Tremble for yourself, my man
You know that you have seen this all before
Tremble, Little Lion Man
You'll never settle any of your scores
Your grace is wasted in your face
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Now learn from your mother
Or else spend your days biting your own neck
Little Lion Man- Mumford and Sons
June 04, 2960 (Timeline B); The Last City, Earth
They caught up to him just outside the Hangar. Cayde had gathered up what gear he could, even raiding Azra's vault for necessities (with Spark's permission, of course). He'd put out calls to any relevant contacts he could think of. All he had to do now was walk out.
He thought maybe he'd get off without any more arguments, but Ikora and Zavala fell in beside him as he passed the Courtyard. Cayde didn't slow down. He couldn't stop them from talking, but they only had until he got to the ship to say words.
"Cayde, think about this," Ikora began.
"I already have," Cayde replied. It wasn't like he didn't know this was horribly reckless, but if they weren't going to mount a more supported operation, what other choice did he have? "Don't bother," he said before Zavala could try to argue. "You can't stop me."
"Your flight clearance is revoked," Zavala said. "Unless you want to be shot down outside the City walls, you will sit down and we will talk about this."
Cayde could have laughed at that. Shoot down his ship? Was that the worst consequence they could offer? "Compared to my sister dying?" Cayde asked. "I'll take it, thanks." He'd abandoned her to the Vault of Glass, once up on a time. He couldn't- she'd trusted him, and he'd led her to this. He'd never be able to look at himself in the mirror again if he gave up on her now.
He didn't get a chance for any more witty banter. They came around the corner into the Hangar and were met by a crowd. The wall of bodies was enough to make Cayde hesitate, just for a moment, to take stock. It was Hunters, mostly. The chatter died as Cayde stood there, the movement stilled, and Cayde could pick out a few Titans and Warlocks, too. A few civilians, even. "I sent out the call," Sundance said in his ear.
Cayde put his hands on his hips and forced a bravado he didn't feel into his voice. "I'm sure you all heard what happened at the Prison of Elders earlier today," he said to the now-rapt audience. "They took Azra. I'm going to get her back- she's Pack. I was there with her. Ain't nobody got a right to try and stop me."
Marcus Ren took a half-step forward out of the crowd. His face, normally adorned with a cheerful smile, was solemn. "What can we do to help?"
That wasn't exactly what he'd expected. People usually took to his antics with eye-rolling and indulgence, not offers for help. Had it changed after the Red War? "However much I'd love to bum-rush the Reef with an army," Cayde said, "We ain't lookin' for a scorched-earth policy here. It'd just spook the targets."
Ikora, behind him, played her last good card. "Cayde, this is going to be chaos. We need the Hunter Vanguard. With the escaped prisoners-"
"We'll handle it," Marcus Ren interrupted. "A couple weeks? A month? We can deal. For Azra."
There was a general murmur of agreement at that, and Cayde had to admit he was a bit surprised. Azra had never been the friendliest person. Sure, she was nice, easy to get along with, but she was shy, too. She didn't seek people out, didn't make friends easily. Especially after her fame- she was too skittish. She'd never be a legendarily beloved figure like Andal, (like Cayde).
Yet beloved she appeared to be.
"She saved my life," a Hunter said. (Kovac, Cayde remembered. A crucible junkie.) "In the Cosmodrome. She heard my distress call and dropped her loot to come rescue me."
"Mine, too," a younger Hunter followed. (Echo. She'd just had a big argument with Nadir- though they seemed to have set it aside for now; Nadir stood next to her, arms crossed.) "On Titan. I thought for sure the Hive would eat my bones-"
"During the Red War, she helped fix my leg," an unfamiliar Warlock said. "I never got to thank her."
"Dead End Cure owes her a debt," Ashton said. He'd shouldered his way up to the front of the crowd, Shaana Duri a resolute presence by his side. "If this can help repay it, in any small way-"
"She saved the City," a civilian pointed out. "Why is this even a question?"
