Day 6 - Bending and Breaking
Now I'm swerving in and out
To feel the force
Of the curve unchecked;
I'm fond of the danger
Nothing's really out of line
Everyone should make the time to find it
Will you ride beside me now
Or have I frightened all the words away?
In Control – Greensky Bluegrass
December 08, 2870; Three Gorges, Old China, Earth
"Just whatever you do, don't let go!"
"Gee thanks, Cayde!" Azra shouted over the shriek of the wind. "That really helps!" The scaffolding under her hands groaned ominously. She looked down for a second, judging the distance to the churning river below, and immediately regretted it when vertigo made her head swim.
It had seemed to be such an easy task when it had been asked of her. All she had to do was climb the communications array and nab the repeater off of one of the antennae. She was the lightest one here and the scaffolding was crisscrossed with a lattice of support structures and cables...
Not crisscrossed enough, it seemed. She had been inching her way towards the repeater when the arm of the array had broken free of its supports and had swung out over the gap. Now she dangled over a hundreds-foot drop into the raging waters of the Yangtze. It would not be a pleasant fall. Below her, and a fair few dozen meters to her left, the two members of her Fireteam argued on how best to get her down.
She adjusted her grip on the crossbar, wishing that she'd left her gloves on. The metal wasn't particularly slippery, but it was cold. The repeater blinked at her tauntingly, just a few meters out of reach. Azra dared not shift her weight, worried it would send the arm swinging again, or worse, cause it to break off and send her plummeting to what would certainly be a series of untimely deaths.
"Heads up!" Cayde announced on the comms. It was hard to make out what he was doing, but Andal stood a fair distance back from him. He had something in his hands.
A grappling hook, she realized as he heaved and sent the metal head soaring up towards her-
Too low, just barely. Azra grunted and lifted her legs out of the way, abs screaming in protest. The grappling hook soared through the space where her feet used to be, falling gracefully towards the rushing torrent below.
"Shit!" Cayde swore. "Hang in there! I'll try again!" He began pulling the rope back up, with Andal helpfully sorting the coils behind him.
"If that happens again, try to catch it," Andal instructed.
"With what hands?" Azra exclaimed in exasperation. The wind was picking up again, causing the structure to sway. "What do you want me to do with it?"
"If we tie it off at an angle, you can slide down it," Andal explained. "At least close enough for a transmat or something."
"Well hurry- this thing's not gonna hold me much longer!" Azra warned. She could feel the metal groaning under her hands. Something was beginning to give way.
It was very weird to look at the tiny figures below and have them whisper-close on the comms. At least she'd left her helmet on. She'd be shouting herself hoarse otherwise, trying to make herself heard over the distance and the wind. "I got it!" Cayde said. "Heads up- for real this time!"
It was not for real that time. Cayde overshot, sending the grappling hook flying over Azra's head.
We have to get a backup plan, Azra thought to her Ghost.
Logically… Spark thought back, catching on her urgency. The bar shuddered with distant tremors, a certain sign that the structure would fail soon. The issue isn't straight down. It's sideways.
Azra could break just about any fall with her Light. And even if she couldn't, dying wouldn't be too bad- but falling into the river current would sweep her body downstream out of transmat range. If she wasn't caught quickly, she'd at best end up soaked and kilometers away, and at worse would drown several times until the river calmed enough for her to swim to the shore. She needed to get over land.
Sideways. They needed a good way to get sideways, fast, before she fell into the ravine. Even all of her physical and light-fueled efforts wouldn't carry her half the distance to shore. A jetpack would be great. Or a jumpship- but hers was too far away even for transmat. But her Sparrow-
Cayde tried a third time. The grappling hook whizzed through the air… and tangled itself in an arm a dozen feet below Azra. The Exo swore again and tugged on the line.
"We need another plan," Andal announced.
Too late. The tower shifted, vibrations rumbling through the metal. Azra's stomach dropped as the last supports holding the arm gave way with an agonizing moan. "The Sparrow!" she shouted, then the metal lurched under her hands and she was falling.
