In Which Tevis Uses His Bow


It's not the waking, it's the rising
It is the grounding of a foot uncompromising
It's not forgoing of the lie
It's not the opening of eyes
It's not the waking, it's the rising

Nina Cried Power – Hozier


?

He was raised in pure darkness and absolute silence. Honestly, it wasn't much different from being dead. The only sensory input he had was the soft coolness of the air on his face and the hard ground beneath him.

The dimmest of lights edged into his field of view, and he realized his eyes were open. And he realized he had eyes. And he realized he had a head, and shoulders, and a body.

He sat up. "Welcome back," the light whispered. She sounded nice. "You have been dead a while. I know this is confusing."

He tried to speak, but the words he wanted to say stuck in his windpipe. He coughed and experienced the sensation of taste for the first time as something coated his tongue and throat. Dirt, his brain told him.

He knew he shouldn't know that, but he didn't know how. "Why am I in a cave?" he finally got out. How did he know he was in a cave?

"Humanity has suffered a great catastrophe," the light said. "You died. You have been dead for decades. You might have been seeking shelter, but we are very deep underground. I don't know."

"I don't remember any of that," he rasped. He wanted something to wash the taste of decay from his mouth, but he didn't have anything on him besides some thin clothing. There was nothing around him but stone and a thin layer of washed-up clay.

"You wouldn't," the light said. "From what I understand, you Risen don't remember much of anything from your first lives."

"Risen," he tried the word out. "I am Risen?"

"One of many," the light said, "but not enough. I am a Ghost. Your Ghost, more specifically." She drifted a bit closer and deposited something on the floor. It was a plastic card of some kind. "This was the only thing you had with you that hasn't rotted away. I think it's yours."

The Risen picked it up. The Ghost shifted herself so he could study it by her light. It was very scratched, but he could make out the name. There was a picture on it, and a date of birth that made no sense.

"Does it look like me?" the Risen asked.

The Ghost shifted herself again, looking him in the face. He squinted against her flashlight before she remembered to dim it. "I think so," she said.

"I guess that's my name," the Risen said. Names were novel. Everything was novel. Even the idea of novelty. "What is your name?"

"I don't have one, yet," the Ghost said.

Tevis Larsen stood up. The world was silent, save for the beating of his heart and his breathing. The space loomed around him, so he spoke to fill it. "Okay, so I am alive. Now. Guess I wasn't earlier. And I'm in a cave. Should…"

"I think heading for the surface would be a good idea," the Ghost said. "You will starve eventually, and I think that would hurt."

Tevis Larsen nodded. He took the confusion and the curiosity and set it aside to wrestle with at a later date. He had a goal now: get to the surface.

As it turned out, Tevis Larsen was really good at caving.


Some Guardians believe those first few minutes, hours, days after being Risen are very important. You are a fresh slate, some would argue, those beginnings shape you and set you on your path. Others would say that a Guardian's personality and drive are inherent, that there is one true path set for you to follow, and it only takes time to find it.

Both would hold true for Tevis, in time.

It took him 28 hours to get out. His Ghost told him that. Underground, there was nothing to differentiate one moment from the next. He got lost too many times to count. Once, he was sure he had found a way to the surface, but it was several dozen meters up an unclimbable shaft. Eventually the smell of life and the barest glimmer of natural light lead him to an opening he could climb through.

He emerged in the late afternoon of a stunningly clear day. His first experience with the Sun was being blinded by it. The warm kiss of its rays felt too hot after the cool of the underground. The wind whistled over stone like a banshee wailing. The sound of his breathing was swallowed up by the endless sky and the sound of foliage rustling.

Tevis Larsen was raised in pure darkness and absolute silence, and the world had seemed blinding ever since. So he thought, Okay, if the world is too loud, I'll just be louder.

Tevis Larsen became what would be known as a Gunslinger. He was brash and loud. He danced and sang. He spoke of his travels often with both Humans and Risen. (With the Fallen, his gun did the talking.) He never stayed in one place for very long. At first, it was because he found himself at odds with the social niceties. He didn't know when to laugh at their jokes. He'd startle when they put a hand on his shoulder. People found him threatening, even if all he did was look them in the eyes.

