Draken faded in and out of consciousness during his time on the supercarrier, being shuttled around in different boxes and getting examined by a few wary medics every now and then. Apparently, his physiology confused them with how… perfect he was. Their estimates weren't far off the mark, as crazy as they seemed, and he played a game to pass the time where he grinned at them when they brought up their theories (he'd studied the Covenant languages for intel purposes back when he was a Spartan), letting them know what he thought about them.
"What the hell are we supposed to do with this thing?" one of the doctors whispered one day, clearly audible to Draken. "It could tear apart a Jiralhanae, and we're just moving it around the ship and poking it!"
"I say we establish contact, see if it wants to join the great journey. Worst case we send it to an early grave, best case the Covenant gains a powerful ally." The group agreed and ordered translators to try and establish what language Draken could understand. For a few minutes they spoke gibberish, but he finally picked up the Brute language and grunted back a reply.
"Yes?"
"Ah, so you speak Jiralhanae? How?" the translator asked.
"One got lost near my home, learned how to speak with him, and sent him on his way. Where am I, and where are my people?"
"You're on a Covenant vessel, 'Terrible Dawn'. We don't know where your home is, I'm sorry." Draken paced a little, showing distress as he rubbed his hands together. "Were there many of you on the planet?"
"About thirty-seven if I remember right," he answered distractedly, gauging their reaction. One of the higher ranking members cursed in disappointment, turning away from Draken, others having quieter but similar expressions to the news. "I don't know how to get back to them, I don't…" he descended into anxious muttering, selling his act.
"We may not be able to help you get home, but with the recent glassing they may already be gone."
"Glassing?"
"Yes, the cleansing beams of our ships are used to wipe a planet clean of life. You may very well be the last of your kind." Draken effected a stunned silence, before dropping to his knees. Getting this act right was crucial, and he did his best impression of shock, even managing to squeeze out a tear with Drayk's help.
"I have… no home… no family… gone…" He heard them whispering and held back a smirk when they talked about a 'perfect opportunity'.
"While we may not be your kind, you may find both of those things in the Covenant… what's your name?" He looked at them, still in "grief", but aware.
"My name is Draken… truly? I may live among you?"
"If you wish, and if you pledge yourself to our cause, Draken," they said, thinking themselves clever.
"What is your cause?"
"We seek to embark on the Great Journey, led by our Prophets, through the power of our gods the Forerunners and the Rings they left behind for us. We're actually thinking of sending you to our Prophets if you would like to meet them."
"Oh, would I," Draken thought darkly. "Very much so. When may I see them?"
"Soon, Draken," the translator smiled, "I'm sure they'll be eager to make your acquaintance as well." The crowd dispersed, and Draken was left to his own thoughts, given a few clothes that fit him and then given a room while they prepared the ship for travel to High Charity. He rested some more, listened to their instructions, and picked up anything that might be useful later. Soon the ship was ready and sent through slipspace to the fortress of the Prophets. Draken realized that he would be the first member of the UNSC to lay eyes on the place, and tried to gather as much as he could about the place.
"It's the greatest of the entire Covenant fleet, the biggest and most heavily fortified."
"The closest I can compare its size to is a large moon, but It's far more impressive than that."
"It can house the whole of the Covenant if needed, ships included." Even with the descriptions of High Charity, it's sheer size astounded Draken.
"How do you even build something this big?" he wondered. "Drayk, we're going to need a long-term plan."
"Yeah, sure, let me just pull one of those out of our ass. Stick to the story, and improvise the rest. It worked for me for thirty years, and I doubt you'll be here that long." It was crude and idiotic, but Draken didn't have a better idea and went along with it as the Phantom landed and he was escorted to the Prophets chamber. He was looked at with curious glances while walking through the superstructure, but almost none of them were hostile surprisingly enough. Being inhuman sure came with a lot of perks. When he reached his destination, he switched escorts from soldiers to high ranking guards, equipped with shining armor and bristling with weapons. He was stopped in front of a dais that held all three of the old aliens in their hoverchairs and instructed to kneel in respect.
"Greetings, Draken," began Truth, a nearby translator repeating him in Jiralhanae. "Welcome to the Covenant. What do you think of it so far?"
"I'm not sure yet, there's so much of it to see, and I've only been near it for a few days," Draken replied, trying his hardest to hide his hatred of the religious figures. He managed with a few deep breaths and a repeat of his backstory, able to continue his scheme. "But I wish to see more of it already. How may I begin this Great Journey i've heard the others speak of?"
"By serving the Covenant, Draken," Mercy replied. "Currently, the heretics that call themselves humanity are attempting to prevent us from taking our first steps onto the holy road, and so a war has broken out between us, sadly. They are resilient and stubborn, but we are strong, and we will crush them so that they may not taint the knowledge of the Forerunners with their blasphemy. They defile artifacts, and tread on sacred ground without regard for the gods, yet call us mad when we defend our beliefs. They must be stopped, and you shall be our greatest asset in this fight."