She pushed herself free of the structure, praying she wouldn't be hit by falling debris, and suddenly the handlebars of her bike appeared under her hands. She jammed her feet into the pedals and pushed the engines to maximum. The Sparrow shot through the air, antigrav screaming as it tried to repel ground that wasn't there.
Her body, surprisingly, seemed to know what to do. She swung her weight so the Sparrow's main engine pointed downwards, flicking off her stabilizers when they threatened to send her spinning. It slowed her fall enough to let her momentum carry her over land-
Azra's stomach clenched when she realized she had way too much sideways velocity- and she didn't have time to correct. The ground was a blur beneath her. Everything was happening too fast. The Sparrow dematerialized, scattering into a cloud of sparks. She braced-
And Azra woke up to Cayde's face peering down on her. "Cool fall," he commented, offering her a hand. "But you get points off for the landing."
"You broke your neck," Spark explained. "And about every bone in your body."
"Thoroughly splattered," Andal commented as he walked up. "But hey, you're still here. Feeling alright?"
Azra took Cayde's help up and stretched. "I feel fine," she said.
"Good!" Andal said cheerfully. "Because we still need a repeater and you're still the lightest one. Let's try the next tower- there's one half a klick downstream."
Azra groaned and put her hands to her face. "Why did I ever think running with you guys was a good idea?"
Day 7 - Trajectory
You'll never say hello to you
Until you get it on the red line overload
You'll never know what you can do
Until you get it up as high as you can go
Out along the edges
Always where I burn to be
The further on the edge
The hotter the intensity
Danger Zone – Kenny Loggins
July 13, 2953; The Cosmodrome, Old Russia, Earth
"Scout Hawk three-four-three, this is Cosmodrome Tactical, come in."
"A little busy!" Shiro replied. He turned off the stabilizers, tapped the left rudder petal, and gave the yoke a jerk to the left. The jumpship yawed wildly and lost altitude. The missile streaked by overhead. Shiro stabilized the ship and hit the thrusters, causing them to shoot off at a vector almost perpendicular to their original one.
"That's one gone," Azra reported. "Guns still have a lock, though."
"Scout Hawk three-four-three, this is-"
"I've got the radio," Azra announced, sliding on her helmet. "Tactical, this is Scout Hawk three-four-three. We're under fire."
"Affirm, Scout Hawk. Can you tell us what's happening?"
Shiro winced as two missiles collided with each other, peppering the Jumpship with shrapnel. He didn't lose hydraulics or engines, so he filed the worry away for another time.
"That excavation they're doing must have re-activated some automatic- LEFT! ROLL!"
Shiro rolled left, narrowly avoiding another missile strike. Lucky the two of them were belted in- he heard some loose knickknacks crashing around in the cargo hold.
Azra spoke calmly as Shiro righted the ship and began evasive maneuvers. "It's automatic anti-air from the Cosmodrome wall. We don't have the authorization codes. And all the people that know them are probably dead."
"Scout Hawk, we believe the anti-air defense has been brought online for the entirety of the Cosmodrome wall."
"Copy," Azra fired back. "We can't fly too close to the perimeter, that focuses all of the guns on us." She grunted as Shiro pulled another high-G turn, sending a missile streaking past behind their tail. "But we're sitting ducks in here."
"Others are reporting a rather tight exclusion zone," the Tactical Support said. "If you can get half a kilometer out you may be free of fire."
"Half a klick away from the wall we can't get near," Azra said dryly. "Copy."
"I've got a plan," Shiro announced. "Hold on."
"More than I already am?"
Shiro found a nice needle to thread- between a comms array and an observation tower. That would be his target. He wove low, dodging yet another missile (didn't these things have finite magazines?). He turned, and noting the distance to the wall, pushed the engines to full. The ship rapidly gained altitude and speed. Then, when he'd judged the timing to be right, he angled the nose even further upwards and pulled back on the throttle.
"Stall," Pace reported. Warning lights were flashing in the cockpit. Shiro prayed none of them were hydraulic warnings- the attitude readouts kept his whole attention. The rumble of the main engines cut off, leaving an odd gap in the auditory landscape.
