12th of September, 3751

Breath of Stars, Nessus' orbit

Quantis Rhee stared at herself in the cracked mirror. There was a hole in her shoulder - perfectly circular, perfectly cauterized. The plasma round had gone right through meat and bone. She remembered the bite. Remembered the sting. Remembered the Hobgoblin's scream as she shot right back.

The Line Rifle responsible was balancing on her dresser. When she pulled the trigger, nothing happened. Utterly useless. She still took it back to the ship. Because why not?

"Maybe Asher will want it," Angrboda whispered.

Quantis shrugged. Only one shoulder moved. The other scarcely twitched. Her arm hung at her side, useless. "They're dime a dozen. Complete junk."

"Bull."

"Just do it."

Angrboda opened up her shell. A flood of blessed Light cascaded over Quantis. Flesh wove back together. Blue skin flowed over the wound. Not a mark remained. Rays of starlight danced over her shoulder, like gentle shoreside waves, lapping at the edges of her being.

She traced the area of the forgotten injury with her fingers. No ache. No pain. Nothing.

"He called, you know." Angrboda hung in the air behind her - loyal, dutiful, mischievous, concerned. "He wants our help."

"I know." Quantis pressed her fingers in. Nails bit into skin, but it was a tiny pain, a pinprick of feeling compared to the blaze of sensation from before. "Who else?"

"Lennox-2."

"And?"

"Octavius-8. Mervath. Oisín Ta'Nir."

"Full team."

"No Vanguard approval."

"There's no Vanguard to approve." Because he's gone. He's gone and he's not coming back.

"Zavala's still there. Ikora too."

"It's not the same."

"I don't think it ever will be again."

She hunted for him. Hunted in the darkest recesses of a hollowed-out Centaur. She gave him a call when she surfaced, always.

He didn't answer her last call.

"What's the mission?"

"Reef. Former Awoken stronghold."

"Home."

"Yeah."

"And what's our mark?"

"It's a dragon."

Quantis' hand dropped back by her side. Her mouth was set in a knife-thin line, and her eyes... - grave, angry, empty. "Of course it is."

"What will I say?"

"Tell Ikharos I'll be there. For Cayde."