Author's Note: So this has been a long time coming on my end of things. I spent most of my time writing my own manuscript, but this was also something I've been meaning to get off my chest for a while. I have a lot to say, so let's just get right to it. Destiny, to me, if I were to sum it up in a couple of words would be "wasted potential". I think my relationship with the game mirrors a lot of people. Super hyped over Destiny 1 and was met with a lot of continual disappointment. That's not to say that I didn't have fun with friends doing raids, with a lot of Netflix and Youtube to help cope with the grind. And like many others, I also loved the arrival of The Taken King, as it breathed at least a year of life into the game for me. But, it did something that I...took issue with. Our guardian took a vow of silence. There is often nothing I despise more than a silent protagonist, at the center of an RPG MMO game. When it comes to Rise of Iron, I enjoyed the story but did little else with the game after that.

And with that grind, I can say my venture with Destiny 1 ended with exhaustion. I actually avoided purchasing Destiny 2, and I felt my choice was only justified as reviews and complaints about how the game had turned out alongside its lackluster story, and thus the continuation of the silent protagonist. Even with our character speaking come to the Forsaken DLC, I still avoided the game. Then came Bungie's split with activation, and Destiny 2 becoming free along with its two proceeding DLCs. I decided to give it a try, and I'm glad I did. The grind wasn't as terrible, and the story while by the numbers, was suitable enough for me to purchase both Forsaken and Shadowkeep.

So why am I telling you all this? Well, because nothing seems to irk me more than wasted potential. And I think that is the best description I can give the game. Because I've spent hours to this day listening to MyNameIsByf on youtube, and collecting lore books to read in Destiny. Those have been and are still now my main motivators for playing the game. And thus birthed a very long story I wanted to tell. One starting before the last city in the ashes of the golden age where only lightbearers and warlords roamed all the way through to the end of the game, and series. This is effectively a retcon to the game's story as my characters are meant to run alongside the lore books and in some cases bare witness to events.

As for how I'm going to tell it, I'm not sure. But I'm thinking of breaking it up by era. So my first "story" will follow my OC all they through to the twilight gap. (If you know what that is, welcome, I'm a huge nerd). And I have one last forwarning, I have some OC/canon characters as I know that can serve as a potential turn off for people. I'd like to think I'm taking a different approach, and such relationships are far down the line. I'll be adding tag lines and ratings will change as the story progress.

Heh, I know that was a lot, but if you read it I appreciate it, and I can only hope it provides you the perspective that which I'm approaching this.

(Shout out to Biomon and Eagle9966 for practically being co-writers for certain things to come later in this story.)

But without further ado:

Lightbearer I:

"I'm a ghost." It floated in front of him, then drifted closer. "Well, actually I'm your ghost." It's back rotated with a quick spin.

He tore his gaze off the ghost and looked down at his hands. "Where am I?" The question burned in the back of his skull and he looked back around. He was in a building. A very rundown building. The grass was sprouting up in the cracks of the floor. The glass was long gone. Most of the place looked rotted away. But the next question he asked was more telling. And with it, came more panic, "Who am I?"

He jumped up to his feet and spun around.

His ghost shifted to avoid being in his way. "Woah WOAH!" The pointed corner stopped spinning above its eye and motioned forward slightly as if the eye narrowed towards him. "Take it easy, nothing is wrong. At least not anymore." There was a mechanical sigh, one with static in the voice coming from the floating object. "I suppose there is no easy way to put this. You died." It shook its body like it was motioning 'no'. "Well, you died a long time ago." It blinked and floated closer.

He backed as it approached, and stiffened. "But I'm alive…"

"But we are alive." It floated around him examining him.

He lifted his arms as it flew around him in circles.

"You seem to have been resurrected in prime physical condition. Perfect for us. The world's a dangerous place." It paused to face him. "You are on Earth. The place where the Traveler rests."

Traveler, Earth. Both seem familiar words somehow...or perhaps I know them?

There was a cry in the distance.

The ghost whirled around, its back spinning as it did. "Trial by fire." It spun back around to face him. "We can't stay here. Find a weapon."

He blinked and looked at his hands. "Uh? I'm not so sure I know how to fight."

