Med school cold and hard, finding time to write somehow harder. But I'm getting the hang of it. I think.

Power in Words and Silence

"Didn't expect this thing to be so heavy," Crona grunted as she lifted a thick stainless steel rod onto the worktable, pushing it into the light.

"Too heavy?" Her father asked and she could hear the teasing in his tone.

"Not at all. Just surprised." She stepped back to let him place another piece down, its ringing thud resounding across the room. The Vanguard Hall was quiet at this time and the secluded part of it they had taken for their own, even more so. Early morning wasn't ideal but it was likely the only time they'd get to work on the weapon together before their daily duties overwhelmed them.

Banshee had come through, as Crona knew he would. He had found most of the parts they needed and what he did manage to find was enough to finally start the internal assembly. The fact that just moving it required some measure of effort from Crona spoke to just how big this weapon was going to be and how she was going to eventually have her work cut out for her when she started running around battlefields with it. From the scatterings of old design notes Crona had managed to scavenge, the original weapon was built for someone who towered over her and her father and even Lord Shaxx. Why she couldn't find more than that on the original owner was still an annoying mystery.

Throughout it all, her father spoke and she responded. Then she said something back and he would respond. Their back and forth stretches on, longer than it has for some time. Whether that was due to lack of time or still lingering tensions, Crona could not say. Nor did she want to question.

The topics jump, just as they used to. It's the most talkative her father was with anyone, within the family or without. They talk about the still missing parts and about the weapon itself. He asks about her brother and his ongoing situation and reminds her to check in on him often. She tries then to ask about her mother in a roundabout way but her father sees through to the truth. Zavala knows she worries that things were not good between them and hasn't been since she returned from the Vault. He tells Crona that they are doing just fine. He gives an honest effort to be convincing. She puts the same amount of effort into trying to believe him.

"I never mentioned this earlier," he says at one point, "But I found you an exotic shard."

The attention Crona had been paying to a bolt too tiny for her fingers was broken and she nearly dropped it. She looked up at him from her place on her knees, eye level to the table. "How did you-"

"Found isn't the best word," her father admits, "It is…was mine. From…" he lets the air from his mouth out into a stream. "Years ago now. Decades even. A Dawning gift from Shaxx."

"Shaxx went through the trouble of finding an exotic shard and just…gave it away?"

"He takes his gift-giving seriously, you know that. How many things did I have to forbid you and your brother from asking him for?" He asked, grinning, "It's because he might actually find it." Her father shook his head with a chuckle. "Anyway, I never found the proper use for it and when I became commander, I simply stopped having time."

With a grunt, her father twisted his own piece firmly into place. Crona decided against mentioning that most people use wrenches. "I'll work on getting it out of storage. Then, you can start charging it. Fair warning, it may take a while."

"I figured. Aro's told me about his. Says it's been taking in his Light at the same rate as when he first started, showing no sign of stopping."

"Not surprised. Took Cayde a year for Ace."

"What about Ikora and Invective?"

And again, the talking takes off. Soon, they weren't even discussing weapons anymore and Crona found herself beset by a sense of nostalgia. This was how things used to be. Her father was rarely ever free but when he was, it had been so easy to talk to him. Then Venus happened. She made a choice and she was dealing with the consequences. That decision changed everything; the third turning point of her life. The first was meeting Sol. The second was meeting Aro.

"I spoke with Lord Saladin."

"Is he still mad about the 'old man' crack?" She teased, heaving a part of the frame into place.

"Yes. But he's also told me about your efforts to obtain the Arc conductor. Your source, specifically."

Crona stopped. Then, she started again without a word.

"Crona…" he started.

But she's heard all of this before. "I know. They can't be trusted, I know. I'm careful with what I tell her."

"What does she want to know?"

"Mainly about the Vault of Glass," she said, "Says it bothers her. Like something in the back of her mind. Something important that she should remember but can't."

Crona knew somewhat of the feeling. She had felt it when Wrath(K)'s Ghost had told them of Praedyth. She should know that name but just couldn't. She was grateful to Asura for always being willing to remind her. Remind her that it had never been just two who tried and failed to take the Vault of Glass. The third's death had been the catalyst for Wrath(A)'s descent into Darkness. Outside of time or not, he deserved the effort of trying to remember him.

"Has she asked about the Aegis?"

Crona instinctively looked down at the black thin lines tracing the bright blue of her forearm. "No, but it's always covered when I meet her. Most people just think it's another tattoo."

Hr grunted. "Good. When do you next meet Lakshmi?"

"Today. Later in the afternoon."

"I see."

"Father." His working hands stop. "What's your history with the factions?" Her father remained silent. "Cayde doesn't like them. You and Ikora and Lord Saladin really don't like them." Zavala gave an amused hum. "I know about the faction wars already. I just feel like there's more to it."

