TITANOMACH I | TRIUMVIRATE


INTERLUDE I | DUALITY


PALACE OF THE DUALITY | THE ETERNAL DREAM

Boots made quiet steps upon the tiled floor, where the thousands of individual colored pieces came together to form an image upon which many of the Awoken tread each day. The high arches and the placement of the lenses allowed the ethereal light to shine down through the transparent ceiling, giving the tiled artwork an almost glittering appearance.

The Dream was and always would be otherworldly, and all architecture was designed to emphasize that fact.

A place where time stood still.

Doors made of clouded crystal and obsidian laid before each entryway, guarded by the Black and Bright Guard respectively. The constant theme of light and darkness played throughout the edifice, both intertwining in the symbolic designs and patterns at play. An architectural manifestation of the duality that was carefully maintained.

The Palace was not empty, of course. Thousands came and went as their duties required, though the noise was muted, and conversation carried out in hushed tones. It was not done out of secrecy or shame, but a tempered respect for those who ruled. Each part of the Palace was not closed off from the others, so the sounds would carry throughout the vaunted halls, and all the way to the Throne Room itself.

There were no secrets here.

The King was always listening.

As was he.

Uldren Sov paid little attention to the small groups of Awoken he passed, nor those who stood before the entrances throughout the Palace. Though he was aware of the eyes upon him; the slight glances that lasted only a moment. Even among the Awoken he maintained a presence around him, though only one he permitted.

It had been some time since they had seen him, no doubt. Such was the temporal effect of the Dream. For them it had been years, perhaps even a decade, but for him it had only been a fraction of time beyond. It largely mattered little; little of import often happened between the visits.

The Dream was maintained and controlled. It could not be tampered with.

All under Huginn's eternal watch. The Will of the Dream would not be denied.

Perhaps they stared and watched for other reasons. There were expectations for the Master of Crows. A shawl overtop an intricately woven vest, colored in the blacks and blues of the organization of men he led. A singular pistol rested in a holster, a prize taken from one of the Guardians who'd become a bit too inquisitive. A fool who had deeply underestimated the capabilities of his assigned target.

They would doubtless be mystified as to the loss. A concern for the future, perhaps.

Yet what drew the stares was not the attire, but how he appeared. Hair as black as the namesake of his title, maintained and prepared for the audience; skin the color of a dark blue sky, black veins which pushed out of the skin around his neck; veins which visibly pulsed ever so slightly. It was not a simple visual of the infection, but one which he felt with each ponderous heartbeat.

Each heartbeat which pumped poison throughout his body. Each acidic pulse which made sleep impossible and pain a relief. Each eternal second where the only solution was to find an outlet. An outlet he would wait patiently to exploit, yet there was no need to do so here. It was not the place or time.

The Dream dulled the poison. His heart beat slower as the corruption struggled against the laws of the Dream. In the end, it did not matter.

So he would endure; the price to pay for this power.

Even still, the acrid oil ate along the edges of his mind.

And when the bystanders looked into his eyes, they saw not the yellow of a healthy Awoken male, but eyes sullied in deep pollution. Black capillaries spiderwebbed across the iris which shifted with each blink. It was unhealthy to let the corruption reach such a state, but he had learned his limits so long ago.

He would endure for a while longer. Just until the audience. Then it would be purged and he could breathe and taste again. Then he would be able to feel something beyond the coursing acid as the corruption yearned to break down and rebuild his physical body into something more befitting of the Logic.

But the Logic served him.

He had made it so.

Decades within the Dream had allowed him to shape it to achieve what he desired. It was what granted him the title he now bore. As there were no secrets in the Palace from the King, there were none from the Master of Crows. From the moment he had stepped into the Palace, he could hear the whispers of a thousand conversations, each clear to his elevated physiology, though overwhelming in their numbers.

If he wished, he could focus on one. Perhaps two.

Perhaps listen to an argument between an Aeterna and a Cryptarch over paracausal theory. Perhaps empathize with the Bright Guard who lost her daughter to the Pool, comforted by her friend. Perhaps smile at the crude joke between two Techeuns. Perhaps listen in attention as the Marauders were briefed on the latest activities of the powers beyond the Dream.

