"Carry on my wayward son,
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more" - Kansas – Carry on Wayward Son


The stillness of the space was welcoming to my senses. For a moment I contemplated turning off the artificial gravity and simply floating, my body released from the grips of the force. But I stop my hand, when it is inches from the button. I must focus. The quiet clicking of the escape pod brings some clarity into my mind. Is this how one feels when one is stranded in the vast ocean? When left feels just like right, and up might as well be down. When the horizon is not much of a marker…

This is it, no way to back out of it now. But I feel reduced to a pitiful being full of doubts. I know… there is no help from you. My heart beats like a drum, stomach begins to throb. In the face of my fate I must stand strong.

Luckily, the escape pod is quite the advanced one, even for this cycle. I use the course that I set just a few moments ago (even though it feels like ages have passed), and launch the pod into action. It is not unlike what I had experienced in the Normandy. My body flattens to my seat, the space reduces to a colorful and blinding blur as I speed into the mass relay…


A pounding headache wakes me up… Sharp twangs steadily pulse behind my eyes, making me groan ad shudder. I take my head into my hands, trying to reduce the pain, but my limbs feel sore, too. I rise into a sitting position which only brings a fleeting moment of relief. I cough and cough - my voice cracks as I attempt to spit out a few words of anger; mouth dry, throat parched – all that I do is bring more pain in that knocks all breath out of lungs in a few ragged gasps.

I simply sit there, trying to focus on one painful region at a time. Where am I? What happened? I forbid myself to panic and instead, cracking one eye open, I look at the controls. Life support is stable, so that's one good thing. It would be rather ironical if the last Prothean was taken down by the lack of oxygen. Or noxious fumes. Though, the pod begins to feel a bit stuffy. Hot even. I carefully shift in my seat and notice that my armor clings to the leather. Is that…?

A sound of wildlife reaches my ears. Birds chirping, loud clicking, shuffling, screeching, thundering noises make me jump. In the name of the Empire… where am I?

The thick foliage obscures my view of the foreign world I appear to have landed in. Clenching my teeth and trying to ignore the pain in my limbs, I attempt to kick out the door of the pod. One, two, three, four…The door finally gives in, and, opening with a silent swoosh, throws me into heat, blinding sunlight and humidity. I realize a tad too late, that I am without a breathing mask – my mind goes into a slight panic, before I register that the air is perfectly breathable.

Kicking out the door was one thing, but getting out is quite another. Supporting myself by clenching the sides of the pod, I try to stand up, but my legs buckle and give in. For a split second I sway and then crash down on the ground next to what remains of the pod. The earth welcomes my body, as the latter absorbs the former's heat. I choose this moment to feel around. Yes, it is a habitable planet. And an old one, too.

I slowly rise up, firmly planting my feet on the ground and take one good look at my surroundings. I am met by the vast land, grass alternating with sand and dirt. Far ahead, a bit to my left, there is a mountain that seems to stab right through the sky, its top disappearing in a flock of clouds. A thick forest rounds it, and I can make out a small stream running through the heart of it, its glittering waters inviting. They instantly remind me of my parched throat and how good it would be if the water was drinkable.

I reach into the pod and grab my weapons, strapping them to the armor. There must be a water filter somewhere in there. My luck holds, and after some digging around, I manage to find a filter lodged in a compartment behind the seat. It so appears that some attempts in survival will be necessary until I either complete my mission or die trying. Both outcomes are the same.

I make my way down the hill that I landed on, past the heavily grown in bushes. Pulling out my gun I step into the forest and into the unknown.


"….I have written down some of the Prothean history. Cultural facts, mostly. Nothing too detailed, but make use of it anyways. For the sake of my own sanity, I didn't dig in deeper. I didn't have to do all of this, anyways. But… I take it upon myself, a responsibility of sorts, to leave something behind for this cycle to analyze. I am no scientist, and I do not find the concept of history particularly useful. But a nosy asari like you might.