"There are many things you can do now." The ghost flew straight at him, and then just before he hit him, it vanished into thin air, leaving particles of light in its wake. And when it spoke again, its voice was much closer. Like he could hear it as if it were apart of him. "Many things we can do now."

"Where did you go?" He looked around.

"A weapon first."

There was another cry, one that was far closer than before. He looked around and tried to find something. Something to hit with. At this point, anything would suffice. "I still don't know who I am?"

"We'll talk later. Survive first."

###

There was a humming of an engine activating.

And air rushed into his lungs. It was painful enough to make him sit up, wide eyes. "Ah, hah." His breath was labored as he sat up again looking around. His eyes found a ship, low to the ground, with a creature crawling up into its hold. A creature with four arms.

He coughed.

And then the ship flew off, climbing higher and higher into the sky.

"Fuck." He cursed.

Several particles of light morphed int existence just beside him. His ghost. It blinked at him, and another rush of air flowed from him. "Hold out your arm."

He did what his ghost said. There was a long red gash that had been made from a blade. And as the air of flowed through him stiffly, the wound vanished. He blinked. "Did I die again?"

"Yes." His ghost answered. "But as long as I'm alive, I can resurrect you." It floated around him until he finally found his feet. "We are going to have to get better at that." It laughed, "But you did at least get one."

The man saw his work, impalement. His mouth twitched. "How common are they?" He shook his head. "In fact, what even are they?" He looked there ships up down as they fled back up into the atmosphere.

"Eliksni." The ghost chatted in silence. Its voice came out-static for a brief second. "Or more commonly, Fallen." It flew until it was by his ear. "We can't remain here light bearer." It sizzled away.

The man blinked and looked upon his one kill. "Wait…"

"What is it?"

He took a few steps towards the impaled fallen corpse. "I think I should salvage what I can." So he took a step towards the corpse and looked it over. Its rifle was strange, it shot a long streak and a had scope.

Use at a distance.

He picked it up off the ground and looked over to his right, and saw a fallen spear.

That's two weapons.

Next, he took was the blue cloak of the fallen. He wrapped it around his person. It was something to keep him warmer. He could rip the cloak, and sew some of it into a hood to keep his head warm.

There seemed to be small sticks on the Fallen's belt. He pulled one free and carefully felt around. Until his fingers pressed a latch. The stick extended, one end covered in spikes, it started blinking.

He blinked spun on his heel, lobbed it away.

It exploded.

"Alright. I think I'll be, just a bit more careful when rummaging through supplies." He shook his head, and grabbed the belt and counted off what was on it. A blade, ceremonial looking, but sharp enough to be used. Three more of the explosives. A pistol, and holster to be strapped on to the belt.

Grenades.

He shook his head. "Grenades." He remembered.

"I'm happy you were smart enough to throw it."

He huffed a small laugh. "Instinct." With the supplies raided, a spear to use as a walking stick. He tied the cloak around, slung the rifle. He hid the blade beneath the cloak. The pistol was strapped with metal wiring to his hip. He tested the grip of his fingers on the spear and took a few steps, testing out his walk with it.

The spear was nimble, and light.

The man gave a satisfied nod. "Alright, where should we go while you explain all this to me?"

He was met with a brief silence.

"How about north?"

The man nodded. "I can head north." He didn't know how long he walked, but the ruins of wherever he'd been had disappeared for a vast wildland. He chuckled. "You know, we need to know what to call each other?"

"Hm… a fair point light bearer."

###

An unknown amount of time later.

"I'm counting six, what about you Husker?"

The ghost hummed floating just an inch to his right. "Make it eight. Two cloaked Vandal's in the trees."

The man nodded. "I see them. What are they doing?"

The fallen were focused on something else entirely. They had their backs to the pair of them. But they weren't attacking or raiding anything. It was clear there were interested in something beyond the hills.

Husker's eye blinked, and he floated to the other side of his guardian's head. "Remember that wrecked town we found a while back?"

He hummed, "Hard to forget." He scooted, with snow under his arm, and looked down the scope of his rifle. The new angle brought him something he hadn't seen before. A floating purple sphere. He blinked. "The hell is that?"

