Chapter 35: Dead Light
The Hunter's cloak was unmistakable. Not only that, the man stood like any self-respecting Hunter would. He was lithe, lightly armoured, and poised to strike. The bow he held was elegant and decorated with flowing patterns reminiscent of Void. He had no quiver. Ikharos didn't think he would need one, what with carved Light filling his hands.
His fellow, the Titan, was clad in plate that looked to have been ripped straight from a tank and crudely reforged to fit his muscled frame. His battleaxe leaned against his shoulder, shrouded in petrified flames. Zigzagging marks dotted his forearms like bolts of Arc and culminated in a spiked mass in the palm of his free hand.
"They're... like you?" Formora asked so very softly. "Your people were here before?"
Ikharos nodded. He didn't know what to say. If there was anything to say. The statues were larger than life, but the details were so acute and the accuracy so on point that their existence couldn't have been a mere passing fantasy to the sculptors.
Even Kiphoris was struck by the sight before them. "Lightbearers..." He whispered.
"I don't know who they are," Ikharos admitted, "but I know what they are. That's a Nightstalker. And that's a Striker." He pointed first at the Hunter, then at the Titan. "And they're certainly Risen. No wonder the dwarves worshipped them... Wait... they made dragons?" He turned to face Formora.
"It's a myth," she explained, though she seemed unsure of herself. "Gods don't exist. The dwarven gods, in any case..."
"But they did exist. Only they weren't true gods." A flutter of hope burst to life in his heart. "We might not be alone after all. The Exo was right."
"Didn't he say they were dead?"
"They could hold out," Ikharos reasoned. "This place is a fortress. They could have kept themselves out of Nezarec's grasp."
A flurry of motion grasped his attention. Melkris peered down the next tunnel, wire rifle drawn and primed. "I see something!" He hissed. "Light! I see light ahead!"
Almost as one they all raised their weapons. Kiphoris afforded the statues one last cursory look before joining the shockshooter. "We cannot waste time!"
He activated his pistols and sword, and briskly marched onwards. The rest of them followed suit. The next tunnel was of higher quality than the ones before. It was carved into a hexagonal shape lined with grey stone. Ikharos, on a whim, trailed his fingers across it as he walked. Smooth didn't begin to describe it; it was like polished wood. Or a manufactured sheet of metal. The craftsmanship of the place was incredible. The idea that humans - neohumans, in truth, but not magically inclined neohumans like the Awoken - had carved it beggared belief.
There was light ahead. Bright yellow light, all-encompassing light, not the gloom or blinding flashlight glare they had in the statue cavern. The walk to the next room didn't take long. It opened up before them, bathed in gentle lamplight. Heavy stone coffins lined the side of the room, all well preserved. The tombs were numerous, numbering in the hundreds. They were short, as if made for children - or dwarves.
Ikharos lifted the lid off one. A short humanoid skeleton rested within. The bones were thicker than those of any neohuman race he knew. "So this is a dwarf," he murmured.
The dead dwarf still wore its armour. The suit of chainmail was rent over where he suspected the heart would have been. It looked like a wild beast had torn through with its bare claws.
Melkris opened up the next one. "This one has no head," he announced.
Formora frowned. "Did they fall in battle?"
"What does it look like to you?"
She peered more closely at the bodies. "Like dragon work. Dragons killed these dwarves."
Ikharos exhaled slowly, fitfully. "It always leads to dragons."
Formora sent him a displeased look. "Dragons are victims of their own power. You cannot blame them for being as they are."
"The lights are strange," Kiphoris mused none-too-subtly. Ikharos, glad to be free of what he was sure was yet another argument, followed the Captain's gaze. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling were strange. They were flameless, but not electrical. If anything, they resembled orbs of Light - except they weren't.
"Werelights," Formora deduced. "Created through magic. But those are of a different kind to what we use today. Werelights of yellow are formed through an antique spell that's more costly than is necessary. Now we use those with reddish or bluish hues, which are much easier to create."
"Us?"
"The elves and dwarves."
Kiphoris made a curious sound and closed his outer eyes. "This world is full of magic."
They went on. The cavern was a glorified corridor dedicated to the dead. Fortunately for them, it was not quite as large as the previous chamber and they found themselves at the other end in little time. Like the summit of the mountain, a huge doorway loomed above them. There was a marked difference, though. The mountain doors had opened at their approach. The subterranean ones did not.
And it looked like they hadn't been the only ones to come that way either.
