Section 6: Inner Soul, Outer Truth

"The Age of Reclamation"
Outpost world
Former home sector of "The Fleet of Divine Light"
March 15, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

Lightning arced across the dark grey sky as rain continued to fall. The muddy unpaved streets of the city lay empty, void of its bustling activity and shoppers. Overhead, shadowed by the dreary sky, sat the empty buildings and skyscrapers that were once used as the primary military district and housing. Odd shaped birds cluttered upon the window sills in an attempt to stay warm from the cold rain. Yet one lone figure walked these streets.

Simyaldee had plenty of time to race back to the evac-point. Even more time had he stolen one of the Ghosts parked at the base of the ship's gravity lift, but he chose not to go back. For eight days he had been alone, left behind on an abandoned world. Eight days to think on the actions he had committed.

Escaping the ship after killing the Prophet of Punishment was easier than he thought possible; disguising himself as the phantom's pilot and being carried out of the ship. Then escaping the medical team and jumping into the Gravity lift. It was almost as simple as walking out the front door. Killing a Prophet should have been much more difficult, and escaping -- impossible. Yet here he was. It had gone so smoothly and so quickly that he hadn't realized the implications. This was the Covenant, the unbeatable armada that had swept across the universe all for the will of the Gods. How could he have killed a high ranking Prophet and escape so easily? Surely the Covenant's inner security was better then that, or so he thought. For eight days he had been questioning everything he had been taught about the Holy Crusade and the Great Journey. He never supported the Prophets, but now he even questioned their union.

Simyaldee pulled his cloak over his head and walked forward, deeper into the ghostly city that was once a thriving metropolis. Would they come searching for him? Would the Mirratord question what happened to him? The fleet had left orbit on schedule, even though a Prophet had been killed, as if clearing the planet was more important then capturing the Prophet's killer. And what where the Jiralhanae?

The rain became heavier as Simyaldee stepped into a deep puddle, splashing water up to his shins. He turned and walked into a building to seek shelter from the downpour. The building was locked, so he kicked the door in. The metal lock on the swinging hinge door easily crumbled under his power. Inside was an old eating hall, possibly built by a civilian family. He tossed his hood back as dripping water covered the floor beneath him, and quickly scanned the room for anything worth salvaging. He was hungry.

He walked to the food storage and unlatched his Plasma Rifle from his belt. Simyaldee placed it on a nearby table with a loud thud and mindlessly walked toward the back of the store. Finding food had been a serious chore, most of the supplies had been cleaned out during the evacuation, but he was able to find sparse rations from time to time. This eating hall was no exception. The locker was stocked full of rationed meats and protein substitutes. The owner was clearly unable to part with it before evacuating, and carrying it back to the Sangheili home planet was not advised, Dorenth had strict regulations against such things. No matter, Simyaldee didn't care why the food was there, but glad that there was plenty to eat and ration for later use. He found a discarded bag and began to fill it with whatever he could carry.

His powerful hands ripped off a top from one of the canned protein substitutes. He quickly bit into the solid gel of flavored proteins and cupped it into his mouth with his powerful lower mandibles; the taste was horrendous but he had eaten worse in the past few days. As he chewed, he noticed an odd blip on his motion sensor. It instantly recalibrated to eyes and he suddenly realized that he wasn't alone in the building. His motion tracker had not shown any trace of movement in several days, it was almost alarming to see the red dot appear on his heads up display. He spun around and dashed for his Plasma Rifle. Whoever was registering on his tracker was not carrying a identity marker; it was either an unregistered civilian or an enemy target.

Simyaldee shouldered his bag of freshly stocked supplies, clipped his rifle to his belt and motioned toward the source of the blip; it was upstairs, inside the building. He found a standard slope leading to the next floor and cautiously climbed it. He pressed his back to the wall and unclipped his energy sword hilt; just in case. The signal began to split, and there was now three red blips registering on his motion tracker. Not good. He edged toward the top of the slope and peeped around the corner. A long hallway was ahead of him with several doors on each side. This was not looking good, as he could easily be ambushed. The movement was coming from the closest door, which was promising, but multiple enemies could be lurking behind each door; motionlessly waiting. He softly dropped his supply bag, crept toward the door and kicked it in with a roar; better to attack with aggression than to be caught defenseless. Lying in the corner of the room was an old Sangheili male, blanketed as if he were sick. He stared at the old male and was hit in the back by a brick. His shield flared to life, but was virtually unaffected. He spun around and from beneath his cloaked head he glared into the eyes of the young Sangheili female that had hit him. He snarled deeply, sending a shiver down the young female's spine.

