"Starlight will be my guide. No vacuum will contain me."
Ren, an awoken, Hunter Guardian, has been present since the establishment of The Last City. From the Battle of Six Fronts to the Red War, she has watched and witnessed as all life around her has been consumed by the darkness. During so, she is chosen and deemed worthy by the Celestial Nighthawk, and her will is slowly stolen from her being. Personalities are altered and relationships are shattered. Join Ren in past and present as she tells her story of her health deterioration and treacherous love with an all too familiar Commander.
Celestial
A Destiny Fanfiction
The stars would speak to me sometimes—.
In a language that was faint, yet familiar. Their light would engulf me in strings of scheming whispers and so I'd yield and my heart would ember in response. Such actions were imminent and the words would forever imprint on my awoken flesh.
The memory of the day I was chosen is one that was burned into my skull for the world to see. I still bear the scars that scream hostile vibes and paint a warning to those who dare cross my path.
"Your fire," Brask had said to me, "will never be outgunned."
He was there that day. Along with the other vanguards. He witnessed as I undertook the full power of a star, compelled to surrender to its influence and forever become a thrall of its light. That is, if it deemed me worthy to wield it, and it would, which was the most horrifying part of it all. Brask had numbed the atmosphere with his void while I shrieked in excruciating agony as the solar radiation conquered my frame and permanently embedded it's exoticism on my mind. Zavala held my hand and Ikora merely spectated, as she too experienced the power of the elements, as they all have. But not like this. Not like this.
The Speaker was present as well, being more amazed and intrigued rather than concerned for my highly possible demise or of the physical and mental damage that can happen to me if I fail ITS trial of will. "The Nighthawk had been comatose since the beginning of the Collapse but awoke in response to your light," he had said with evident astonishment, "Wield it with your coherent appetite for vengeance, Guardian."
I was a rose among thorns, and I could feel as my crimson petals were set ablaze and the colors of my individuality were pigmented into a foul, constricted grey. If you looked close enough, one would swear you could see the steam that evaporated off my flesh due to the temperature of the helmet's affect. Even as a Guardian, one can only handle so much strain to one's physique, so if the Traveler had not of been by my side that day, who knows, perhaps I wouldn't be here today, writing out my life-mares for an unforgiving, dying universe to peruse.
When a Guardian gets their hands on an exotic engram and receives gear or instruments of mass light from the Cryptarch, that's it. You may gain a few impressed pats on the back for having a new, rare piece from clan-mates or fireteam members, but after its over with, end of story. Whether it be a pair of gauntlets or new boots, every Guardian has their exotic, some lucky enough to find many, others, not so lucky and end up wasting a week of searching and fighting when they are supposed to be patrolling their assigned territory.
Most think exotic weapons or gear have a mind of their own, that they are alive and choose their wielder based on their amount of determination and light. I didn't. I was never one to believe in fairy tales, in gossip or mere myths. A weapon is a weapon, armor was armor, some enhanced your light, while others dealt more damage. That was all that mattered. As long as I had something to aid me in pushing back the real enemy, I was good. I didn't need an exotic. But I would. And I would eventually be chosen.
What is that, exactly? The real enemy.
The Fallen?
The Hive?
The Vex?
The Cabal?
Taken?
I thought so, when I was an amateur, fighting for a city that was inhabited with enhanced beings who wielded the Travelers light for faulty reasons. People never want to point fingers at themselves for being the cause of others actions. Even when it is fact.
I remember the day the Last City was established. I was there. When the Speaker, a warlock, rose to power and set up the Vanguard and the Consensus, with Osiris as Warlock Vanguard, Saint-14 as Titan, and Tallulah Fairwind as Hunter Vanguard who eventually was killed. I remember The Battle of Six Fronts, my first major battle. I remember when Osiris was deemed Vanguard Commander and shortly after was exiled by the Speaker due to his obsession with the nature of the Darkness and misuse of resources. I remember fighting in Twilight Gap. Being pushed to our limits with the smell of defeat beginning to conquer our atmosphere. I remember as Saladin and Zavala ordered us to fall back, but Shaxx protested and demanded all Guardians to push forward in the very end and officially win the war. I remember when Saint-14 disappeared on a mission to Mercury to prevent Osiris from disturbing the Vex after his crusades against the fallen. I remember the Battle of Burning Lake, The Great Disaster, The Great Ahamkara Hunt. I remember as my best friend and teacher, Andal Brask's, hand was ripped from my grasp and watched as his light and life was extinguished by Taniks, the Scarred. I watched as the city was rebuilt and prospered. Watched as Zavala rose to the Commander mantle, Ikora Rey to Warlock Vanguard and Cayde-6 to Hunter as he lost his bet to Brask. I remember the birth of the Crucible and witnessed as more and more Guardians began to awaken.
I remember The Black Garden.
I remember the Vault of Glass.
The House of Wolves and the Tyrant Skolas.
The fall of Crota, Son of Oryx and soon after, Oryx himself.
The rise of SIVA and Aksis.
I was there all along, observing and seeing it all transpire. Wondering why it all was occurring in the first place without even thinking to take a second glance at my own.
I was a demented. I was a hypocrite. And I was in love.
I can not remember the day I was born. I am a child of both the darkness and light, my skin proves such a description. I was one of the first, born not long after the Collapse. Not a day went by when others would take second glances at me for being different. Whispers were exchanged and obvious hints of avoidance were expressed. It wasn't until the Traveler chose me and I took on the role of Guardian serving under the Speaker that I was seen as something greater than a strange face in the crowd.