The ship flipped once, almost lazily. Twice. There was a mad clatter from his cargo hold. Shiro feathered the retro boosters, trying to keep them from tumbling. The ground soared by below. Finally, he managed to angle the ship into a stable glide.
The engines had coughed themselves into silence, but since the ship was still in drive, the Golden-Age cooling system was still working. After a few seconds, the engines were cold enough to confuse the heat-seeking missiles. They passed over the wall unchallenged.
But the yellow-brown blur of dead grass and rusted cars was becoming more and more distinguishable with each passing second. Shiro gripped the yoke tightly and worked his jaw, counting seconds.
They did not reach half a klick before Shiro could make out the individual wrecks. It'd have to be close enough. He hit the main engine start button once, twice, then the engines roared to life. The afterburner engaged with a ship-shaking roar. Shiro's internal sensors read 8.3 G as the craft rapidly accelerated and pulled up.
One lonesome missile streaked towards them, which Shiro dodged with a graceful barrel roll and a right turn.
"Cosmodrome Tactical, this is Scout Hawk three four three," Azra reported on the feed (sounding a bit queasy), "we are clear. Please advise when it is safe to approach Cosmodrome wall."
"Nice flying," the controller on the other end of the line reported. "Wilco. Cosmodrome Tactical out."
Azra leaned forward (as much as her harness allowed) and groaned.
"Hey," Shiro warned. "Don't puke in my ship."
Day 8 - On the Road
Home in the valley, home in the city
Home isn't pretty, ain't no home for me
Home in the darkness, home on the highway
Home isn't my way, home I'll never be
Burnin' for You – Blue Öyster Cult
Sometime in the Dark Ages; Central Plains, Old America, Earth
It was quiet.
Well, it wasn't, really. The wind was ever-blowing in this place, sending the grass waving and rustling, but an ever-blowing wind made an ever-present noise. Those were hard not to tune out. And the wood Jaren had gathered for this fire was dry- no smoke, no crackling. So although there was the wind and the fire, it was still quiet to his ears.
It was easier to mind the quiet on your lonesome. Silence seemed expected then. But tonight Jaren had someone to talk to (hence the fire- too dangerous to keep with just one person around, but an undeniable pleasure now). That person just didn't seem to want to talk.
Jaren studied the other Risen intently. The Risen studied him back. She had an air of cheerfulness to her. Maybe it was just in the way her hair bounced. It would be easy to mistake her for sullen; she'd hardly spoken three words the entire past hour. But there had been an intense interest in her eyes and a spring in her step as she'd settled her few possessions in the temporary campsite.
When she'd pulled up to Jaren's resting place, she hadn't been aggressive. She'd leaned back on her bike, took in his little nook (really just a rocky spot where the grass didn't grow) with a keen eye, and had simply asked, "Mind some company?" She hadn't reached for the gun on her hip. So Jaren hadn't reached for his. Sometimes that's all it took to form a friendship or alliance out here. The simple act of mutual non-aggression wasn't common. People were just as likely to shoot you and take your stuff as offer a friendly word.
Jaren wasn't very good at the conversation thing. He'd been sore for practice, admittedly. This was not a populated area. Though he would call himself personable, he was not a chatty individual. Neither, it seemed, was she. The silence was obvious and grating. They'd eaten a meal of tinned soup and set up their sleeping arrangements without a word spoken. The sun had set without comment from either of them. Now they sat, face-to-face across the fire, eyeing each other.
Jaren decided to roll the dice. "This is going to be a real awkward night 'less one of us starts talking," he led.
The other Risen pulled in a deep breath and leaned back. "I'm trying to figure out your deal," she said. It sounded like a complaint, almost.
"My deal?" Jaren asked.
"Everyone's got a deal," the woman replied. "The world's a stage. What's your role? You a refugee? A trader? A deposed Warlord?" There was a spark of mischief in her eyes. "An aspiring Warlord, maybe?"
"Just a traveler," Jaren demurred.
"Where ya headed?"
"West," Jaren answered truthfully.