"There always is, Crona." Her father rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "My issue isn't with the factions themselves but those who tend to represent them. They are…unnervingly good at flattery. They present themselves in a way for Guardians to connect with humanity. Something I think many Guardians, Risen ones especially, implicitly seek out. But it is rarely in good faith and more often, only to further their own goals. In any case, their machinations can pull Guardians deep into their fold. When there's a disagreement between factions, they can turn these Guardians against each other. If it gets severe…"

"We get the Faction War."

"It can start small," her father murmured, something he only did when he was deep in his memories. "A Dead Orbit Guardian consistently beats one of New Monarchy's in the Crucible. It raises Dead Orbit's reputation so New Monarchy orders their other Guardians to go after Dead Orbit's when they match against each other. Soon, New Monarchy only teams up with New Monarchy. Dead Orbit and Dead Orbit." Zavala moved the lamp to an area above where she was working. "Unwilling to declare for either side, the War Cult close ranks. The fights in the Crucible get worse, Shaxx has to call off matches and ban Guardians. Then, the fights start leaving the Crucible. Then, the Speaker and I are signing orders of banishment because a civilian or someone's Ghost was caught in the crossfire. As if Guardians are such an easily renewable resource we can afford to lose."

Crona looked back at him just in time to see the tensing line of his jaw relax. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its edge. "Regardless of personal feelings, I see them as a necessity. But Guardians are power. The more of them under your influence, the better. You and your team, they are the type of people they would pounce on. You and Asura. Aro especially. This is simply not the kind of attention we need right now. Above all else, the struggle with the Heralds must remain under wraps."

"I understand."

"If nothing else, I'm glad your relationship with Lakshmi is so private. If she wanted to use you, she'd have you in front of every camera by now, broadcasting on every newsfeed she could reach."

"I suppose she's not all that comfortable with people knowing what she wants to know just yet."

"Indeed. I'm just not yet sure if that is a good or bad thing."

The conversation falls off again there, ending easier than it had begun. More silent work follows, connecting wires, fitting in the numerous conducting plates, the many more insulation plates and screwing in parts that were tiny and significant in equal measure. Zavala then had Crona put her hand on the central coil and push through it a small charge of Arc Light.

Crona did as bid. Both of them heard the gentle whine of the coil heating up in response. "We're on track but not there yet," her father told her, "The charge put through would need to be more powerful than that as well as constant and maintained."

"So this gun won't function without its conductor."

"No." Zavala shakes his head, "Do what you must. Be cautious what you say but also of what you're told. Suggestions work best when they aren't noticed. You know how this works by now."

At that, Crona could only nod.

Lakshmi leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other and rubbing a slender finger beneath her chin. Crona sat opposite of her, stiff as a corpse and hating how much it must have shown. "Could you tell me more about the Vex you faced in the Vault, Crona?"She asked, breaking the long lull of their talk.

"Anything specific?" Crona was already combing through each and every word she could say that might be compromising.

Lakshmi just put her hands up in a shrug. "Not at all. Your experiences are all that interest me."

"My experiences…" Crona's eyes lowered to her legs, pressed together tight and stiff before her. Her mind delved into those memories and a strange but familiar twisting in her stomach had her frowning.

"Terrible," she started carefully. "For all of us. A constant sense of terror pervaded everything. Even when all we could do was sit in the dark. Especially then, even."

"You mentioned the special time manipulation of these Vex…"

"One Vex nearly phased a few of our team out of space and time while we fought it," she explained, hoping she wouldn't ask for names. "Then, there were the Gorgons."

"Strange name."

"It was Kayla who named them," Crona lied, "We had to crawl through their maze without drawing their notice. If they had spotted us at any point, all they needed to do was decide we no longer existed. Then it would only be a matter of seconds. After that, there was the creature who controlled the Vault. A monster in every sense of the word. That's all I can say on h…it," she finished, cursing herself for the slip.

Lakshmi righted herself in her chair. "Why did you do it? All of it?"

Crona blinked. Lakshmi elaborated, "You said they posed little threat outside the Vault but…you and your team risked and endured so much to defeat them."

You have no idea, Crona thought. Still, she found herself stumped by the question and it was Sol who picked up her slack. "Same reason as Pahanin and Kabr. They posed a possible threat. They don't anymore."

"Maybe," the Exo murmured. "I am just surprised that the Commander would assign such a mission to your team. Commanding officer or no, he is still your father. And he knows well what happened to those who last tried. Kabr was killed. Pahanin was driven to madness, constantly telling anyone who would listen about someone named Praedin, a man of importance that no one can prove exists." Crona bit back the urge to correct her on the name. "Perhaps he and the rest of the Vanguard agreed that the previous failure was a matter of numbers. But I've known Commander Zavala for a long time. He has always been so careful. I struggle to believe that has changed."