Today though, he would not.

He closed his ears to the noise and walked forward, the only sounds his breathing, his heartbeat, and the soft thuds his boots made upon the walkway. As he approached the Throne Room, the guards who stood before it parted without word, and moved the massive doors open. Upon crossing the threshold, the doors soundlessly closed behind him.

The Throne Room was different from the rest of the Palace. Much of the room had no true walls, but a dome-like structure carved out of glass which allowed the Duality to look out upon the Eternal Dream which they ruled. The jade twinking nebulaes proudly displayed in the everlasting night sky shone beautifully down; a vision of majesty that Uldren had missed when outside the Dream.

There were many beautiful places beyond this realm, but none matched its breathtaking wonder. The thrones upon which the Duality sat were separated, requiring the audience in question to first walk between them and turn to face them; to stand before the thrones angled to view the outside, with the landscape and city of the Waking Dream behind them as they faced the masters of their kind.

Each throne was highly elevated above the ground floor, with steps ascending to it at all angles. For most, the thrones themselves would dwarf those who sat within them in sheer scale; yet the Duality held the presence of rulers, for they dominated the Throne Room, and all else fell away.

But despite their grandeur, they held not the highest place here.

Just barely visible from the place he now stood, were five seats which looked down upon the Duality and those they spoke with from the highest parts of this royal chamber. Five seats that so often remained empty, yet which could seat the Dragon Riders or the illusionary avatars of the Seekers, should they wish to personally observe.

Their benefactors were owed such respect and reverence.

Very often all of the seats were empty. The Seekers were often occupied by other matters, and the Duality conveyed the matters of true importance at a later time, but today there was one who sat in the center seat. A female figure, skin as clear as porcelain, unnaturally white, who watched in unspoken and etheric elegance. Her eyes ablaze in draconic crystal flame.

Not one of the Riders then. An illusion.

Riven's illusion, specifically.

The Seeker of a Thousand Voices had deigned to honor them all with her presence today. He wondered what her interest was, as she typically did not concern herself with the affairs of the Crows.

Approach, Uldren Sov.

He obeyed the voice that manifested in his mind.

Uldren walked between the thrones and reached the designed center of audience before them, conveniently marked by the tile arranged before the exalted thrones. As was expected, he fell to one knee, angling himself towards the throne of the King he answered to. Only a few seconds passed before the next expected words came.

"Rise, Uldren Sov."

The familiar voice of raw power and authority; gravitas drawn from the Deep itself. An all encompassing; all powerful sound which echoed deep in the minds of all who heard. A voice that did not speak much, but one which all would listen to.

He stood and properly beheld Iral Jox, Born of the Nightmare, Master Sorcerer, Overseer of Crows, Lord of the Marauders, Wielder of the Wrath, Commander of the Dragon, and King of the Dark. A male who had reached the pinnacle of what one could achieve in the Waking Dream. The first King to come from the Nightmare, and perhaps one of the most powerful to exist because of that.

If his usage of telepathy practiced by that order was anything to go by, he had not let his skills atrophy.

Dressed in the intricately layered robes of black and silver, it was not his attire which projected authority, but the sheer presence of the master of the Logic and the darkness it had slaved. His skin was a full shade darker than Uldren's own, and the whites of the eyes were swirling ebony lakes, yet their piercing golden irises blazed, untainted by corruption. His hair fell to his shoulders, unbound and still.

The corruption in him reacted to the King, abating in his presence, as the darkness that ate his mind called out to its rightful master; and there was only one word Uldren could properly use to describe him; a word which his mind screamed out.

Majestic.

With his first duty complete, he turned to the second throne and fell to a knee once more. While his first loyalty would always be to his King, his heart would forever be with his sister. She spoke the words a few seconds later.

"Rise, brother."

Her voice was far softer, though still held the steel of unquestionable authority. The voice was not quite so overpowering, yet it wormed its way through his mind all the same; the pleasant melody something none wanted to forget, and thus their minds would remember.