"What can I do? I hardly know how to fight, and I've never seen these 'humans'," Draken said, worried about the direction this was going.
"With some training and proper equipment, you'll make a fine warrior, no doubt," Regret assured, confirming Draken's fears. "From the reports of the medics, you're perfect for the assignment we have in mind."
"You shall become our Judicator, a title for the greatest warrior in the whole of the Covenant if you can prove that you're worthy of the title in combat, and with your devotion to the Forerunners. Your name will strike fear into the hearts of every human that hears it, and you'll have respect second only to our own. Go now, and ready yourself for your trials. May the Forerunners bless your success, Draken. We have faith in your success."
"I humbly accept your blessings, Prophets," he said through his teeth. "I will strive for nothing less than perfection in pursuit of the Great Journey." The Honor Guard led him through even more hallways and passages, passing by his rooms on the way to the armorer's workshop. The craftsman himself was a Grunt who directed close to twenty or twenty-five Engineers and set to work getting Draken measurements as soon as he walked in the door.
"I hear that you'll be going through trials for the title of High Judicator," the armorer said. "I need to know what size to make your equipment, along with a few other things. So let's get started." Draken was very specific in the design of his armor and weapon, down to the type of metal used and the size of the visor.
The final product looked minimal but was better protection than the armor of the Hunters, and looked like a much smaller version of their armor in fact. Nothing flashy stuck out from it or glowed, and it was all colored charcoal gray, with deep red accents lining the edges of the plates, and a black undersuit. It covered almost every square inch of Draken's body but was based on mobility and speed, trying to not restrict movement at every opportunity. An enlarged gauntlet covered his entire left arm like a shield, wrist to shoulder, and a raised collar protected his neck. It was made from the strongest, most durable metal that the armorer knew of, driving the weight up slightly but not concerning Draken. The energy shields were ridiculously strong and were a deep purple in color when recharging.
His weapon of choice was an enormous sword based on ancient greatswords from Earth, with a length of his height and a guard that was angled towards the tip of the red plasma blade. The pommel was long enough to accommodate three of Draken's hands and was capped with a blunt pyramid. His second weapon was a simple plasma pistol, upgraded to carry a larger battery that could recharge, and had an improved heat-sink for more rapid firing.
"I'll make these for you as quick as I can manage should you succeed at the trials, Draken. Good luck," the Grunt smith said, waving Draken out of his workshop. He walked back to his rooms and stayed up for a few hours trying to think of a way to get in contact with the UNSC before he had to kill other humans. He suddenly realized how quiet Drayk had been lately, and wondered what he was doing.
"Still here, just sitting in the background and trying to not distract you while you're working. I'm impressed with your infiltration skills, and you made every right choice possible with that kick-ass armor, Draken. You're right to think about sending a message to the UNSC though. 'Yeah, sorry guys, I joined up with the enemy and have to kill my own team now. Mondays, amiright?" he taunted, making Draken grind his teeth.
"I'm not exactly excited at the prospect of killing humans, just so you know. Not everyone can be a genocidal maniac of their own species."
"True, but not everyone is in shoes like yours, and I EARNED the title of a genocidal maniac, thank you very much. I'd like to see you kill as many as I did."
"Forget it, I'm going back to sleep," Draken said, stripping and climbing into his bed. "'Night moron."
"'Night jackass," Drayk replied, quieting down.
Draken began training the next morning, getting escorted to a sort of arena that had tiered areas going up and down. Weapon caches were scattered about in convenient places beside ammunition. His chaperone explained that this was a variable terrain training room, meant to train those using it to think about the position of enemies from all directions. Draken would be using it to get used to his new body. "Okay, before you try anything, only use half of what you think you need, and try to remember that you can go twice the distance of what was once possible," Drayk reminded him, making Draken take his strength down a few notches.
He leapt around the room for a few minutes, trying to be as flexible as he could and using his tail as often as his hands, flipping through the air and changing his direction the moment a single claw made contact. Soon it didn't matter which way was down, he just went where he pleased. He set up a few holographic targets throughout the arena and began the whole thing over again while adding in weapons.
"You've officially gotten the hang of this," Gutrot commented, after witnessing Draken snag five weapons on his dive into the ground, killing five targets at once, and still catching himself on a platform with his teeth. "I don't even know how you came up with that move, but it was awesome." A watching Brute was apparently impressed as well and approached Draken from below.
"I find it difficult to believe the rumor that you're not a full fledged warrior after a display like that. You're sure you don't have any skills in combat?"
"Compared to my elders that was nothing, though they probably wouldn't be so flashy," Draken said, accepting the compliment. "In strategy and basic forms of combat, I'm still very much inexperienced, though I hope to learn both before my trials."
"I can't imagine a better being earning the title of High Judicator," the Jiralhanae said. "My commander may be willing to assist you with proper training if you wish. All he wants in return is a proper spar." Since someone might recognise his spartan training in combat, it seemed a good idea to try and find a new style to use. Draken agreed and followed the Brute to their barracks.