"To each a purpose, and to all a fitting end." - 55A-allFATE


Beneath the flickering halogen lights, Outer Orbit was abuzz with activity. Raucous conversation rose from the betting tables where a dozen or more Hunters gambled the morning away. Laughter rang out from a scrappy assortment of Titans gathered around a decrepit Golden Age jukebox. A lone barkeep made endless idle conversation as he flitted nimbly between the packed tables and booths. And there in the midst of it all, nestled against the wall at the furthest end of the bar, Meren sat silent, doing her best to go unnoticed.

Her eyes followed the barkeep as he returned to his sanctuary behind the counter and tossed a stack of empty glasses into an already overfilled sink. Wiping his hands on his vibrant purple apron, he wasted no time in grabbing a pair of bottles and returning to his eager patrons seated all along the bar. Meren watched the barkeep for a few seconds longer before a sigh escaped her lips and her eyes fell back to her drink. It wasn't even worth finishing at this point; the last of the ice had melted an hour ago and now all that was left was nothing but a sad, watered-down slurry. Unappealing at best.

Much like the prospect of continuing to wallow away the rest of her day here in Outer Orbit.

But what else was she supposed to do? Sitting in her room had become boring. Exploring the rest of the Reef seemed equally tiresome. And after what had transpired between her and Variks, going back to the Prison was out of the question. If only for her own good.

Reflecting back on their post-dinner exchange, she had been so close, so close, to caving to the scribe's advances. Thankfully, if only for a moment, a clearer head had prevailed and she had managed to rebuff him and escape the control room with her dignity still intact. Yet, even then, tracing her way back through the Prison's labyrinth, she had found herself (more than once) considering turning around and returning to the control room. The idiotic notions had finally evaporated for good once she had made it back to her room and the gravity of Variks' proposition began to sink in. There had been no hope for sleep after that. And she had lain awake in bed for far too long, trying to come to grips with the impossible reality that Variks was, in fact, somehow attracted to her.

The following morning she had woken to a mind still burdened by the revelations of the previous day and for her own sake, had decided it was best that she take a day off from visiting Variks. So, instead of heading to the Prison, Meren had holed herself up in her room and had spent the better part of the morning gradually working through the remainder of the data files on Eliksni tech. At some point in the afternoon, she had pivoted to reviewing the text of the scribe's creed that Variks, as promised, had sent over sometime in the night. When her eyes had finally tired of slogging through the staggering list of discouraged practices, she had tucked the datapad away, turned on the Holofeed, and had spent the remainder of her evening watching a documentary detailing the impact of Hive borrowing on the stability of Lunar geology. By the time it had ended, the hour had gotten quite late, and she had been all too happy to retreat to her bed. Yet even as enjoyable as the research-filled day had been, as Meren had lain there, trying to fall asleep, she had found herself wishing that she had spent the day in Variks' company instead.

But that had been yesterday. Today, she had risen to a clear, unclouded mind. And after mulling over the events of the past few days, cup of coffee in hand, she had renewed her resolve to avoid the Prison once again. Not because she needed the space. And not because there was more reading to be done. It wasn't because she didn't want to see Variks, either. No, it was quite the opposite - she very much did. Too much, in fact.

And that was the problem.

She was far too taken by the scribe's charm for her own good. The dubious decision to remain in his lap, 'cuddling', a few nights prior was evidence of that. Not to mention the fact that she had seriously entertained the idea of returning to the control room to find out what 'going somewhere more comfortable' entailed. And if she had learned anything from those two encounters, it was that she couldn't trust herself to think, or behave, rationally around the scribe.

And, in light of that realization (compounded by her own admittedly less-than-illustrious history of personal dalliances), Meren had been certain that all it would take was one more disgustingly charming gesture from the scribe to get the better of the last of her good judgement. Then, despite the fact that she had sworn up and down that she wasn't going to let herself do something stupid, she wouldn't be able to refuse him. She would give in. And whatever followed would certainly be nothing short of disastrous.

Eliksni weren't exactly known for being gentle when it came to more intimate acts of romance. Not that she had firsthand experience, of course. But if there was any truth to what she had managed to gather over the years, there were definitely teeth involved. A lot of teeth. And claws. And as genteel as Variks seemed in comparison to most of his people, that didn't change the fact that he was still an Eliksni. Even on his best behavior, one overenthusiastic nip could hurt her. Or in the worst case imaginable - kill her.

But potentially fatal maiming aside, there was more than just her personal safety at stake. Even if she somehow managed to survive and come away with only scratches, if anyone in the City ever caught wind of her having a romantic fling with an Eliksni, her career at the Academy would be over. Her contract with the Vanguard would almost certainly be severed. She would be disgraced, outcast among her social circles. And she would be left with nothing.

