A/N: So, this is a thing. I was stoned out of my mind while talking to the bros on Discord about videogames/anime when the topic of shitty RWBY fanfiction came up, and I said "Dude, what if, like, there was a Destiny/RWBY crossover? That'd be cool." I was instantly besieged with requests to write said crossover since I'm apparently the designated 'author guy' since I published one chapter to one story before the shit hit the metaphorical fan. Anyway, this isn't a super-serious fic, just something I spat out in a few days to silence their cries and because I didn't have anything better to do. I'll update it… whenever I feel like it, I guess. Not going to make promises and then totally blow them this time. My other fic isn't dead… just on hiatus, while I write this. And because I'm lazy.

Warning: Much weed was smoked in the making of this fic. Expect minor errors in tense and capitalization and other minor shit like that. I'm also writing totally off-the-cuff, so hopefully, the plot makes some sort of sense. I'll probably end up rewriting this eventually, so yeah.

Warning the second: As I said, this shit is less-than-serious. Liberties will be taken with the abilities and power of the protagonist. Yes, it is the player character from the Destiny series. Yes, this is also the player character after the likely conclusion of said series; the player defeats the darkness, saves humanity, etcetera etcetera. Since pretty much nothing on Remnant stacks up to the LITERAL GODS that the player character defeats in the games, most of the early action is probably going be low stakes. I'll be introducing enemies from Destinyverse as the fic goes on, to provide a real challenge to the protagonist.

Chapter 1: The Bad Beginning

Light. Such an interesting word, laden with significance and metaphor. Even before the Traveler arrived and changed the way humanity viewed the universe, the light was associated with honor, strength, and justice. A fitting name for a paracasual force based on altruism and cooperation, I suppose. Just like the Darkness, so often associated with fear, deceit, and treachery. Also a fitting name for an amoral force of selfishness and violence. Two sides of the same coin, two paths to power. I've been down both.

My name is Izanagi Urs, and I am a Guardian. Not just any Guardian, though. The Young Wolf. Crota's Bane. Skolas' End. Kingslayer. The Speaker. It's been twenty years since I was resurrected in the Cosmodrome, and in that time I've fought men, aliens, monsters, and gods.

'What's so special about that?', I hear you say? Well, Guardians before me have done these things. What sets me apart, is that I won. A year ago, the Darkness finally closed in on Sol, seeking to destroy humanity and finally extinguish the Light. It cost us everything we had to defeat it, once and for all. The Traveler sacrificed itself once again, and the Guardians were killed to a man. Me.

Ever since then we've been rebuilding, reclaiming our Golden Age. We've rebuilt our city, our fleets, and our armies. Just under a hundred thousand humans survived the Great Confrontation, but thanks to some recently recovered Golden Age cloning tech, our population is already approaching its level during the City Age.

But the Guardians haven't recovered. There are thousands of unbonded Ghosts but not a single human fit to partner with them, dead or alive. An entire year of frantically scouring the system for any human remains, even mass-cloning former Guardians in hope that one of them would have the Spark, that essential quality that calls to a Ghost. All in vain. And so here I am; Speaker of a dead order.

But I refuse to be the last. Thankfully, I may have a solution. With the powers of Darkness banished from our home, the Traveler's Light reaches halfway across the galaxy now, allowing Humanity to explore hundreds of new star systems. And from one of these systems, so faintly I could barely capture it, I found a signal. A signal from a Golden Age colony ship, the Exodus Yellow. In my role as the Speaker I am leading a fleet towards the system, to ascertain – are there more humans out there? Is there anyone left with the Spark?

"Speaker, we have a signal at one o'clock, negative ten degrees."

With a sigh, I open my eyes and blink slowly. "Repeat that, Lieutenant?" I say.