"The Star-Eater was here," Eldrin noted in a hollow voice. He was stating the obvious; they could all see the glowing scratch marks in the stone. It looked like it had tried again and again to enter, for centuries on end. There was more glow than there was stone, and the doors were large enough that, if opened, even Xol in all his terrible glory could have slithered through.
"It must be envenomed," Melkris said. "Don't go near it."
Ikharos did the exact opposite - he strode forward. When he was but a few feet away, he held out an empty hand and let loose a plume of Solar. The flames crashed against the door in a constant stream. The heat blasted back and utterly enveloped him, but Ikharos was determined to see it through. When his Light wouldn't allow for any more, he lowered his arm and waited for the fire to die away.
The doors remained undamaged and still glowing.
Xiān snorted. "What was that for?"
"I thought it was worth a try," he muttered.
A low rumble filled the air. Ikharos stepped back as the doors slid open on rusty mechanisms. The room beyond was even better illuminated than the tomb, with electrically-powered fluorescent luminaires suspended from the ceiling. They flickered weakly, but even in their depleted state they outshone the werelights in the previous tunnel.
The room was diamond-shaped. A huge monitor took up the far corner. The middle of the room was lined with a long draconic-serpentine skeleton, which circled like a macabre crown around a final sarcophagus. Unlike any of the other coffins, it was carved into the likeness of what was assumedly the dead man inside. A silvered battleaxe with golden gildings was clutched in the sarcophagus's stone hands, and where the stone man's head should have been was the Lightless husk of a dead Ghost.
Ikharos's budding hopes faltered and choked. One of them - Guardians, Risen, his own kind - was already gone.
"That's Morgothal," Formora quietly observed.
Kiphoris huffed with sheer frustration. "Dead. Everything here is dead. Where is the origin of the storm? Where is the mind behind it?"
Ikharos slowly his way over to the final tomb. The Ghost's shell was a faded orange. A dull grey shone where the paint had peeled back. It's eye was empty of life and a crack ran down the glass. The Guardian's battleaxe, though, was in pristine condition. It looked enormously heavy, but to a Titan it would have weighed no more than a twig.
"They're RTL," Xiān said. He could feel her horror, her anger. It was never pleasant to behold a dead Ghost.
Ikharos nodded numbly. "Returned To Light." He sighed. "We're too late. Hundreds of years too late."
"Thousands for them."
"Alone and cut off." Ikharos winced. "I don't envy that fate."
Silence reigned supreme for a small while. The others hung back while Guardian and Ghost paid their respects.
Ikharos didn't know Morgothal. He hadn't even heard of the guy until a few minutes prior. Even so, that didn't stop him from mourning the loss of the man. Every dead Guardian was something they could never recover from. It was worse when they lost Ghosts. There was no chance of raising a new Guardian to replace the lost Titan. Another Light never to burn again.
Morgothal was yet another potential soldier lost in the war against the Darkness; he had been wasted and used up on a pointless fringe conflict.
"Normally there'd be drinks," Ikharos mused. He spoke so everyone could hear. "Strong drinks. The kind that can make a Guardian go woozy. That's how we do our funerals. There's all kinds of little traditions between different Fireteams or Orders, but drinks are a staple." He retreated a single step. "I need a drink."
No one offered him one. He supposed that was because they didn't have any. They hadn't packed for a wake. Ikharos still wanted that drink, though.
"The dragon was an Ahamkara," he added. Just to keep them alert. The Eliksni and Formora bristled and faced the huge horned and crested skull of the dead beast.
Kiphoris didn't visibly react. "It is truly dead, yes?" He asked, confident.
Ikharos nodded after a moment's hesitation. "I don't feel anything."
"Why is it here?" Melkris pressed. The shockshooter relaxed ever so slightly, comforted by his Captain's nonchalance. "Is it a trophy?"
Ikharos shrugged. "No idea."
"It is a grand trophy, if so. Your kin must have been a grand warrior."
Ikharos shrugged again. "Probably."
"... Merenos..."
Ikharos ignored the disembodied voice. Maybe if he treated the feather like it wasn't even there, it might go away.
His attention wandered back to the Ghost. It was going to be sorely missed. There were only so many Ghosts in existence, and humanity would need every single one. He traced the fatal hole in its core. Something had cracked it open to get at the Light inside.
"This one's been dead a long time," Xiān murmured. "There was nothing we could have done. We probably hadn't even reached Russia when this guy died. We can't take it to heart."
Ikharos exhaled slowly. "I know, but... someone should have been here. With them. Helping them."