"Old Francisco?" she asked. "Or maybe more south, to Phoenix? News is there's been a shakeup there. Might be a good opportunity for someone looking for some land and a foothold." She watched Jaren's face for a sign of approval and saw none. "Or maybe… Kamchatka? Eurasia?"
"No," Jaren said. "Just… west."
The woman seemed to accept that answer. "Ha!" She slapped her knee. "What're you going to do when you get there?"
Jaren shrugged. "Help," he said. "Clear out some Fallen, patch some holes. Sleep in a bed for a few nights. Move on to the next place."
The woman was eyeing him even more critically now. "Ever think of settling down?"
These were the kind of conversations one got into with strangers. The travel stripped away all of the little events; one river crossing was the same as another. The only things that seemed worth talking about were the big things, the important, the personal. And the woman was right- the wilds were full of characters. You never met two people alike.
So Jaren actually put effort into his answer. "Never found somewhere worth settling for," he said. He scratched at the stubble on his chin and added to that thought. "Haven't really been lookin', to be honest."
"A lone hero, wandering the plains," the woman said, an air of storytelling in her voice. "Saving lives, then off to where the wind blows him." Jaren couldn't tell if she was mocking him or not.
"A traveler," he corrected. "Just tryin' to make the world a bit better."
"A noble cause," the woman admitted. "And a sadly uncommon one. You on your own?"
Jaren just raised an eyebrow and made a show of looking around his campsite, notably devoid of other people.
"Fair 'nough," the woman said deferentially. "Site looked more permanent than just a traveling camp. Thought you might've been waiting for someone."
He could have told her that he'd had to stay put for a few days while he fixed his Sparrow- but admitting to having a broken bike might have been a fatal mistake. It would be putting a neon sign over his head- rob me, I can't chase after you. Though frankly she didn't seem the type. Jaren considered himself a good judge of character, and if he had to make an impulse decision, he'd trust this woman. The friendliness coming from her was real. Even if she had an overdeveloped sense of drama, it came from a genuine appreciation for the world and the people around her.
Still, he wasn't one to take dumb chances. Dumb people did not live long out here. The law of the land was privacy first and foremost, so he kept his mouth shut and shrugged again. The woman had no choice but to move on from that line of questioning.
"I've been looking for… something to do," she admitted. Jaren did not miss the forlorn tone of her voice, though she covered it with an air of cheerful indifference. She knew what she wanted to do but she couldn't do it, for whatever reason. She'd lost something.
The woman twirled a piece of grass between her fingers. "Mind if I… West with you for a while?"
Jaren thought about it. It got lonely on these roads at this point in the year. Snow in the Rockies stopped all overland traffic. You could travel for days, weeks even, without seeing another face. "It'd be nice to be able to keep a fire at night," he offered. "But I don't even know your name. Or your deal, for that matter."
That earned him a brilliant grin and a hand offered for shaking. "Tallulah Fairwind, at your service."
"Jaren Ward," he supplied in turn, taking the handshake smoothly.
It wasn't a friendship. For all of the talk, she knew next to nothing about him, and he even less of her. There was still an edginess to both of them, a cautious look in the woman's eye when Jaren's hand brushed close to his cannon. It wasn't even an alliance, for all they might be traveling together tomorrow.
But it was a start.
Day 9 - Mess With the Best
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
Mending Wall – Robert Frost
February 28, 2886; The Last City, Earth
"Almost got it… T minus twenty seconds," Shiro announced.
"Any last-minute questions?" Andal asked.
Nobody said a word.
"Cameras will be out for five minutes," the short Exo announced.
"Set your timers, people," Andal commanded. "On your mark, Shiro."
"Mark," Shiro announced dryly. He clicked the lock and swung the door open.
The four Hunters moved into Zavala's office with efficiency. Each knew their role. Azra made a beeline for a bookcase on the wall and began pulling tomes out, stacking them with a careful hurry on the floor. Shiro moved towards a display case on the other side of the room, letting his Ghost free to scan it. "Magnetic locks, just like we thought," Pace reported.