So, fully intending to keep her skin, her career, and her contract intact, she had stood fast in her resolve and had headed not to the Prison, but to Outer Orbit for a drink. Then she had proceeded to sit there for the rest of the morning, wallowing away her boredom over one of the worst beverages she'd had this side of Mars.

Yet now, even after six hours of sitting alone in the corner at the bar, Meren remained resolute in her determination. No matter how badly she wanted to see Variks. No matter how bored she got. Nothing was going to drag her back to the Prison. And if that meant continuing to sit here in Outer Orbit, or her room, or the Vestian Outpost, until the Vanguard summoned her back to the City (or the Hive showed up and obliterated the Reef). Then so be it.

It was for her own good, after all.

Sighing and giving her drink an idle stir, her musings were brought to an abrupt end when, from somewhere behind her, shouts suddenly rang out from the betting tables as a game of chance went south. A noisy scuffle ensued for several long seconds. Punches were thrown. Chairs were overturned. And then, as suddenly as it had started, the sharp clap of hand cannon fire brought the squabble to an abrupt end.

The blast sent Meren flinching forward over the bar. Ringing filled her ears as she sat frozen for several long seconds, eyes fixed on the counter. As the hum faded and silence fell over the room, morbid curiosity began to pull her gaze back over her shoulder. But Meren stopped herself just short of turning around. She knew better than to acknowledge the senseless brutality. On top of that there was no point in looking anyway; she knew what would happen next.

Right on cue a flash of light illuminated the dank bar as the fallen Lightbearer was dragged back from the grave with a groan. The sound of him scrabbling back to his feet followed. But apparently one death wasn't punishment enough for whatever malfeasance had transpired at the gambling tables, and his efforts were promptly met by the audible click of a hand cannon being cocked.

"Take it outside - all of you," the Awoken barkeep snapped before the Guardian could take another bullet to the chest. "This isn't your Crucible."

Meren rolled her eyes as the shuffle of shame began and the Guardians in question started to make their way towards the exit. After a few seconds, finding herself uninterested in the spectacle of them filing out the door, she turned her attention elsewhere, glancing up at a dingy monitor suspended over the bar. On the display a holofeed from the City played on mutely in real time, obnoxiously oversized captions in three human languages obscuring half the information that covered the screen.

Yet from what she could see through the gaps in the text, it appeared that the Festival of the Lost had come to an end in her absence. Preparations for the Dawning (her favorite holiday) would doubtless begin soon. Then the Vanguard and denizens of the City would set themselves to decorating. And by the time she returned home, the Tower and the Core district would be shimmering with thousands of twinkling lights.

But the thought of seeing her City all aglow was nothing more than a momentary distraction from her crippling boredom. Letting her eyes fall away from the screen, she scanned the bar once over. Upon finding nothing else to distract her, she sighed for the thirtieth time that day and following the lead of the inebriated Hunter two seats over, slumped over the bar, burying her face in her arms.

Her wallowing lasted all of two minutes before the sound of heavy footfalls approaching from somewhere behind pricked her ears. The presence drew closer. Then the seat beside her shifted and a pair of heavy elbows hit the bar. But even as the newcomer cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to draw her attention, she didn't look up. She didn't need to. There was only one person who would manage to find her here. Somehow he always did.

Only after allowing herself a silent groan, did she acknowledge the presence next to her. "Do you have some sort of tracking device planted on me?"

"Uh, no. Don't think so." Cayde-6 paused. "Was I supposed to? Because there's a guy I know who-"

"No," Meren sighed, lifting her head. "It was a joke about how you always manage to...nevermind." She forced a smile onto her face. "What can I do for you, Cayde?"

"Nothin'." He put his hands up defensively. "Just checking in on my favorite professor."

"Uh huh."

"No, really. I, uh, haven't seen you around in awhile. Thought you might have forgotten about your buddy Cayde."

"Hardly." It took all of her self-restraint not to roll her eyes. "I've just been...busy."

"Yeah?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested. "Doing, uh, Fallen stuff with the Fallen?"

"Something like that…"

Cayde caught the barkeek's eye and put up two fingers. When the barkeep nodded, Cayde looked back to Meren. "Speaking of Fallen, how's that old bug, Variks? Haven't seen him hanging around the Vestian Outpost in ages."

"How should I know?" she deflected. Even with how things currently stood between herself and Variks, she wasn't about to go back on her word and betray his trust. "It's not my job to keep tabs on him."

Cayde's optics narrowed. "But I thought you said something about you two being best friends…"

"You said that. Not me."

"So you're not-?"

"No." Not anymore.

"Huh." The expression on his mechanical features somehow managed to rival the perplexed tone in his voice. "Well, how come?"

Not about to entertain his line of questioning, Meren deflected again. "Did you come here to check in on me? Or to interrogate me about Variks?"

"Uh. The first one."