"You don't believe me then?" Crona tried and failed not to sound overly-defensive. "You believe we had another reason?"

Lakshmi easily waved her tone off. "Of course not, my lady," she said in a clear attempt to disarm. "It is just my head and its tendency for puzzling. I apologize if I came across as such."

In one smooth motion, Lakshmi pushed to her feet. "Thank you, Crona, for this conversation. It has been enlightening, as always. Rest assured, the Arc conductor will be delivered but I do hope you will return to speak some more."

What Crona wouldn't give to be done with these talks. She didn't like giving anyone out of their circle this information. She liked even less having to dig up memories she spent a year burying to lay bare for a stranger's curiosity.

But she needed that conductor. So she put her smile on and stood up herself. "Of course. I look forward to it."

A twinkle of amusement flashed in the Exo's bright eyes and was gone as soon as it came. "That is good. At our next meeting, I'd like to discuss more of these creatures that roamed the Vault. I'd also appreciate your…honest opinion on whether or not these creatures are truly no longer a threat."

"You don't agree?"

"In all honesty, my lady Guardian, I do not think it matters. But that is for next time."

"Cayde's responded."

Asura's fingers pause on turning a bolt for a few beats. Then they continue. "What did he say?"

"Said the best source for shards is Xur," Spirit read, "Even with all the Guardians running around, it's hard to get one in the City. Legally, at least. If that's a concern…" A beat passed, "Of course, if it's not…"

Asura sighed in frustration and Spirit took that as his answer. The less trouble he willingly put himself into, the better. "I've never even met Xur."

"Aro's spoken to him before."

"No, he's sought out Aro and it's obvious why. These people he works for, 'the Nine' or whatever. Of course they'd take an interest in him."

"Do you want to at least try and contact Xur?"

Asura grunted. Then he said, "Ask Aro to keep a lookout, would you?" Maybe even put in a good word for me."

"I'll let him know," Spirit affirmed.

"Being a former Herald. It has to count for something," he mumbled as an aside and was a bit surprised when even that didn't stir some kind of response within himself.

Wrath(A) still would not speak. Not one word since they left the Vault of Glass and nothing in the past months had changed that. Despite this, he and Asura had come to an understanding. Wrath(K) wants this weapon built and, on some deep, instinctual level, knows how to build it and how he wants it built. Asura was simply the hand. He was finding it easier to read Wrath(A)'s signals, differing feelings welling up inside him on whether or not Asura was going in the right direction. At the same time, Wrath(A) seemed to be more and more willing to cooperate. A novelty in every way.

The "how" was as clear as it could be. The "why" was nowhere near. Spirit seemed to believe that Wrath(A) simply did not want to divulge those details and while Asura agreed, he also believed that, on some deeper level, Wrath(A) wasn't sure himself. All Asura knew was that Aro had inspired it. There were times, unprompted, where Aro's final words before Wrath(A) released the iron grip he had on Asura's body would echo through his head.

"There isn't always forgiveness," he had said, "But there can be redemption."

How did one redeem themselves for destroying a world? Ending a civilization? Likely a question Aro himself didn't yet have an answer to. Neither did Asura. For either of them.

But this…this was something. For the first time since Wrath(A) had regained sentience and started to think on more than just instinct, they were not at odds; two minds fighting within one head. Asura did not feel…apprehensive. Like he wasn't waiting for the other boot to drop; for Wrath to retake his body and go out in one last, doomed attempt at escaping and Asura wasn't yet sure how he should feel about that.

Maybe he didn't need to be just yet. For now, his only concern was putting this gun together.

The trade continues. Wrath(A) gave his answers without words and whatever he didn't like, Spirit would seek out a replacement. Whatever this was, it worked.

"Asura."

Asura didn't respond, trying to put in a bit more strength into screwing the current piece into place.

Spirit tried again. "Asura, it won't fit." He kept silent and kept trying. The metal frame groaned ominously. "I can find another piece."

"This is the third 'nother piece' we've had to find," he snarled as he tried to force it even more.

"Asura, you're going to break it." Spirit flew to his front. "Asura!"

Asura sent the gun clattering across his desk with a yell and fell back in his seat. Seconds later, both the gun and the piece returned to their spot before him.

Once more he asked Wrath(A), verbally even. "Is this the piece? Is this really what you want?"

The answer was the same as it had been before. Silence with a pervasive feeling of affirmation.

"But it's not fitting. How is it the right piece if it's not fitting?" It was after he said the words did he realize that it was aloud.

No change.

"We need a new one." More silence. "We'll break your precious gun," Asura seethed, "Is that what you want? We need to find another piece."

