingly partially satisfied and ushers us back to the elevator. The same unggoy servant meets us at the door and guides us down. As we exit the building back into the garden Tyrh comments, "I'm not quite sure I like him."
"He was nice," I respond, "Better than most san'shyuum I run into."
"He can afford to be nice V," he frowns, using the nickname he gave me back on our first mission, "It would be far more telling of his character if he had to help us."
He has a point, but, "I'm going to choose to believe that he was nice because he's a nice person. Besides, what are the chances we'll run into him again?"
Tyrh's face loosens, "You're happier than normal V."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not explicitly," he replies, "I'm just pointing out an observation."
I snort, "Observe away. I suppose things are finally starting to go my way. It has the unfortunate consequences of plaguing me with terminal happiness."
He frowns, "Are you sick."
I laugh, "It was just a joke."
"I see."
We approach the gate, the guards let us pass. The academy grounds are now empty, probably continuing their next lesson. Tyrh and I fall into the waves of the crowd, sparse and slow of current.
Suddenly Tyrh stops, gazing ahead at a figure. A sangheili, wearing civilian clothes, the parts still showing revealing numerous surgery scars. The most blighting fact being a missing right arm.
"Oh shit," I recognize him, "Brok."
Rage overcomes him, spittle dripping out his mouth as he yells, "Vol! Scum, you robbed me of everything!"
Tyrh tries to placate him, stepping between us, "Brok, listen…"
"No!" he pushes him aside, Tyrh letting it happen. The exertion seems to immediately exhaust Brok, stumbling on his feet as he breathes deeply to stabilize himself, "You left me in a fate worse than death."
"I saved your life," I plead.
"And rid me of my honor," his voice dies down, but it doesn't tame his anger, "Face me. I will show the entire galaxy the coward you are."
I shake my head, "No. I'm sorry for what happened, but I'll stand behind my decision. I couldn't let you die."
My statement furthers his fury. He tries to punch me with his remaining arm, it's slow and sloppy. I step to the side, and his momentum causes him to tumble. I catch him, my armor breaking one of his recently healed wounds and trickling blood down me.
I realize my mistake as I do it. He pushes me away with all his remaining strength, "I don't need your help. I don't need you," he coughs, spitting blood onto the ground, "You will never know peace again, I will be sure of that."
Tyrh tugs at my shoulder, whispering into my ear, "Let's go. The longer you stay the worse it will get."
Brok doesn't overhear this but he understands the message, focusing on Tyrh with laser attention, "I trusted you. We were family," poison echoes from his voice, "A dishonorable parasite has overcome you all."
"I…" I close my mouth, slowly walking away. Brok tries to follow, taking a couple unsteady steps before collapsing back onto his knees. A passing group of san'shyuum laugh at his predicament while another sangheili minor gives him a dirty gaze and shakes his head.
What have I done?
Brok steps into his new housing, trickling blood behind him. A package sits just inside the door, medication. Take one during every morning and evening.
"Useless!" the pills fly across the room, thwacking into the far wall and spilling the interior everywhere.
He screams, hoping that everyone on High Charity can hear it.
The screams morph into tears.
"Damn them all!" He's on the ground. When did that happen?
He steadies himself, he's better than this. There's a vague approximation of a chair in the middle of the room, blurred through his vision. He collapses in it. It's uncomfortable, eating away at him like an unctuous blaze.
The door opens, "Come to apologize?" Brok growls.
He turns, it's not who he expected.
A san'shyuum floats in, stopping momentarily as he notices his predicament.
"What do you want weakling?" Brok growls.
"Ah, is that a way to treat a guest?" the san'shyuum comes over beside Brok, keeping a respectful distance away, "I'm not your enemy. I heard what happened. I'm terribly sorry, no faith inherent like yourself should have to suffer like this."
Brok's anger is tempered, if ever so slightly, "Get to the point san'shyuum, or remove yourself."
The san'shyuum's fingers brush against Brok's stump. Immediately the offending hand is imprisoned in Brok's remaining grip. "Don't."
The san'shyuum slowly retracts his hand, "Believe it or not I can commiserate with you to an extent. Having people look down at us."
Brok chuckles, against his own very wishes, "You know nothing of me."
The san'shyuum smiles, a warm friendly expression, "No. I don't. But I want to. I want to let you be the hero that you can be. That's why I came to you with this offer."
"Snake oil to be presumed."
"Not at all," the san'shyuum picks up an offending pill from the ground, "I can give you a new arm. Give you back what you lost, make you stronger than you once were."
The offer strikes him like the blast that injured him. In the nightmare that is his reality this feels like a cruel glimpse of heaven. "Why?"
The san'shyuum smiles, "I have a soft spot for those who are downtrodden. Reality hasn't been just to you, we both can see that clearly. I want to attempt to right that wrong. An honorable servant of the gods such as yourself shouldn't be confined the rest of his days to namelessness."