Quickly eyeing Simyaldee's blue armor, the female instantly realized her mistake. "Forgive me, warrior." She nervously returned as she dropped the brick. "I thought that -- you were more of the vandals. We were attacked while on the road, and stopped here to rest."

Simyaldee backed away from the female and clipped his hilt back to his belt. He motioned toward the old male and looked at him. "Is he injured?"

The female answered sharply. "Yes. He was trying to defend us. He is our father." Out of another corner appeared an even younger Sangheili male, roughly ten years of age.

"What are you doing here? You should have evacuated." Simyaldee questioned.

"My father has lived here many years and we chose to stay behind. We hid from the patrols so that they could not force us to go." She walked across the room and knelt at her father's side. She wore the clothes of a farmer; simple cloth in various colorful patterns, flowing downward into a full length gown. She examined her father's wound, revealing a stab wound to his mid section. "We were not the only ones who stayed behind. We encountered a few young rebels and attempted to take our food and supplies. Father tried to defend us…"

The old male spoke forward, silencing his daughter. "Young warrior, have you come to force us to leave?"

"Silence father." She countered. "You need your rest. The fleet has already departed. This warrior has been left behind as well." She looked back to Simyaldee, taking note that his blue armor was still stained in blood. "Haven't you? Why are you still here? You are a warrior, so should you not be with the fleet? Tell me, why were we forced to evacuate? Are you going to report us?"

Simyaldee looked to the young male in the corner. The young Sangheili barely had any muscle mass, yet he was developing according to normal children, he could perhaps grow to be a large and powerful male, but Simyaldee looked away from him. He pulled his cloak further upon his brow, turned and walked out of the room; ignoring the female's questions.

He continued to the end of the hall and entered an empty chamber. It was modest in size, a corner room with two windows on each of the far walls. From here he could see into the distance of the city and spot any movement on the street. Though there was something inside of him which was telling him that he should push on; find another area to settle.

The female civilian and her father had called him a warrior, Simyaldee huffed to himself as he rested in a far corner. He didn't see himself as a warrior, no, far from it. He was a monster. He killed a Prophet, that fact alone brought him much joy, but he was then reminded that he killed thirteen of his kin. They were innocent, following orders, but they had to die in order for him to conceal his secret. He once thought the Mirratord was everything he wanted; he was wrong.

He bundled himself in his cloak and glared out the window as the sun began to set in the distance. The rain continued to fall outside with no sign of breaking. The constant pelt of water on the roof was soothing, and Simyaldee closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

- - - - - - - -

Simyaldee awoke to a new day, though his mind was still heavy. His body was well rested but his mind was still exhausted. His dreams were filled with the cries of his kin, those that had died; those he had killed. He looked to the window and saw that the sun was soon to rise, and he realized that now would be the best time to leave. Eventually the Jiralhanae would show up, whatever they were, and he knew that staying in a city would not be wise. He needed to get out of the city and into the countryside; far away from anyone that would care if he was there or not. He was finished, done with the Covenant and the Mirratord; he was running away -- again.

He motioned to stand and noticed that the door to his room was opening. Instinctively he gripped his sword hilt and powered it on in one swift swing. He reared back to stab the unsuspecting visitor and then saw the side of the young female's face as she crossed the door's threshold. He powered off the hilt and quickly affixed it his belt.

Stunned, he pulled himself away from the door. "What am I doing?" He questioned to himself.

The young female entered the room with a tray of food, cooked and well prepared. "I thought you could use a hot meal." She placed the tray in the center of the room and waited for Simyaldee to turn to face her. He looked back and she instantly knelt to the floor. She then pushed the tray of food toward him, motioning for him to eat.

Simyaldee had forgotten what it was like to have a female around. From birth most of them were trained to respect the Warriors and to cater to their needs. After all, the Warriors of the Covenant were on a Holy Crusade. Simyaldee slowly approached the tray and knelt down to eat.

The female smiled softly and bowed. "I must go and feed my brother and father now. If you have need of anything, please call." She stood and motioned toward the door.

Simyaldee shoved and hand full of food into his mouth and then spoke, "Where is your mate?"

She paused at the door. "I do not have one." She turned at the door and watched as Simyaldee continued to eat his fill upon the freshly cooked spread. "I am a simple farmer's daughter, and have only been courted by other farmers…"

Simyaldee looked up. "Then you are aware of your class, nothing can be done if you are merely a farmers daughters. However…" Simyaldee wiped his lower mandibles with the back of his hand, "return to me once you have finished feeding your kin. I will tell you what has happened."