Behind the soft glow of the display, I see the man straighten in his seat. "Speaker, I'm picking up a signal at one o'clock, negative ten degrees, third planet in the system. Signal's too degraded to interpret, but it's definitely artificial." The man gulps slightly. "It doesn't match any recorded patterns, even from the Golden Age. Orders?"

Hmm. No matches? It has been over a thousand years if they made it. Perhaps their technology has developed since the Golden Age? Or perhaps it isn't even them at all. No colony ship was ever heard from after leaving the heliopause. Even if the Exodus Yellow did make a successful jump, why have they never contacted us? Too many questions. More information is needed.

"Bring us closer. We need to decipher that signal. If it is human, good. If not… we didn't come armed for nothing." I say. Thinking briefly, I shake my head. "Have the warships hang back. There's no sign of a fleet in the system, and if they're down there I don't want to spook them. This trip will be rough enough without me having to explain to Dead Orbit why we lost a cruiser to friendly fire."

"Yes sir. Any further instructions?"

"No, Lieutenant, that should be-"

"Speaker!" A panel on the armrest of my chair lights up. "Hangar twelve has called. Your jumpship is fully fueled and ready for launch."

With a sigh, I lean over and thumb the display. "Thank you, Launch Control. I'll be down in a moment." I cast a quick glance over my shoulder. "Can you handle the approach, captain?"

A dark figure by the window stiffens momentarily, before turning to face me. A hand rises in salute as the man speaks. "Yes sir, we'll slip in behind the moon. The debris field out there is dense enough to mask our approach until we're practically in-atmosphere. If there are hostiles out there, they won't know what hit 'em." The rest of the bridge crew quietly growls their assent to the captain's words.

"Then I'll leave it in your hands." I say as I rise from my chair. Striding over to the elevator, I press the button for the hangars as the sound of Russian opera filters through the speakers. "Damn Rasputin." I mutter. Leaning back against the wall as the elevator makes its ponderous descent, I spare a thought for the Warmind. Poor bastard didn't last long after the Darkness arrived, being such a large, stationary target. Ana Bray tried to make a backup, but exabytes of data just don't fit into a single engram without loss. He survived but was just never quite the same. Case in point, him seeding a virus into my storage matrix that forces my helmet speakers to play classical Russian opera whenever I'm on an elevator.

With a hiss, the doors slide open as the elevator shudders to a stop at the hanger level. The smell of oil and coolant hits my nose for an instant before my helmet deploys in response to the low atmospheric pressure. A moment of darkness and silence, before the viewscreens flicker on and the sensor suite lights up. Suddenly the previously dim hangar stands out in stark relief, illuminated by the bevy of sensors within the glowing stripe on my faceplate. The helm of Saint-14 is a useful tool, striking an excellent balance between protection and weight, while maintaining complete tactical visibility thanks to the numerous upgrades the previous owner made throughout the years.

Shaking myself free from my wandering thoughts, I stride across the hanger towards my ship. Grey-uniformed servicemen and mechanics scramble to clear the hanger for launch, snapping into a salute as I pass, the glowing green lenses of their breathing apparatus staring intently at me. No time for formalities, though. A new world awaits. I slow to a stop, as the hangar lift grinds into motion, lowering my dropship from its storage cradle to the deck.

Extinction Event. For almost twenty years, it's been by my side. Not the first ship I've ever flown, but certainly the most reliable. It's also the last, the rest of my collection handed off to Dead Orbit or destroyed during the Great Confrontation save for a few sentimental items. Reaching out, I let my hand slide across the smooth steel as I walk towards the cockpit. Call me old-fashioned, but I always liked getting into my ship manually, as opposed to simply transmatting in and out like other Guardians. Brings back a sense of nostalgia. Nostalgia for what, I'm not sure. Maybe I was a pilot, before the Collapse? Impossible to know, and unlike the late Ana Bray, I'm not going to waste my entire life trying to cling to a past I don't remember.