"Right," she replied skeptically. "Why are you still out here anyway? Don't you have responsibilities at the Tower or something?"

"Probably." He shrugged. "But Operation Wolf Hunt is Vanguard priority numero uno. And who better to continue leading the charge than the dashing Hunter Vanguard?"

His words hung in the air as the bartender arrived, setting two green drinks before them. Giving him a nod, Cayde raised his glass in a one-sided toast and then threw back half the drink in a single swig.

Meren followed suit, taking a sip of the awful stuff before she asked, "What charge is there left to lead? The Guardians have rounded up the last of the wanted Wolves - or killed them, from what I hear."

"That Vanguard intel?"

"Sort of," she replied after a moment's hesitation. Truth be told, most of the information had come from Variks. But Cayde didn't need to know that.

"Well, I got bad news. Whatever Guardians you schmoozed that out of must have missed the memo, because there's still Wolves out there." He stabbed a finger at the table. "Mark my words."

"Is that so?"

"Yup."

Interesting. "Well. Since you're so well-connected, maybe you'd like to tell me how many are left, then?"

"Uh." His eyes darted to the counter and back. "One."

"One," she repeated slowly, incredulous.

"Yeah, Saviks." He paused. "Or was it Skraviks? Srakaviks?" Cayde bungled out a few more ridiculous-sounding Eliksni names before blessedly giving up. "Somethin' like that. But, anyway. He won't put up much of a fight. What with Skolas being dead and all…"

"What?" Had she heard him correctly?

"Yeah, he's a Captain or something," he helpfully elaborated. "Last we heard, he was prowling 19 Fortuna-"

"No," she cut him off. "The part about Skolas."

Cayde gave her a curious look. "Oh, uh. Yeah...He's dead."

Completely blindsided by the news, Meren found herself blurting, "When did this happen?!"

"Maybe yesterday...or was it the day before?" He swirled his drink in contemplation. "I dunno. Time gets all fuzzy out here in the Reef. But I do know it was recently."

"And what happened?" she asked, suddenly fearing that Variks had taken matters into his own hands and done something terrible. "How did he die?"

"Couple of Guardians finally took him down in the arena, I guess. Heard he put up a pretty good fight and all. But…" Cayde made her wait on pins and needles as he paused to take a sip of his drink. "Hey, have I ever told you you remind me of someone?"

Meren threw her hands up. "What does that have to do with anything?!"

"Well, you kinda look like this girl I knew back-"

"Cayde!" Now that her curiosity had been piqued she didn't have the time - or the patience - to deal with whatever tangent his broken Exo brain was about to lead them off on. "We're talking about Skolas. I need to know what happened!"

"Look, I don't know anything else, okay?" For once he sounded the slightest bit defensive. "Some Guardians managed to take him out in one of those arena matches. That's all I've got."

Meren sighed. Useless.

Convinced there was more to it than what Cayde had managed to convey, she downed the rest of her drink, pushed the glass away, and promptly slid out of her chair. What she needed was the whole story, every last detail. And if Cayde couldn't give it to her, she was just going to have to look elsewhere.

"Hey!" Cayde called after her as she abandoned her seat and stepped away from the bar. "Where are you going?"

"To find someone who can tell me more about what happened to Skolas," Meren replied.

Cayde's brow furrowed. "But…" he began.

Yet whatever he said after that fell on deaf ears.

"I'll see you later, Cayde," she said absently as she plunged into the throng of patrons that stood between herself and the exit.

Pushing through the last of the crowd, Meren made it to the door and stepped outside. As she paused to drink in the blessed silence, her eyes glanced up at the roiling violet sky. Despite what she had said to Cayde, Meren didn't need to find anyone. There was only one person who would have the answers she needed: the executor of Skolas' judgement himself.

Variks.

Taking in the expanse of the Reef for a moment longer, Meren stood frozen. Conflicted. It was stupid going back to the Prison to see him, she knew that full well. But if she wanted to get to the bottom of Skolas' demise, what other choice did she have?

Letting her gaze fall from the heavens back to the shoddily-welded walkway, she glanced off to her right, back towards the residence sector. But no answers lay that way. Only loneliness and defeat. So with her mind suddenly made up, she buried the last of her reservations, took an abrupt turn to her left, and strode off down the path that led to the Prison's transport hub.

Everything's going to be fine, she reassured herself as she meandered onward. Her visit would be brief. It would be an in and out job. She would find Variks, get the information she wanted about Skolas, thank him for his time, and then leave. Then she would go back to her room and spend the rest of her tenure here in the Reef as far away from Variks as possible. Just like she'd planned.


When she finally reached the Prison, Meren made a beeline straight for the control room. But when the doors opened, she found the space darkened and empty, without so much as a trace of the scribe. Peering into the blackness, she briefly considered where else Variks could be. With the size of the Prison, the possibilities were practically endless. But Meren didn't let that hinder her, and leaving the control room behind, she began a systematic sweep of all the scribe's usual haunts.

