"And so a question is begged: Who resides at the core of your being?" —3rd Understanding, 7th Book of Sorrow


The third evening began with Yriik declaring Meren's stink an offense to his nose and eyes.

"My Captain, please," his pleading voice rose not seconds later, threatening to wake the others. "Something must be done! Her scent is a curse upon us all!"

It wasn't an unfair assessment, either. Over the past few days, her bodily hygiene had deteriorated significantly. Between the hours spent on a Pike, the general filth of the outdoors, and the complete absence of basic human amenities, it had naturally been a challenge for her to maintain any semblance of cleanliness. Now, the inside of her armor felt like a swamp, her hair was a greasy, tangled mess, and her exposed skin had become a mosaic of sweat splotches and grime. To say nothing of the rank bouquet she'd begun unintentionally cultivating.

It had gotten so bad that even she couldn't ignore it anymore. She could only imagine how much worse it must have been for the Eliksni.

The others' reactions upon waking had almost immediately reinforced that suspicion, Yriik's continued vocal complaints notwithstanding. Chiisori had done his best to quell the crew's disquiet as they'd migrated en masse to the other side of the hangar, to mixed results. Come sunset, the smallest crew members had been quick to file out of the hangar, Yriik leading the hurried exodus, mandibles flaring in distress. Those fitted with rebreathers should have fared better, but even they hadn't seemed immune, their pace quickening with each breath as they'd scurried after the Dregs past Meren's corner and out onto the airstrip.

The situation hadn't improved much since.

At the moment, the crew was continuing to give Meren a wide berth as they readied the Pikes for the night's departure, their attention and noses turned pointedly elsewhere. Even Yriik's complaints had taken a back seat, his focus shifting from her smell to the task at hand. His newfound resilience, while impressive, wasn't wholly unassisted, however. Meren couldn't help but notice that, at some point, the Dreg had repurposed his cloak, winding it around his neck and muzzle like a scarf, presumably to block out the worst of her offensive odor.

Even with how pathetic Yriik looked, Meren found it difficult to muster much sympathy for the Eliksni's olfactory plight. The way she viewed it, Yriik and the others were complicit in her current bodily state, seeing as it had been their decision to take her captive and whisk her off on a forced trek across the wilds. If anything, it served them right.

The vindication, unfortunately, didn't make her feel any less disgusting.

With a sigh, she pushed off the crumbling concrete slab she'd been leaning against, taking a moment to break from her Eliksni-watching and stretch. Her muscles and joints were still a bit sore, but not nearly as much as they'd been the previous night. Getting more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep had done wonders. Which in and of itself had been nothing short of miraculous considering how long the Eliksni had remained up and active, riding their freshly-imbued Ether high.

After a quick glance back at the crew, Meren left her post and headed off in the reservoir's direction. It wasn't far; still within eyesight of the Pikes, though she doubted the Kings would care even if she strayed out of view. What was she going to do? Make a break for it in the middle of the desert on foot?

Once she reached the reservoir's retaining wall, she leaned over, pulling Chiisori's Ether canister from her utility belt and twisting it open. The makeshift canteen had been drained during the rest cycle, mostly thanks to her starchy, flavorless potato dinner. Inverting the canister, Meren shook any lingering droplets of water onto the ground before leaning over the reservoir's edge and dunking the container beneath the surface.

Unlike the ditch back in the ravine, the reservoir's supply was cool and relatively clean, save for the odd bit of vegetal detritus floating on the surface. Those were easy enough to skim away, though. Once the canister had been topped up, the first refill went straight down her throat, quenching her thirst in seconds. The second and third were poured over her head, the crisp, refreshing stream rinsing away the worst of the dirt and sweat. A proper shower would have been preferable, of course, but in lieu of that, the makeshift rinse was more than welcome.

She was just setting the canister down, preparing to wring her hair out and attempt to untangle it, when the soft crunch of footsteps reached her ears. Meren's head snapped up, but before she could turn, the crew's vengeance was upon her in the form of Nyvis and Kreskin. Without warning, the pair seized her, claws closing around her arms and legs as they scooped her up.

"Hey! Hey!" she protested, squirming futilely against their grip. "What are you-"

She never got a chance to finish her sentence.

In one coordinated motion, the Vandals hoisted her up. The next thing she knew, a moment of weightlessness gripped her stomach as they heaved her over the retaining wall and unceremoniously dumped her, borrowed armor and all, into the reservoir with a resounding splash.

Meren didn't even have time to brace herself. The shock of the sudden submersion took her breath away, and panic momentarily gave way to instinct as she fought against the weight of waterlogged armor, kicking and thrashing her way to the surface. Her lungs burning, seconds seemed to stretch to eternity until she finally broke through, gasping and spluttering as her head cleared the water.

Nyvis and Kreskin were watching from the edge of the reservoir, their heads tilted, no doubt amused by the sight.

"Yriik sends regards," Kreskin called, his tone laced with mirth.

Meren couldn't manage a reply. She was too busy scrabbling for the retaining wall's edge, clinging to the slippery cement like a desperate barnacle in an attempt to keep her head above the surface.

Her efforts were in vain, however, her fingers quickly losing their purchase. With a squeak, she plunged back below the water's surface, struggling back to the top once again. Drowning in two meters of water wasn't exactly how she'd envisioned her life ending. It probably wasn't a very illustrious way for the Wolf-Slayer to go out, either. But with the armor weighing her down, the prospect of dying a watery and undignified death was looking more and more likely.

Thankfully, she didn't have to ponder her death for long because it was at that moment that another Eliksni voice rose up, grating and indignant. Her savior, Chiisori.

Amidst her floundering, Meren couldn't make out exactly what he was saying, but judging by his tone, he was not happy.

Over the lip of the wall, Nyvis and Kreskin appeared to shrink, their postures hunching as their Captain stalked between them, his gaze fixed on Meren. With a grunt, he doubled over and seized her by the scruff of her armor, hauling her up and out of the reservoir and dropping her, dripping and wheezing, on the ground beside him.

Offering a word of gratitude would have been the appropriate response, but Meren didn't have it in her. All she could do was sprawl in the dirt where she'd landed, coughing up enough stomach-venom to drown a small animal.