Climbing in, I hear the cockpit hatch seal with a hiss as the cabin pressurizes. Settling into the seat, I warm up the launch thrusters as I scan the console, checking all the systems. With green lights across the board, I grab the stick and slowly begin to throttle up. Quickly transmitting the necessary codes to open the blast doors, I edge my ship forwards, slipping out of the steely confines of my flagship, the Orphean Rescue, and into the cold embrace of space.

After ensuring the Orphean Rescue has gotten into position behind the shattered moon, I break away from the rest of the fighter escort and begin preparing to land planetside. The signals from the planet, cleaned of static and background radiation, turn out to be radio, a crude if reliable form of communication used before the Traveler's arrival. However, every bit of data we have intercepted has proven to be undoubtedly human in origin. But the sheer quantity of data being exchanged is enough to overwhelm even our most skilled Cryptarchs, a veritable avalanche of video/audio communications and data exchanges. What little has been decrypted, however, is… less than illuminating. It's clear, however, that they have regressed significantly since their arrival.

Thus far, the prevailing theory among the Cryptarchy is that, after arriving on this new world, the colonists were unable to maintain their advanced technology, returning to a state similar to Earth before the Traveler's arrival. Others insist on a possible alien attack on the fledgling colony due to the shattered moon, or something even more arcane. Regardless, further information is necessary. Somebody has to go down and talk to the locals. And this… this is the kind of work a Guardian is made for. And as the Speaker, I miss getting to stretch my legs every once in a while. Besides, only a Guardian or Ghost can sense the Spark, and I don't feel like risking what few Ghosts we have on scouting roles.

Tuning out the rumbling of my ship as I drop through the atmosphere, I look over the console, keeping a careful eye of the readouts of the stealth system, reverse-engineered from the one I'd 'borrowed' from Cayde all those years ago. Nothing too fancy. Just a simple visual cloak paired with a rather advanced set of thermal and radiation collectors to capture the ship's heat emissions and neutralize any active sensors. The drawback being, of course, that the captured heat has nowhere to go and will eventually melt the ship into a puddle of slag if I leave it on for too long. Still, it should be more than sufficient to slip in unnoticed.

As I descend, I flick the cockpit's viewscreens to a projection of the surface, captured from orbit. Approaching any of the four major cities we've identified is right out, as stealth is a major concern. Better just to land near one of the smaller settlements, look around, and leave. The question is, where?

A soft nudge to my elbow breaks me out of my pondering. Looking down, I see my Ghost hovering next to me. "What is it?" I ask. Ghost doesn't respond. He never does, not since the neural synthesis was completed. I don't know why. I still like to talk to him anyway. Maybe I just like the sound of my own voice.

Before I can even finish the thought, Ghost is bobbing up and down, nodding quickly. Rolling my eyes, I wave him over towards the board. "Alright, oh silent one. What do you think?"

Ghost blinks once, spinning his shell around him. Eventually, a thin beam of light stabs out, highlighting a small island just off the coast, close to one of the major cities. "Hmm." I hum softly, thinking. "Makes sense. There's a settlement there and based on the volume of radio chatter it should be large enough for us to slip into unnoticed. We'll do a flyby first, try and get an image of some of the residents. Titan armor and a void suit don't exactly scream 'inconspicuous'."

Ghost buzzes angrily, his core turning a deep red. "Hah. I know. I'll make it up to you… later. I just need you to fabricate an outfit that should blend in." I say. Ghost buzzes again. "No, no. That'd be too bulky. I'm not going to get shot at anyway… I hope." More buzzing, louder this time. "I'm here to pick up information, not women." The buzzing ceases; replaced by a sharp clicking sound as his shell taps against my helmet. "You can look all you want, but for the Traveler's sake stay hidden. You know how it is." The tapping intensifies. "Fine, whatever! One bracer, to put the armor matrix in. Left-arm, I guess. No, no weapons. I don't care how awesome a flamethrower would be, we have Light for that. What? You're kidding…?"