But even after he learned when to laugh and that staring was rude, he kept moving. No matter how loud he yelled, life became too hot. Every strand that tethered him to a place, every acquaintance and favorite haunt and romantic fling burned too bright.

He found a few places he'd tentatively call his, where his name sounded like music on people's lips. He could leave for years at a time but was always welcomed back. He bounced around. Back then, he thought that might be the solution to living; spreading himself so thin that even he couldn't notice the chafing manacles the world placed on him. He knew companionship. He learned of storytelling and sewing and cooking from the people, and he taught them to fight. It was nice.

After his first village burned at Warlord hands, he learned how foolish he had been. The solitude had been a minor discomfort in comparison to the pain of loss. He killed everyone responsible, then picked himself up and kept moving. Shifting from place to place, like hopping from one foot to another on the hot sand. He'd show up, kill the local Fallen problem (or Risen problem, if it was bad), stay a few days, then leave, never to be seen again.

He wandered. Loneliness was so constant a companion he stopped noticing it. Centuries passed.

Eventually the City was founded, and he came to Tallulah Fairwind's call to defend it. She was a casual acquaintance, but basically the closest thing Tevis had to a friend. (A lot of Hunters were like that, in the early days. The world was larger back then.) Six Fronts was hard. He fought with many people. But once the Fallen retreated, he left. There was nothing to tie him to such a populous place.

He'd stay the night sometimes in a settlement or at some other Risen's camp (they were called Guardians at this point, but he stuck to the old ways). There was always some indescribable sense of friction that made him move on once morning broke. All the words he left unspoken burned heavy in his chest, like molten lead. It was a weight he struggled daily to carry, but carry it he did.

But even he couldn't stay friendless for three hundred years. People stuck around, too stubborn or too kind for their own good. He found himself enjoying their company, laughing at their jokes, relaxing. The thought terrified him. Risen were safer than mortals, untouched by time, but he knew intimately how easily they could die. He'd seen too much loss to bear.

He hadn't really thought about what would happen if he died first, until it happened.


March 23, 2789; The Cosmodrome, Earth

Tevis realized that this was it.

They'd been foolhardy, perhaps, to wander so deep into the Cosmodrome. In the end it would be a good thing for Humanity. Their Ghosts had gotten some emergency pings off. The City would know what they'd found, even if the Guardians never lived to deliver the news in person. This Hive nest was small yet. It could be wiped out with some organized effort.

It was still large enough to cause the fireteam of three Hunters significant troubles. Three Gunslingers had gone in, loud and joking and full of confidence. Now, two miles of caves and four hundred and twenty-seven Hive kills later, they were facing down certain death.

Cayde-6's left leg had been truncated messily below his knee by an explosion. He was sitting in a pool of hydraulic fluid and coolant. He leaked oil from a dozen other wounds over his frame. His horn was cracked and his left optic had gone out. He was considerably better off than Andal Brask still, who was dead. The older Gunslinger, ever the responsible one, had made the sacrifice play against the Knight they'd run afoul of. But there wasn't enough Light here to get him back up again. There wasn't even enough Light to heal the cut on Tevis's forehead or his mangled right wrist. They were so far from the Sun.

Cayde was babbling nonsense, patting Andal's face as if to wake him from a particularly deep sleep. Their two Ghosts settled nearby, internal Lights dim and helpless. Tevis's own Ghost hovered weakly over his shoulder. She had no more encouragement left to offer.

Cayde chocked on his own grief. For just a moment, there was absolute silence.

Then the screams began.

Tevis realized he was going to die. Really, truly realized it. He'd known it in theory, but theory was a different thing than looking down the Hive Wizard and her endless swarm of Thrall with nothing but a knife and a steel-toed boot to hold them off.

There was no hope. Before, in his centuries of exploring, there had always been a chance, a backup, another exit to try. Here, his knees were unsteady and the swarm of thrall blocked any hope of an escape. The dim lights of the Wizard's shields illuminated only the writhing hordes.

The sight was too much. He closed his eyes, rendering the world down to blackness. He couldn't lie well enough to dredge any optimism in his soul, so he accepted it. If he was going to die, he didn't want to be scared about it. They could take his life, but he refused to let them make him afraid. He'd always hated being afraid.

And there, in the dank tunnel some hundreds of meters below Earth's surface, Tevis found a sweet moment of peace.