Above her, Chiisori barked at his Vandals, his words peppered with what sounded distinctly like Eliksni profanity. The pair seemed to cower under his wrath, their muzzles lowered, chins tucked. A stark contrast to their usual, bold behavior. It might have been amusing had she not been on the receiving end of their antics.

Before long, the Captain's anger burned itself out, and the two Vandals were dismissed. As Nyvis and Kreskin scuttled away, heads still lowered, Chiisori turned his attention to the sopping human at his feet. He crouched, his expression dispassionate, and reached out to prod her with a claw.

"Merrin Haale, the Professor, you live," he rasped. "Good."

Meren was still in no position to respond with more than a cough, but the sentiment was appreciated, regardless.

"Deepest apologies. The young ones act without thinking," he continued, pulling his arms in as his gaze tracked across her soaked armor. His posture looked almost penitent. Almost. "They will not trouble you again."

Meren finally managed to catch her breath, and looked up at Chiisori. "No harm is done," she croaked. "My thanks for... uh, salvation?"

"Rescue," the Captain corrected. "The meanings are similar."

"Yes, rescue. My thanks."

With that, Chiisori rose, pulling her up with him. For a second, she swayed unsteadily, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. But with a few deep, steadying breaths, her equilibrium returned.

She was still drenched, but a quick wring of her hair and a twist or two of her cloak took care of some of the excess moisture. The rest of her armor was a different story. It remained sodden and heavy, but little could be done about that. Not unless she planned to strip down in front of the Eliksni, which wasn't something she was keen on doing. On the upside, maybe her forced bath had alleviated some of the smell?

If that was the case, Chiisori gave no indication. The Captain simply watched on silently as she pulled herself together, his stance bordering on wary. He looked to be contemplating something, though Meren had no idea what.

"The night is warm. Your bannercloth will dry quickly," he finally said. His gaze shifted to the Pikes. "Come. It is time we depart."

Meren didn't argue.

When they reached the cluster of Pikes, the hushed muttering among the crew suddenly ceased, all eyes turning towards them. No doubt they'd witnessed the spectacle from a distance and had been nattering about it amongst themselves.

Ignoring their scrutiny, Chiisori made his way to his Pike, motioning for Meren to follow suit. Only when her back had turned did the whispering resume.

"Why does it not use its mind-powers to save itself?"

"Perhaps its mind-powers are only for destruction, not for self-preservation."

"It is weak, then."

"Hush! It will hear you."

"Good! Let it hear."

"Her stink persists! Why does the Great Machine punish us so?"

"Yriik…"

"Perhaps the stories exaggerate. Perhaps it does not-"

A hiss of frustration from Kosis cut off the Dreg's musings. "That's enough," she declared, breaking up the group and herding them back towards their respective Pikes. "Move your shells before I move them myself. Go, go!"

A collective clamor filled the air as the crew began to mount up, their chatter giving way to a chorus of revving engines. Kosis was quick to join them. Chiisori, on the contrary, appeared to be in no rush.

While the others were scrambling onto their Pikes, the Captain fussed over his Pike's fuel cells, ensuring each was properly seated and sealed. He worked slowly, almost mechanically, as if his mind were entirely elsewhere.

Finally, after a few more moments of fiddling, he stepped back, looking the machine over with a critical eye. Just as Meren thought he was going to climb aboard, he paused, reaching instead for the fastenings securing his cloak to his shoulders. With a deft motion, he pulled the garment free, folding it over several times before draping it across the seat of his Pike.

"To ease your discomfort," he explained, seeming to catch her confused expression.

Meren almost couldn't believe it. Chiisori was voluntarily giving up his cloak, an integral part of his identity and indication of status. Just to make her a little more comfortable.

The gesture spoke volumes, and for a moment, she was rendered speechless.

"You… Thank you," she finally managed. Too late did she realize her words hadn't come out in Eliksni. "I mean-"

Chiisori gave a gruff grunt. "I...understand...this," he grated in a broken approximation of her language. "'Thaank you'...this means Gratitude."

For a second time, Meren found herself blindsided and struggling for a response. "Uh, yeah. That's correct," she answered, trying to sound casual despite her racing mind. "But, hold on-"

Chiisori did not hold on.

In the next instant, he'd already scooped her up and deposited her onto his cloak-covered Pike seat. He had barely given her time to settle before he climbed aboard himself and was tightening the seals on his rebreather. There was no room for further questioning on his grasp of human language, either. The next moment, the Captain's hands were already moving for the vehicle's controls. Then, they were shooting out across the airstrip and onto the crater-riddled desert flats beyond.


The view was more of the same monotony. Sand. Rocks. Scrub. More sand. More rocks. The occasional vestiges of a bygone civilization: a road, a ruined building, the rusting husk of an abandoned vehicle. Still more sand. It all passed in a blur just the same.

On the upside, the evening warmth had quickly dried Meren's armor and hair, and Chiisori's cloak had proven to be surprisingly effective at padding out the seat's hard edges. Whatever Chiisori had done to the vehicle's internals had also significantly reduced the Pike's tendency to shudder and jerk, making for a much smoother ride. She'd have to ask him later about his modifications. That, and his apparent ability to grasp some of her language.

Unfortunately, her curiosity had been put on hold for the time being.

Chiisori wasn't in a talkative mood. Not that she'd expected him to be, really. But even by his standards, the Captain seemed unusually pensive. Since they'd left the oasis, he'd barely spoken, apart from a few logistical commands to the crew. Even those had been issued in as few words as possible, and in a clipped, preoccupied tone.

Meren had briefly considered attempting to strike up a conversation, but her instincts told her it was best not to. The last thing she needed was to antagonize the Captain and risk losing the tiny shred of goodwill he'd extended to her. That left her with little to do but watch the desert scroll by, trying not to think too much about her current predicament and what awaited her at the end of their journey.

It was a losing battle.

Try as she might, the uncertainty gnawed at her, twisting her insides with an unease that refused to budge. Every kilometer they covered only deepened the feeling, adding a new layer of tension to her already frayed nerves. She was acutely aware of the seconds ticking by, each counting down to the inevitable confrontation with the Kings' Kell. A confrontation she couldn't help but feel increasingly anxious about.

According to what she'd overheard from the crew, it sounded like they were still several days out from the Kell den, meaning there was still time to plan, strategize, and gather her wits. But that didn't do much to quell her mounting apprehension. Never in her life had she felt so ill-equipped to deal with a situation, and that was saying a lot, considering that she had a decade-and-a-half of Eliksni cultural studies under her belt. She'd written dissertations on the subject, for Traveler's sake! And yet, all those years of academia had done little to prepare her for the reality of coming face-to-face with a Kell.