"They weren't alone."
"So where's the Hunter?"
"No idea. He wasn't buried. Not here, in any case."
Ikharos frowned. "Why wouldn't he be here? This was his friend."
"We can only assume."
"We can only assume," Ikharos echoed. He frowned. The Ghost was warm to the touch. And growing warmer. "The hell is this?"
He expanded his mind and sent forth a tendril of willpower. The Ghost was, as he expected, empty. Or rather almost empty. A sliver of Light lay at the bottom of its broken core. Ikharos gingerly reached for it and-
His name was Morgan
He laughed uproariously as he crushed a dragon's skull beneath his battleaxe. The beast gave out one last whine before it stilled. The Solar fires rushed from the Titan's weapon to claim the flesh of the dying Ahamkara and wipe it from the face of the world. Another took its place, and Morgan graciously met it in fierce battle, bellowing joyously. All around him, on the crater-stricken mountain face, man and beast did combat. Dwarves fell by the dozens. So did the dragons.
Morgan roared at the sky still full of beating wings. He challenged them to take him. "Come on!"
"You're as bad as Gunther!" Uren accused. The Hunter wore a wide grin that offset his harsh accusation.
It was hard to stop laughing. Morgan didn't think he ever could. "I love this!"
A hissing beast with bat wings and the head of an eagle swooped down to take his head, but Uren summoned his Dusk Bow and shot it out of the air. It fell screaming down onto the rocks below, where a score of dwarves converged upon it with tools of butchery clenched in mail-clad fists.
Another, possibly its mate or just another hungry bastard, dove down after them with talons outstretched.
"No you don't!" Morgan broke out into a spring and let loose his Light. With a single bounding leap he shot from the ground and slammed into the dragon just before it could reach the dwarves. Titan and Ahamkara smashed into the ground in a flurry of swinging limbs and flashing blades. Only Morgan rose up intact.
He lifted his axe in the air and let loose a victorious war cry. His dwarves answered it with their own. Morgan still couldn't stop laughing. He loved this and he loved them.
Something slammed down onto the ground beside him with bloodied fangs and gore-covered claws, but Morgan wasn't afraid.
"What news?" He demanded urgently.
Merenos, the Unleashed bowed his crested head. "The battle to the south goes poorly. Gunther and Kelf are beset by foes on all sides."
Uren caught up and cursed. "Burzûl! We need to make more noise!" He turned to Merenos. "What of Sindral?"
The many-eyed dragon grimaced. "She continues to plead with Scipio to unleash the colonists still within his clutches, but the Warmind holds them tight. The seas are broiling with violence. Frames and dolphins war yet with the Wrong-Song's forces."
"We are spread thin!" Uren nocked another arrow of flickering Void and took down a second foe. Merenos twirled about and grasped another who had tried to sneak up on them. There was no mercy to be found in the Unleashed, and he tore his once-kin apart without a shred of hesitation.
"What of the Harmony?" Morgan pressed impatiently. "Do they still hold to their original purpose? Do they continue to play darling mothers and fathers?"
"They do, though Sindral parlays with them too." Merenos let loose a river of flame. The very sky was set alight. "They will not release their hold on the Enhancers or the Warriors yet. Wrong-Song will have their souls before they give us our army."
"Those metal-headed misers!" Uren dropped a pair of drakes with a Void tether. They were consumed by the swarm of fighting dwarves below. "I'll take that army from their cold dead hands if I have to!"
A dwarven cheer echoed his words.
Merenos presented him with a bloody grin. "Do you wish it?"
Uren muttered under his breath. Morgan kept laughing.
"Where's Hezran?" The Hunter finally asked. His knife was in a dragon's throat by then, and the beast struggled with all its might to break free of Uren's deathly embrace.
Morgan's laughter lessened. "He should be here soon. He's got our reinforcements."
"He needs to pick up the pace!" Uren shoved his beast off and sought out another. "There has to be hundreds of these blasted things!"
"All the better, aye?"
Uren flashed him a toothy smile. "All the better."
Screams splintered the air. The dragons above shrieked and flew and fled. The flock as a whole panicked. Merenos lifted his crested head. His talons kneaded the rock underfoot. "The Wrong-Song traitor reveals his ploy. He sends forth his hound, the eater of unrealities."
Uren stepped forth. "What is it? Another pet?"
A grey gateway opened in the air before them. The Broken Harmony's stench was all over it. Those dwarves below cried out and made space. A slim shape leapt through. Morgan stared at it for a handful of seconds before he utterly lost it. "Hahahaha!"