Thankfully, her hunt didn't take as long as she'd expected. After a brief search of the central spire's control hub, the upper loading docks, and the solarium, she found him down in the darkened security suite, tapping away at the console with three of his hands in the dim light of a dozen monitors.

When she stepped inside the room and the doors closed behind her, his hands paused. "You missed breakfast," he said without so much as a backwards glance.

"I apologize," she replied and then proceeded to deliver the lamest excuse imaginable, "but it took me a lot longer than expected to get through the entire creed."

"Ah." His hands promptly resumed their work. "How was it?"

"Long. Boring. Technical," she replied truthfully. "Discouraged this, discouraged that."

His head swiveled just enough for two of his eyes to peer at her. "Tried to warn you…"

Thanks a lot, she thought. But managed to instead ask, "Couldn't you have saved me the trouble and just told me what it said in the first place?"

"I could have." He turned his gaze back to the array of monitors. "But, even then, I suspect you would have wanted to read it for yourself. So I left the 'trouble' up to you, so to speak."

"How selfless of you," she replied sarcastically.

In reply, Variks offered no more than a noncommittal grunt.

Undeterred by his poor attitude, Meren made her way across the room and helped herself to the seat beside him. Sinking down into the chair, her eyes flitted to his lap where his left, lower arm lay draped across his knees. As undeniably odd as the behavior seemed, she had seen Eliksni do stranger things. So dismissing it as nothing more than an alien quirk, she lifted her eyes from his limp arm and pivoted in her seat to face him, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands neatly in her lap.

It was several long seconds before Variks sighed, slowly turned his own chair towards hers, and begrudgingly acknowledged her existence. "Why are you here, Meren?"

"I want to talk." She forced a disingenuous smile onto her face. "That's all."

"About the creed, yess?" he asked, the slightest hint of mocking in his voice. "You have questions?"

"No."

His eyes blinked back at her in disbelief for a long second before he squeezed them shut and let out a resigned sigh. "If you want to talk about what happened after dinner, I-"

"No," she replied. That conversation was not happening today. Or hopefully ever. "Not that, either."

"What, then?"

"Skolas."

"Ah." He turned his eyes back to the security feeds on the monitors. "So you found out."

"Yeah."

Variks drew in a slow breath. "Who told you?"

"Cayde."

"Hmph," he grunted, his disapproval evident. "I trust he explained what happened, then."

"Sort of."

He shot a glance in her direction, inner eyes narrowed. "'Sort of'?"

"I- how do I put this?" She hesitated, trying to think of something nice to say. "You've held a conversation with Cayde before, right?"

"Unfortunately," he replied, his voice completely devoid of enthusiasm.

"Then you know what I mean when I say 'sort of'."

Variks afforded her a guttural hum of acknowledgement as he continued to fiddle with the controls, adjusting some sort of security parameters.

Waiting patiently, Meren gave him a chance to expound on Cayde's insufficient explanation, but when his silence persisted for a little too long, she prodded, "So are you going to tell me what happened or not?"

"There is nothing to tell, Meren," he grumbled, his hands sliding off the control panel, "except that Skolas died in the same brutal manner as he lived. He deserved no mercy, and he received none."

"That's it?" Meren asked flatly. She had expected Variks to regale her with at least some of the gory details of how the Guardians had dispatched the Wolf Kell. "Some help you are. Even Cayde managed to tell me more than that."

Variks' mandibles clicked. "Cayde was not trying to shelter you from the unpleasant reality of Judgement, as I am," he replied. "Given your past sensitivities, I think it is for the best that-"

"I'm not a child, Variks," she cut in, "I'm perfectly capable of handling the reality of whatever you put Skolas through."

Variks regarded her dispassionately for a moment before raising three of his hands to the console. "Very well," he purred, a mischievous glint crossing his eyes as his claws began to dance over the controls.

The readouts on the screens blinked out and were instantly replaced by a dozen different angles of security footage from the earthbound arena. Variks pressed another button and the feeds reeled backwards in high speed for several long seconds. Meren narrowed her eyes in confusion as the footage froze, the monitors showing nothing but the deserted arena. She had asked for him to explain the details. What did this have to do with anything?

But by the time Meren realized what he was doing - what he meant to show her, it was already too late to protest. Pressing one last button, Variks shot her a positively smug look and leaned back in his chair as the security recordings began to play out in real time.

In the center of the arena a transport pod emblazoned with the sigil of Judgement rose to the surface from the Prisons' depths. Several empty seconds ticked by before it came to a shuddering halt. With a grating squeal, the central seam began to part. A rush of smoke roiled out from within. And then four clawed hands were scrabbling through the seam of the hellish egg, its gears groaning in protest as the monster within forced the opening wider.