In her head, Meren knew the encounter would require finesse and diplomacy. She'd need to tread carefully, avoiding any perceived slights or provocations that might inadvertently offend the Kell's honor. But beyond that? She was drawing a complete blank. There were so many unknowns and variables, not least of all being Craask themself.

Really, there was no way for her to even begin formulating a plan until she had a better sense of what she was up against. She needed to know more about the King Kell's history, their personality, and their motivations. Even the smallest shred of information could prove invaluable in the days ahead.

But therein lay the problem.

No one in the City knew anything about the reclusive Kell of House Kings - not the Vanguard, not the Academy, not even her. In fact, the only reason she knew Craask's name at all was thanks to a vague reference in a heavily-classified dossier buried in the Tower archives that she'd stumbled upon by accident years back. A mention in Variks' database had corroborated the information, but that had been it. The Kings in the Tower holding cells hadn't ever even breathed a word about their Kell. For all intents and purposes, Craask was a ghost. They'd existed in the shadows for centuries, their influence stretching across the system, and yet, they remained shrouded in mystery.

That mystery only made them all the more terrifying.

If there was ever a time she could have used Variks' counsel, this was it.

Were she back in the Reef, she would have gone straight to Variks and begged for whatever information he could offer. He'd know something because...well, it was Variks. The old scribe seemingly had his nose everywhere it didn't belong. She doubted even Craask could have stayed completely hidden from Variks' network of informants and knowledge brokers.

Unfortunately for her, Variks was half a system away, and Meren had no way of reaching him. The crew wouldn't likely give her anything to work with, either. That meant she'd have to rely solely on her own judgment, which admittedly didn't have a strong track record as of late.

Meren took a deep breath, trying to steady her thoughts. It didn't help. Her mind continued to spin in useless circles, chasing the same futile hypotheticals. What would happen when she inevitably stood before Craask? What would she say? What should she say? Would she even get a chance to speak at all?

Her brain was on the verge of melting when rationality finally asserted itself. There was no use agonizing over a future that hadn't even arrived yet. In fact, there was a chance that she wouldn't even reach the Kell den at all. Not if she knew Cayde-6.

Just thinking about the possibility gave her a glimmer of hope.

Cayde was still out there, somewhere. She was sure of it. Knowing the Hunter, he was probably tracking her and the Kings through the wilderness at that very moment, no doubt planning some daring rescue. Any day now, he could burst onto the scene and whisk her away back to the safety of the Last City. Maybe he'd even recruited help from the Vanguard, gathering an unnecessarily large, overly-dramatic team of Guardians to aid him in his heroic quest. It felt exactly like something he'd do…

Meren was so caught up in the fantasy that she almost didn't register a sudden change in the Pike's trajectory. With a jolt, she looked up, realizing that Chiisori had slowed to a stop and the vehicle was now idling, its engine noise reduced to a hum. Nearby, the rest of the crew were in the process of dismounting, their Pikes parked in a scattered column alongside Chiisori's.

"What's going on?" Meren asked, leaning forward. "Er, what happens?"

Chiisori killed the engine and swung his leg over the Pike's side, dropping to the ground beside her. "We break here," he said simply. "This is the half-way point."

That made sense. They'd been traveling for several hours already, and as hardy as Eliksni were, even they had their limits.

"Forty skefibas. Then we resume," the Captain added, heading off towards a nearby outcropping of rock, where a few of the other Eliksni had already begun congregating.

Following Chiisori's lead, Meren slid down from the Pike. Forty skefibas - roughly thirty-eight standard minutes, if she had calculated correctly. More than enough time to stretch her legs and give her spine a chance to decompress from the constant hunching that came with riding a Pike.

So, that's what she did. Over the next thirty minutes, Meren did her best to walk off the stiffness while still maintaining a reasonable distance from the Eliksni, most of whom seemed preoccupied with their own affairs. A few had wandered afield, disappearing behind rocks and scrubs. Some had sprawled out in the sand, looking up at the stars. Others had struck an impromptu game of target practice, complete with a makeshift shooting range featuring a lineup of spent fuel cells and uprooted cacti. Judging by the amount of trilling and chattering from the group, they seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.

All things considered, it was a pleasant enough interlude. And by the end, Meren had managed two solid laps around the outcropping before calling time on her break.

With the skefibas winding down, Meren found herself wandering back to the Pikes, not wanting to be the last to arrive and invite the crew's ire. To her mild surprise, however, she discovered that Chiisori had beaten her there.

The Captain was leaning against his Pike, his attention turned towards the horizon. He'd stripped off his helmet, revealing a face as weathered and scarred as his armor. Compared to Variks, his features were considerably less angular, with a broader muzzle and a sloping brow ridge. He also lacked a distinctive crest of setae. Whether he'd opted to crop them, they'd been lost due to injury, or had never grown at all, Meren couldn't tell.

Still, it suited him somehow. He looked every bit the seasoned warrior, his appearance as rugged and uncompromising as his demeanor.

Chiisori's mandibles flexed slightly as she approached, but his gaze remained fixed on the horizon. It wasn't until she'd stepped up beside him that he finally acknowledged her presence, his eyes flicking in her direction.

"Merrin Haale, the Professor, have you knowledge of piloting Pikes?" he asked abruptly.

The question caught Meren off guard. "Me?" She gawked up at him. "No, not really, I haven't-"

Chiisori's gaze narrowed. "In Eliksni."

"Oh, right. No. No, I cannot," she amended. "No experience with Eliksni machines."

For a beat, Chiisori didn't respond. His expression was difficult to read, but Meren couldn't help but notice a faint, almost imperceptible twitch in his mandibles.

"You shall learn, then," he finally said, pushing off the Pike's chassis and circling around to the vehicle's opposite side. "Here. Sit."

"Wait, now? Right now?"

"Now," he repeated, one hand motioning to the seat. "I shall instruct you."

"I am uncertain-"

Before she could protest further, Chiisori was already replacing his rebreather and helmet, its seals and clasps easily secured with a few deft claw movements. Clearly, he didn't have time for her reservations.

"No uncertainty. Sit."

