His bad leg throbbed insistently, he'd failed to get his arena, Cayde-6 wanted to speak to him, and when he returned to the Tower there was a familiar Titan hovering awkwardly next to his desk. All in all, Lord Shaxx was not having a good day.

"What is it?" He said wearily. The Titan – Braco, he thought his name was – jumped. He was paler than radiolarian fluid, and Shaxx was visited by sudden desire to grab him by his shoulder plates and shake him until he got a grip.

"C-Cayde said I should speak to you, Sir."

"And what exactly does Cayde want?"

"He said I should ask you if you'd train me. One on one." Braco said quickly, as if he thought this information might be more palatable that way. Shaxx felt his fist clench.

It was easy to visualise Braco in the Crucible. Sweat beading on his pale face, eyes screwed up in anticipation of a bullet. Trembling with fear, frozen in place. He was perpetually leaning to one side, as though he half-expected to be forced to run for his life at any moment. Shaxx knew, rationally, he should be sympathetic to the anxieties of Guardians. It wasn't an easy life. He knew that as well as anyone.

Unfortunately, he wasn't feeling particularly rational.

"You know, Titan," he said. "When I look at you, and I remember that every punch a Titan throws comes with intention and purpose, a little part of me dies to see you care so little".

"I - "

"I have people like you who can win wars, Titans who could build all seven columns and shake the pillars to their core. I have tried to train you in combat, the Vanguard have given you opportunities in the field. What use is a Guardian who won't fight? Who weeps at the first sign of aggression?"

What little colour was left in Braco's face drained away. He clearly didn't think anyone had seen his little performance in Exodus Blue that morning.

"What do you think the Crucible is, Titan?"

"It's...your arena?"

His arena. His life's work. His distraction.

"I'll tell you what it isn't," Shaxx said, pushing those thoughts away. "It's not a game. It's not a nursery. It's war. Nobody's going to hold your hand in the field. I'm certainly not going to waste my time doing it here."

There was a long silence.

"I've never failed, Guardian," Shaxx said finally, his voice harsh. "All these years. I've taught arrogant Hunters and Warlocks who think too much and I've never failed. I'm not about to start now."

His revenge. His atonement.

"Do better. Earn it. And you can tell Cayde next time he wants me to pander to someone to ask me himself."

Braco almost sprinted out of the hall, stumbling over his own feet as he went. Shaxx could have sworn he heard a strangled sob as he left, and he drove his fist into the desk with a grunt.

He'd never failed. There would never be another Twilight Gap.

Nobody else would lose what he had lost.


The fire had been burning forever, swallowing up the ground before dying slowly into embers and stray flames. She'd stayed until it was quiet, just like Ger told her, watching wide-eyed until the heat made them dry and scratchy.

When the only sound and movement was the last of the flames she took a step out into the field. And another.

She was a Nightcrawler, Mama had reminded her just the other day. No matter how many times the City dwellers spat on them, shunned them, kept them out, the bravest and most noble thing to do was live. To keep going.

Another step. And another.

The village was gone. Burned out husks of wood and dirt houses, a funny smell that made her wrinkle her nose. There was nobody there.

"Mama?" She called out in a wavering voice, and coughed violently as the hot air seared her throat.

Nobody answered. No hand came round to claim her.

She padded on. The Matriarch hut was a shell, the market stalls nothing but charred splinters, but it was the totem in the centre of the square that made her whimper with fear. She'd loved to run her fingers along the carved lines and symbols, tracing the faces of the spirits. Now it was blasted away from the base, jagged wood sticking out of the ground like ugly teeth.

A series of loud bangs made her squeak and she fell to her knees trembling.

"Mama?"

Be brave be brave be brave be

She inched around the charred remains of huts and saw the heavy outline of figures through the smoke. She froze.

Guardians.

Magpie hesitated. Ger was nowhere to be see, but she recognised the armour of one of his friends. Takaala, was her name? She hadn't been friendly, but maybe she knew where Ger was…

Mind made up, she crept through the smoke, mindful of Takaala's mood when they'd first met. But the Guardian was laughing now, laughing and waving one of the torches from the crumbled village gate, sparks bursting into the air like fireflies. She was shouting at someone under the shattered wood of the markethouse, and - yes! There were screams and banging noises from underneath. Magpie's heart leapt in her chest. Someone was in there, alive, she wasn't alone, they were to be rescued…

She started to run towards them, full of hope - maybe Mama was there! - but before she could make her way out of the shadows Takaala threw her head back with a roar of triumph, monstrous in the flickering firelight.

Magpie watched in horror as she dropped the torch. It thudded down the pyre, bouncing once, twice, before flames roared over the wood. There were no more screams after that.