March 6th, 2553.

Former UNSC colony Harvest, Northern Polar sector.

The scent of death was inescapable, Private Sabine Jaschke noted after another icy wind cut through her armor from behind and chilled her spine. Not from the putridity of rotting corpses left unattended on the battlefield for a fortnight, though. It was more subtle in nature, an unwanted connection that shuffled to life every time the lingering scent carried on those afternoon winds filled her nostrils. This was not the crisp teasing of awakened snow that she recalled from her childhood on Neu Ruhr. Sure, the innocent chill was there, but it was merely seasoning over a bitter, metallic tang that she could almost taste after trudging through the snow on patrol for a mere week. Not snow, really, but ash, the forward elements of a planet-sized ashen legion that was even now besieging the last untouched slice of Harvest, the frozen battlefield she now called home. In the weeks spent putting Alpha base in a facade of working order, she'd neither longed for fresh air nor dreaded getting lost on patrol. After being sent on patrol routes infested with bugs (of the man-sized Covenant variety, not the stinging kind), a little snow hadn't scared her, and still didn't. But that scent, those frozen embers nipping at her bare skin below her goggles with each gust of wind, refused to surrender to mundanity in her mind. A memory drifted in on the latest breeze, when she and the rest of her squad had been allowed to take turns looking at Harvest's scarred surface from the pelican's cockpit. Is that what winning looks like?

Jaschke's right foot twisted forward on something jagged with a sickening crunch, and all thoughts of the hellish landscape to her South Vanished. She withdrew her foot and flexed it-a slight twinge and nothing more. A quick glance to either side confirmed that neither Boedt nor Sunpeng had seen her momentary mistake, occupied as they were with looking alert while they no doubt indulged in similar dark daydreams to her own. Their patrol was passing through its usual route, having just crossed a ruined bridge held together by bits of rebar, concrete, and blind optimism. On her left was a frozen lake cast in silver by the foggy afternoon sun. To the right, steep rocky outcroppings hid the plateau that contained Alpha base from view. Just ahead was the last old UNSC checkpoint leading to Alpha base, consisting of two crumbling guard towers and a few chipped concrete barricades.

Jaschke tested the surrounding snow with her left foot, feeling for any hint of what lay below. Aside from being relatively close to home, her natural curiosity had swiftly overtaken previous brooding and yearned for an explanation. Setting her MA37 to the side, the soldier drew her combat knife and began to dig around the pointy metallic object. It didn't take long for her to reach the curved base of what appeared to be a shark-like metal fin.

Covenant. The thought made her tense, but she kept digging away at her goal. Sure enough, the snow gave way to an object she'd already seen up close, too close, once before. It was a helmet, and a big one too, big enough to fit over her own. Some great heat had seared away whatever color the metal alloy had once been, except for a small patch of red nestled at the base of its "fin".

Jaschke continued to dig, albeit further away from the helmet. She didn't want to get any more queasy at the sight of whatever rotten remains were left of the dead Elite's face than she already was. Part of her, a dark, primal corner that had been boiling since she was but 9, demanded that she be pleased. This was one more of those split-chinned freaks, the worst of the Covenant's coalition of uglies, left to rot ingloriously on human land, given a well-deserved desecration by her flippant steps. The more rational part of her mind was unphased. This one had died over 20 years ago, 10 years before her Father had disappeared somewhere on Alluvion. Besides, Elites were "friends" now. News of Lord Hood signing that peace treaty had been sent to them shortly after their arrival on Harvest. Whatever the reason for their betrayal by the broader Covenant (and Jaschke suspected it was because they'd gotten so good at killing humans that even those Prophets had grown concerned), they'd fought back hard enough to shatter the whole Empire, saving Earth in the process. But that didn't mean she had to respect the ones who'd died believing they were carrying out some divine mission.

