Rahool propped his datapad against the hotel desk lamp and used the touchscreen to dial into the Cryptarchy's comms panel. The blue screen pulsed as it waited for an answer back at the Tower. A few moments later, the video feed switched on. Katilyn came into view, holding a takeout container and a pair of chopsticks. The Traveler keep that woman, he was glad she was the Cryptarch on Archive duty tonight.

"Rahool!" Katilyn cried. "There you are!"

"I'm sorry for the delay," he sighed. "It's been a rather hectic day."

"I got your message about an hour ago," she said. "We were all getting worried when you didn't show up for the afternoon Novice training. What's going on?"

He rubbed his eyes. Blessed Light, he was tired! He was certain he looked a mess despite the evening shower he'd taken. The water had done some good, but he still had only the same clothes to wear. And the water could do nothing about the fatigue under his eyes or the frown that seemed permanently stuck on his face. He'd thought about sending his cowl, waistcoat, and jacket to the hotel dry cleaning, only to decide against it. Suppose something happened to the garments? Without having brought a change of clothing, he'd be stuck wearing his shirtsleeves for the lecture! Instead they hung neatly in the closet, hopefully airing out from the day's exertions. Katilyn was one of the few whom he didn't mind witnessing his informality. They had known each other too long for him to be much bothered by it anymore.

For her part, Katilyn looked as put together as ever despite his unexpected absence. Her cowl was pushed back as always, revealing her sleek blonde hair tidily clipped out of her face. She held the chopsticks in manicured hands and jabbed at her dinner, waiting for his answer.

"Cayde neglected to inform me that we would be staying in the City overnight," Rahool explained. "Why Ikora agreed to such a thing, I can't imagine."

"She probably wanted him out of her way as long as possible." Katilyn smirked, slurping up some noodles. "How kind of you to give her some peace and quiet tonight."

"Hmph! Believe me, it's not by choice. Cayde refuses to pilot the jumpship back. I know he thinks he'll get replaced by another Guardian if he returns."

"Where is he?" Katilyn asked. "Is he there with you now?"

"Hardly!" Rahool snorted. "He's gone out, to the Light knows where until who knows how long. The Darkness take me if I give a damn anymore!" He took a calming breath. "Pardon my language. Like I said, it's been quite a day."

Katilyn's smile was both understanding and amused.

"Sounds like it."

"Anyways," he said, changing the subject, "how are things at the Archives?"

"Everything's fine and dandy here," Katilyn waved her chopsticks dismissively at the screen. "You don't have to worry about us. It's a quiet night. So slow that Riva was able to go out and get us some lo mein. She's just finishing up going over details of that Golden Age art exhibition with the City Gallery's curator."

"What am I doing?" A voice asked off screen. Katilyn turned. A shorter woman with dark hair waving down her shoulders stuck her face into view.

"Hi, Master Rahool! Where have you been?"

Riva was carrying her own takeout container and pulled up a chair next to Katilyn. The two exchanged a quick kiss in greeting.

"He's vacationing in the City for tonight," Katilyn grinned knowingly at Rahool. "While Cayde gallivants around before his lecture tomorrow."

"Somehow I doubt Rahool is thinking of it as a vacation," Riva said, pushing back her cowl and opening her takeout. Her large brown eyes sparkled with sympathy for his plight. Riva's teasing was always a little less sardonic than Katilyn's. Through the years her shyness had never completely disappeared, though it didn't ever seem to interfere with her work as a Cryptarch.

"How did the exams go?" Katilyn asked.

"Well enough," Rahool said. "I'm not holding my breath, however."

"You think we'll go another year without a new Novice?" Riva chimed in.

"There's got to be at least one prospect!" Katilyn said, nearly at the same time.

"It's too soon to tell," Rahool admitted. "Though I can say that at least half of today's applicants can be ruled out. You've never seen such a dismal collection of test scores! I think the College has completely lost all sense when it comes to preparing for the Cryptarchy!"

Katilyn and Riva exchanged knowing glances. He bristled with irritation. They merely kept eating. So what if this wasn't the first time they'd heard this lament? It was true! More so every year!

"You always say the first part of the test isn't the best indicator of success," Riva said kindly. "Give them a chance to present their demonstrations tomorrow before you worry too much."

Katilyn nodded in agreement with her wife.

"Just relax tonight and enjoy being away from the Archives," she said. "We've got everything under control."

That wasn't boasting on Katilyn's part. She and Riva were among his finest and most trusted Cryptarchs. They would indeed keep everything in order until his return. But relaxation was likely not going to happen.