Meren had no choice but to oblige.

With some difficulty, she managed to clamber up into the Pike's saddle, doing her best not to slide off the other side. Thankfully, her graceless ascent didn't seem to faze Chiisori in the slightest. The Captain simply climbed up behind her, settling in snugly against her back.

"The controls," he rasped, gesturing to the array before her. "They are simple. Main booster engine ignition here. Secondary ignition. This, for the repulsors." As he spoke, he pointed to each component, his claws lingering briefly on each before moving on. "Strafe thrusters, here. Acceleration throttle. These, for the forward shock cannons. Braking mechanism. Proximity sensors. Communication relay. Fuel cell status-monitor. Emergency override control. Power distribution. Stabilization matrix. Automatic targeting array."

By the end of his rundown, Meren's head was swimming. The complexity of the Pike's controls shouldn't have surprised her. But couldn't Chiisori have just stuck to the basics?

"Simple, you say," she muttered, trying not to sound too overwhelmed. "This seems like...much."

Chiisori chuffed. "Pikes are the most rudimentary of Eliksni machine-technology. Any Drekh could learn in a praakseykal's time. I trust you capable of the same."

Meren didn't share his confidence. Still, the Wolf-Slayer had a reputation to uphold.

Swallowing, she looked back down at the array, her eyes skimming across the various switches and sensors. It was daunting, but there had to be some logic to it. Eliksni logic, granted, but logic nonetheless.

"Okay," she said. "Engine ignition is...where?"

Chiisori leaned in, one arm slipping past her to point to a switch near the top of the control panel. "Here," he said, flicking it with his claw. A second later, the Pike's engine roared to life, sending a tremor through its chassis. "Ignition. Now, prime the repulsors."

"Ah, this one, yes?" Meren reached for the appropriate switch, flipping it before Chiisori could reply. The Pike's auxiliary repulsors immediately kicked on, crackling with a familiar, electrical whirr.

"Good," Chiisori grunted. "Now, stabilize."

With his direction, Meren activated the Pike's stabilization mechanism, which effectively balanced the vehicle's weight distribution, keeping it from listing to one side or the other should the rider shift too far in either direction. An imperative function, considering the Pike's lack of restraints.

"Good," Chiisori repeated, sounding slightly more positive. "You learn quickly."

Meren was glad one of them thought so.

The rest of Chiisori's lesson continued in the same fashion, with Meren fumbling through each stage, only to be encouraged by the Captain's gruff yet oddly supportive voice. By the end, she had a tenuous grasp of the Pike's basic controls and could successfully start and shut off the engine without too much trouble. The only thing left was actually piloting the vehicle, which she doubted would be so straightforward.

"Your skill is adequate," concluded Chiisori. "Now, you become a pilot."

Meren was only half-listening, her curious gaze fixated on all the toggles and sensors she hadn't even touched yet.

"How do I...map?" she asked, reaching for a nearby cluster of switches.

Chiisori caught her wrist before she could touch them. "No map," he answered, lowering her hand back to the dash. "You must focus. No distractions."

The irony of Chiisori, of all people, warning against distracted piloting wasn't lost on her, but Meren chose not to comment. Instead, she turned her attention back to the array.

"Focus," she echoed.

With that, Chiisori prompted Meren to restart the engine. Once it had purred to life, he directed her to position her hands on the guide hafts, which, like everything else, had been designed for a pair of much larger, three-digit hands. She could only just wrap her fingers around the leather-bound grips, but with some adjusting, she was able to get a solid hold.

"Adequate," the Captain grunted. "Remember, your hands must remain steady. Your mind, sharp. Like a blade. The Pike will listen, but you must be firm in your command."

Meren wasn't sure if that last bit was meant to be a metaphor or a literal instruction. Regardless, she tried her best to follow his advice, tightening her grip on the controls and leaning forward slightly.

In theory, the steering apparatus wasn't overly complex. It consisted of a pair of handgrips connected to a central actuator, which adjusted the Pike's trajectory based on the pilot's input. Acceleration was regulated by a throttle mechanism embedded in the right-hand grip, while the left grip controlled the repulsor intensity, allowing for subtle alterations to the vehicle's lift dependent on terrain. Lastly, a lever on the left grip activated the vehicle's braking system, and on the right, a matching lever engaged the strafe thrusters.

How she handled the application of it all remained to be seen.

"Forward, now," Chiisori instructed. "Go."

With a slight twist of the throttle, the machine responded, lurching forward with a burst of speed that knocked Meren back against Chiisori's chest. She'd have toppled off the Pike entirely if not for one of the King Captain's secondary arms circling around her waist, bracing her in place.

"Steady. Move with the machine, not against it," he said.

Under his guidance, Meren tried again, this time leaning into the acceleration and keeping her balance centered. The Pike responded accordingly, its pace smoothing out as they made an unhurried lap around the crews' clustered Pikes.

"Better," noted Chiisori. "Now, slow."

That should have been the simple part. All Meren had to do was ease back on the throttle and gradually engage the brake. Unfortunately, her brain and body didn't seem to be operating in sync, and instead, she jammed the throttle and the brakes simultaneously, sending the Pike fishtailing into a wild, out-of-control skid.

It was all she could do to hold on, her fingers gripping the controls like a vice. Behind her, Chiisori responded almost instantly, his arm relinquishing its hold around her waist as all four of his hands flew to the controls, his body twisting to counteract the Pike's erratic momentum. And it worked...sort of. After a dizzying second, the Pike's engine cut out, leaving the machine's inertia to carry them the final few meters before they finally came to a jarring halt.

Chiisori weathered the maneuver just fine, but the abrupt stop threw Meren off balance. And this time, the Captain's arm wasn't there to catch her. For an instant, she felt her seat slipping away, her center of gravity shifting sideways towards the edge. In a panic, she swiveled, reaching out for something - anything - to anchor her.

Her hands grasped nothing but air.

The next thing Meren knew, she was on the ground, sprawled on her back, blinking up at the moonlit sky. The one saving grace was that her fall had been cushioned by a bed of soft sand, and no bodily harm seemed to have been done. Her pride, however, was in tatters.

If her shame wasn't already complete, a chorus of Eliksni laughter rose up in the distance within seconds, confirming that the crew had seen the entire fiasco. She couldn't blame them, either. It had undeniably been an astounding display of incompetence, even for a novice.