I failed my ultimate mission. I can no longer do it myself, so I thrust it upon you to bring the Empire to glory in history books. Fill in the gap that the Reapers have created. Or I'll take it upon myself to haunt you.

Javik."

He said, 'to haunt you'. Is he ready to…?

I dedicated my whole life to understanding the Protheans. Years spent in the ruins only brought about the formal knowledge of them, which, as I gather more information, proves to be entirely off the mark. Afflicted with a false idea that I knew them, I overlooked one clue after another. The scraps of evidence that I now possess offer me no insight into their way of thinking. I thought so highly of them, as if they were gods, but their horrifying demise, that was brought upon not only by Reapers, but also by their growing imperialistic nature, stirred a sense of understanding. They were just trying to survive… In the early days, yes, culture might have been the central axis of their lives. But as the Reaper threat loomed over them, a lot was sacrificed for the sake of military training and preparing the Empire for the single biggest battle the Prothean race has ever faced. If I can judge by Javik, it turned Protheans into rigid and highly militaristic beings, their devotion to the cause surpassing that of the turians.

And yet, his letter surprised me. That he wanted to leave something behind and that he entrusted me with this mission. I do not know which part made my heart beat faster, though. One thing that I knew best and could make out in this mess that were my feelings, was that I had been given a sense of purpose again. Something to cling to…. Something that I didn't have when Shepard died the first time.

Javik… Knowingly or not, you gave me the biggest gift I could ever receive.

But then why I can't bring myself to be happy for it? He said… He said.

Does he plan to take his own life?

When the doors of my office close behind me and the four walls separate me from the eyes of the crew, I slump into one of the chairs. The periodical beep of my omni-tool begs for my attention, but I'm too drained, too empty. I simply stare at the flickering screens as the thoughts run through my head, too indistinct for me to grab one and analyze.

I suddenly remember that I have Javik's datapad – my fingers retaining a death grip on it. So I do what I know best. With a few flicks of my fingers, a line after line of Javik's work and determination opens up before my eyes. He said he was no scientist, but I am immediately taken aback by the way he writes, how he knows what is truly important. One thing perfectly links to each other, and before I know it, I have been sitting in the same pose for more than an hour, my back throbbing, and eyes dry.

And yet, with every hole closed, a new one opens. Questions about their culture race in my mind, but they seem dim and far away.

Why did he decide that he wanted to leave this world?

Is he… is he still alive?

My eyes rise to meet the screens. I take in the images of the galaxy – so vast, so unwelcome.

We could still save him!

My breath jumps in my throat, body springs into motion. But what right do I have? Garrus understood. Joker did, too. Why can't I let go just as they did?

And then my knees buckle, sending my body slumping to the ground in a helpless heap of dead hope.


I turn my head, as a thud reaches my ears. Slowly, but with practiced ease I draw out my gun and aim it at the foliage. I still don't trust my reflexes after the landing, so I fire a few shots at the bushes. The trees create a rippling effect, and the sound echoes throughout the forest, making the wildlife shriek in a hundred of different voices. Cautiously, I walk over the bush, and part the leaves with the barrel of my gun. Reaching in, I pull out a dead pyjak. The plague of this cycle. I toss it aside and continue walking.

The heaviness of the full flask reminds me of the all too easy trek to the river. The water was safe to drink, so I didn't even need to pull out my filter. The planet was perfectly habitable… So where is everyone?

So far, all I had encountered were those aggravating pyjaks, a few violent varren-like creatures, and too many different birds. But no sign of settlement.

As I walk onwards, I feel weariness catching up to me. Nevertheless, I cannot stop. I cannot rest. I cannot resist the temptation…

I pull out the flask and pour water over my face, catching stray drops in my mouth. The water brings clarity in this humidity, so I trek forwards, hoping to find another source of the precious liquid, so as not to have to backtrack.

As I brush aside the thick foliage, however, a different sight greets me.

A sharp resonates in my brain, and I remember exactly what the structure in front of me is.

I stand before one of the Prothean ruins.