The Exo cracked his knuckles and rolled sparks through his fingers. He placed his hands carefully, prying at the door with a gentle pressure. "Three, two, one…" he counted to himself. On 'one', he sent a jolt of electricity through his hands.
It was just enough to trip the mechanism. Shiro felt both locking nuts slide into place and the door obliged his prying. It swung open on silent hinges.
Andal was already there, removing the ornate sword inside with gloved hands. Cayde was there a moment later, sliding in a brightly-colored foam replica with just as much care.
Shiro eased the case closed and set about re-arming the locks.
Andal ferried the sword over to Azra, who'd already cleared a space for it on the bookshelf. He propped it flush against the wall, holding it in place until Azra had piled enough books back on to hold it steady. He helped her replace the rest of the tomes, humming thoughtfully to himself.
"Shouldn't we re-alphabetize this?" Andal asked.
"We want him to know something's up with the bookshelf," Azra reasoned. "It'd take too long for him to find it by chance. Who knows how many books he'd pull before he noticed what was behind them?"
Andal accepted the justification and helped slide the last few volumes in place. He left Azra to double-check that the sword was properly hidden and took in the room.
Cayde and Shiro were done by the display case. A rather goofy replica of Radegast's sword now sat snugly in its home. He pinged the comms channel once. Tevis pinged back an all-clear signal.
Perhaps they'd planned the heist too well. It had only been a minute and thirty seconds by his timer. The smart thing to do would be to leave now. Take no extra chances.
But they'd gone through all of this trouble just to get into Zavala's office in the first place. Why waste the opportunity?
"Alright, you have two minutes to search," he commanded. "Keep your gloves on and don't break anything. No stealing."
Cayde let out a quiet whoop of excitement and immediately moved to the shelf of knickknacks by the far wall.
Azra, a twinkle in her eye, moved to the desk.
"No peeking at classified stuff," Andal warned. "This is a raid on Zavala, not the Vanguard."
"I'm going to add an extra ball to his desk toy," she announced cheerfully. "Just to make him think he's gone crazy."
That was the whole idea of this operation- keep the leadership on his toes (and maybe dig up useful blackmail in the process), so although it technically was in violation of the 'no breaking things' rule, Andal let it slide.
"What," Sundance said from the top shelf of the knickknack storage. "What is this?"
There was a gravity to the obvious glee in her voice. Even Shiro paused in his work of switching around Zavala's houseplants.
"Two minutes is up," Charin announced. "Nintey seconds until the camera blackout ends."
Sundance held a data disk aloft, spinning back and forth with excitement. Whatever she'd found was good.
"Copy your files and put it back," Andal said. "We gotta jet."
"Twenty seconds," Azra bargained. Her Ghost had bits of the Newton's cradle floating around her.
Shiro headed dutifully for the door. Cayde followed shortly after, literally dancing with excitement. Azra was the last one out. Andal took one last glance around the room: foam sword on display, actual sword safely hidden in the bookcase, rearranged plants, six-balled Newton's Cradle clicking away on the desk.
He shut the door.
Zavala was not having a good day. First, what was supposed to have been a standard Consensus meeting had turned into an hour-long shouting match between New Monarchy and Dead Orbit. Then, maintenance on the rail system delayed his train. Now, this.
"You left your window open," Targe pointed out. "That must be how they got in."
"That sword was priceless," Zavala lamented, moving to the window to close and lock it. "A relic from the Iron Lords."
"People will notice when it shows up," the Ghost said in assurance. "It's hard to hide a shiny five-foot-long sword. Especially one that famous."
Zavala sighed and sat down at his desk, putting his head in his hands. Then, confused, he took his head out of his hands and did a double-take of the room.
The parlor palm was in the wrong corner. It was where the bromeliad used to be. The bromeliad was on the pedestal for the snake plant, which was sitting by the door…
Zavala let out an even deeper sigh. The petty vandalism was just insult added to injury after the theft.
"I'll move them back," Targe offered.