Meren felt her stomach clench as the containment pod gave one last pitiful whine before losing its valiant battle. With a tremendous thud, the gears finally failed, the aperture splayed open, and the monstrous Wolf Kell exploded from his confines, snarling in rage as he tore out onto the pitch.

Turning his gaze upwards to the control room viewpoint, a litany of roared Eliksni curses poured from Skolas' mouth. He damned Variks thrice over, adding a colorful insult about the Queen for good measure, before his tirade was cut short by the sight of three Guardians striding out onto the pitch. Shouldering his scorch cannon, Skolas managed to muster a few more choice words for the intruders. And then, in the blink of an eye, he surged forward to clash against the Lightbearers in a flurry of bullets and blood.

Raging through the tangles of rubble, Skolas fought like a creature possessed, lashing out at the Guardians with claw and cannon-fire alike. Bolstered by their Light, the Guardians endured his assault and returned his fury, riddling his shielded armor with an unending hail of bullets. It hardly seemed a fair fight, but even outnumbered, Skolas held his own as he was driven backwards through the fuselage.

The Guardians pursued, guns blazing, and when they all emerged from the conduit's other end, they herded the massive Kell back towards the arena's far wall. Then, just as Skolas was driven into a corner and the scales seemed to be tipping in the Guardians' favor, hatches all along the room's perimeter opened and wave after wave of reinforcements - both Eliksni and their machines - began to pour into the arena to join the fray.

From there it was only a matter of seconds before bedlam overtook the arena, and all Meren could do was stare in stunned horror at the massacre that followed.

Undaunted by the sudden rush of reserves, the Guardians cut through the Dregs and Vandals, turning them to ash with surges of Light. Shanks and Servitors shattered amidst an unrelenting torrent of gunfire. At every turn, alien armor splintered. Limbs were severed. Bodies were sundered. And yet the valiant Eliksni warriors fought on, each pressing forward to clash against the Guardians.

And Meren, in turn, watched each of them die.

The bloodbath raged on like that for a little while longer, Eliksni bodies piling higher, until the hatches slid shut and the reinforcements stopped coming. Pursuing the stragglers, the Guardians began to pick off what remained of the final wave. And then, just as the last of the enemy reserve neared extermination, out of nowhere, an ungodly number of mines suddenly appeared in the midst of the fray.

But as insurmountable as the new obstacle seemed, somehow the Lightbearers remained undaunted. Dodging Skolas' swipes and swings, along with an errant Shank or two, they systematically moved around the arena, dismantling the mines one by one, picking off enemy combatants all the while.

Only when the last of the mines had been dismantled and the last of the reinforcements were dead, did the Guardians begin their assault on Skolas anew. Focusing their shots on the now-defenseless Kell, they showed no mercy as they sent Skolas backpedaling. Then, once he was cornered again, they unloaded their clips, firing on him again and again and again.

Glancing over at the scribe, Meren saw something wild in Variks' eyes as the salvo of bullets finally broke through Skolas' battered armor, piercing his flesh. Reeling backwards from the barrage, Skolas staggered a few steps before he stumbled and fell to one knee on the soft earth. Even as the Guardians advanced on the wounded Kell, Skolas made a valiant attempt to reach for his battered scorch cannon. But his efforts were in vain. By the time his claws closed around the fallen weapon, the largest of the Lightbearers - the Titan - had his rifle leveled, his sights trained between the traitor Kell's eyes.

Skolas gave one, final indignant snarl.

And then, without another moment of hesitation, the Guardian pulled the trigger.

Skolas' body crumpled to the ground, lifeless and limp, Ether hissing from his shattered mask. After a moment, as the last of the Ether dissipated, the Titan approached to deliver a swift kick to the corpe's side. When no response came from the fallen Kell, the Titan stepped back, holstering his gun, and motioned to the others. Following his lead, the rest of the Lightbearers did the same. Then, as they gathered around the body, a unified cheer rose from the group and in typical Guardian fashion, they began to celebrate their victory in a manner befitting of savages, desecrating the ground before Skolas' body with all manner of scurrilous dance.

Their revelry only came to an end when the Warden Servitor - or maybe Variks himself - spoke over the loudspeaker, congratulating the Guardians on a victory well-earned. Within seconds, a half-moon door on the room's far end slid open. And eager for their reward, the Guardians exited without so much as a backwards glance at the destruction they'd wrought, leaving a still and silent arena in their wake.

Careful to keep her expression even, Meren turned and met Variks' gaze. The whole ordeal had been needlessly brutal, but there was no point in complaining. She had been the one who had wanted to know what happened.

"So that's it, then?" she asked, emotionless.

"Keep watching," he purred, extending a claw lazily towards the screen.