Meren was trying to muster the will to drag herself off her back when an upside-down Chiisori appeared above her, blocking out the stars.

"You are a bad pilot, Merrin Haale, the Professor," he said bluntly.

Meren scrunched her face, pushing herself up on her elbows. "Not a pilot," she grumbled. "A rider, only."

Chiisori ignored the correction, squatting down beside her. "Are Pikes so dissimilar from your Guardian birds?"

"Guardian bird- oh, Sparrows? Uh... I do not know."

"You cannot pilot these...Sparrows?" he asked, tilting his head.

"No."

The Captain's gaze shifted, and for a second, she thought she saw a flicker of confusion in his expression. Then, it was gone, replaced by his usual stoic resolve.

"I see," he said, rising. This time, there was no offer to help her up. Instead, something seemed to catch his eye, and he stepped away, leaving her where she lay.

As he disappeared, Meren's view of the stars returned, and she let out a sigh, flopping back in the sand. Her first time piloting a Pike, and she'd managed to make a fool of herself. Hopefully, Chiisori hadn't meant the whole thing to be a test. If he had, she'd failed it. Spectacularly.

At least the moon looked nice...

For a long moment, she stayed where she was, gazing up at the sky, listening to the distant murmur of the crew as they once again began to prepare for departure. The longer she stared, the brighter the stars seemed to twinkle. They never looked like that back home. Too many lights, too much haze. It was a shame. After everything humanity had lost, the natural beauty of the cosmos was one of the few things they had left, and yet, their last bastion had all but choked it out in favor of neon signs and halogen floodlights.

Even so, she would have given anything to be back there, surrounded by those familiar sights and sounds, instead of lying on her back in the desert, being laughed at by a bunch of Eliksni. If only Cayde would hurry up and rescue her already.

Soon, she told herself. He'd come soon. Then everything would return to normal, and she'd never be forced to ride another Pike for as long as she lived.


Their shelter for the morning was a small cave tucked deep in the foothills. From the outside, the only indication that it was even there was a narrow, inconspicuous crevice between two rocky outcrops that served as a natural entrance. Meren wouldn't have even spotted it if Chiisori hadn't pointed it out explicitly.

Once the crew's Pikes had been dismounted and tucked discreetly out of sight under a nearby overhang, the crew wasted no time unloading. With practiced efficiency, the Eliksni gathered the necessary supplies to set up camp, dividing the labor amongst themselves with little fanfare or discussion. By the time Meren and Chiisori finished stashing the Captain's Pike, the others had already begun filtering into the cave. Kreskin went first, scouting ahead, his shock dagger drawn and at the ready. A few moments later, Vryksin followed. Then Araaks, Danaan, and Weriks, filing in one after the other.

Still, the orderly procession wasn't without its share of stragglers. Namely, Yriik, who appeared to be taking his sweet time, dragging his feet and making a general nuisance of himself.

"Kosis, it hurts to breathe," he whined as Meren and Chiisori caught up to the group. The Dreg was still bundled up to his eyes, making him look all the more pitiful. "The human stink burns my lungs."

Nyvis had paused near the entrance to lean against the sheer rock wall. "Then do not breathe," they suggested. "Simple."

Yriik's mandibles flexed irritably beneath his makeshift veil. "Not simple," argued the Dreg. "Impossible. This would kill me."

"And our ears would be spared your complaints," a wry Nyvis pointed out.

Only then did Kosis intervene. "Hush, Nyvis," she said, coming up behind Yriik and steering him towards the cave. "And you, stop stalling. Get inside. Move your legs."

"Kosisss-"

The second-in-command shot him a warning look. "Another word, Yriik, and we leave you behind."

"We will not miss you," added Nyvis.

It didn't sound like either of them meant their threats literally, and Meren suspected it was some sort of saying among the crew. Possibly an inside joke or an old Eliksni euphemism gone wrong. Maybe a bit of both.

Whatever the case, it was enough to motivate Yriik. With a petulant chuff, the Dreg finally trudged past the others and into the shelter, followed closely by a smirking Nyvis.

"You know, Yriik," mused the Vandal, squeezing in behind him, "they say the one who detects the scent first emits it."

Yriiks' muffled squawk of indignation was the last thing Meren heard before the pair vanished from sight.

Shaking her head, Meren smiled faintly at their banter. For all the differences between their species, some things were apparently universal. Such as jokes redirecting the blame for bodily odor.

Kosis ensured that the remaining crew and their supplies filed in smoothly, tallying a silent headcount on her fingers as each ducked inside. Once everyone was accounted for, she turned to Chiisori, her tone suddenly formal.

"Captain, a word?"

Chiisori gave a slight dip of his head. "Certainly," he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he glanced back towards Meren and waved her towards the cave's entrance. "Go inside. We shall follow."

Meren wasn't about to argue with the order. Besides, she got the feeling that the Captain and his second-in-command didn't want her eavesdropping on whatever they were about to discuss. With a quick nod, she turned and shimmied sideways through the crevice, her cloak catching briefly on a sharp edge of rock.

On the other side, the space opened up into a high-ceilinged grotto. Natural morning light filtered in through a series of thin fissures overhead, illuminating a network of glossy, rust-colored stalactites. Springing up from the floor, matching stalagmites jutted upwards, reaching for their counterparts above. From somewhere deeper in the cave came the faint, trickling sound of running water, giving the cavern an almost mystical air.

Oh, and the Eliksni. They were there, as well.

The Kings were clearly no strangers to the locale. Already, they were making themselves at home, scurrying about, foraging remnant supply caches tucked into crevices and crannies throughout the grotto. The caches appeared well-stocked, too. The crew pulled forth rations, armor repair supplies, bedrolls, and even a few odd pieces of tech that Meren couldn't identify. Offhand, she wondered not just what the strange bits of tech were, but how often the Kings had used the cave as a waypoint.

It wasn't long before they were settled in, with bedrolls unfurled and a fire crackling at the center of the cavern, courtesy of resident arsonist Yriik. In their eagerness to make camp, the crew hadn't foregone the requisite precautions, however. A watch rotation had been established by Nyvis, who'd appointed Araaks to the first shift. The silence-maker had also been deployed near the entrance - Kreskin's work - effectively masking the crew's chatter.