The Ghost blinked. "That's a servitor." It looked down at his guardian. "That town we saw, the one that was destroyed? What if they have prisoners?"

The man blinked. "What use would they have for prisoners?" He started to flatten the snow gently in front of him again. "And the town looked like it had been destroyed centuries ago." There was little to be found when it came to picking up the scraps left by fallen. There were as careful, and as skillful scavengers as he was. But fortunately, even though they seemed to have their limits when it came to knowledge about human technology.

In the destroyed town he'd found a radio, one that could catch broadcast signals. And he'd found a gun. A handheld power hitter. Husker had called it a hand canon, explaining that they were fairly common before the collapse. However, for the moment it was unusable to him. It was stripped of its firing pin, and even if he had that, he wouldn't trust it to shoot straight with the damage he'd seen. So for now it was tucked safely away.

He aimed down the sights of his rifle, taking in the sight of another Vandal, one that was resting in the trees, looking down the scope of its own sniper rifle. It was the lookout.

I'll have to kill that one first. Quietly, if I can manage.

"Isson." Husker stated plainly. "The servitor needs to die first."

He blinked and shifted so his eyes were on his ghost rather than looking through the barrel of his rifle. "Why?"

There was a little whirr as Husker floated up to join him by the sniper. The ghost scooted in front to look through the scope of the rifle too. "The Fallen need them to survive. They produce and harvest either, their life force sort of depends on them." It blinked and turned around to look up at its guardian. "But for more pragmatic reasons, they boost the fallen in battle, either by providing combat healing or providing additional shielding."

Alright, the servitor dies second.

Isson nodded in understanding. "Alright. If I can kill the lookout quietly, then the servitor dies first." He scooted himself slowly away from the edge of his rocky side of the hill. Moving slowly down so as not to disturb the snow in any way that might fall in their lookout's line of sight. "If the lookout doesn't die, then we aren't going to reach them."

He checked the ammo on his stolen dreg pistol. And he had two modified fallen grenades, turned into trip mines.

One of which will be for the Servitor.

He stood upright once he was far enough down that he wouldn't be spotted. "Suggestions?" He pointed on the trail. "I can try to find some higher ground on them, take the long way. But in doing so, I risk them no longer being here when I return." He shook his head. "If I had a Servitor, I don't think I would remain out in the open for long."

Husker hummed. "I agree." The ghost vanished.

"We could try to shimmy along the side of the hills."

"You won't be the one getting shot at if we do that." He looked back at the top of the vantage point he'd just come from. "Short of the Vandal sniper on watch falling asleep, I don't think we should be so...bold." He rested his chin in his hands.

"We can always try again at nightfall. Maybe even follow them for a while to make sure we know that this is all there is to this group of fallen."

Isson hummed and then glanced briefly towards the sun. Late afternoon. "Two days of tracking, and now more following." He muttered quietly. "I agree, waiting till nightfall is the best option. We'll maximize our chances of getting closer, and see if they are here to meet up with anyone else."

Let's hope they're out here alone.

###

As nightfall came, Isson aimed down the scope of his rifle, checking on the fallen group. The vandal sniper on watch had changed positions, moving to a rocky cliff side perch, instead of the tree branch he'd been on earlier. The fallen sniper also had a clearer view of the field that Isson needed to cross.

It seems I'll have to take the trail around anyways.

He let out a slow breath. "Husker, I think we should move."

"I agree."

He needed no further encouragement, and scooted himself away from the edge, tugging his rifle with him. He lifted his legs and flattened his stolen fallen cloak underneath him. Then he slid down the snow mound.

At the bottom, he stood back up and shook the snow-free.

It's getting colder.

He glanced over to where the sun had finally disappeared over the horizon, and the fading pink trails in the clouds to mark the end of the day. "We don't have long." He kept a steady jog until he was sure he was near the edge of the Vandal's view. He glanced down at the ravine below and cursed quietly. "With the extra power boost given from my light, can I make that jump?"

There was a slight buzzing sound. "Unlikely, I would suggest finding a few ledges to grasp a hold of to shimmy."