Whether on suspicion or hope she wasn't sure, but she began prodding to the left, where the Elite was forever staring at in the snow. She was rewarded after a minute of digging with another rounded object planted more deeply in the snow. This one felt rougher to the touch, though that alone was more comforting than the scorched yet smooth metal of the Elite's helmet. The outline of a much smaller helmet soon made itself known. The exact model wasn't familiar to her, no surprise given that it was 20 or even 30 years out of production. Ice-encrusted ballistic glasses and a gray balaclava kept the owner's rotten state blissfully out of sight and out of mind. The burnt surface of the helmet itself stood out sharply against the snow. Recalling the brief history lesson they'd received back on the Prowler, Jaschke guessed that this marine had been part of the Spirit Of Fire's complement, hastily sent to reinforce Alpha Base, then booted out by the Covenant until a lone marine Sergeant named Forge had rallied the survivors to counterattack.

Her gaze slid back up to the elite, drifting between past and present. She'd been that close to an elite before, though that one wore blue armor rather than red. The memory still rankled Jaschke. Blues were the lowest-ranking elite soldiers, and that one still managed to grab her before she'd even gotten a shot off. It had been gripping her by the throat, but not too hard like an enemy at war. More like a child examining an insect held by the wing. Sabine guessed that she'd been the first human woman it had ever seen. It was mocking her in that guttural native language when the Sarge had tackled it from the side shouting-

"Private, why are you playing archaeologist in the snow?"

Jaschke froze at the familiar voice that chilled her far more than any mere wind. Footsteps, suddenly audible footsteps where there'd been nothing behind her, slowly grew louder until they halted right next to her, the last ones so gradual that she could practically hear the snow nestling between each groove of the man's boots.

"I hope you're not holding up the patrol just because you found a dead guy on a battlefield, Jaschke." Sergeant Tarzi crouched eye to green-tinted eye with the Private, each word oozing derision. He pointed leftwards with his thumb, and Jaschke looked to see Boedt, Sunpeng, and Showalter; the rest of the patrol, all waiting patiently for her. Despite the growing awkwardness produced by their combined gaze, she held her ground.

"But sir, it's not just the covie, there's one of ours here," she pointed to the helmet, but Tarzi replied before she was finished.

"One of ours? Nope, that guy was a marine. If you're so worked up about it, maybe you can tell Sergeant Fugazi yourself and he can send some of his guys on burial detail. We're not here to build a cemetery. Now, are you coming with us or not?"

"Sarge, we're not that far from the base, there's gotta be a nameplate or a neural chip we can take home to identify him, for the records, I know the Spirit ran off without cleaning up after herself…" she stopped her rambling and went back to digging around the dead marine's neck, Tarzi's eyes boring into her all the while.

There! Something glinted in the afternoon sun, several in fact. Gingerly, she cut the stainless steel necklace with her knife to avoid disturbing the corpse and yanked it up to reveal-

"Damnit."

Where there should've been dog tags, there was only a thin wafer of metal, not a single legible digit visible on its tarnished surface.

Tarzi's cocked his head at a bemused angle. "Found what you wanted, eh? Or who knows, maybe you can bring back a DNA sample…"

"Sir-!" Jaschke blurted out, catching herself again, "...no sir."

"Good, now let's get back to Alpha base before it gets dark." He set off without waiting for a reply. Jaschke took one last look at the dead marine, then kicked some snow back over his head and fell in behind the Sarge, dead wind still clawing at her back.

A/N: Hail ffnet and take heed. At long last I have returned with a tale for you and some other corners of the internet.

This started out as the opening act of a VERY different kind of story. I had been scraping it together for a few days in the hopes of finally posting a story. A few things happened, firstly being my big plan took a different turn, and second was the posting of Halo's "Third Life" short story that coincidentally happened right as I was re-reading Halo evolutions to get some proper first-hand reacquainting with the Halo Universe instead of browsing Halopedia in circles. If you don't know, "The Third Life" wraps up a certain loose end from an Evolutions short story, which I wanted to do in my original plan while primarily throwing in something different. But I decided to be just a little more accommodating to 343's current Halo canon, helped by reading the excellent "Epitaph" book, and turn this plotline into a short story in the vein of Halo Waypoint's chronicles series. Canon-wise, I'd like to call this "canon-adjacent" after some slight tweaks. Please enjoy. As for my original master plan, you'll see soon enough ;)