He stood again and beheld Mara Sov, Born of the Stars, Master Techeun, Lady of the Light, Commander of the Stars, Paladin-Master, Granter of the Wish, Voice to the Beyond, and the Queen of Starlight. Though she lacked the unique background of her counterpart, his sister had been destined for this since she had sat upon the Eternal Council as the most powerful Techeun alive.

She sat in stark contrast to her counterpart; where the King sat still and firm, she sat more relaxed, one leg crossed over the other. Her clothing was a blend of robe and vest, colored the purples and blues of those she directly oversaw, with ribbons and woven fabric interlaced around the arms and shoulders. An amulet hung from her neck, the Sov family heirloom now given to her.

She almost glowed in ethereal light, her skin a pale, luminescent shade of blue, which looked almost white in the light that shown from the outside. The irises of her eyes similarly gleamed a pure white, making it difficult for one to look directly into them, so fiercely did they burn. Hair as white as her eyes fell from her head, cropped and angled around her face, and ironically shorter than her counterpart.

His sister looked down at him. "Speak, brother. Share what you have learned."

"Yes, my Queen," he cleared his throat. "The Guardians are beginning to rebuild in earnest. Expand. The Moon is once more under their control. Teams are being sent to Mercury, Venus, and Mars as we speak. Their numbers are similarly growing again."

She nodded. "It is only a matter of time until they reach the Reefs. The Dreaming Cities if we are not prepared."

"Their expansion threatens the third phase."

"Perhaps, but the Vanguard is more occupied with the Vex and Hive resurgence. They have yet to show a desire to breach the Reefs," Uldren amended. "Though I was tracked by one of the Hunters and killed him. They will not ignore that."

"The Perfect Circle knows then. The Hunters will begin investigations. The Vanguard will fall into line soon enough."

"A risk, but as I said, the Vanguard is also focused on…other matters," Uldren said, thinking about how best to phrase this. "They have begun to experiment with the Logic."

Both of the Duality seemed ever-so-slightly caught off guard by this revelation. The King leaned forward. "You are certain?"

"Yes."

"Unusual. The Vanguard have been historically resistant to investigating the Logic. Curious that they have reconsidered."

"They likely see it as a necessary evil. But they are committed. A new Order of Guardians has been created for this purpose."

"And they are called what?"

"The Forsaken."

The King's lips grew into a thin smile. "How very appropriate."

"The Vanguard has been appropriately expanded as well. Even as this Order is under…heavy supervision."

"As expected. Still, this could prove troublesome once they understand the full power the Logic provides."

"Indeed."

"There is more," Uldren said. "Rasputin is active. The Seraphs have recently made contact with the Vanguard."

The King leaned back. "So the Seraphs endure."

"Or new ones. It is unclear if he has constructed them in the aftermath of the war against the Darkness, or if they were an existing contingency."

"Knowing the capabilities of this machine, it is likely both. Troubling. We had presumed him destroyed."

"He is not. I can confirm this."

"Then he will also explore. Rasputin will not be so considerate as the Vanguard when he learns of our true capabilities."

"He will explore past the threshold of the Reefs. The third phase will be discovered if precautions are not taken."

"Then we will need to anticipate his movements."

"No matter what, the machine cannot be allowed to breach the Eternal Dream."

Mara waved a hand. "He nor his Seraphs will breach the Vault. Their minds will flee should they try and comprehend the puzzle, nor will the Seekers let them enter. The Eternal Dream is secure."

"We would do well to not underestimate the machine."

"No, but I believe there is yet time before attention is turned to us," Uldren said. "In addition to the Logic, the Vex have also begun attracting Guardian interest on Mercury. They have resurged since Osiris vanished on an expedition to investigate."

The King narrowed his eyes. "Osiris is missing?"

"Yes. The Vanguard has yet to determine their response."

"We should keep watch over this. The Vex remain an unknown factor and Osiris was one of their most valuable. We would do well to remain informed."

"Perhaps use this as an opportunity to cultivate non-aggressive ties with the Vanguard?"

"Deliberately expose ourselves?"

"A close entity is one whose knowledge can be controlled."

"Perhaps. Consultation with the Seekers and Eternal Council is required."

"I have one more question, brother – how stands the Traveler?"