Isson hummed and looked down the cliff face. "There."

He didn't wait for his ghost to confirm, and instead holstered his sniper on to his back. Isson had learned to think his ghost's silence was meant to be taken as acceptance. He found his footing and was quickly able to move once he had it. He swung down to a different ledge, this one slightly wider. One once he was sure it wouldn't snap under his additional weight, he put both feet on it and released his hold on the wall.

Directly across from him now, was almost a dozen easily reachable areas in the wall. The ravine's width seems to slim for this part.

Isson took a deep breath, using both his first and second jump to propel him across.

His feet dangled, and he had one hand secure.

He slowly started to let that breath out.

Husker took that moment to remind him that he was there always watching. "Well done light-bearer. I'm surprised you wanted to jump."

Isson huffed. "It's the fastest way." He answered simply. Then he groaned as he began to pull himself up, finding a place for his other hand to grasp onto the ravine's sidewall securely. Then he began his climb up.

This side was more sheared, no places to stand and wait on the ledge. So Isson took his time. It was only once he'd gotten nearer to the top, did he grow slower, and more cautious. He wasn't a hundred percent certain that he would be able to climb up in a place that would be out of the vandal sniper's sight.

A hand grasped the ledge, and then his other. He pulled his head up, to take another look. He heard rustling and saw the edges of a blurred shimmer.

Instinctively, Isson grabbed two lower edges, he dropped out of sight.

Another cloaked fallen.

Isson waited quietly listening intently for the fallen's movements. He could hear their steps in the brush, they were light on their feet for a Fallen. Patient, and careful. Like they were keeping an eye out for something. Or it was being just as cautious as he was while he was making his approach.

What's there to be wary of out here?

The light footsteps of the cloaked fallen had passed over.

Isson peaked back over the edge, and he could see the blurred fizzle of the fallen's cloaking against the backdrop of trees. He slowly perched himself better so he could move quickly. He readjusted so his hands were just over the edge of the cliff, and he watched the cloaked fallen continue its path.

It would leave cover soon, and once again be in the sight of the others in its small convoy.

He needed to be fast, the grip on his cliffside tightened, and he hauled himself up. Isson didn't have the time to be proud of the fact he didn't make a sound. It was something he'd been trying to train into himself ever since he was brought back for the first time. He tugged a knife free and made four silent and quick strides.

It was only the final one that made any sort of noise.

The blur paused and shimmered, indicating that it was turning towards him.

Thankfully, fallen seemed much more alike to the rest of their kin. So one size of fallen typically meant that every other member of that same fallen's class was the same height and weight.

An educated guess led Isson's knife home.

Right through the neck and lower jaw of the fallen.

It's cloak dispersed instantly, and it made a feeble attempt to stab at him with its two swords. However, it's strength was rapidly leaving its body, and it's jabs sparked softly off Isson's armor.

His knife placement was also to prevent screaming or yelling on the part of the ambushed. And with no sounds of the other fallen having been immediately alerted, he dragged the dying falling back towards the big boulder that was hiding their view of the rest. Making sure no motion of the fallen could be seen.

And by the time he'd finished, the fallen had died in his arms.

Isson set the corpse gently back onto the forest floor. He let out a slow breath. He spoke very quietly. "I'm going to assume that we miscounted. This one was nowhere near the servitor." He crouched down and pulled free somewhat looked useful from the Fallen. He paused at the sight of a firing mechanism, parts to a broken gun, too big for his broken handcanon.

Something for later.

"There is a chance that one of the ones we saw earlier." There was a click from the ghost as it thought too. "I believe you are right. We are close enough now for me to start scanning for their life signs. I'm seeing one other additional number to our original count."

He picked the corpse clean a little further and stole another one of their arc grenades. He stayed close to the ground and tugged free his sniper rifle. He still had no intention of using it yet, as it would bring far too much attention to himself. A surprise was still the key strategy he intended to use. Isson peaked through the scope.

The sniper vandal was still in place.

That was the only one that mattered for now.