Lord Shaxx, a head taller most in the crowd, just crossed his arms and raised his chin in a silent challenge.
How someone who'd so much shunned fame, who didn't brag, who was private almost to the point of hermitage, had somehow become adored by the community- well, the answer to that conundrum had just been spoken in front of him. Because she shunned fame, because she didn't believe in her own myth, people didn't tell stories. But that didn't mean they forgot. The moment she needed help, here was a few hundred acquaintances, friends, and strangers, a watershed of goodwill.
"Go, now," Marcus Ren said. "We'll handle this."
So Cayde did- the crowd parted for him as he went, across the hangar to his ship (still sitting idle and pristine after all these years).
He turned to look over his shoulder as the ramp closed. Across the space, he caught one last glance of the rest of the Vanguard. Zavala was angry, but more than that, he was confused. Confounded. Ikora just looked worried.
The ramp shut, blocking them out. Cayde settled into the chair. If only the situation were better, he could relish this. Flying his own ship, carving his own path. Sundance appeared in realspace, followed by another familiar Ghost. "I'm coming too," Spark said.
Cayde shrugged. "No problem with me." He engaged the thrusters, and after a moment to feel the ship wobble beneath him, punched it.
June 04, 2960 (Timeline B); The Tangled Shore, Reef Space
It was just too damn easy, all of it. Of course Cayde knew where Spider's hideout was. Even if there weren't active bounties out for the crime lord, it was still a good idea to keep tabs on the guy. And he seriously needed to hire better guards. Cayde was barely even questioned when he came in- okay, there was a little spear-waving and growling, but in the end he'd just walked by and the Vandals had done nothing more than follow nervously behind him.
The throne room was exactly like he'd expected it to be- a big 'ol chair, a little area for petitioners, the scent of stale ether and blood on the air. To Cayde's surprise, he wasn't the only one here to have a chat: Petra stood, angry in a way she rarely showed, coiled like a spring. In all of the chaos, Cayde had forgotten she had her own consequences to deal with. It didn't seem like Petra was making much progress with whatever argument she was presenting.
"Spider!" Cayde said like he was meeting a long-lost brother. "You get uglier every time I see you!"
Spider just snorted, turning to glare at Cayde (or maybe the guards behind him- who could tell, with that many eyes?)
"Come on," Cayde chastised. "Is that the way to greet an old friend?"
"Friend," Spider scoffed, offended. "Last time I saw you, you were destroying my bar."
Cayde waggled a finger. "Last time you saw me, I was cleaning up your Baron problem."
"After trashing my bar," Spider reiterated.
"Okay," Cayde admitted. "Maybe things got a little… messy. But we got the job done."
"Fat lot of good," Spider huffed, sitting back in his chair. "A few months and those Barons are back, causing more chaos than ever."
Cayde shrugged. "I'm thinking this time, we just shoot 'em a bunch. Problem solved, permanently."
"It might not be so simple," Petra interjected. "Word is, they have Uldren with them. And…" Petra trailed off, not willing to cross the line of accusation.
Spider had no such compunctions. "It seems they've been receiving some help from a more… Enlightened individual. Someone near and dear." He fidgeted with a dead Ghost, turning the pieces over between his fingers. "If memory serves, she also helped trash my bar."
Well, at least Spider had his priorities in order. Cayde did, too. "Why do you think I'm here?" he hissed at the Eliksni Baron.
Spider leaned forward at that. "Why are you here?" he said in a theat. "The Hunter Vanguard himself, gracing my humble doorstep. Is the City taking its allyship with the Reef more seriously than I thought? Or has this betrayal sparked a desire for revenge?"
Cayde crossed his arms in a show of confidence. "I'm here for my sister." If Spider thought that meant revenge, let him.
"Don't pretend that you have nothing to lose from this," Petra interjected. "You want Uldren and these Barons dead as much as we do."