"Not now," the Titan snapped. He needed to unwind, badly. With Dead Orbit causing these political waves every Consensus meeting was becoming migraine-inducing. Zavala had scheduled himself an afternoon off, eager to get some reading done. Now he had another headache to deal with. "Just… find me some poetry, would you?"
The Ghost clicked thoughtfully. "Tennyson?"
"Frost," Zavala replied.
There was a long moment. Zavala's stomach sank when he received a sense of vague confusion from his Ghost.
"Did they steal my poetry books, too?" the Titan growled.
"No, no," Targe replied. "It's here, it's just… not in the right place."
That was it. Zavala stood up suddenly. His chair made a loud squeal as it was pushed back. "What kind of joke is this," he seethed. "The sword is valuable. That makes sense to steal. But un-alphabetizing my bookshelves? And the plants?"
"That's what crosses the line," his Ghost said dryly. "Not the theft, but that they reorganized your office?"
Zavala began pulling tomes off of the shelf. His anger almost made him forget himself, but he managed to keep his cool and not damage any of the books as he stacked them on a side table.
"Hey, Zavala…"
"Not now," he said. "Let me fix this before we move on to the next problem you've found."
"I found the sword."
Zavala froze. Indeed, there it was, wedged in the space between the books and the wall. Someone had even taken time to stuff a tissue under the blade's edge where it rested on the shelf.
Zavala pulled the rest of the books and removed the sword, hands shaking a little in relief. Targe scanned it, reporting no detectable damage (and no fingerprints besides Zavala's).
"I don't get it," the Ghost said as Zavala carried the relic back across the room. "Why go through all the trouble of breaking in and stealing the sword if you're not going to steal it?" He opened the case and transmatted the foam replica away.
Zavala placed the real sword in its stand and let out a sigh of satisfaction. Nothing was damaged or lost after all.
"Did they do this all just to mess with you?" Targe asked.
"I can think of a few people who would enjoy that very much," Zavala replied. He locked the case and nodded to himself. "At least they did not take anything."
"I'll reorganize the books," Targe offered. "You take it easy. Read your Robert Frost."
Zavala sat down in his chair and took the book his Ghost offered him. Perhaps the afternoon could be salvaged. (He'd be keeping his window locked from now on, though.) Targe hummed to himself as he restocked the bookshelf.
Then the humming stopped. Zavala lowered the book and looked at his Ghost, who had stopped ferrying houseplants around the office to stare at the knickknacks on Zavala's desk.
"Did… this always have six balls on it?"
"Alright," Andal admitted. "This is the find of the decade." He turned a generic memory card over in his hands.
"What do we do with it?" Tevis said.
"Flash mob," Cayde answered immediately. "We get a bunch of Guardians-"
"With Shaxx masks," Shiro added.
"Good touch," Cayde complimented. "Set it up like an aerobics class."
"I maaaaay have been working on a backdoor into the PA system," Azra announced. "For… reasons. So I've got that aspect covered."
Andal nodded. "It's settled then. Let's keep it hush-hush, though. Hand-select let's say… fifty people. Azra, you'll be our in-person for the PA. Make sure you've got an escape plan ready. Shiro, you're on Shaxx mask duty, since that was your idea. Cayde, you handle the choreography. Tevis can help me get it all organized. Think we can pull this together in two weeks?"
"Why two weeks?" Azra asked.
"Well, it's Shaxx's birthday then…"
Note: I cannot format in a link because this is FFNET. Go look up Shaxxercise on Youtube. You will not regret it.
Day 10 - I of the Storm
Well-trodden paths are all we take
We need a storm; let's pray for rain now
To wash these roads away
Let's get off track and wander far
Same roads lead to same destinations
Follow nothing but your heart
The Violence – Rise Against
August 21, 2870; EDZ, Earth
Uppercut. Spin. Jab. Weight on the back foot, lean in time to miss the blade, push forward to strike an electrified palm into the center of mass. Sweep backhand with the Staff to take care of the other. Hit low on the legs to kill this one's momentum, turn and spear it through the heart.
Someone says a word. A name. Your name, maybe?