"Thank you, warrior. I am in your debt." She quickly exited the room and Simyaldee slouched back into his corner. The female had fed him, and considering her lower class he found that he needed to repay her services. Plus it was warming to have someone to talk to.

Time slipped away, and the female returned. She closed the door behind her as she entered and knelt at Simyaldee's feet. He glared at her for a moment, realizing that for a lower class female she was quite shapely in his eyes. She had astonishing features that presented themselves very well for a breeder. But currently, Simyaldee had to stay focused, and decide on what his next course of action would be.

"I was … ordered to stay behind." Simyaldee lied, telling her the truth would only endanger her life more then it already was. "This world is no longer safe as it is on the edge of another race. A new race that we intend to bring into our fold."

"A new race?" She questioned. "Who are they?"

"I can not say at the moment. But my duty …" Simyaldee froze. He couldn't do it. The pain of his actions was weighing heavily upon his soul. "I have no duty. I have no place. I am no warrior. I have seen and done too much to maintain my rank within the Covenant."

"A heretic?" She cautiously questioned. Her eyes grew wide, fearing that she had said too much. Calling anyone a 'Heretic' was considered the lowest possible insult if you were a member of the Covenant, yet Simyaldee did not react.

"Perhaps." He stood. "Perhaps I am. I did not want to hurt my own kin… I never dreamed that I would be called to do such a thing. But now, I have done that which I dread the most." He turned and looked down at the young female setting before him. "Do you fear me?"

"No. You must have had your reasons. I understand clearly how we kin can turn against our own. My father's wounds can testify to that. I fear he will not last the day; all for a few peaces of bread, fruit and meat." There was something heavy in her statement, and it appeared that it had more meaning to it then just her dieing father. Simyaldee took notice that she seemed to be carrying some form of self hate within her. A feeling he understood all too well.

Simyaldee leaned against the window sill and crossed his arms upon his armored chest. "In one day, I watched my master die, and spilled the blood of my kin. I did not join the Covenant to kill my own."

"You were ordered to kill our kin?" She questioned.

"In a matter of speaking." He replied. "Moving on, I suggest you and your younger sibling flee this place; if your father can not travel it is best to leave him behind. No city will be safe when the Jiralhanae arrive. I suggest you retreat to a distant jungle or mountain side, though your best option is to leave this world. If this new race does come here, there is no telling what they will do." Simyaldee gripped his bag of supplies, shoulder them and began to walk to the door.

"Jiralhanae?" She questioned, pondering the name loosely with her tongue. Simyaldee didn't care if she knew. Chances are they were all going to die anyway. "What will you do?" She looked to Simyaldee for answers.

"There is a valley several miles to the west. It is a three day journey. It is hidden and I know the area well."

"Allow us to travel with you." She shuffled closer to Simyaldee's feet, nearly pleading with him. She was a simple farmer's daughter, a lower class then Simyaldee's political bloodline. His father was once a great member of the High Council, till the Prophets ordered his murder, yet still his name carried much weight throughout the Sangheili race. For a farmer, there was no honor in her family name, and for this fact alone their name was unspoken.

Simyaldee weighed his options. He could easily survive on his own, his survival training would guarantee that, but she was a farmer. She knew weather patterns, crop soils and healing herbs. She could be invaluable to his long term survival on this planet if things go well. Yet, if these Jiralhanae creatures did find him and his camp, he would not be able to vanish with two young farmers at his side. Stealth would be the key to surviving in this new world.

Clearly, Simyaldee had a decision to make.

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"
Mausoleum of the Arbiter
High Charity
Covenant Armada Base of Operations
Location: Unknown
March 15, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

The cleaning patrol of grunts hurried about their daily chores, dusting the mighty graves of the fallen heroes of the Sangheili race; the Arbiters. Each their duty served to the Covenant, and for the Sangheili race, giving their lives as sacrifices to a greater cause. It had been many years since an Arbiter was called into service, and it nearly destroyed the entire structure of the Covenant. It was called the Grunt Rebellion, and many Sangheili fell in the battle upon High Charity. Millions of Unggoy slaves turned against their squad captains, all for the hope that the king of the Unggoy would bring change in how they were treated, or to help them escape their cruel masters. Yet the Rebellion was kindled, due largely to the deeds of the Arbiter, as he sacrificed his life in battle with the Grunt King. Though the Arbiter died, the Grunt King also fell in the battle, and seeing their king die was a monstrous blow to the Unggoy pride; they easily surrendered.

Once again the Unggoy were nothing more than slaves and grunts for the Covenant armada, continuing to do all of the lowly chores and tasks that brought upon their rebellion in the first place. But at this moment the room was needed for a secret meeting on a scale far higher than anyone thought possible; a gathering of the Mirratord.