Spider huffed and settled back. "Despite our mutually aligned interests, I can't help but feel like I am going to come up short from this whole business."
Cayde had expected the play for a reward. Even with his syndicate thrown into chaos, hellraising Barons running loose on his Shore, the Prison disgorging problems like a broken dam, he was still looking at an angle to get ahead.
Cayde had something better to offer him: a threat.
"Aww Spider, you're not gonna make me call in the cavalry, are you?" Cayde said, mocking in his fake sadness.
Spider scoffed again. "What cavalry? The rest of the City will write this off as 'not their problem' and go back to micromanaging their patrol routes."
"Oh, there are a couple people that care very much about our wayward Hunter," Cayde said. "Me, for one." He let a tone of danger peak through is façade. "And don't forget I can make your life a living hell. Or a dying hell, if you'd prefer."
"You wouldn't make it out of here alive," Spider dismissed.
"You forgetting the third member of our pack?" Cayde threatened. "One word from me and Shiro-4 will be all over this like a Dreg on a spare Ether tank." If Shiro wanted Spider dead, Spider would already be dead. The crime lord still looked a little perturbed about having a legendary Fallen-killer in his business, so Cayde laid it on a bit thicker. "Real piece of luck he's occupied at the moment. He'll probably come running as soon as he gets back to civilization and hears the news. Wouldn't it be nice if I could tell him we already had this all handled?"
Spider grumbled to himself, but Petra glared, and Cayde stood there, confidently whimsical, and the Baron seemed to finally relent.
"You keep the rest of your Hunters out of this," Spider growled. "You help me rid these scorned Barons from my Shore, and we'll talk profit margins another time."
"Deal," Cayde said.
June 05, 2960; The Tangled Shore, Reef Space
In the end, they just hadn't been fast enough.
Cayde was shouting what Spark guessed were curses. He took a step back, summoned his Golden Gun in a burst of rage, and aimed it at the barrier between them and their target. He shot- one, two, three- searing flames cracking against the obstacle like a cannon shell. The translucent shield barely flickered. On the other side, two figures stood casually. One tall, with a forked helmet, a spear, and four arms. The other dwarfed beside him, with a cloak and a long gun across her back.
Spark's audio was all muffled. The Fanatic laughed and taunted, but the sound was dim and tinny. Cayde growled incomprehensibly. Spark just could not process it. They'd come so far, racing against the Barons, flushing them all back to their hideout, and though they hadn't managed to kill any of them, they'd finally caught up.
Spark was focused wholly on the other figure behind the barrier. They'd finally caught up, they'd finally found her, and now here she was just a few short feet (and an impenetrable Fallen forcefield) away. Azra appeared to be whole and well. Her guns and knives were all still in their holsters. Her hood was up, but she wore no helmet. She moved easily, not obviously injured or in any pain. But there was something horribly, horribly wrong.
It was in how Azra stood. She didn't move weird, like someone else was in control. But the Fanatic postured beside her, spreading his arms, and Azra should have shifted. Even if she considered the Fanatic an ally and Cayde a threat, she still should have moved to take up less room, to turn her back to the wall- she was usually constantly in motion, repositioning herself as the situation evolved.
She stood, feet square to the door, arms at her sides, like the Fanatic wasn't there, like Cayde wasn't there. Spark, horrified, had yet to hide himself away. Azra looked at him on reflex, but there was nothing behind her eyes. Not a hint of recognition, not a spark of fear or concern or confidence. There wasn't anything there. That space in Spark's mind that was usually full of her thoughts and feelings was quiet as death. Quieter, even, because as he felt for that usual tug, that connection he pulled to bring her back from the Void, he was left reeling. It wasn't weak or broken, it just wasn't there.
Cayde nearly screamed in frustration and grief. The Fanatic, apparently, was done taunting them. With a final hiss, he turned and walked away from the barrier. Azra tilted her head as the Fanatic spoke to her and fell into step behind him, all natural and familiar motions. But even though Azra's body was there, Azra wasn't.