"No change. She remains comatose, even if the Ghosts have returned. The Speaker has made no proclamation. Her continued status is likely a factor in why they allowed the exploration of the Logic."

"The Ghosts signal her healing. It is not a matter of if, but when. If the Speaker is still communicating with her, then nothing is happening without her consent."

"I cannot speak for either, only relay what I know."

"You have done well, Master of Crows. Your rest is earned," the King looked down upon him. "The corruption has taken root in you."

"I am aware. It was necessary."

"Purge it immediately."

"Go to the Lake," Mara said gently. "We will speak more later, o brother mine."

He once more bowed, first to the King, and then his Queen, though only the King had the power to dismiss him. The yellow irises of the sun bored into his own as the dismissal was given.

Cleanse yourself of the corruption, and your next task will be given. Now go, o shadow mine. Azirim awaits your offering.


THE LAKE OF BLACK | THE ETERNAL DREAM

Ahead was the Lake.

Isolated from the city proper, it was hidden within a landscape of trees and winding mountain trails. The green ethereal light above shone down, making the walk a scenic and pleasant one. The descent now approached, and he could see the Lake of Black at the bottom of the immaculate stairwell.

Calling it a 'Lake' was, of course, a slight exaggeration. A depression in the ground, formed into the shape of a perfect circle comprised the Lake; made out of hewn stone. It was not deep, the liquid would barely reach past the waists of even the shortest of males. A ramp led to the center of the Lake, and a small barrier of stone rimmed the outside.

As usual, there was only one present.

Argax Liwei had been the Sorcerer assigned to oversee the Lake of Black for as long as he could remember. He had overseen Uldren's own Rite, and many more who had since followed. Garbed in the familiar robes of red and black, a hood shrouded his face, making the yellow irises which peered out even more illuminated.

"Uldren. Welcome home."

"Thank you, Argax."

The eyes peered at him. "I can see why you have come. You have let it spread."

"Such was necessary. I remain its master."

"For now, Master Crow. The Deep will call, and you will hear its song. Do not believe you may push further than you are capable."

"I am aware, Sorcerer. I have refrained from refining the Logic in this state."

"You show some wisdom yet. Let us not waste more time."

Uldren walked to a nearby table and began stripping down, while setting a small pack of fresher clothes nearby. His holster and weapon were set off first, followed by the ornamental pieces of clothing and gear. Boots, gloves, armor, underclothing were all taken off and carefully folded from when he emerged. It would do little good for them to be consumed in the Lake.

Argax appraised the disrobed Awoken, eyes drawn to his chest.

Uldren did not blame him. While the darkened veins on his neck had been visible, they were only a portion of how the corruption had taken over his body. Much of his chest was mired in the dark rot and visibly pulsed with each heartbeat; the oil-filled veins running along his arms and down his legs. His body excreted a foul-smelling sweat-like liquid, especially on the palms of his hands and soles of his feet.

He said nothing though, and simply took his place at the north side of the Lake, opposite the ramp which Uldren descended. The liquid within the Lake was clear for now, as this was a Cleansing Ritual, not a Rite. It was not the first time he had been here, and it would not be the last.

Reaching the center of the Lake, he knelt, the cool liquid coming up to his neck, and after closing his eyes, laid down and submerged himself in the Lake. The Sorcerer would begin his work now, a process which Uldren had not been taught, nor personally witnessed. Only the Rites usually had watchers.

Days which would end in celebration or sorrow, depending on the outcome.

He felt it when the Sorcerer finished his incantation. A looming mind which dwarfed his own touched; a mind from which a trillion souls called out; slaved to the one overarching intelligence. Azirim had come to feast. The leviathan often did not directly communicate with those in the Lake, yet by proxy Uldren sometimes heard the voices of those who had been dissolved in the Lake and their minds swallowed by the Speaker of the Dead.

It was a wholly discomforting sensation; the feeling of pinpricks on his brain; a maddening itch that he could not reach without tearing his skull apart. Punctures along his body also sprouted, and his numbed nerves simply felt the pressure. He did not know what happened during this part, for his eyes remained closed. He imagined it as a swarm of insects which ran along and stung, and with each sting, the darkness coursing through his body leaked out.