A quick scan of his surroundings led to a few other fallen. The number of them had doubled. The little bastards were clever. They knew where the good lookout points were, to spy on their position, and they had planned accordingly. They had extra fallen tucked away behind boulders and trees. It was even easier to imagine that there were more in the caves beyond the servitor.

If they knew where those positions were, then that means they've been here a while.

His mouth twitched.

Why?

He ducked back behind the boulder, keeping his hand to it, he moved to the other end. He glanced out quickly and moved the next boulder.

Sneaking up on the vandal sniper was the priority, and the difficulty was going to be getting to him to take him out silently. Once the sniper was down, it would be easier to take out everyone else.

Isson dodged three other fallen. Killing only one more, as quietly as possible. The hunter hid the body as he did the last. Just enough to keep them out of sight.

It's only supposed to last until the servitor dies. At that point, I'll be daring all of them to come after me.

Finally, he was directly beneath the vandal sniper. And walked over to a different tree branch. And Isson's mouth started to twist. He pulled free his knife and slowly started his ascent. He used the trunk to hide from the rest of them. He was slow, testing each step to make sure it was as quiet as possible.

He only paused so he could get another good look at the servitor.

The floating sphere was scanning something in the ground. It emitted light towards a piece of tech that was in the ground. One of the crates was blinking, and it had a long antenna sticking out.

Transmitting something perhaps?

Isson took one last breath before he pulled himself up to be level with the Vandal sniper.

The vandal blinked at him.

The hunter sprinted at him, the wood making quick taps beneath his feet.

With his knife, he carved right into the creatures vocal cords preventing the immediate cry of alarm.

But this fallen was smarter, and quicker. It focused on shoving him off rather than trying to focus on the area where it stung with pain.

It was enough to push Isson off, just enough to send him back to holding onto the branch, his spare knife having been dug into the wood to save himself the fall.

He huffed and hauled himself back upright.

The sniper fell and fired his gun.

And all the fallen looked the way of the tree.

Isson didn't take any longer. He jumped off the tree, using the propulsion of light to jump further. His grenade in hand, he armed it. In the other, his pistol, rapid-fire, a mix of fallen and human parts. Enough to get him through a scrappy fight.

The servitor looked up and fired.

He jumped over the shot and chucked his grenade.

It stuck to the side of the servitor.

Then he focused on the other nearest fallen. Two were shot dead. A third he took a quick aim and fired at, near the servitor. But a purple light emitted and covered the fallen like a protective layer.

The grenade went off, and the servitor emerged, still functioning, burning cracks seared into the purple metal. It clicked, and fired again.

Shit.

The hunter rolled into battle once more, taking direct aim at the servitor. Aiming in for the dead center of its eye. He fired and continued to fire up until he was point-blank.

Another fallen took aim at him from his right.

Isson lobbed his knife, skillfully right into the fallen's eye.

Finally, whatever was holding the hulk foreign sentient metals together gave way. Or he'd hit something vital. It gave a low gurgling sound, like an engine gone awry. Electricity covered it's shell as it spun uncontrollably.

That's when he realized he was too close to the servitor now. But it was too late, to alter the momentum of his run as he barreled straight for the servitor. He jumped against, it pushing all his momentum into the floating sphere, and pushed off again, kicking himself away.

And he kicked it away too like it was in a low gravity environment.

And the servitor exploded over a fallen dreg.

Isson landed upright and reloaded his gun.

And the rest of the fallen came out from their hiding places. They sounded angry and had begun to move more aggressively.

I guess whatever that servitor was, it's important enough for them to start throwing themselves at me.

With the unknown threat eliminated, Isson had little reason now to be cautious and made short work of the remains of the fallen encampment. There were at least a dozen more that had started coming out of tents weapons in hand.

They started spooling up their dropships and started either clambering aboard or threw themselves at him, in a vain attempt to buy the others time. Isson noticed it was the shorter, two armed members of their species that dove towards him, while the rest made their getaway.

One dropship got lucky, and the other didn't.

Isson lobbed a grenade as he elbowed down another dreg, landing it perfectly next to the engine of the dropship. And when it went off the dropship spun and sputtered, crashing right back down, in a ball of flaming metal. Most of its crew had died instantly.