While the others had busied themselves with their tasks, Meren had predictably been relegated to the sidelines. Eventually, she'd found a secluded spot at the far end of the grotto, tucked in between a pair of stalagmites. Was it comfortable? Not particularly. But it served its dual purpose of keeping her out of the way and sparing the Eliksni from having to smell her. Not to mention, it was a perfect vantage point to observe the crew without drawing too much attention to herself.

And observe, she did.

From her nook, Meren watched the crew with a detached fascination, taking mental notes on their behavior and mannerisms, both as individuals and as a collective. It wasn't a proper ethnographic study by any stretch. That would have required access to field journals and a dictation recorder, a semi-controlled environment, and, ideally, some degree of interaction from the subjects. At present, her scope was limited to the confines of a cave, and her methods to mere observation from afar and whatever scraps she could glean from overheard conversations. Still, it was magnitudes better than sitting in her office, watching fuzzy holovids and listening to the same old recordings on repeat.

Currently, the Dregs held her attention. They had a unique dynamic, the six of them. With half of them, it felt like watching sugar-addled children set loose in a candy shop. They bounced off one another with chaotic energy as they put the final touches on camp, laughing and teasing and goading each other to see who could climb the tallest dripstone column (Vryksin was currently winning). The other three seemed more grounded, their interactions subdued and sensical - Danaan especially, who was methodically ensuring the bedrolls were far enough back so as not to catch fire. Yet, despite the dichotomy, there was a camaraderie between all of them that bordered on familial. It was hard not to be envious of that, in a way.

The Vandals, on the other hand, exuded pure practicality as they pitched in, carrying themselves with a quiet confidence that belied their youthful, sometimes impulsive counterparts. Age wasn't necessarily a factor, of course. For all Meren knew, Vryksin and Danaan could have been hundreds of years older than Nyvis, Kreskin, and the other two Splicers. But with station came responsibility, and the Vandals seemed to shoulder theirs with a certain maturity...for the most part.

Meren's gaze was still lingering on the trio of Splicers when Kosis and Chiisori returned. Both looked decidedly guarded, but that didn't deter the crew. Almost instantly, the pair's reappearance was met with a chorus of chirped greetings and questions, which the Captain and second-in-command waved off with equal parts gruffness and amusement.

"By the Prime, your chattering could rally the House of Silence," admonished Kosis, parting the group before her with the ease of a mother hen herding her brood. Most of what she said after that was drowned out by a chorus of mock protests and warbling laughter, but a few snippets filtered through. "...yes, Yriik, your fire would make Craaskkell proud...Vryksin, not there. There, over there. No, no, too close to the fuel cache...Weriks, I will not ask again...Later, later. For now, eat. Rest. Yes, even you, Araaks."

"We have traveled far this night, and more is to come," Chiisori's grounding voice carried over the commotion. "Do as Kosis says. Rest. Conserve your strength."

"I am not tired, my Captain. I will remain awake. Vigilant."

Meren couldn't tell which of the Dregs had spoken, but judging by the shift in Chiisori's attention, it had been the smallest of the bunch.

Surprisingly, the Captain seemed to find the remark amusing, a raspy chuckle escaping him. "Very well, then," he said. "Remain awake. But tomorrow, when your eyes grow heavy and your feet slow, we shall not carry you."

Evidently, Chiisori's comment was the pinnacle of Eliksni comedy because another round of laughter followed, more genuine than the first. Even Meren couldn't keep a smile from her face. No matter that the joke had gone completely over her head.

As the laughter faded, the crew dispersed, each finding their own place to settle around the fire. Not long after, Kosis joined them, taking a seat beside Yriik, who had finally unveiled himself and was greedily wolfing down a ration bar. As for the Captain, he had yet to take his place at the fireside.

Instead, he was still standing where he'd stopped, his attention shifting across the gathered crew. His gaze passed over each member in turn before slowly sweeping across the cavern, stalling momentarily on the entrance, and then finally coming to rest upon the one anomaly in the camp: Meren.

His eyes didn't linger. With a dismissive chuff, he turned, disappearing into a flowstone alcove at the back of the grotto, where the others had earlier retrieved their supplies. To Meren's surprise, he emerged not long after with a bedroll under one arm and a handful of ration bars clutched in his claws. Without a word, he approached, stopping just short of her secluded spot and tossing the roll and rations at her feet.

"Eat and rest, Merrin Haale," he instructed, not waiting for a response before heading back the way he'd come.

"Thank you," she murmured after him.

There was no reply.

For a long moment, Meren simply stared at the bundle he'd left behind. The gruff hospitality wasn't anything out of the ordinary for the Captain at this point. Still, something about the interaction had struck her as...off. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, though. Maybe she was overthinking things.

Shaking her head, she reached for the bedroll, unfurling it and arranging it as best she could in her little nook. The material was thin and coarse and smelled faintly of damp earth, but it was leagues better than curling up directly on the cold, stone floor. Next, she grabbed the ration bars. They'd been vacuum sealed in dull grey flexiplast and were labeled in Eliksni glyphs, which read 'all-supply body-sustenance.' No mention of the specific contents. Probably for the best.

Stomach rumbling, Meren peeled back the wrapping and bit into the first bar. It had the consistency of plasterboard and tasted like a mixture of sawdust and copper. It got worse the longer she chewed, but she managed to get it down. And the next bar, and the next.

By the time she finished, the rest of the crew had started to settle in for the night, their constant chatter dwindling down to a low murmur. Some had curled up on their solitary bedrolls, while others, like Yriik, Nyvis, and Vryksin, had conglomerated into a tangled pile of bedding and limbs. A few remained awake, though, like Kosis and the Splicers. They'd claimed a spot near the fire, chatting amongst themselves as they organized something on the floor between them.

As for Chiisori, there was no sign of him. He'd probably slipped outside to keep watch, Meren guessed.

As she settled down on her bedroll, she found herself watching the activity beside the fire with mild interest. It wasn't until the trio shifted, revealing their handiwork, that she realized they were playing a game. It involved a handful of small, metallic orbs, sticks, an assortment of flat stones arranged into piles, and a nebulous set of rules.

Before long, Meren's eyelids grew heavy, and the pull of sleep became harder to resist. The last thing she remembered before drifting off was a sudden, muted burst of Eliksni laughter and the muffled crunch of a stick being snapped in two.