?
Azra gasped. Her heart was racing, her vision swimming with vertigo and nausea. Something smooth and heavy and hot was pushed into her hands. She nearly fumbled and dropped it in surprise, but she caught it with minimal splashing.
Splashing. It was tea. Not in a proper teacup like Devrim preferred, but in a large mug. Devrim knelt before her, quiet, face showing concern. "Are you quite alright?" he asked.
Azra hadn't been alright in a very long time. She raised the mug to her lips with shaking hands, wincing when the liquid inside burned her mouth. But the pain brought her more back into the present, in the church with Devim, the evening sun casting golden light through the window. She took a deep breath.
"I can't imagine what it was like, what you went through," Devrim said in support. "The kidnapping, the-"
"I can't remember it," Azra choked out. "I can't remember anything." How utterly alien it was, Spark picturing her there in the Baron's hideout, but her own memory completely blank. Not even a vague sense of familiarity.
Devrim's expression softened a fraction. With a grunt, he sat down in front of her. His rifle was leaned up against the wall by the window. It was always odd to see him without it in his hands. "That's rather upsetting," he said. "I'm afraid I've only heard the stories secondhand- but if you'd like me to tell you…"
"I think we just need a minute," Spark whispered.
Devrim hesitated, but levered himself back to his feet and re-took his position by the window. Azra, managing to calm her shakes a bit, blew on the tea and took another tentative sip. It was Earl Gray, expertly sweetened with maple syrup, just enough to take the bitter edge off and bring out the floral notes.
Azra wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. But it had been- it had been so long since anyone had made her tea. Much less brewing it with such care, letting her curl up under their table like a scared cat, warding off her fears with indulgent patience.
"When you were… absent," Devrim began hesitantly. "You would wander sometimes. You made it over here on a couple of occasions. I'd make us both a cuppa while we were waiting for someone to pick you up." He looked at her almost out of the corner of his eye, unwilling to turn and face the conversation head-on. "You seemed… lost. I'm glad you're back."
The comms link in Devrim's pocket chirped and he fumbled for it sheepishly, turning back out to look at the skyline. There was an almost wary surprise in his voice as he answered. "Ah, Lady Veera."
Azra froze instinctually. She could hear the faint tinny voice from Dervim's speaker. "Hello, Devrim. Have you heard from Azra?"
Azra held her breath. "No," Devrim lied, smoothly and without hesitation. Azra would never understand how people just did that. She would stutter something fierce.
Veera made some disappointed noise. "If I could have a moment of your time," Devrim said. "May I inquire as to why you're asking?"
"She… ran off, I have been told. After getting into an argument with Ikora Rey."
"And you're looking for her?" Devrim asked.
"I want to make sure she is okay," Veera said. Azra could hear the anxiety in her voice even through the distortion.
Devrim made a considerate but dissatisfied hmmm. "I know it's not really my place, but if I may offer you some advice?"
"Very well," Veera said.
"Well, more of a question, really," Devrim continued conversationally. "I know some people push others away when they're hurting. Or they have some sense for drama and they feel a need for attention. You know Azra better than I do- does that sound like her?"
"No," Veera answered. "No, she is not usually a person to bottle things up. When she needs to talk to someone, she does it."
"So it stands to reason, that if she's gone off on her own-"
"It is because she needs time to be alone," Veera completed the thought. "I just… Traveler, I have been waiting and worrying for eight months, and now she is finally back. I feel like this is my fault. Whatever is going on, I just want her to be okay."
"She knows you, too," Devrim said wisely. "I'm sure she hasn't forgotten that, wherever she is."
"If she dies out there, alone…"
"Is her Ghost with her?" Devrim asked. Again, with that ease- Azra would have stumbled there, hard, revealing something by knowing what she shouldn't.
"Yes," Veera said.