Azirim did not just eat the corruption, of course. Such was a risk that came with the Cleansing. Other pieces of the mind might take the Seeker's fancy; emotions, feelings, and memories. It was not uncommon for gaps in memory to formulate after this ritual. Not always, but any man soon learned the importance of a journal to always remember the memories they most valued.

The end was coming. His body was clamped together by dark bonds, and he gasped as it felt like a spike was stabbed into his heart. A spike, or perhaps a talon from the Dragon that lurked in the Deep. The force of it propelled him up, and he burst from the liquid, and proceeded to vomit, spewing an unsightly black substance into the Lake.

The final expulsion of corruption.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Uldren took his first breath of air. The Lake was no longer pristine, but laced with the black bile of his body, though now harmless. A quick glance down at his form confirmed that the corruption was gone. He could still feel the edges of the darkness on his mind, but far away. The call of the Deep was simply a part of him, one which would continually grow as this cycle was repeated.

A part of him to be curated and pruned, not purged.

But it felt good to not have his veins laced with acid and his mouth not coated in foul sludge. He walked the ramp out of the Lake, and to only his mild surprise saw a familiar figure waiting for him. A woman clad in silver and green plate armor, with a cape that fell from her shoulders, and a sword made out of crystal hung on her hip.

A figure straight out of an old Earth legend, yet the Dragon Riders played on such myths and had developed an affinity for them. While she lacked the ethereal glow of Mara, she was nonetheless a luminescent figure, as were all women who emerged from the Pool of Starlight, their hair shocked to white along with their eyes.

A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. She cocked her head and greeted him with a smile. "That looked worse than usual."

"It was."

"Then you'll definitely need this," she handed him a mug with steam wafting from the liquid. "If it was that bad, you need a reminder of what good things taste like."

He took the mug and took a drink. Ah, tea of oranges and raspberries; grown and brewed within the Dream, more potent than they could ever be beyond it. If there was one side effect of the corruption he secretly enjoyed, it was the ability to experience each unique flavor again. According to some, his favorites changed after each Cleansing, though that was something he was not displeased with.

The women did not have to undergo such rituals, as the Starlight did not corrupt, something he suspected they were grateful for, and some of the men were envious of. Yet he felt like he and the other men had a greater appreciation for the smaller details of life. The women would never know the gradual fading of feeling until all they knew was numbness, or the loss of taste and smell. He would not wish it upon anyone, but it had taught him a valuable lesson. One never knew what they had until it was stripped away from them.

All the more important to enjoy it now before it began again.

Sorto Minas appraised him as he drank all of the tea. "You're welcome."

He finished, and set the mug down. "Thank you. Truly."

"Anytime."

With that done, he began dressing again, pulling out the clean underclothes from his pack. The ones he had worn would be burned. "Are you here for yourself, or does the Bright Lord have a request?"

"Well, both, as it turns out," she said with a smile. "Word travels fast when the Master of Crows returns. I certainly needed to see you before you left again. You waste very little time despite the Duality likely insisting your rest."

He grunted, putting his vest back on. "There is much happening beyond."

"Yes, which is why Eao is specifically interested."

Uldren narrowed his eyes, meeting her own bright one. "The Seekers usually do not…"

"No, they don't. Trust me – I know."

"Go on."

"The Seekers have not departed the Dream since the formation," she reminded him. "They want a firsthand assessment, especially with the third phase potentially at risk."

Uldren could see where this was going. "They are sending the Dragon Riders."

"Only one. Me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Good."

"I'm touched."

"I know you. It's preferable to one of the others who are more distant."

She smiled brightly. "I do have a certain affinity with you that the others do not."

"You and Jolyon."

"I'm pleased to be considered in such esteemed company," she tapped a finger to her lips. "A pity he is not here to join us."

Indeed, it had been too long since Uldren had seen his friend of old. Responsibilities had pulled them apart, as Jol was content to remain an operative while he had ascended to Master of Crows. "We all must fulfill our duties."

"As the Seekers decree."

There was a brief pause .

"You will accompany me, I presume?"

"Unless you would prefer otherwise?"