There are no more Fallen here- they retreat, some thirty meters away already, and you will need to run to catch up.
There is someone in your way. He says that name, again, holding up an empty hand in a gesture of warning. His other hand has a gun in it.
You move to sidestep him and he moves with you, slow and delayed but still blocking your path. There is a sternness in his dark eyes. You get the feeling you should listen to what he is saying, but you don't understand the words.
You don't understand words. It's slow, too slow, and the Arc itches at you to move, to fight, to do something, rather than just stand here and watch in confusion as Andal makes meaningless gestures.
His grip on his Hand Cannon tightens. It is impossible to miss.
This situation is dangerous.
He says some other words, one of which you recognize as a different name, and the second person behind you tenses.
You spin, sharp as a knife. Shiro has already drawn his Dusk Bow and it's pointed at you. Everything is muscle memory and intuition as he looses, the Tether shrieks through the air and you can feel it coming with every one of your senses- the prickle on your skin, the purple glow, the shriek, the taste of ash in your mouth.
But the Arc roars louder- not strong enough to break it, that's not what the Arc does, but strong enough to shift, to bend, to alter its course and make a new one. You twirl, catching the Tether in your wake. It dances as everything must dance, held at the whims of the forces off the universe. You are some of those forces right now (or they are you- little difference).
You turn, elegant and perfect, and heave the Tether right back at him. There is a look of surprise on his face and though he is the fastest out of all of them, he is still far too slow to duck it.
Tevis apparently knows better. Redirecting Shiro's Dusk Bow has taken time. Tevis has moved close, a knife in his hand. You cannot deflect a knife, not with the force of an arm and a body behind it.
Still, Tevis is moving in comical slow motion. You swipe him out of the way, backhand. It takes noticeable time for his body to hit the ground. It's like everything is suspended in syrup, sweat drops glittering like crystals in the air. Even the electricity branching from your Staff seems slow. The blood rushes in your ears. Your hands shake with unspent energy. You need to go.
Andal snaps an order. The sound reverberates for an agonizingly long moment. How could you even pay attention long enough, not when you could be halfway across the clearing before the next word left his lips?
But he stands, chin up in challenge. He has put his gun away. And though his voice and manner are gentle, there is a solid core of command to him. Stay.
The Fallen are too far away now in any case. Maybe you will-
Andal lunged forward just as Azra's legs gave out. One second she was strong and fast and the Arc was singing a powerful song in her head, the next everything was just… dull.
Andal caught her under her arms and gently lowered her to the ground. Azra was… crying? Yes. Sobbing like a child, raw and messy. She clutched at him like she'd be swept away if she let go. He shushed her gently.
Shiro was resurrected with a flash of Light, Tevis following shortly. "I told you," the Nightstalker groaned as he sat up. "It ain't a Bladetrance. Can't call an Arcstrider back the same way."
"I was-" Azra gasped. "I was alone, there were so many of them-"
"It's alright now," Andal soothed. "You're fine, we're here."
"It was-" Azra couldn't find words to describe it. For a moment, she felt the current tug at her again. Powerful, free, bold, and razor-sharp.
Andal's arms squeezed harder, anchoring her. "Take a moment," he urged. "Collect yourself."
Azra gave up on trying to talk and just let Andal hold her. She focused on breathing and counting the beats of her heart. It felt like an eternity later when she shaking stopped and she could loosen her grip on his cape without feeling vertigo.
"You good?" Andal asked, pulling back. He looked so concerned. Had it really been that bad?
"I…" Azra didn't quite know how to answer. At the very least, she was shaken. She didn't feel injured, but she was frazzled and numb.
"You're young, so you're still learning," Tevis said. "Take this as a lesson. Don't go that deep. It's not worth it. Always a price to be paid."
Feeling the exhaustion sapping life from every cell in her body, the terrible slowness that dragged at her mind, Azra had to agree.
"You'll be fine. Just take it easy for a bit," Andal bargained. "Get some food in you- that always helps. And tell me if anything hurts. But we have to keep moving."
"A'ight," Azra muttered, letting the Gunslinger pull her back to her feet.