"I trust them to look after each other," Devrim said confidently. "And I trust that she'll be back, when she's ready. Have some faith."
"I know," Veera said. "I… thank you, Devrim."
Devrim tilted his chin. "It's been a lot," he said. "I'm sure it's difficult to process. She's lucky to have people like you in her corner."
"If you do see her, will you tell her…" Veera hesitated, her voice growing soft. Azra strained to hear it. "Tell her that I am sorry, and that I am thinking of her, and that I love her?"
"I will," Devrim promised. "Get yourself some rest. We have a long road ahead of us."
He ended the call and turned back to look at Azra.
"I heard it," she said quietly. "Thank you." She couldn't calculate how much she owed Devrim- how much a space under his table and a warm mug of tea and his soothing words meant to her right now. Looking at the kindness in Devrim's eyes, it finally sank in. It was over. Her months of sleepless torment, her exile filled with pain and fear and grief, whatever hell she'd been through on this side of the timeline- it was over. It was done.
If she hadn't been crying before, she certainly was now.
Devrim had kept considerate watch for an hour after that, but eventually Azra admitted to herself that she needed to go. She took a bath in an agonizingly cold stream (given it was March now, she should be grateful that it wasn't frozen). She resettled all of her gear, taking extra care with her weapons. Someone had cleaned them. ("Shiro," Spark said. "Cayde looked after your armor and your Sparrow. Veera helped reorganize your vault.") She ate a dinner of ration bars and stream water as the sun fully set.
Then she set off to find Camp- and her Pack with it. It was actually quite close to the Farm, within an hour's Sparrow ride. Spark had been there recently. He and Azra tested their wavering connection navigating the dark trails. She cut the engines early, electing to walk the last mile or so. It was cold, but she could see a campfire blazing in the clearing ahead.
She stepped into its circle of light, pausing to take in the scene. The clearing was small, the sleeping shelter and storage crates all huddled together against the trees. The carpet of pine needles had been swept away. The branches above them almost crowded out the sky. Three Guardians sat talking around the campfire.
"-together as much as we can," Cayde was saying. "She asked about you two specifically-" He cut himself off, sensing Azra's presence, and turned.
All three of them stared at her, their optics almost eerie in the gloom. Cayde, obviously, she'd seen since the… 'incident'. Shiro, too, though the reunion had been far too brief for her tastes. Sylas-4, on the other hand, she hadn't laid eyes on since his doomed raid. He looked well enough now, armor buffed and polished, his helmet set aside to reveal his sleek black plating and green lights. He was certainly a sight for sore eyes. She wondered for a moment how she and the rest of Fireteam Dauntless would have gotten along, had Sylas's death not driven a wedge between them-
No, that wasn't a useful train of thought. That had been the tricky part of the curse; if Sylas's death hadn't soured the relationship, something else would have. It was one excuse among many.
Azra shifted her weight off of the beam, dangling a moment before letting herself fall. She landed feet-first on the smoke-stained floor. "Hey, Sylas," (she winced internally at how rough her voice sounded), "Long time, no see."
The Titan started to rise, then seemed to think better of it. He settled back on his bench and let Azra come to him. "I thought it would be you," he rasped.
She bit back an impulse to run and throw her arms around him. She hadn't seen a familiar face since the Cabal attacked. But Sylas was not a touchy person, and he looked tense even now. "I thought you'd be some Psion trick-assassin," she replied. "Glad you're still alive."
It was undeniably good to see him, though. All of them. The past months on the run had taught her to be instinctually afraid of people- but these ones she knew, down to her bones. She thought she'd be anxious, upset, unsure how to reconcile past and present. But she was just relieved they were all here.
The three Exos were still staring at her with varying mixes of surprise, concern, and relief. She supposed she'd been a little dramatic, cutting all contact and running off like she'd done. But if being exiled and murdered didn't justify a little drama, what did?
She shifted her feet and cleared her throat awkwardly. "Uh… storytime?" she asked.