Why did I do that?

Cayde reprimanded me with his higher-ground of the argument—that being me returning half an hour late. He joked about it, mocking me with my statement of going to the Crucible, before telling me all about what he found.

For what reason?

"Ah . . . well, hm . . . there was a lot back at the structure I went to. I mean a lot of Hive—that is. Oh, yeah! There was this one Fallen Vandal," Cayde told, catching my attention at the mention of a Fallen.

Why didn't I just kill her?

"There wasn't much at the place, but . . . anyway, it goes like this," he began to tell, trailing off into a story. I half listened to him, but was more caught up in my own thoughts. He wouldn't notice, as we were in each of our own separate ships, talking over the coms as we headed back to the city.

She's probably killed many other guardians . . . like she said.

Cayde continued to talk on, though my attention went back to dozing off. My chair leaned further back, and I rested my hands on my stomach.

With aim like that, she'll probably kill more, too.

I huffed, before Cayde stopped talking in the middle of his story and asked, "Oh, am I boring you, Shin? C'mon, it's not every day that you find a Fallen as friendly as she was."

"No, Cayde, I'm just . . . sorta' conflicted," I assured, mellow in tone.

"Mm . . . okay, well . . . I'm gonna' let you deal with that. See you in the tower . . .?"

"Yeah, later."

"All right, see you around," he quickly faired, before silence returned.

What I had left were my thoughts. And they were telling me that I did something wrong. Yet, it was my feelings that screamed something . . . that there was something deeper than that.

That Fallen wasn't just some mongrel monster sort of . . . non-human thing. It felt like it was alive. Maybe it didn't fear dying, but there had to be some sense of understanding behind its actions.

I thought about whether or not the rest were like that.

I shook my head. All Fallen do is kill anything innocent on this planet. They murdered 90% of the Golden Age population, so it's safe to say that they're all murderers.

At least most.

I brought myself back up in my seat and shifted the lever to my side, before taking hold of the ship's wheel and turning course.

Barely mentionable, my ghost rose up from its docking position and looked to me.

"Where are you going?" he asked with his deep, monotone voice. He has never really talked to me—I figure he was more talkative with Jaren.

"Orleans," I shortly replied.

". . . It has been a while since we have gone there," the ghost told, looking down with that eye of his.

Palamon would've been my choice, but Orleans was at least somewhat still intact.

My ship made the ride fast, flying into the ruins of what once was a big city. Back in the Golden Age. It was always like this, however—and it wasn't what I was flying to. The small mile-by-mile wide section that was walled off from the rest was where I was going. Before Palamon . . . that was where I lived.

Now it was a colony for the Fallen.

My ship landed in the middle of the road, before I ported myself out from the ship. My feet graced the dusty ground, and I looked about. It was empty, just as I'd remembered from my last trip. Scarcely would you find a Vandal or Dreg in these parts.

To my side was a little, white house. Its walls were long-since dusted over and dirty with the ruin and ash of Orleans. There were holes in its structures. I remember when they were put there.

I stepped up to the door and hefted a breath, before opening the house and letting myself in. It was dustier than last I visited, but otherwise, nothing has changed. There were still two torn sofas in the livingroom. The kitchen table was still broken down the middle. The bathroom's glass was shattered. And my bed had stayed neatly made.

The sun had begun to set as I sat myself onto the bed, undoing my helmet and setting it to the side. I took off my chestpiece, following my legs and arms. I hung the cloak on the corner of a door, before slipping my feet under the covers of my bed and wriggling down. My head sunk into the aging pillow underneath, and I let a finger trail around the entry point of a bullet hole. Comfy.

I figure this is what it was like to live in the golden age. Before the darkness came. When the Traveler was alive. At the peak of humanity.

Must've been a comfy life.

"Ghost, wake me up if any Fallen get near," I spoke, closing my eyes with a yawn.

I felt myself relaxing, letting my muscles loosen and my body stretch out comfortably. It was always like this when I'd come here. If there's one thing I'd never forget about this place, it's the smell. Probably wasn't even a good life compared to the Golden Age's, but it felt perfect for what I know.

I fell asleep.

. . .

Rays of orange sunlight were just breaking through the holes in the walls and broken glass when I heard the call of a voice. I groaned, sitting myself up and looking around tiredly. As I woke up some, it became apparent that the voice was coming from my helmet. And thus, I picked it up and put it on.

"—Malphur? You there, buddy?"

"Y— . . . yeah, I'm here," I rushedly spoke back, tired.

"Sleep in a bit?" I was asked, identifying the voice as Cayde's.

I stood up and stretched, reaching for my armor.

"I— . . . I guess."

"It's two o'clock—and definitely no day to be slacking," he continued, audibly shifting his attention.

"Yeah—yeah . . . sorry," I replied, looking outside to see that the sun was just rising. I forget that times are different across the world.

Cayde laughed some, and I could tell he was shaking his head. He mumbled some things to himself, before his attention was caught.

"Anyway, oversleeper, I have a mission for you—seems like something you'd be best fit to do," he told.

"Ah, all right. What is it?" I asked, fitting on the last piece of my armor, before walking out of the room.

"Okay, okay . . . so . . . there's a high-profile target that we have for you."

I stepped out of the run-down home, fastening my cloak to my neck and resting the hood overtop my helmet. My ship was right where I left it, with an orange glow reflecting off its smooth-finish surface.

"Yeah, there've been a lot of guardian KIAs recently, and we believe a good amount of them have been coming from some Fallen," he told.

The statement lingered in my mind for the moment.

I beamed back into the ship, right onto my seat. My rear settled back and I leaned forward, changing the controls some and prepping the engine.

"And you want me to go stop them?" I asked.

"Believe it or not, it's not a 'them' this time. Just one."

I locked up in place for a moment. It was her.

"We believe it might be rogue, but it's definitely nothing like the average dreg."

I sighed, slumping into my seat and letting my helmet clunk back. "That's pretty coincidental," I mumbled.

"What'd'ya mean by that?"

"Nothing, just . . . where am I going?" I questioned, still drowsy in tone.

My hands felt for the steering, before I pulled up on it and my ship lifted from the ground. It tilted to the side a bit while continuously lifting upward.

"Okay, so . . . you're gonna' be going to a city in Continent 3."

I stopped moving the ship and my eyes fell to the ship's display.

"Orleans," Cayde finalized.

". . . What?"

From that moment, an explosion blew out the engines and tore my ship in half. I was rocked in my seat against the dashboard, before scuffling to get a grip back onto the controls. Red lights blared as the ship began to spin from my control, spiraling downward. I desperately pulled on the lever to bring the ship off its tilt, but the machine locked up.

Last I saw was the visor of the ship hitting the ground.