It was a dream, she knew. The faint click of claws against stone. The subtle shift in air pressure. The sudden, sharp whiff of Ether. It was a dream.

A dream, and yet...

Her eyes snapped open, and the scuff of claws abruptly stopped, replaced by the rustle of cloth. Her mind was still hazy with sleep, but the sound had been unmistakable.

Bleary-eyed, she pushed herself up onto her forearms. The cave verged on silent. The crew was asleep, and the only sound came from the dying fire, giving off an occasional pop or hiss. Pivoting to her side, she went to take stock of the sleeping Eliksni, only to be promptly met with the source of her unease.

It was one of the Dregs.

He stood a short ways off, hands folded politely in front of him, his expression a picture of innocence. He'd cocked his head, setae drooping to one side, as if he'd never seen a human before in his life.

Meren squinted at him, her brain still trying to catch up. The Dreg was shorter than the others, with a slight build but that same broad King muzzle and sloping brow. His name didn't immediately come to mind, yet she knew him by sight. He'd questioned Kosis by the fire a couple days back. He'd sworn off sleep, or something like that, to Chiisori's face, too. It occurred to her then that she'd never actually learned his name.

He didn't appear to be a threat, at least. But why was he here, staring at her? None of the Eliksni ever wanted anything to do with her. What could he possibly want?

Before she could broach that very question, the Dreg took a half step forward, his hands still clasped. "You are Merrin Haale, the Profesiir," he chirped. "The one they call Wolf-Slayer."

What a strange way to begin a conversation.

"That's me," Meren mumbled sardonically, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

When no immediate response came, she looked up. The Dreg just blinked at her, baffled.

Meren let out a tired sigh and tried again. "Yes, me...And you?"

This time, the Dreg brightened. "Drekhis," he said, planting a hand proudly against his chest.

An unfortunate name by Eliksni standards, but Meren wasn't about to make a point of it.

"Honored to meet you," she said instead. Maybe.

Hopefully.

The words must have come across as intended because Drekhis let out a soft chirr and plopped down on the ground before her.

For a long moment, all he did was stare at her, blinking slowly, head canted to the side. Meren had no clue what to make of him. Did he expect her to say something else? Or maybe there was a social protocol she'd inadvertently missed?

She was about to ask him outright when the Dreg suddenly leaned forward and began without preamble, "You have killed many Wolves. Yes?"

Oh no. Not this.

"Yess," she lied as convincingly as she could. "A great many." Though her effort didn't really matter. The Dreg likely didn't know what human dishonesty looked - or sounded - like.

Drekhis' mandibles twitched with interest. "Eliksni tell such stories of your conquests, Wolf-Slayer. They say you are a great warrior, fierce and cunning. That Houses tremble at your name, and Hatchlings cry out in fear. You are the monster in their darkest dreams. The nightmare that stalks the shadows. You, the Second-Saint."

It took an inordinate amount of restraint for Meren not to roll her eyes. The Spider's rumor mill must really have been working in overdrive to have elevated her to the esteemed status of Eliksni nightmare fuel. But who was she to disappoint?

"Ah," the Wolf-Slayer grumbled. "Then you are very brave, Drekhis, to sit so close."

The Dreg made a soft chuffing sound - a laugh, giving Meren the sneaking suspicion that he didn't believe a word of the claims. What if the others didn't either?

Still, that didn't stop Drehkis from continuing his barrage of questions.

"Tell me, Wolf-Slayer," the Dreg pressed, "did you slay Skolas, Wolf Kell?"

Meren blinked. He couldn't be serious.

"Uh... No," she replied.

"Drevis, Wolf Baron?"

"No."

"Skoriks, Archon-Slayer?"

"No."

Drekhis leaned back, planting his palms on the ground behind him. "Then who have you slain?" he asked, eyes narrowing with incredulity. "Name them."

Shit.

Meren's gaze flicked upwards, her eyes skimming the cavern ceiling, as if the answers were somehow hidden among the stalactites. Then, a spark of inspiration: the Prison of Elders.

Variks had more than a few Wolf nobles locked away. Better yet, with how far House Kings was removed from the Reef and its dealings, it was unlikely they had a running list of which Wolves were dead and which were imprisoned. Drekhis especially. Given his station, it was even less likely that he'd know any of the Wolves' statuses. He probably didn't even know anything about the individuals he'd just listed off, apart from their names and vague reputations.

But if he did...

"Beltrik, the Veiled," Meren dared, starting to tick off some of the names Variks had once recited on his macabre tour of the Prison's maximum security cell block. "Pirsis, Pallas-Bane." She paused. "Skriviks" the...something.

She didn't miss the flicker of intrigue in the Dreg's eyes. But then it was gone, and he was leaning back, his expression neutral once more.

"That is all?" he asked.

He wanted more? How many fanciful murders did she have to commit before being granted a title like Wolf-Slayer?

Meren was running low on options, and it took her a second before another name sprung to mind. "Uh… Eramis, the Shipstealer."

The moment the name left her mouth, Meren realized her mistake.

Likewise, Drehkis' eyes narrowed almost instantly. "Eramis Baroness is Devil-born."

"The Professor end-makes…uh, all-equal." No, that wasn't right. "All-House chance-equal."

The consternation on Drekhis' face wasn't very reassuring, but after a beat, he seemed to make sense of it.

"The Profesiir discriminates not in its killing," he reiterated helpfully.

"...Yes."

The dubious look immediately returned to Drekhis' face. "The Shipstealer would not fall to you."

Meren had little fuel for rebuttal. Apart from Eramis' name and the fact that she was a Devil, Meren knew nothing about the Baroness or the reputation she carried. Whatever the Vanguard had on her - if anything - had been classified beyond Meren's clearance. For all Meren knew, Eramis could have been a bleeding-heart pacifist whose worst crime was stealing a couple of ships.

But the Dreg didn't need to know that.

"Drekhis believe I lie?" scoffed Meren, feigning indignation. "Tell me, what honor-title do you bear? Have you slain Wolves and Devils as I?"

It was a low blow, but it did the trick. Almost immediately, the Dreg's gaze fell, his chin dipping towards his chest. It took a good few seconds for him to recover, and when he did, his tone was quieter.

"You are chosen by the Great Machine?" he asked.

"Risen?" Meren clarified. "Or, ah , Guardian?"

"Yes, this."