It was no larger than a dog. Its spindly glowing body was devoid of scale or pelt, leaving its soft self utterly exposed. It had a whip-like tail and curved fangs, but nothing more immediate than that. Compared to the dragons above, it was a pitiful specimen.
"Something's wrong," Morgan's Ghost murmured.
He didn't listen. Morgan thundered down the mountain and fell upon the ethereal hound with axe and Arc, a roar forming on his lips.
The hound darted away as the axehead slammed down on stone. The superheated hadium steel melted the surrounding stone and sunk deep. Morgan dragged it out and swung again. The hound dove under it, faster than he liked, and rushed in to take a bite out of his leg. Morgan slammed an Arc-encased fist down on what he imagined to be the beast's head. It hissed and wailed, but it did not die. Hitting it was a strange sensation. It was like punching a living mass of liquid. It had no firmness in its being.
The hound whipped around and lashed its tail, scoring a mark across Morgan's breastplate. He spared the break in the pristine plasteel a cursory glance. The hound had almost cut right through. A glowing substance was left in its wake.
"You little blighter!" Morgan guffawed. He grabbed the beast's tail and lugged it away. It landed on its feet, more gracefully than he expected, and spun around to hiss at him. Uren swept in with his knives, full of nimble rolls and sidesteps. The beast retreated quickly, but the Hunter didn't let up. He pressed in close, stabbing and slicing - with minimal effect - and cornered the hound against a boulder.
Morgan's first warning was Merenos's sudden gasp. The second was when the hound's legs tensed in preparation for an attack. It sprung up and tackled Uren to the ground, plunging its jaws into his neck.
Uren didn't get back up.
Morgan's laughter choked to a halt. It morphed into a yell full of rage and horror. "NO!"
He bolted forwards, Merenos and dwarves at his back. Vengeance shone in their eyes. The hound, perhaps possessing a shred of common sense, jumped from the fallen Hunter and retreated as quick as it could.
Morgan quickly looked Uren over and fell to his knees by his friend's side. "NO!"
Uren's eyes saw nothing, but his chest rose and fell with a steady pattern. His neck was a mess of red and bright blue. Morgan tossed his axe to a dwarf and scooped the Hunter up.
"No desires!" Merenos whispered. The dragon looked up at the sky, still full of his former brethren. "They wait for it!"
The tide had turned just like that. The day lost its colour and Morgan lost his confidence.
"To the mountain!" One of the dwarven chieftains yelled. He held his warhammer aloft. "Raise shields!"
The dwarves moved as one. Morgan was soon surrounded by short, stocky warriors who all looked like they were drowning in armour. They were stubborn bastards, each and every one of them, and fearsome when roused. Why the Harmony would designate them as simple labourers was beyond his understanding. Blocky, rectangular shields of iron and steel were raised. The dragons waiting above dove down with renewed bloodlust. Merenos, and those few other wyrms who followed him, bounded into the air to meet them.
It was a slaughter on both sides, but Morgan couldn't find it in him to care. He hurried back to the mountain with Uren in his arms, an escort of fifty half-sized warriors around him. The march was hard and merciless, but they couldn't wait. Uren's lifeblood leaked from his neck drop by drop and their Ghosts helplessly flew around Morgan's head like a pair of angry wasps.
At last, the entrance to his fortress loomed ahead. The doors stood open and the guards beckoned them on. Dwarves, dragons, and Risen stumbled inside. One of the enemy shapeshifters attempted to slip in after them, but it was quickly torn limb from limb by Merenos and another dragon. The heavy stone doors closed behind them. They shook moments later; the swarm had caught up. And everyone outside was as good as dead.
"The inner sanctum!" The same dwarf from earlier pulled on Morgan's elbow. "Go, now! I will hold them!"
Morgan regarded the dwarf grimly. "What is your name?"
"Gurnáz."
The Titan dipped his head. "Thank you, Gurnáz."
A massive snout shoved him onwards. Merenos glared at him with knife-thin slit pupils. The dragon bared his boar tusks. Morgan needed no convincing. They left Gurnáz with most of the remaining dwarves and took to the elevator. They raced inside once they reached the bottom. They kept going and going until Uren's Ghost begged them to stop. "I can't feel him!" The little Light cried out. "I can't feel him!"
Morgan tenderly laid his brother-in-arms down on the cold cave floor. "He's dying..." He realized. He was terrified. He hated being terrified. Morgan cupped the side of Uren's face. "No..."