Balmaedee was the first to enter, along with several Mirratord Elites dressed in the armor of the Special Operations. With a deep "wort" he startled every grunt in the room."Be gone!" he quickly ordered. The grunts frantically raced from the room, some leaving their cleaning utensils as the scurried hastily out the door.

The Mausoleum was the one room where the Mirratord could meet upon High Charity, and not fear that the Prophet's were listening. It was easily understood as a sanctuary as the room was sacred to the Elites, and the other races of the Covenant did not care much for the Elites "holy" warrior.

Balmaedee turned to M'atralee, "Select the guards for this meeting and begin the signal sweep." M'atralee nodded his response and walked away; pointing toward two Special Operations' Mirratord to follow him. The door parted and in walked several more Elites, this time in golden armor, Ship Masters. The door closed behind them as the two guards exited and took their place outside the Mausoleum doors.

M'atralee held a small pad in his hand and began to scan the room. Suddenly every Elite's private com began to burst with static, forcing them to turn them off. M'atralee then nodded toward Balmaedee with approval, confirming that all signals within the Mausoleum had been jammed; no transmission in or out of the room were permitted, including video surveillance.

Balmaedee returned the nodded. "All signals in the room have been disrupted."

With those words each of the Mirratord warriors within the room bowed before Balmaedee, affirming his place and rank as 'Second' amongst them.

"Status reports." Balmaedee questioned.

A Ship Master Mirratord stepped forward. "The High Council has reported great news from the meeting in Jogrennilee. The capital is in uproar at the Prophets decision to abandon the outpost world. High Elder Da'ylmeo will be sending a full encrypted transmission shortly. It is a good day for distrust."

"Indeed." Balmaedee smirked. "Finally, more of the Prophets fault is being revealed to our kin."

Another Ship Master spoke up. "Yet we do not know if it wise to fully distrust the Prophets. They have brought us many wonders, and their knowledge of the Gods is indisputable. We should tread softly in our spewing of hatred and lies."

Several other Mirratord agreed with this ship master's words. "Agreed." Balmadee added. "As always, Domadree, your words are wise. We can not speak angrily without fact."

"Will you be informing us on what you learned during your mission?" Domadree questioned.

"In time. I await the council's presence." Balmaedee stated to the group. "For now, are their any other reports?"

"There was another unscheduled Heretic uprising in the M'asion district three days ago." Spoke a Spec-Ops. "Rumor has it that a young male found Forerunner Artifacts and deciphered its meaning. From what was reported he and several dozen Watchmen rebelled against their Prophet Prefecture after understanding its words. This caused massive civil unrest. However, by the time the council had dispatched at team, the situation had been kindled. The Watchmen were slain as Heretics and the object was not found. We questioned many, but there was no proof about the young Watchmen's acts."

Many grumblings began amongst the gathered Mirratord as Domadree spoke up. "This is the fifth unscheduled Heretic attack in this rotation!" Domadree roared. "And Watchmen were the victims. These outbreaks must stop. Our young must not fall off the path or else we ourselves will be forced to spill their blood. How much will it cost us if we continue to spread doubt about the Prophets and our Gods?"

The door to the chamber closed as several silver armored Sangheili stepped into the Mausoleum; their massive helmets brilliantly resting upon their heads. "Domadree, you are always the voice of reason." Spoke the lead councilor.

Domadree bowed in honor, followed by the other Mirratord warriors. "Forgive my outcry elder, but I merely speak the truth. Our young are easily affected by the rumors of the Prophets. Defiance in the Prophets will become rampant if this continues, and our young will be the first to respond. We can not allow their blood to be shed because of our acts."

The eight councilors assigned to High Charity stood in the center of the Mirratord warriors, as the eldest amongst them questioned Domadree. "What will you have us to do?"

"Halt some of these Heretic outbreaks. Even the scheduled Heretic sects must be ordered to disassemble. At least halt them until we find proof that the Prophets do not have our best wishes at heart."

Several warriors and a few councilors nodded in approval. "Second, what is your suggestion?" All eyes turned to Balmaedee.

"The news that our young began to turn against the prophets is troubling." He pondered his words. "I agree with Domadree. For now, we should contact all of our established underground Heretic Sects and order them to end their protests. Also, I will assign a team to hunt down rogue Heretic Sects and … silence them. Yet this does not grant the Prophets any merit. We are simply attempting to slow down this plasma fire before it burns out of control."

"Even with your youth, that was spoken true to your family's wisdom." The elder smiled. "We shall send word immediately. Any heretic actions after this meeting will not be for our cause. I grant full lethal force to your search team, if it is needed to silence the rogue sects. Now let us divert our attention to the matter at hand. We shall make this quick so that you may continue to debrief the Mirratord, Second. Step forward young Simyaldee."