And his fingertips tingled.

And his Ghost perked up, just a little bit.

There was icewater in Tevis's veins, but he didn't feel cold. It was strange; they were so deep underground, so far from the memory of the Sun's warm kiss. Farther still from the Traveler or any Guardians who could lend them strength. Yet, impossibly, he felt stronger.

But he didn't need the Sun. This cave was ancient, millions of years old. Like the cave he'd been Raised in. Maybe there was some force this structure could lend him, if the Sun was out of reach. All he'd have to do was listen.

His feet seemed to sink deeper into the Hive gunk on the floor. The cool, damp air only had one question to ask him. What are you willing to give?

Tevis didn't have to answer to know. There was a shape in his hand, and the shape was death. His death, maybe, but also theirs. When he drew the string back, it was not tension that fought his hand, but gravity.

And then Tevis realized he was going to live. Really, truly realized it. He knew in theory, but theory was a different thing than looking down the Hive Wizard with the end of all things in your hands and power making your bones hum like tuning forks.

Tevis Larsen was raised in pure darkness and absolute silence, but when he drew his Bow, he learned there more than one way of seeing and more than one way to listen.


They made it out that day, barely, staggering from inky Hive blackness into the weak sunlight of a Russian winter day. Their amor was shattered, ripped, held on with literal ribbons and bits of string. They had no working firearms between the three of them. Their troubles hadn't ended with the Wizard. Their troubles hadn't even ended when they made it out of the Hive nest- they nearly froze to death, soaked in cave mud and blood and sweat as they were, out in the winter cold. When backup finally arrived, it found them huddled in an overturned transport, blue-lipped and numb, hydraulics freezing up.

But they made it out. Cayde and Andal never mentioned the Bow. They made no comment the next time he pulled it in battle, or the next. Cayde would mock his fashion sense. He'd parody Tevis's accent. He'd start arguments for no damn reason, just to see Tevis angry. But he never once even gave Tevis the side-eye (or side-optic, as it was) for his newfound connections.

Others would exclaim surprise or barrage him with questions, but Andal did not. He gave Tevis space. He passed no judgment on the new Nighstalker, and did not appear to be reserving any. Until-


November 11, 2789; Near Old El Paso, Earth

"You seem happier now."

Tevis's eyes moved to find Andal, though the rest of his body stayed still. Neither of them had spoken for an hour. Andal Brask was always in his own head during the night and Tevis wasn't one to break silences. With Cayde gone, quiet ruled between them. The fire was the loudest thing at their small campsite, even though the dry wood didn't crackle much.

You'll have to be more specific, Tevis could have said. But he knew Andal Brask well enough, knew the thoughtful looks the Gunslinger had been shooting him as of late. "I suppose so," Tevis replied instead.

Andal nodded. Tevis realized the statement had been a question of sorts. He followed up. "Don't think I was much cut out for Solar, anyway."

"I'm just glad you finally found something that... suits you," Andal said. Tevis raised an eyebrow at the word finally. Andal shrugged with one shoulder, letting a lopsided grin slide onto his face. "Don't get me wrong, you were fantastic with the Gun. But I could see it was eating at you."

Tevis nodded, because had seen Guardians lose it like that before. They would burn out in glory or smolder in endless fire, commit suicide by risky missions and foolhardy revenge. He'd walked that line. But Andal was right, the burning regret and rage in his chest had gotten lighter. Maybe he'd found some acceptance in that Hive Tunnel along with his Bow.

"Add control was always something we had trouble dealing with, anyway," Andal continued on. His eyes twinkled in humor, shoulders so loose it was impossible to mistake him for seriousness. "Seriously, three Golden Guns? We could kill any Baron in the land, but a solid pack of Vandals could have posed a challenge. Plus, I finally get to re-collect on that bet Cayde and I made."

"Bet?" Tevis said.

"Every new Hunter Cayde and I meet, we make a bet on what Subclass they are. He won, with you. Until now."

"We've known each other for seventeen years," Tevis protested. "Surely..."

"I'm patient," Andal replied, stretching his hands out towards the flame. He looked like a cat, flexing his fingers like that.

The Nightstalker chuckled and shook his head. "As long as I'm around to see Cayde's reaction when you try to collect."

"Deal," the Gunslinger said easily.