Silence. Wrath(A) wouldn't even entertain the idea.

Asura's hands squeezed. He could feel anger welling up from deep inside his belly and he knew it was his own. Wrath(A) didn't even pretend to acknowledge it. He didn't even return the feeling, as he always used to. All Asura could feel in response to his growing, unworded irritation was adamancy; a mental wall enduring the storm of his frustrations and remaining unbroken. This was the piece Wrath(A) wanted and there was no going forward until it was in, regardless of the terrible fit. He didn't even have the grace to explain why.

Better to ask forgiveness, as they say. But Asura had no intention of asking forgiveness. Asura was ending this, regardless of what Wrath wanted and he could either speak his protest or remain silent as he always did. He let the piece he had wrapped within his hand fall and clatter lightly on the desk. He opened his mouth to speak, to grant Spirit permission to seek out another piece.

Nothing left his mouth. Not a word. Not a sound. Not even the buzz of static. The proverbial muscles of his throat had frozen up, like a hand suddenly wrapping around it.

This paralysis seemed to have spread throughout his body. His neck refused to twist, his fingers refused to flex, his legs refused to press against the ground and stand. His voice refused to work but still, he tried to call for Spirit, who had her back turned to him but those words remained lodged in his chest as well.

Then, it appeared that he never needed to. She had felt the change in him. The Ghost suddenly spun around, her brilliant, shining eye flitting over his face. Then, she began to back away.

Asura's hands flew out of their own accord and Spirit snapped out of existence in a puff of Light. But the grasping hands never went for her. They went to the gun. The gun and the ill-fitting piece. Asura was too stunned to fight and even then, it would have amounted to nothing.

The hands came back. Deftly, they flipped the weapon over and thrust the piece into the slot Asura had been trying and failing to fit it into.

Once it was shoved into place, one hand came up, a fist formed.

Then, it came back down. With force he could feel, even from the back of his own mind, Asura's fist slammed into the piece, hard enough to make the metal ring and shift the desk beneath it.

The ringing faded. Asura suddenly felt the weight of the world thrust back upon him and he had to push out his arms to keep from hitting the desk when he fell forward. He could feel the wood beneath his arms, he realized. He could feel the temperature control cooling his room. He could feel the panic in Spirit's thoughts.

"Spirit?" His voice was rough, as if he hadn't spoken in days. "Hold on, Spirit. Don't…" he tried to clear the roiling fog from his mind. "Don't call the Vanguard," he finally managed to say, "Not yet."

Several seconds of silence passed. "Asura?" Her quiet, cautious voice came from behind him, the far side of the room. He turned slowly, so as not to startle her. But he could turn again. Twist his back, slide his feet across the floor. Tell his Ghost not to give the call that would have him put down for the very last time. No wonder her fear was only matched by her sorrow.

The alert was there, on the Ghost's lipless mouth, ready to fire off like a trembling finger on the trigger of a gun. Asura shakily turned back to the table, his eyes falling on the weapon.

Faint scratches to its frame. It was undamaged otherwise. Asura reached out, more to test that he could, and gingerly picked it off the table. He brought it closer to his face and slowly reached over to the right the lamp that had been toppled over.

The piece was in place. A perfect fit. Just as Wrath(A)...

Asura felt it, a pit in his stomach. Not dread, not fear. At least, none that didn't belong to him. Beneath his own emotions, Asura felt…anticipation.

Soon, his fingers stopped trembling. His body and mind slowly, cautiously relaxed.

"Spirit…"

Her imaginary finger was still on the proverbial gun. "Yes?"

"We're fine," he said and hoped he could muster enough strength in his voice to convince her. "Stand down. We're fine."

She didn't reply. "Come back, Spirit. Please, come look."

More seconds ticked by. Then, he heard her glide towards him. She circled, not comfortable without some distance between them but she came to a stop at his front.

Gently, Asura pushed the gun to the center. A bit further, so that it was closer to her than him. She could transmat it away before he could get ahold of it, if that became the case. He hoped it wouldn't be. Deep down, he knew it wouldn't be.

Spirit looked over the hand cannon. A cone of light shone from her eye and flowed over it. Then, it faded. "It's in." She looked back at him.

Asura fell into his seat, staring down at his hands. The anticipation still sat like a twisting pit in his stomach.

"If you ever do that again…" Asura seethed. His Light roiled beneath his metal skin, red-hot and a violent buzzing in equal measures. But then it stopped. The anger that had been building up slowly began to drain out, leaving him empty and tired. He sighed. Then, he simply grumbled, "Warn me next time."

The pit in his stomach untwisted. Acceptance took its place.

Asura sighed again.

"Vault the gun, Spirit. I think we're done for today."