The Hunter's breaths came in short and weak. His pulse stretched out to an alarmingly slow pace.
The Titan's hands shook. "Heal him!"
Uren's Ghost blinked rapidly. "I-I can't! My Light isn't working!"
"What did it do?!" Morgan roared. "What did it do to him?!"
It had killed Uren. Morgan knew that now. He despaired and raged like never before. He swore vengeance, he swore a massacre, he swore agony without end. Then, with a jolt, he saw the path ahead of him. He met Merenos's gaze. The crested beast leaned forward with ravenous attention. His fellows, the rest of his free-dragons, chittered and cackled excitedly.
"I wish..." Morgan began, "that Uren can be healed."
The bleeding stopped. Time practically froze as Uren's breath hitched and grew louder. Stronger. Morgan's own strength began to fade. The Arc within him lost the will to fight against his control.
Morgan sighed with sudden exhaustion. "I wish..."
A bang echoed down the tunnel from behind them. A short clamour of roars, screams, and metal clashing came after it. Then... nothing. Morgan assumed a fighting stance. "You!" He pointed to one of the last dwarves. "Take Uren and get out of here! All of you! I will hold them!"
His own Ghost shook her shell. "You won't make it!"
Morgan sent her a smile fraught with regret. "No," he agreed. "But that changes nothing. Go with them."
"I'm not leaving you!" She persisted. "Never in a million years!"
He stared at her. "You'll die too."
"I don't care."
His laughter found its way back to him. "I suppose that's the way it should be. So be it." He turned to the dwarves. "Go! All of you! Go north! The forest will hide your tracks!"
"We will guard him with our lives," the lead dwarf vowed. His soldiers echoed the statement. There were no more words to be had. Two of them grabbed the unconscious Hunter's arms. The small band marched onwards into the darkness of the caves. The dragons went with them.
All but one.
"You should go," Morgan said.
Merenos grinned hungrily. "But you are not done. Make your desires reality."
"I wish… I wish that this war will not end with me. With us."
The dragon's head thrust forward. For a split-second Morgan suspected that he would die, ripped apart by the dragon's fangs, but he only felt the soft kiss of searing flames. He flinched and held up his hand. A swirling symbol had been burned into his palm, right through the plasteel gauntlet.
"It shall not," Merenos promised. They laughed together. They were still laughing when Nezarec's twisted dragons found them.
Ikharos stumbled back, breathing hard. Claws encircled his arms and shoulders, but they were the Eliksni claws. Not Ahamkara talons.
Strange how that was a comfort.
"What happened?" Eldrin pressed urgently. Ikharos heard the crackle of Arc weapons powering up. He didn't answer. Not immediately. He sought out Xiān firs thing. She had fallen, but Formora had been quick enough to catch her. The Ghost slowly blinked back to wakefulness.
"Did you see that?" Ikharos whispered.
"Yes." She rose unsteadily into the air.
"See what?" Formora asked, brow furrowed.
Ikharos closed his eyes and fell back to the nullscape. When his breathing had calmed to a slow, steady pace he said, "Memories. Their memories."
"Their?"
"Morgothal. And his Ghost. And..." He pointed to the huge skeleton. "His dragon."
"His dragon?" Formora's eyes went wide. "His dragon?"
"I think so. Or maybe it was the other way around, and the Ahamkara owned him instead. That sounds more accurate, actually..."
"Are you alright, Kirzen?" Melkris asked.
"Probably, I just..." Ikharos trailed off. He could see the shockshooter and Marauder both - in front of him, away from him. But then who-?
The Eliksni who steadied him huffed and quickly let go. "Just what?" Kiphoris inquired. There was a hint of reluctance in his voice.
"Nothing," Ikharos. He hesitantly shook his head.
"You saw their memories?" Formora sounded more than a little intrigued.
"Yeah. Data hidden within Light." He pointed at the dead Ghost. "All that was left of her."
"And?" Formora accepted it more readily than Ikharos would have expected. Most other foreign concepts he had introduced to her had been fiercely.
"There was a war," Ikharos breathed out.
"The Supernatural War, right?" Xiān said, uneasy laughter flickering in her eye.
"There were a lot of dragons." He stared at the silent Ahamkara skeleton. The skull grinned right back. "Most of them were Nezarec's... but not all. Some of them were with the Risen."
"Why?"
Ikharos shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." He paused and tried to collect his thoughts. "Nezarec wanted them dead. He sent his dragons to kill them. When that didn't work, he used the Aphelion."