Balmaedee huffed softly. "Elders, Simyaldee did not return from his previous mission. We were separated and …"

"Is he dead?" One of the rear elders questioned.

"No."

"Then why is he not here, Second?" The lead elder's patience was held only by the thickness of his skin.

"He did not return to the extraction point. However, no reports of his Identity have been placed on the deceased records. We believe he is still on the outpost world."

The lead elder turned to the door in the distance and gazed at the shadows. "How long till the Jiralhanae arrive on the outpost?"

A voice answered back from the shadows. "Another six days. Their Chieftan and his court will be given a tour of the planet." Balmaedee recognized the Sangheili's voice, it was the Spec Ops Commander. He normally did not come to the meetings as his face was usually at the beckon of the Supreme Commander. Even more dawnting to Balmaedee was the fact they he already knew of the Jiralhanae. "Council, I do not need to enforce how urgent it is that we find him before the Jiralhanae do."

"You have made it quite clear of his importance, First." The lead elder stated. "And we are aware of his importance to our cause. However, since he is not here we have no need of you. Report back to the Fleet Master's side. And also, be prepared to speak with the Hierarchs. I am quite certain that Punishment's death will not be taken lightly."

The commander shouted back from the shadows. "Then I shall take my leave. Second, find him and bring him back. Select your team and go. Do not fail me." The door opened and the Commander made his exit.

The elder turned to Balmaedee. "You have your orders, Second. This meeting is adjourned. We will continue once the Second has returned with our youngest brother."

- - - - - - - -

Had he made the right decision? The question boiled in his mind as if to haunt him for the remainder of his life. Simyaldee had to do what he felt would be best. He stopped at the edge of town and looked to the distant road ahead of him. Soon the pavement would turn into a dusty trail, and then a grassy plain. He had a full day of sunlight as his guide

The Master's training camp was one of the most guarded secrets of his home, for fear that the Sangheili youth that were trained there would be deemed 'unfit' by the Prophets. Only those warriors that trained at the camp knew of its location, and the Prophet of Punishment did not have the chance to share what he had learned from the Master. The training camp would be his home, his escape from the Covenant.

But still, a lingering thought echoed in his mind. What if his decision was wrong? He looked over his shoulder and saw nothing. He had left them behind, a female and her younger sibling, to face their own future. He could not support them, or protect them, as Simyaldee knew that his own hands had been stained with too much Sangheili blood. There was no honor in killing his kin, and killing one Prophet did not outweigh their sacrifices.

He stepped forward, struggling mentally to forget the young female he had to leave behind. He had told her to go to the space port, steal a ship, and fly away; far--far away. He showed her how to pilot the ship, the basics of Seraph controls. She could do it, she had to; her life depended upon it. Besides, unless she entered combat, the automated pilot would take her to any coordinates she entered.

"Yes." Simyaldee stated to himself. "I made the right decision. She will be fine alone." He trekked forward, adjusting the bag on his shoulder and pressed forward on his three day journey.

- - - - - - - -

At the edge of town, the young female watched as Simyaldee began his trek off of the paved road. With her were her younger sibling and several other young males. She turned to them and stated; "I will follow him, the rest of you get Father to the ship and meet us at my signal location. He said it was a three day journey, but if what he said was correct then we may not have much time before these Jiralhanae arrive."

"Elder sister, what will we do?" One of the males questioned. "He is a warrior, we are but farmers. If provoked he could easily kill us."

"No, his heart is heavy with regret, and we can use that to our advantage. We were able to survive for the passed eight days by taking what we needed from the few stragglers that were left behind, and we will survive longer if we have a true warrior in our ranks. We can't fight him, but we can make him join us."

"But elder sister, you will be putting yourself at great risk. Father was wounded in our last attack; we can not risk you to parish. Only you can carry on our family bloodline."

"I understand your concern, but we can not miss this opportunity. The Covenant calls us Heretics, but we know the truth. The prophets are liars! And I would rather see our bloodline end then to be oppressed by the Covenant. Now, get father to the ship that the warrior spoke of. I will take our youngest brother with me. Be careful and wait for my signal. In three days I will have the Warrior join our clan and make him mine. Or slay him."

To be continued…

Notes: Short chapter this time, and more of a character progression chapter. The next section will be more focused on the Covenant Side and the "cover up" for the outpost world. Plenty of action in the next chapter as well, plus the reason why the Drones (Yanmee') are so important to the Covenant. Every race has a role.

-soulguard