He shrugged. "Unnecessary, and if the Bright Lord commands it, I will obey regardless." He fixed her with a critical eye. "Although if my next task remains observation, you will need to find attire less conspicuous."

She ran an armored glove through her hair. "Come now, o companion mine. I've seen the armor the Guardians wear. This is hardly eye-catching."

"I'd prefer not to take that chance."

"Eh, we'll work it out," she waved a hand. "Are you ready?"

He holstered his new pistol. "Ready now. We can head back."

She noticed the weapon. "I don't think you had that before."

"I didn't. Took it from a Hunter."

"And by took…"

"I'll tell you on the way. It's a long story."


THE TOWER | SANCTUARY CITY | EARTH

It was a natural break in the story and the Speaker had stood and briefly taken a moment to check on something Patriot-3 didn't know the details of. A question which had taken form in her mind came out; something she wanted to know as he had spoken. "Were you there?"

"Yes."

So he had been one of the first. Although it still sounded as though the Guardians had not existed at this point of the story. Yet if she was from that period…it also meant that other things had existed. "I suppose the Triumvirate wasn't as welcoming to the Traveler as she had hoped."

The Speaker shut down the console he was at, and hesitated slightly before answering. "Not exactly. It was not so…blatant as that. They feared Her from the start. These men and women were not fools in the conventional sense. They knew better than to openly defy Her wishes. But they…let us say, they underestimated Her in many ways. Their hubris ultimately caused their downfall."

The Exo shifted in her seat. "Do you think they could have…gotten away with it?"

His voice was melancholic. "Yes…though not in the way you are likely thinking. There are many factors to consider in what happened. This story could have gone many different ways. It would have been very easy for people to make different decisions. The outcome was not predestined, I do not believe that."

He turned his masked face to her. "I wonder, does any of what I say sound familiar? Do you recall anything?"

Patriot-3 shook her head. "No. Nothing."

"Unsurprising, but stranger things have happened. The minds of Exos have surprised me before."

Patriot-3 didn't really have a response to that. She wished she could be one of the surprising ones, but in reality, whoever she had been was lost forever. Nonetheless the story being told painted a very…bleak image of the past. One which had changed with the arrival of the Traveler.

She wondered exactly what had happened, what had led to her creation. But she would wait for the story to reach that point. The Speaker had just returned to take a seat when the doors to his chambers were suddenly opened and two figures strode through, an Exo and a woman.

"Speaker, you have a minute?" The Exo said before suddenly stopping once he saw her sitting down. "Oh…crap. Sorry, didn't know you had company."

The Exo was clearly a more advanced model than she was. He towered a full head over the Speaker and woman beside him. His chassis was primarily colored blue, though white and gold were accented throughout. He wore a leather-like vest with a pistol holstered at his hip. A tight-form hood covered his head, though not quite enough to completely cover the odd horn that jutted from his forehead.

The woman beside him shook her head and sighed. "This is why you knock first."

"How was I supposed to-look, I said I was sorry," he brought a fist to his mouth and gave a mimic of a cough for some reason as he looked at her. "Sorry again, Vanguard business. 'Very urgent' as my colleague insisted." He finished with a pointed glance at the woman beside him.

"Do not attempt to put this on me!" She demanded in a sharp voice.

"I'm sorry," the Exo said in a tone which signaled he was going to make a point he thought was good. "Was it me that dragged me out of a meeting saying 'The Speaker must be told this at once'? Hmm?"

The woman just made a disgusted noise. She seemed wholly the opposite of the more boisterous Exo. She wore some kind of brown robe, with a hardened chestpiece which bore some kind of painted symbol, almost like a four-petaled flower. A shawl-like hoodpiece covered her head. Sharp green eyes were set in a pale-skinned face that seemed set in a somber expression.

"Enough," the Speaker stood. "Apologies for the intrusion. This is Cayde-6 and Eris Morn. Both of the Vanguard."

Cayde-6 raised a hand. "Hi."

"Hello," Patriot-3 inclined her head.

The Speaker sighed. "What is the situation?"

Cayde-6 cocked his head, his blue electric irises appraising her. "No offense to you miss…"

"Patriot-3."