"And it killed them?"
"It wounded one. Urûr. Morgothal and the dwarves who followed them carried him to safety. Morgothal died, but... he saved his friend by making a wish."
"... Just as you can, O couriers mine..."
"I swear, if you don't shut it up I will!" Ikharos snapped.
Kiphoris surprised him. Rather than argue, he shook the casing and said, "You will be quiet. Your standing is precarious. Do not test our mercy."
The Ahamkara didn't say anything else. The silence was glorious.
The Scar Captain looked around. "I see nothing else. The room is empty. No one is here."
"No one has been in a very long time." Xiān drifted down. She nestled in the crook of Ikharos's neck. "Maybe not since they were buried."
"The dwarves must have buried them." Formora wandered closer to the tomb. "But why was the Aphelion here? Why did it try to claw its way inside?"
"I'm not sure," Ikharos admitted. "I honestly couldn't tell you. There's nothing here that could-"
Melkris gasped. "The screen!"
Ikharos twirled about. The monitor had lit up a bright white. It stayed blank for only a few moments. Letters, in big bold black, slowly printed out across the pale glass canvas.
Seventh of Six, Light in hand,
Fist full of death,
His name is Gvîsthrun.
Vrron vren, knurlan!
In the temple by the river, he must say his name,
And thus he will be bade enter.
Dominion must be held,
And the tides kept at bay.
One of war,
One of strife,
Another must be made.
Beware the nights,
O vengeance mine.
Ikharos read through it a dozen times. The twelfth read made no more sense than the first.
"What does it say?" Melkris tilted his head.
Kiphoris recited it in Eliksni. Ikharos spared the Captain a curious look. Kiphoris caught it and asked, "What?"
"You can read?"
The large Scar huffed. "Of course! What use would speaking a language be if I cannot read it? I'm no savage, Kirzen, as much as you would like to think it."
"I never said..." Ikharos quietened. He sighed and returned his attention to the monitor. "What does vrron vren mean?"
"Enough war," Formora translated. Her voice was hushed with stunned awe. "This is incredible."
Kiphoris growled, rage simmering beneath the surface. "There is nothing here. No technology, no orchestrator of the storm... nothing. Just this."
Eldrin took that moment to explode into wordless roars and snarls. He bellowed and screamed at the screen, promised every death possible to whomever stood behind the words, and was generally pissed off in a very vocal manner. Ikharos slowed his breathing in hopes of avoiding the same. His own mounting anger was close to erupting, leashed only by a thin line of restraint. He wanted to strangle whoever or whatever had dragged them to the mountain and set him against the Aphelion. It was something beyond forgiveness. He was going bear the scars of the Aphelion fight - both physical and otherwise - for the rest of his lives.
He was keen to return the favour.
"Maybe there's another tunnel." Formora glanced worriedly at Eldrin. "Something we missed."
Kiphoris shook his head. "The way leads here." He glared at the monitor. At the entity behind it.
Ikharos frowned. "Wait... No, there must be another tunnel. There were others. I saw them through... through Morgothal's Ghost. He sent Urûr and a few dwarves to leave via another tunnel."
"Where?"
"I don't know. I didn't see. Morgothal remained to cover their escape. That's... how he died."
Xiān twisted her fins. One of them dug painfully into Ikharos's skin. "They went for a second exit, though. How does another exit help us?"
Ikharos shrugged, jostling the Ghost. "You never know. What about the message? Can we trace it?"
She flew off and gave him a dirty look. "I can try, but this tech is weird. The hardware might even be of Harmony make." Xiān paused. "Yeah, I don't know. The signal came from an external source, but the signature is decaying. It's like trying to follow a trail of decomposing bread crumbs."
"Lovely imagery," Ikharos muttered. "So... nothing?"
"And... gone. Trail's out of reach. Just let me sort this jumble out. I've recorded the signature." Xiān flew around his head. "The source is hidden, but if I can get a reading, we might be able to triangulate the energy presence later. We can find where the message was sent from."
"Only if the storm lets up," he complained. "We're still stranded here."
"Hey, I didn't drag us here." She lightly headbutted him. "I'm going to need a few hours with this. Do something in the meantime. Like explore."
Kiphoris nodded gravely. "Eia. That is our next task. I hope it is not as fruitless as this."
Ikharos gave the Titan's grave one last lingering look. He didn't agree. Informative, more like.
"Xiān," he said. "Get a picture of the message. If it's coded, we can decipher it later."
"Already done."