Meren hesitated. The Eliksni clearly believed her to be a Guardian, but confirming those suspicions to Drekhis would likely only invite questions. Questions she might not be able to answer.

"I am," she finally replied. Her gut felt funny saying the words, but what choice did she have? Admitting otherwise would immediately out her as a fraud.

Predictably, Drekhis perked up, his curiosity reignited. "Where is your small machine, then? Why does it hide?"

Small machine? Oh, right. Her Ghost.

"The Spider keep it safe," she fibbed, hoping it was enough.

"And your bannercloth?" asked Drekhis, gesturing vaguely to the armor she wore. "It is...old, and fits poorly. How is this?"

Meren shrugged. "All there was."

The lame answer didn't seem to satisfy the Dreg. He stared at her, mandibles working in thought before letting out a low chuff.

"I have question," Meren said abruptly. "It is…rude. Maybe."

There was no maybe about it; the inquiry was definitely rude. But risking offense was better than letting Drekhis continue down his current path of probing questions.

"Ask," prompted Drekhis.

Meren hesitated for a beat. "Yriik," she began cautiously. "His…arm. What happened?"

At the mention of his counterpart, Drekhis froze. His expression, which had been open and curious, went blank. Then, with a shake of his head, he let out a chittering laugh.

"Yriik will not like me speaking of this," the Dreg said. "But if the Wolf-Slayer wishes to know..." He paused. "Not so long ago, Yriik attempted to make sky-flowers to honor our Captain." A snicker. "It did not go well. Yriik's sky-flowers became ground-flowers, and he paid the price for his foolishness. One arm. One eye. All his dignity."

It took Meren a second to realize that Drekhis was talking about fireworks. Suddenly, she felt bad for Yriik. He'd simply been trying to be thoughtful, and permanent maiming was his reward?

"His life would have been lost, as well," Drekhis continued, "if not for his sibling."

"Sibling?"

"Nyvis. They pulled Yriik away before the fire could consume him."

"Ohh," Meren replied. That explained a lot...

Drehkis scooted closer, eyes alight with interest. "Have you more questions, Wolf-Slayer?"

Did she have questions? Of course she did! She had a whole library of them. Questions about Eliksni culture and religion. She had questions about Riis and the Long Drift. But most of all, she had questions about one particular individual.

"Craask. I mean, Craaskkell." Meren knew it was risky, but she had to try. "You have...met, yes?"

"Once," the Dreg replied simply.

Meren's brows lifted. "And? Tell me of them."

Hesitation crossed Drekhis' features. It wasn't much, but it was there.

"What do you wish to know?" he finally asked.

"All."

Another pause.

"Craaskkell is..." Drekhis seemed to be searching for the words. "Craaskkell is the Kings' heart-strength. Our spirit-will. Craaskkell is..."

"Feared? Respected?"

The Dreg tilted his head from side to side as if weighing the options. "Both. But more than this." He leaned in, eyes glinting. "Craaskkell is the hope of all Eliksni. Our future. One day, Eliksni will sing of Craaskkell as we do Chelchiskel. The songs of Craaskkell's victories will outnumber the stars in the sky."

Meren couldn't deny the allure of Drekhis' poetic description, but it didn't offer much in the way of concrete information. Then again, maybe that was the point.

"High praise," Meren said.

Drekhis bobbed his head. "Soon, you will see," he told her. "But I say this to you, Wolf-Slayer. Be wary. To cross Craaskkell is to court death." His voice lowered, inching in closer. "You will not be Craaskkell's end. Craaskkell will be yours."

The shift in his tone and subtle narrowing of his eyes gave Meren pause. Even coming from a Dreg, the warning carried weight. She could only hope she never reached the Kell den to discover the truth of Drekhis' words.

Suddenly, the Dreg's demeanor lightened. "More questions?" he chirped.

"Ah..."

Meren's gaze drifted back to the sleeping Eliksni, curled up about the cavern. As long as she had Drekhis' attention, she might as well use the opportunity to learn a little more about the crew. She just needed to ask the right questions.

Meren took a deep breath, mentally running through a handful of potential queries. After a second, she settled on the one that seemed the least intrusive: What had Chiisori done to earn his title?

But before she could regurgitate the question in Eliksni, the feeling of clawtips on her arm stopped her. She turned to find the Drekhis right beside her, prodding his way up her bicep, eyes wide with wonder.

"Very soft," he announced to no one at his newfound revelation. "You consume much water."

Meren froze.

The Dreg's curiosity seemed innocent enough, and she typically wouldn't have minded. But something about the combination of his touch and those words about how soft she was...it reminded her of Variks. How he'd touched her, running his claws over her bare skin. How he'd whispered to her. How he'd pushed her down into his nest...

She missed him.

With a sharp breath, she jerked her arm away from the Dreg. "Unhand me," the Wolf-Slayer snapped. "Or I cut off your last-arms!"

The threat came out before she could think twice, and Meren didn't know what shocked her more: her sudden burst of aggression or how Drekhis reacted. With a yelp, he went skittering back, landing on his backside a few feet away. He scrambled to his feet, eyes wide, hands held up in front of him. And then came a voice.

"Drekhis," it rumbled.

Chiisori.

Meren's eyes snapped up, finding the Captain sitting beside the embers of the dying fire, his gaze fixed on her. She hadn't realized he was still awake.

"Come away."

Drekhis was quick to obey, scampering off on all fours to join his Captain at the safety of the fireside. There, he remained, looking suitably sheepish, eyes averted. But not Chiisori.

His piercing glare remained on Meren as she sunk back into her nook, pulling her cloak about herself. She couldn't hold his gaze for long, and her eyes fell to the floor. She felt childish suddenly for snapping at Drekhis. Someone had finally wanted to talk to her, and she'd ruined it. And all over some harmless poking.

Her attention remained fixed on the spot where the Dreg had been for a moment more before she dared to look up again. Chiisori was still watching her with that hard, unblinking stare. He hadn't moved an inch, his back straight and his chin held high. Variks had looked at her the same way once. Scrutinizing, assessing. Calculating.

The realization didn't come suddenly. It was a creeping, inevitable thing, like the tide washing over the shore. Locked in the Captain's unrelenting gaze, her suspicion grew until she could no longer bear the unease of his meeting his stare. She glanced away, then. But not before his eyes had told her all she needed to know.

He could see right through her.