"Patriot-3 – got it," he gave a thumbs up. "No offense, but this is not necessarily something for all ears, if you know what I'm saying."

"Very well," the Speaker said, looking at the duo. "I do not intend for this to take long."

"Take your time," Patriot-3 waved her hand. "I won't be going anywhere."

"I appreciate the consideration," the Speaker said. "Cayde, Eris. Come with me then." Both of them followed the Speaker as he ascended the circular staircase to one of the higher rooms, leaving her alone. Or at least the illusion of solitude.

She wondered what had happened that they'd needed to be so rudely interrupted.

Oh well, whatever it was, it was probably important.


THE TOWER | SANCTUARY CITY | EARTH

On the upper floor of his chamber, the Speaker turned to the two interrupting Vanguard after ensuring the room was sealed. Cayde crossed his arms, his electronic eyes expanding and retracting a few times. "So – what dark pit did you drag her out of. Because good lord, that model brings back some memories."

"Triumvirate, yes?" Eris inquired.

"Yeah. Triumvirate."

Eris Morn had been born long after the Triumvirate War, and even after the Collapse. She lacked the context that he and Cayde had…though Cayde's memory was also incomplete in some cases. He remembered enough though. Enough that something like Patriot-3 would trigger some dark memories.

"A good question," the Speaker said, clasping his hands in front of him. "She came here herself. Found and repaired by a Ghost and led to me. She appears to remember nothing, so I have been sharing our origin."

Cayde whistled. "That's going to take some time."

"Yes, but I can afford it."

"Not going to lie," Cayde glanced to Eris. "Considering one of the things we have to say, this is a bit more than creepy."

The Speaker motioned. "Go on."

"So you know what's funny?" Cayde tapped a finger to his chin. "A whole multitude of Triumvirate-era Exos have suddenly shown up, courtesy of our friendly neighborhood Spider. All damaged, deactivated and overall in bad shape."

Under his mask, the Speaker frowned. That was unexpected. The Spider rarely sent out expeditions on his own; he was a broker. Scavengers from all across the system came and sold directly to him. He paid a premium for anything related to the Guardians – and in turn sold them back to the Vanguard at a significant markup. "From who?"

"You're going to love this," Cayde said, in a tone which indicated he was not going to love it. "Exos and Humans, all of whom are new supplies, and all-around sound suspiciously like Seraphs."

"You are certain?"

"Of course not. Rasputin is only the smartest sapient intelligence in the system, and wouldn't leave such an obvious trail, noo he's way too smart and sophisticated to make a mistake like that," Cayde rolled his eyes, and the Speaker was mildly surprised his mouth wasn't leaking from how soaked the words were in sarcasm. "But seriously – literally no one else would be interested in digging up old Exos – and I'll note that these are ones damaged beyond repair. I'm wondering now about how many of them are walking around now – I suspect our amnesic Patriot-3 isn't the only one."

"Unlikely," the Speaker agreed.

"Personally, I think Rasputin knows exactly what he's doing and he either doesn't care, or this is some obtuse cerebral message he will use for the next decade to lord his superiority over us," Cayde commented. "Or he made an oversight. Pick one."

"I presume you spoke with the Spider about this?"

"Obviously. Next time someone comes selling a broken Exo, he'll hold them until we get there," Cayde rested a hand on his pistol. "He wasn't happy about that, obviously, but considering the alternative was a nice chat with the Perfect Circle, well…" Cayde's tone took on a self-satisfied lint. "You know, sometimes, I amaze myself with my diplomacy."

Eris snorted. "Of course you would."

"I will summon the First Seraph when I finish with Patriot-3," the Speaker said, his face set in a frown under his mask. "I would hope that Rasputin has a plausible explanation for this. I would prefer our renewed alliance be made on stable ground."

"I am certain Zavala would be interested in this development," Eris noted.

"Do you want a war with Rasputin?" Cayde asked sarcastically. "Because that's how you get a war with Rasputin. There was a reason we're not mentioning this to him right away. And for the record, if you could get this sorted before he finds out, we'd all appreciate it."

"He is of the Vanguard," the Speaker said. "He will be informed, but I will ensure he is kept from doing anything rash."