"And of the person who did this to me?"
"I'll let you decide what to do there. A life for a life perhaps."
It feels too good to be true. But, it would be foolish to turn down an offer like this. Hesitantly Brok reaches out his remaining hand, "I accept."
The san'shyuum returns the shake, "Excellent. My name is Elkh, it is an absolute pleasure to be of assistance. Let us go, there is much to be done."
02/05/2531
5 Years Later
The shackles on the prisoner tighten with each flinch. My plasma rifle digs into his back, shoving him forward through the lesser levels of High Charity. His skin is a swampy mottled gray, malnutrition and scurvy evident. He's past the point of trying to negotiate with me, any chance of escaping silenced with our arrival to High Charity.
Passersbys watch us as we maneuver by. It isn't enough to have been captured, the system demands he be humiliated in front of the public.
The draconic gates of the Third Cloister Holding Cells loom over him. I push him through the door, and into the main foyer. A jiralhanae on guard, grins as I approach, summoning two more to take him away.
"Mrosze of clan Vridin," I inform the jailkeeper, "Charges of: heresy, theft, defamation and treachery."
The jiralhanae licks his lips, "Noted. Anyone going to miss him?"
"They're dead."
He grins, exhibiting numerous failing teeth, "Good. We'll make sure to take good care of him."
I holster my plasma rifle, "Keep him alive for the time being. Still need him interrogated."
The jiralhanae frowns. The mere fact that I tried ordering him ticking him off. "You don't…"
"Take it to the Ministry of Fervent Intercession if you want to complain," I challenge him back, "Until then, keep him alive. I'm sure you have plenty of other pets to play with."
He grinds his teeth, but utters a near-silent, "Understood."
I nod and leave the room. Someone is waiting for me outside, "Mother, so good to see you again."
"Walk with me," she strides off through the lower levels of High Charity. Unggoy menials tumbling out of our way as we pass, "Excellent work on your mission. Any interesting details?"
"He tried hiding as we approached. Some old local planetary defense bunker. He forgot about ventilation, so we started an inferno near the duct system, burned away most of the existing oxygen, sucked away the rest. By the time he crawled out he practically fell into our grasp," a menial accidentally drops a crate as me moves to avoid us. Surrounding unggoy help him pick it up, "He already sold the artifact, however, your friends should be interrogating him shortly and then we'll pursue the lead."
"Belay that order," she says, "We have a new mission."
"That's why you went out of your way to find me."
"Am I not allowed to converse with my son?"
"You are, but we both know you have some important mission to do instead," We pass by some unggoy beggars. They cover themselves as we approach, the mere idea of asking us for assistance would be insulting. I continue, "Come on, new mission. Tell me what it is: Heist, raid on a settlement, assassination? Oh, maybe stealing another ship."
She swats me on the back of my head, "Something new. Partially. The humans, they've found a Holy World. The Prophet of Regret is in danger, we're to rendezvous, assist in securing the location and ensure his safety."
It takes a surprising amount of willpower to maintain my aloof manner. In the past couple cycles I've been fortunately lucky to only have minimal contact with humans. In spite of what it appears in the games, they really don't have much to interact with the forerunners. Most interactions I've had since Vulcan have just been the occasional scouring of an already conquered planet.
"Details?" I ask.
She continues walking, "I'll tell you in route. Gather your squadmates, time is of the essence," she pauses, a motherly instinct breaking through her rough exterior, "Have you and Zoya…"
"No."
"Well get onto it, I want grandkids."
"No."
She smiles, a rare thing. Whispering under her breath, "You need to get laid."
"Yes, the more you tell me the more likely it is to happen," I drawl.
She paces away, minutely waving as she leaves, putting away her smile with practiced ease.
Luckily she didn't sense my hearts hammering away. I've already heard filtered tales about where I think we're heading. A thought that's only confirmed when I eventually go to the briefing.
"A holy world, befouled by the human's presence," My mother says in the briefing room, "Or as the humans have named: Arcadia."
Next chapter bois!
Vol's weapon is loosely based off of a combination of the Ikakalaka and Zweihander. If you don't want to google those, it's effectively the Crucible from Doom Eternal.
Also: HOLY SHIT ARCANE FUCKING SLAPS. If you don't know what I'm talking about it's the League of Legends TV show on Netflix.
Unfortunately this chapter is both a bridge to the next arc and a timeskip. I tried to make it as interesting as I could, and I wanted more detail during the time skip, but there's a point where I have to throw in the towel and call it quits. This chapter is long enough as is.
Game OST for this chapter is: Ku's First Flight - Gareth Coker (Ori and the Will of the Wisps)
If you want an invite to the halo fanfiction writers discord to chat or play infinite with us send me a PM.
Till next time. Next stop: Halo Wars 1