"Thank you," he said. "I'll keep you informed of my return."

The women waved and said their goodbyes. The video feed disconnected.

Rahool ran his hands through his short hair, resting his head against his palms. Perhaps he should have told them about his new correspondence from the College. The letter had arrived shortly after Cayde had left him at the hotel. Another offer from the President to join the board and teach at the campus. Another request to bring the Cryptarchy into the City. It could be helpful to hear their opinions on the matter. And yet…oh, Blessed Light, he just couldn't decide!

The College could use the Order's guidance, that was for certain. Bringing the Cryptarchy away from the Tower opened up the Archives to the City at large — at least, the parts of the Archives that weren't meant to be restricted — without having to fit his studies and schedules in with the Vanguard and the whims of Guardians. Just the prospect of not having to sit through another blasted Consensus meeting was tempting enough!

Rahool stood from the desk chair and walked slowly to the tall balcony doors. The shades were drawn back from the glass, revealing the sparkling view below the hotel. The City was aglow with lights and the last rays of the sun sinking behind the horizon. He was so used to the familiar sights from the Tower that for a long time he just looked at the City as though he had never seen it before. Despite his regular trips to the College, he'd never actually spent much time in this District. There were still others that he barely had even glimpsed from the mag train, let alone set foot in himself. All this time, and there was still so much to see and to do. It irked him to admit it, but he could see where Cayde's desperation to leave the Tower came from. Freedom to come and go was important. Blessed Light, he should know that more than most!

But their work was important too. They couldn't just leave it. Could they?

Cayde was stuck as a leader of Guardians. Everyone knew about the Vanguard Dare, even if they didn't know the specifics. His own knowledge of Cayde's succession to the position of Hunter Vanguard was gleaned from rumor passed down from Zavala and by amused Guardians who chatted with the Cryptarchy at the time Cayde reluctantly assumed leadership. Cayde always grumbled that he wasn't cut out for the job, not like Andal Brask had been. Well, the Light save them, that was true...

...To a point. Brask had possessed remarkable patience for a Hunter. His keen eye for strategy often rivaled Zavala's. He was personable, friendly, and approachable. He rarely boasted, not even through wild cloaks. The worn, muted fabric Cayde wore in remembrance was the most elaborate cloak the man had owned. Brask was long gone, and now there was Cayde: obnoxious, temperamental, capricious, and too blasted reckless.

And somehow, he was exactly what the Hunters needed. What the Tower needed. His scouts were some of the finest in an Age. It was perhaps foolhardy sending Guardians off regularly into the wilds when the Darkness crept ever closer to home, yet even Rahool couldn't argue with the painstaking data they brought in to the Cryptarchy to create the dead zone maps and the scads of new engrams and Golden Age artifacts they claimed as souvenirs. Cayde took risks, big ones, and they so far had paid off. How much longer his luck could hold was anyone's guess. Rahool rather thought it was in infinite supply at this point. He certainly wouldn't get away with half the stunts Cayde pulled! The Cryptarchy was a tightrope walk to this very day. There could be no room for error lest everything he had built disappeared in one rash instant.

Rahool stared out, lost in thought. His fingers unconsciously went for the thin chain around his neck and the little medallion hanging on it.

And what was holding him to the Tower? Was it time to let go of the Cryptarchy? Was it really as Petra had said, that he'd traded one gilded cage for another? He'd had such high hopes all those years ago, standing in the neglected Archives wide-eyed and with no clue where to begin. He — no, they, all the dedicated people of his Order — had built something fine. But what had they built? The monument to scholarship and shared knowledge that he had dreamed of, or a monolith of hoarded secrets caught up in Tower politics?

Whom did the Cryptarchy really serve now? It was looking less and less like the people of the City. Just one look at the dismal state of the College proved that. If he could take that old fire and reforge the City's education, would there be need of a Cryptarchy anymore? Exams and high standards were all well and good until it became clear that nobody could meet them. He could seethe about lazy students and disinterested board members…or he could admit that his Order was becoming more insular each year. Oh, Blessed Light. History really was doomed to repeat itself.

For a long while he watched the City. Airships crawled across the sky, backdropped by the huge orb of the Traveler. Its shell went from glowing orange to pale blue, until all the floodlights and City streets below it lit its scarred underbelly in stark relief. On the desk, his datapad softly beeped the hour, rousing him from his thoughts. It was time to be getting back to work. Those exams were not going to grade themselves. He let the medallion fall against his thin shirt. It hung heavier than ever, a cold weight pressing against his chest like doubt.