The empty seconds stretched on for far too long as Skolas' crumpled form lay motionless there on the pitch. Then, just as Meren was about to ask what, exactly, she was supposed to be watching, one of the doors along the containment wall creaked slowly open. Fingers gripping the edge of her chair, Meren's eyes widened as a dissonant chorus of otherworldly shrieks echoed through the feed and a swarm of ravening Thrall erupted through the half-open door in a screeching, slobbering mass.

Tearing across the arena, the skeletal Hive abominations quickly located their quarry and threw themselves upon Skolas' still-warm corpse, tearing and clawing at what remained of the Kell's armor. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Meren watched for a few seconds longer as the Thrall began to gnaw their way through his tough chitin carapace, eager to get at the soft flesh within. It didn't take long for them to break through his shell. And then the sounds of crunching and ripping and snarling were all that followed as the slathering horde reveled in their feast, steadily dismantling all that remained of the once-mighty Kell.

At that point, Meren had seen enough and, with a look of revulsion plain on her face, turned away from the screens to stare at Variks. "Was that really necessary?" she asked over the horrifying sounds that continued to come through the feed.

Variks considered her words for a second. "No," he finally admitted. "But Thrall must eat. And it seemed the easiest way to clean up the mess."

Meren clucked her tongue in disapproval. But even as depraved as it seemed to feed a fellow Eliksni to a pack of hungry Thrall, there was a morbid practicality to Variks' logic that she couldn't argue with. So she said no more.

The spectacle - and all the sounds that came with it - played on for a moment longer before Variks lifted a single hand to the console, pressed a button, and brought the recording to a blessed pause. With a few more taps to the controls, the arena feed disappeared from the screens entirely as the displays blinked black and returned to their usual configuration of safety system readouts and live security footage.

Sitting back in his chair, Variks crossed his lower arms. "Are you happy now? That you have seen what became of Skolas?"

"Not really," she replied bluntly.

"Why not?"

Meren weighed her words before answering. "The whole thing was just a little more...gratuitous than I expected, is all."

Variks' eyes immediately narrowed. Apparently that had been the wrong response.

"Do you take issue with my methods of judgement?" he growled.

Getting into an argument was the last thing Meren wanted. Especially with the mood Variks was in. So, in an attempt to placate the scribe, Meren extended her hands, palms downward in an Eliksni display of supplication. "No, of course not," she said as mildly as she could. "It's your right - your prerogative as a scribe - to carry out judgement however you see fit. And it's not my place to tell you otherwise. We both know I have no say in matters like these."

Variks eyed her submissive gesture before rumbling, "Wise words."

Falling silent as Variks turned back to the array of monitors, Meren gave him a few moments to peruse the screens in peace before making another attempt at conversation. "So what happens now that Skolas is dead?" she eventually asked. "To the House of Wolves, I mean."

"With no Kell, House Wolves is broken," he replied absently as he busied himself with typing a string of commands into a navigation field on the display. "The remnant will scatter. Will fight among themselves for ration and rank. Until their Ether stores run dry, and all perish." Variks paused, letting his thoroughly dismal assessment hang in the air for a long moment. "Unless…"

He fell silent again as a notification appeared on one of the screens, prompting for access. As Variks proceeded to enter an encrypted passcode, Meren prodded, "Unless what?"

"Unless a new leader emerges, Meren. What else?"

"Do you think that's actually a possibility?" she asked, perking up at the chance for a discussion of some substance. "Their Prime is dead, and so is their Archon." As far as she knew. "Along with most of the Barons."

"It is unlikely." Variks hit one final key on the console and /Access: Authorized/ flashed across the screens. "But...perhaps House Wolves will yet surprise us, yess?"

It sounded an awful lot like Variks knew something more than he was letting on, and Meren was just about to badger him for more information when, one by one, the displays went dark and the security feeds and readouts were sequentially replaced by sprawling tiers of names spelled out in Eliksni glyphs.

On first glance, so similar did it look to the Prison roster Variks had shown her once before that, for a fleeting moment, Meren thought he was about to lead her off on another foray into judgement. But looking closer, she saw that the names were color-coded - every one highlighted in blue or grey or red - and organized into multiple columns, each headed by the name of a noble Eliksni House: Wolves, Winter, Kings, Devils. Among others. Moreover, beneath each House heading, the names themselves appeared to be meticulously sorted by rank: Kells, Archons, Primes at the top. Barons in the tier below. Then, presumably, countless Captains, their names stretching on downward to fill the remainder of the screens.

This wasn't Variks' Prison roster at all.

Whatever she was looking at was something far more assiduous. More comprehensive. More...tantalizing.

Staring awestruck at the screens, Meren found herself asking, "What is this? Some sort of database of all the Eliksni in the system?"

"Perhaps," he muttered, shooting her a side-eyed glance.

Despite his seemingly-noncommittal response, the look he gave her was confirmation enough; her assessment had been correct.