When one takes on such a role, you make a promise. No more tears. No more being afraid. No more bullshit. You pledge your allegiance to the cause and the City. You aren't allowed a normal life anymore, whatever "normal" means in such a world. You aren't allowed to love and devote yourself to something that can affect your loyalty to the City. It's your job. and you have to abide by the rules. But people would anyway. But I would anyway.
Before the Nighthawk, I was a kindred spirit to the city. Not a hint of unfaithfulness was painted on my flesh, a thrall of the light. Everything would change after, though. I would be consumed with rampage. Friendships were destroyed and my relationship was shattered. I was chosen to be a royal knight that belonged to the Traveler, but one body can only hold in so much light before being devoured from the inside-out. When the light of the Celestial reaches it's peak, it must be released soon or the host will be affected both physically and mentally. So much power within one bullet was one that was capable of cutting through a planet's core if the wielded was accurate.
Perhaps it's why everyone was so afraid of me when my exotic chose me. That, or the fact people fear what they don't understand. Nowadays, Cryptarch's have the abilities to duplicate exotics, but the Celestial Nighthawk was a code that was impossible to crack. It only has one host at a time and chooses it's own wielder based on determination, retaliation, and the wielders amount of light. It chooses off of personality, therefore it is stubborn. But not all candidates are worthy. Researchers have said most Hunters would rather die than be deemed worthy to wield the exotic helmet due to the immense pain it inflicts on its host. They are not wrong. But it gave me a purpose. And that was something.
I remember the first minions of the darkness I slayed with the Celestial equipped. I was out of control and my light was maxed, but I refused to let the Nighthawk take control. I ran through the corridors of the Hive's dark chambers, begging for an escape as Thrall scratched at my heels and back. The blackness was strong yet I still managed to see. The orange rays escaping the helmet's eyes enkindle my surroundings and enabled clear vision, but in the process I could perceive as the skin underneath burned a toxic fire to forever scar. There was only one way to release the affliction, and so I would turn, pulled out the bird, and I shot at the line of enemies that trained themselves behind me. One bullet against the world. And then there was none.
Three birds with only three bullets, as the typical Golden Hunter would say, as I used to say.
And now?
Dozens with one, and a hell of a scar to prove it.
I remember first meeting him. A steadfast soldier of the light, an apprentice of the great Iron Lord Saladin, a good man and a good warrior, a friend to those who need one, a leader. An ideal being who every distracted woman dreamed to be with, but he already had his concentration on a different subject, some would even say he was married to his work as Commander. Who knew I would be the only Guardian to catch his eye as more than a skilled and strengthened soldier. What a wretched mistake.
Commander Zavala wasn't always as stringent and serious. There used to be days when all would witness a laugh exceed his lips and a smile to paint his features. There were days he would actually leave the vanguard hall and his post just so he could acquaint himself with other guardians on a personal level, to be a friend. But that was before The Black Garden and The Taken King, when the City lived in solitary with nothing but the scavenger Fallen to worry about and no wars to fight. When, just for a while, the world was bearable. It was before the SIVA Crisis. And it was before the Red War and the rise of the Red Legion. The world was a better place back then, and the people were much more kind and permissive.
I remember the first time we touched, the exhilaration of breaking the natural law of being a Guardian drove us on and for just a moment, even for just a moment, he faltered and ignored his responsibilities in order to enjoy himself and allow himself to love another person for once. To allow himself to live outside of his station. To be someone else.
Oh, what a wretched mistake.
And I remember the day I, myself, was exiled by the same man I fell in love with. I remember his face as he stated my sentence, no emotion and no care like he never before was by my side. He spat in my countenance as the Speaker once did to Osiris, shaming him and now me of acts that have a possibility of harming the city and disciplining me for breaking Guardian rule.
What a wretched mistake. And, what a wretched City.
The Celestial Nighthawk is hungry with no provisions to cure it. She sits with her coherent appetite for vengeance and awaits her day of return so she can set fire to those who committed offense and breached her walls.
The stars would speak to me sometimes—.
And sometimes, I would speak to them back.
Forever, Starlight will be my guide. No vacuum will contain me.
For I am the Celestial Nighthawk, and the darkness awaits my fury.
AUTHORS NOTE:
Welcome to my first story, Celestial ! I've been a fan of Destiny since day one of the first beta, and having an active imagination and being a writer enables me to accumulate multiple story ideas and this is the first I'm actually writing out and publishing on a fanfiction site. This prologue is an incite of what will occur within this story
As a disclaimer, I, of course, do not own Destiny, all rights reserved to the creators.
Acknowledgements:
- This is a Commander Zavala x Awoken Hunter fanfiction.
- There will be strong descriptions of violence, blood and gore, possibly triggering scenarios and topics discussed, graphic intimate encounters and intense profanity. If these things provoke you, do not hesitate to abandon this fanfiction. Rated M.
- All lore included has been properly researched and confirmed, the only knowledge that is exaggerated and potentially false is that of the Celestial Nighthawk exotic helmet.
- I will attempt to be persistent on updates but I do not have an in particular updated schedule like many do. This is a dramatic and lengthy story that takes a lot of contemplation and time to write. Be patient with the updates.
- There will be grammar mistakes and such that requires attention and revisions, I'm sure. A complete edit will be done when the story is finished.
- I want your feedback! Please actively inform me of what you think of the story, and what you you think I could improve at.
- Nonetheless, enjoy Celestial!