He made no further noise as he aimed his gun a few feet behind him, towards the ground, at the last dreg still alive. He didn't look as he fired his execution shot at the dreg. It made a small noise, like a resignation of his fate. Isson eyes instead on the dropship fleeing in the distance.

Husker appeared beside him at last. "You're getting better."

He was silent as he looked at the carnage he'd left in his wake. And then he started to frown just a bit and he looked down at his the pistol he had in his hand. Something dark came and went with his expression. He blinked and then tugged at the cloak he was wearing on his back. "These fallen had different colors from the ones we've been running into."

The ghost hummed his agreement. "I believe we've encountered a different house of the fallen. They are scavenging pirates after all."

Isson didn't linger in place anymore than he had to. He made the rounds doing some scavenging of his own. He found a fallen crate of glimmer near the antenna that the servitor was speaking through. He rolled off the purple flags that had been draped over the crates near the antenna.

Husker blinked. "I'm going to store as much Glimmer as possible." His ghost turned to him and continued to explain his reasoning. "Glimmer useful for making parts. I can work on it in our downtime."

He glanced down at his broken handcanon. "Think we can make it to work?"

The ghost laughed a bit. "I think we can make it do much more than that…"

###

Some armor was forged, a helmet and a chest piece. The next glimmer cache they found would be used to make something for his arms and boots.

Husker had only brought him back with extremely limited supplies. A skin-tight black suit with some very basic protections. The armor couldn't do much stop the burns from spreading, as a fallen spear could still pierce the bodysuit.

Armor would help with that, and keep the burn of a weapon repressed.

Isson had his ghost make two small plates to test.

One, he tested with a fallen pistol. The armor was burnt, a mark that could be rubbed out with a bit of maintenance. He hummed. "It works well against the fallen weapons, I suppose a better test would be with one of the look out's weapons."

Husker floated around his head. "It's only basic armor. We can make something more complicated if we had a forge and some engrams."

Isson paused. "What are those?" He shook his head. "I mean the engrams?"

The ghost tilted its head. "Engrams are boxed designs of weapons and armor. More complicated things. Some I'll be able to decrypt, others I won't. But we can store the ones I can't for now, because there...are others who can."

And for a moment there was a breeze carrying snowflakes that passed through them, making Isson's cloak blow with the wind. "There are others?"

Husker hummed. "Yes, but few and far apart."

That's news to me. I'll have to remember that.

The hunter flipped free his knife and stabbed the plate. And he hummed with some satisfaction. The knife didn't glance off, but the plate itself was ruined, as it bent around the melee weapon. It hadn't been pierced, but the knife had certainly gone through some of the plating. He frowned and pulled the knife free. "A few good sword swings from a captain or some very aggressive stealth vandals would ruin this."

Husker hummed. "It is better than nothing still."

Isson agreed and his eyes fell to the second test plate. He took a glance at the hand cannon at his hip. "Think it could take a shot from that?"

His ghost followed his gaze and hummed doubtfully. "Maybe a singular shot, if it wasn't straight." The ghost floated over to the plate in question and it transmitted away. And reappeared set up, placed into the cracks of a tree stump to hold it up. It floated back behind Isson. "One way to find out."

He nodded and unclipped the handcanon from his holster and aimed. He hummed. "I'll need to get faster."

The ghost nodded. "Both hands. You aren't strong enough to use it one-handed."

Isson's lip twisted as he aimed down the sights of the gun. "I'll have to "work up to it" is what you're saying?"

Husker hummed his agreement. "It's not impossible, but it may cause some minor sores."

The hunter huffed. "Fine, two hands it is." He aimed down his sights both hands gripping the gun. He squeezed the trigger, the kickback was exactly what he expected, strong, and it sent some vibrations through his arms. His eyes narrowed towards his wrists and how they felt as the gun fired. "Yeah, I'll need to work up to it."

He aimed again, this time for the plate. Knowing what it felt like, he could better prepare himself for the feeling. But even then, he knew what it would be. He would have to practice, rinse, and repeat until he was satisfied with both the shock of the gun and aiming the gun.

The plate was shattered into four pieces.

A formidable weapon, once I learn how to use it well.