Her mind immediately began to reel with the endless possibilities - both innocent and sinister - for such a resource. But excited as she was, Meren forced herself to tempered her enthusiasm. "Very impressive," she said as she continued to stare at the kaleidoscope of names on the screen. "But what's the purpose of all the colors? Is it meant to be a coding system of some kind?"

Variks sighed. "The colors indicate individual status," he begrudgingly explained. "Blue for the living. Grey - the incarcerated. And red - the dead."

"Ah," she replied succinctly, utterly unfazed. Of course he was keeping tabs on all the Eliksni in the system. Even in the short time she had known him, one thing had become abundantly clear: Variks was nothing if not a hoarder of information.

Falling silent again, she returned to mulling over the database's potential as her eyes ran through the colorful conglomeration of names beneath House Exile. As an academic resource, it would be priceless. How many books and lectures and symposiums could come from the treasure trove of information Variks had at his disposal? Countless dozens, certainly. If only she could somehow persuade him to allow her access.

But with the mood he was currently in, there was no point in even attempting something like that. Even if she turned up the charm - tried her hardest to soften him up - before she posed her request, it would do nothing to move him and he would flat out refuse. So she buried the notion, resolving to wait until another day to politely - sweetly - pester him for access, and set herself to gathering what information she could from the screens before her.

As Variks' eyes roved over the names indexed beneath House Wolves, Meren's gaze wandered across the screens over to the column of Devils where the name of their long-dead Kell was emblazoned in red at the top of the list. Taking a moment to peruse the entries below, she noted the names of Veekris in grey, Wethraks in blue, and Naksis in red before turning her scrutiny towards the House of Kings.

Craask, their Kell, was apparently still alive. No surprise there. But, unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for their Archon and Prime. Scanning further down, Barons Phyksin and Vekis were likewise highlighted in red. Then there was Paskin, highlighted in blue. Meren paused, confused. Wasn't he supposed to be dead? She had heard that he had been on the losing end of a firefight with a squad of Guardians after attempting to side with Skolas. Those reports, however, had apparently been greatly exaggerated because according to Variks' database, he was very much alive. And she trusted the veracity of the scribe's work a hell of a lot more than some random Guardians in Outer Orbit.

But Meren didn't dwell on that little tidbit of misinformation. Dead or not, Paskin was of little interest to her; there was another Eliksni in particular she was looking for. So she glazed over the rest of the Barons' names, curiosity driving her further down the list until she reached the sprawling repertoire of Captains. But even as she began the slog through the myriad of names, she didn't have long to look before she stumbled upon who she was looking for.

Yet, as soon as she saw Brelor's name she froze and furrowed her brow. It was highlighted in blue. And that wasn't right, at all. Unlike Paskin, she knew firsthand Brelor was dead. She had seen him die - had seen his blood spattered across the court chamber's wall. So why was the database implying he was still alive? It didn't make any sense.

Until suddenly it did.

Variks doesn't know, she reminded herself. About the trial. About what happened to Brelor. Any of it.

She hadn't exactly told him about the unfortunate events that had led up to her being sent off to the Reef. And, woeful as the database's inaccuracy was, she wasn't about to now, either. His opinion of the City and its people was already low enough without the knowledge of the brutality that had transpired. Telling him about the charade of a trial the Consensus had put on would only serve to further lessen his opinion of humanity. And that was the last thing Meren wanted.

So she buried the memories of that fateful day, resolving never to bring it up. The database would just have to be wrong when it came to Brelor. But what did it really matter? It was only one name, and Variks would never find out.

After running through the rest of the House of Kings, her eyes wandered back to the list of Wolves, scanning the endless red entries before she returned to Skolas' name in grey at the top of the list. But she was only given a moment to stare before one of Variks' mechanical hands pawed the console and, before her eyes, the Kell's name was instantly struck out in red, joining the ranks of the dead, just like so many others beneath the House of Wolves.

Hit by the finality of it all, Meren stared at Skolas' crimson name a moment longer until Variks' claws typed out another command code and the database disappeared from the screens.

As he resumed whatever security system modifications he had been making, Meren circled back to her original question. "Did you see any potential…" she began, meaning to inquire about possible candidates to succeed the Kellship. But the rest of Meren's question was cut short as, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Variks reflexively lift his fourth arm from his lap to join the others on the controls, only to immediately flinch away at the press of a single button.

Hearing the softest hiss escape the Eliksni, Meren's brows knitted together. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"Nothing is wrong," he replied too quickly, resting the offending extremity flat on the console's surface.

"Yes, it is," she countered. "Don't act like you didn't just flinch as soon as you touched the controls."

"I did not-"

"You did so." Even with his palm laid out flat, she could discern the slightest quiver of his fingers. "I'm not blind, Variks. I saw the whole thing."

Obstinate, Variks forewent any further verbal retort, letting out a chattering growl, instead.