"Alright," Cayde raised his hands in surrender. "But put it in the record that I predicted that Zavala will go ballistic. Don't blame me when we're all slaved to the overlord because Zavala couldn't resist punching the smug Seraph."

Eris actually smiled at that. "You would have to admit, she would deserve it."

"Look, I'm not disputing that she is extremely punchable with her cryptic remarks, smug binary chatter, and sheer aura of self-righteousness because Rasputin programmed her a bit higher in the hierarchy," Cayde defended with a slightly raised voice. "But I will point out that she's a very dangerous insufferable drone."

"On that we are agreed."

"Brays," Cayde sniffed. "Not even once."

"This situation will be dealt with," the Speaker lifted a hand. "What else is there?"

"Ikora has set down on Mercury," Eris said. "It's…much worse than we anticipated."

"As in…?"

"In short? We believe the planet is being converted into…something," Eris scowled. "Our understanding of the Vex remains limited. But they are swarming the planet."

"Hostile?"

"Initially, though they've backed off from the landing zones."

"And no sign of Osiris."

"None. Saint-14 will be leading the first expeditions," Eris stroked her chin. "But given what's on Mercury, combined with how little we understand them, I'm concerned our chances of finding him are…low."

"We won't give up hope yet," the Speaker shook his head. That was something they couldn't afford. If Osiris was lost forever that would be…devastating. Osiris was still alive – the Traveler knew his Ghost was active and it had not been recalled. Yet the fact that he hadn't returned was troubling. It meant he was somewhere where he could not simply transmat out.

Ikora had enough Warlocks and Titans to take on an entire Eliksni house. However, the Eliksni were nothing like the Vex, who were far more enigmatic and problematic. The forces she had might be insufficient, and their mission might have to be re-evaluated. Once more Osiris seemed to be right.

The Vex were more of an issue than they'd assumed.

He had an annoying habit of being right about these kinds of threats.

"Keep me appraised," he said. "Is there anything else?"

"Might be something, might not," Cayde said off-handedly. "Lost one of my agents."

"Elaborate."

"I'm not sure if it was an accident or not," Cayde said placatingly. "We got a tip of some Awoken acting suspiciously – probably one of the spies from…well, wherever they are in the Belt. I put one of the Crystal Wave to follow him, and next week I get a message from the Spider saying that an 'advanced looking Exo' was just sold to him."

Cayde shrugged. "As the story goes, the body was mostly in pieces. The cortex is unrecoverable. He said that the Eliksni who sold it, recovered it in the Belt, in the wreckage of a personal Guardian starship. Not out of the question that he crashed while pursuing the target."

"This is why even Exos should be given Ghosts." Eris muttered.

"Hey some of us do have them," Cayde defended. "But we don't need them…most of the time. Point being, there's a chance that the Awoken are spying on us. The Perfect Circle is going to ramp up counter-intel ops on Earth."

"Understood. You have my approval."

"I believe that is all that is important," Eris inclined her head. "I apologize for our untimely interruption."

"No offense taken," the Speaker waved a dismissive hand. "I still have duties. You have given me much to consider. Return, and keep me informed of any developments."

"Yes, Speaker." Eris said. Cayde just gave a mock salute. The Speaker removed the sealing of the room, and Eris and Cayde both vanished as their Ghosts transmatted them away, leaving him alone.

Quite troubling, what they had said, but many things were these days.

However, he still had a story to tell, and the innocent Exo was patiently waiting below. With his mind heavy, he descended the staircase and saw her still seated, and that she perked up once she saw him approached. "I apologize again for the interruption," he said, taking his seat once again. "Now, let us continue where we left off."


TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER VII | DEBRIEF


A/N: This effectively concludes Act I of Triumvirate. Thanks to everyone whose been reading and enjoying it; it's been a lot of fun to write and finally publish. There will almost certainly be a break between this chapter and the next one since a couple of my editors are really busy, and won't have a lot of free time until likely mid-June. I want everyone on board and helping with this, so I'll be focusing on some other things until then. Apologies for that, but life has certainly been conspiring to make everything more difficult.

Once again, thank you for reading and stay healthy.

- Xabiar