"Seventh of Six, Light in hand," Ikharos recited. "Fist full of death, His name is Gvîsthrun. It's a Lightbearer, that's for sure, but who?"
"I'm more focused on the fact that there are six Risen on this world and we've only found the remains of one. Fireteams look after their own, even in death."
Ikharos hadn't missed it. He was no stranger to death, but the act of saying goodbyes to a Fireteam member was not one Ikharos had ample experience with. Lennox's passing had begotten a funeral, yes, but the analogy didn't work. There hadn't been a body left to bury. If there had been, Ikharos would have fought tooth and nail to keep the grave clear of scavengers day and night, be they Fallen, Hive, or human. He wouldn't have allowed anything to sully her legacy. He wanted to defend her memory to his dying breath.
Even if all he had was a knife to go by. The knife was more important than anything else he owned. Because it was hers.
The rest of the Guardians wouldn't have abandoned their friend to an old tomb and left him alone for thousands of Kepler years. They would have kept vigil. Fireteams were as close to family as Risen could get, and those families were close-knit.
"This entire planet is weird," Xiān grumped. She flew alongside him as they retraced their steps through the statue room. "So the other Guardians aren't here. We received a strange message with dwarven words in it. There's no sign that whatever created and directed the storm outside was here."
"Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know."
"Let's guess."
Xiān chuckled. "I do like guessing."
"I know. Go ahead."
"They're all dead and this is a ploy of Nezarec to trap us while he rallies his servants into a killsquad."
Ikharos nodded. "That's a good guess. It might even be true."
"Might? More like probably."
"If the storm was Nezarec's doing, we'd be dead already."
"Maybe he doesn't want you dead. Maybe he wants to recruit you. Like that Exo did."
"Then he'll be in for one hell of a surprise."
The moment they reached the rough rock tunnel that preceded the dwarven temple, they stopped in place and looked at Ikharos.
"That way?" He cautiously pointed to the left.
Kiphoris peered down the tunnel. "That is a dead end."
"Oh."
"Eia."
He pointed forwards. "How about there?"
"That is a wall."
"Is it?"
"It is."
"Ah." Ikharos nodded gravely. "It's just hard to see."
Kiphoris groaned. "You do not know where the other tunnel is."
"I never said I did."
The Captain sighed. "That does not help us in-"
An electrical buzz filled Ikharos' ear and reverberated around the inside of his helmet. He flinched; it was obscenely loud. "Oi!"
"Not me!" Xiān quickly responded.
Kiphoris suddenly tensed and his soldiers followed suit. They glanced at one another in silent surprise.
"Javek?" The Captain hesitantly asked. He must have received a reply, because his inner eyes widened and his outer pair closed. "Eia? This is good. This is very good! Can you... Do so immediately!"
"What-?" Formora began, but a sudden outburst of Eliksni babble from the resident shockshooter cut her off.
"Eia!" Melkris crowed. "We will hunt again!"
Eldrin didn't look happy.
Kiphoris turned to them and said, in the happiest tone he'd worn since arriving to the Blasted Mountains, "Communications have resumed. Javek reports that the storm is lifting."
Ikharos's heart soared. A muted sort of elation flushed in. "That works."
The bruised clouds on the horizon drifted apart into clumps of rain-filled fluff, but the storm wasn't the only obstacle. The Skiff still bore scars from their last run-in with the elements. Most of it had been quickly repaired, but then came the tedious task of soldering steel plate over where the lightning had melted through.
"If we leave it open, it will catch moisture," Calzan, their pilot, explained. "And the moisture will freeze once we reach a significant altitude. And if the tail takes too much damage from the ice, we will lose control and fall from the sky."
"It would be an unseemly end," Ikharos agreed. "How long?"
"As long as it needs to. Do not rush me!"
The news was far from encouraging, but even the slimmest form of relief was welcome. The ability to communicate once more with the rest of Tarrhis's Scars was a blessing as far as the Eliksni were concerned. The moment radios were back in order, Kiphoris immediately began sending back datapackets to his Baron. Ikharos had no say in what information the Scar noble was privy to, but he didn't pay it much mind. Surely they knew not to do something that was going to cross him.
However, his own spirits sank when he realized that, even without the storm, what lay ahead was far from clear-cut. Especially since they still couldn't reach or even find the Scars who'd accompanied Tellesa. They either wouldn't or couldn't respond, and Javek's machines couldn't place their location.
In essence: he was free to move, but now he had no idea where to begin.