"Oh, don't growl at me," she chided, undaunted. "I'm just trying to make sure you're alright."

At her berating, his shoulders lost their tension and his rumbling gradually tapered off.

"That's better," she said gently once he had quieted. "Now let me see - show me your hand."

Variks inched his hand away. "No."

"Show me," she insisted, the slightest hint of agitation creeping into her tone.

"I will not-"

The rest of Variks' words were replaced by a strangled growl as Meren took matters into her own hands and seized his wrist. Undeterred by the gnashing of Eliksni teeth that followed, she dragged his arm across the console and pinned his wrist down before her, scolding, "Stop it."

Variks' chittering immediately died down, and before he had a chance to protest further, Meren forcibly peeled the glove off his hand. Tossing it aside, a gasp slipped out of her mouth. Across his bare palm, a thin makeshift bandage was wrapped once over, its center marred by dark blue blood.

Swallowing down the sudden lump that had formed in her throat, her eyes shot to his face. "You're hurt!"

"I am fine," he said, unwilling to meet her gaze. "It is no more than a scratch."

"Like hell it is," she snapped, every bit as forcefully as intended. With the amount of blood seeping through the bandage, it was far more than a scratch. He needed medical attention. Badly. Tugging on his arm, Meren rose to her feet. "Get up. We're going to the medbay."

Variks refused to budge. "For what reason?"

"What reason?" Had he lost his mind? "Look at this." She forced his bleeding palm up to his face. "What do you think's going to happen if we don't get this cleaned up and dressed properly?"

"How am I to know? I am not a physician."

"Oh, for Traveler's sake, Variks!" Meren rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. Why did he have to be so difficult? All she was trying to do was help. "Physician or no, you know good and well what's going to happen: it's going to get infected. And then what? Are you seriously going to let your stubbornness cost you a hand?"

"It will regrow."

Meren pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. If he didn't want her help, "Fine." She dropped his wrist, unwilling to continue to fight him on the matter. "Have it your way. But don't come crying to me when it doesn't because of how tightly you ration your Ether intake."

"What do you know of my Ether rations?" he bit back, his eyes narrowing in an indignant glower.

"Enough," she replied smoothly. Though Variks had never explicitly spoken with her on the matter, he hadn't needed to. There had been days she could see the Ether deprivation in his dull eyes, in his sloping gait. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was shorting himself when it came to daily Ether consumption.

In return, Variks scoffed, attempting to cast doubt on her confidence.

But all his dismissal managed to do was irritate her further. Knowing full well she was right, Meren narrowed her eyes to match his glare. "You know what?" she said, pushing herself up from her chair. "I hope your whole arm falls off."

Variks' expression immediately went from agitated to dismayed, all of his eyes blinking wildly back at her. Once. Twice.

Yet Meren hardly cared. She'd had enough of him and promptly turned on her heel and strode off, leaving Variks alone at the console.

She made it all of halfway across the room before her dramatic exit was cut short by the sound of his voice calling softly after her.

"Meren…"

Slowing to a stop, Meren's hands curled into fists. As much as she wanted to continue ignoring him, the plaintive tone in his voice tugged at her heart and she found herself unable to continue on out the door. Letting out a shallow sigh, she turned back around to see what he wanted, only to be promptly met by one of the most pathetic sights she had ever witnessed. All hunched over, he stood halfway between her and the console, hanging his head. Staring down at the floor, there was a pitiful droop to his shoulders, a feeble twitch to his claws.

It's an act, Meren reminded herself cynically, that's all it is.

But even though she knew better than to fall for such an obvious ruse, his pitiful demeanor was too much. As he continued to gaze at the floor, claws tapping together lightly, Meren felt her heart soften. And when he raised his head slightly and glanced up at her with pleading eyes, her frustration with him eased.

With a soft chirr, he extended his bloodied hand to her. "I...need your help," he said gently. "Please."

As she glanced at the bandage wrapped around his hand, his blood oozing out onto his palm and between his splayed fingers, the last of her cynicism died. Only then did Meren allow herself a silent, internal groan.

He had won.

Accepting her defeat, she raised her eyes to meet his. "Are you done behaving like a hatchling?"

Variks slowly lowered his head again, casting his eyes downwards. "Yes."

With another resigned sigh, she stepped forward to meet him in the middle of the room and gingerly took hold of his wrist. "Come on," she said, tugging gently on his arm. "Let's get you cleaned up."

This time, Variks obeyed, deferring to her lead as he allowed her to guide him slowly out of the room and on to the medbay.


AN: As always, thanks to Keltoi for all the edits!

Wethraks (Eliksni OC featured in Variks' database) belongs to Tigerspite on AO3 and was used with permission. Check out their stories Blind Fury, Old Things, and The Oroborous Cycle for more adventures featuring that funky little(?) guy!