He retreated back to the hut lent to him by the Inapashunna when dawn began to filter through the gloom of night. Someone had been by to deliver foodstuffs. Ikharos decided to make a pleasant breakfast for himself that was long overdue. The selection of foods he had at his disposal wasn't all that varied, but he made do with what there was. A few exotic fruits he sliced up and put onto his wooden plate as a side dish. He fried the mutton and seasoned it with the herbs and spices supplied by the Inapashunna. Finally, when the food was almost readied, he brewed a pot of tea.
The door slammed open just as he sat down for his meal. Kiphoris struggled in, exhaustion clear in his four glowing eyes.
"You don't look great," Ikharos idly commented. "Tea?"
"Yes please." The Captain collapsed into his favourite chair. He took a whiff and narrowed in on the steaming food. "And perhaps more."
"Mine," Ikharos said possessively. He procured a second delicate cup from a shelf and poured in the dark liquid. It had a soothing, pleasant scent. The Captain graciously accepted. He removed his helmet and sipped.
"No milk?" Ikharos asked, aghast.
Kiphoris eyed the jug of goat's milk distrustfully. "No."
Ikharos frowned and sniffed it . "Oh. Oooooh... I see what you mean."
"See? Not smell? Are your senses broken?"
"Are you seriously going to correct me on that?"
Kiphoris hid his bared teeth behind a porcelain cup. "Yes."
Ikharos scoffed half-heartedly - more for show than anything else. "Oh, you smarmy bastard."
He sipped his black tea. It was bad. No sugar, no milk, and it scalded his tongue. It matched the conversation - not quite comfortable, but it still had the potential. Ikharos tried to work on that, if only to shut Xiān up. She chattered in his ear incessantly. "Have you ever actually seen a wolf?"
Kiphoris paused. His razor-sharp fangs dripped tea. His mandibles shivered thoughtfully. "No," he admitted at length. "But I have heard them described. It is an apt name for mine-Mraskilaasan. I can see the resemblance."
"There are wolves here. On this world."
"Are there? I look forward to seeing them." There was a pause only broken by the clatter of knife and fork. Kiphoris eyed the food in a hungry, pointed manner. Eventually he said, "I will trade you."
"I'm hungry, I'm eating, you're not messing with that."
"I wouldn't take it all. Only half."
"Do you remember me saying 'I am hungry'? Because I am."
Kiphoris ignored him and leaned forward. "I will trade an ether bale for some food."
"What would I even do with ether? I'm human. Food fills my stomach. Ether doesn't."
"Drink it, then."
"I prefer wine."
"Drink with wine."
That caught Ikharos' attention. "With wine? Mix them together?"
"Eia."
"Is it good?"
"Nama," Kiphoris said, his eyes flashing. "It is great."
Ikharos mulled it over. "We have no wine with us."
"We will find some in the future. I could requisition some from mine-Scars, if what we seized from the human city remains."
With a sigh, Ikharos divided his meal into two. Just to be petty, he handed Kiphoris the platter with marginally less food. He felt a strange mix of guilt and childish satisfaction doing it. "I better get that ether," he muttered.
Kiphoris nodded vigorously. He devoured all that was set before him so quickly that by the time he finished, Ikharos had barely set into his own meal. The Captain enviously looked on, still yearned for more. Ikharos groaned and tossed Kiphoris a fig. "Stop looking at me," he snapped without much heat.
The Eliksni snorted. He broke the fig open with his claws and lapped eagerly at the flavour inside.
When the food was gone and tea was abandoned - because there was only so much of it Ikharos could stomach - they set the platters aside and started trying for halted, awkwards attempts at conversation. Their talk inevitably turned to the caves. To what they found. And what they gained.
"We know now that something sentient brought us here," Ikharos said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "But I don't know why. And what do we have to show for it?"
Three dead Marauders, one dead Aphelion, one dead Guardian and one dead Ghost.
Kiphoris grunted. "Death."
"When we find them, we should kill them," Ikharos muttered warily.
"Agreed," Kiphoris replied in a similarly disinterested-but-actually-curious tone. Ikharos looked at the Scar Captain. Kiphoris looked at the Warlock.
"Alright." Ikharos nodded.
Kiphoris returned the gesture.
Progress.
Then Formora burst through the door, a crumpled letter clenched in one hand and a glowering Fadawar in tow. A pale white bird - a dove - was perched happily on her shoulder. It was unusually calm.
"I found them," she breathed out, giddy and dire at the same time. "And they're in trouble."
AN: Special thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!