Career deciding exam is over (I passed) back to...whatever the hell is going on here.
Sloth the Bladedancer Part VI
"Everything."
"…what?"
Andal, flat on his stomach, kept his eye on the rifle's scope. "You heard me," he murmured.
"That wasn't confusion, Andy. That was a chance to change your mind."
Cayde's attempt to break his concentration nearly worked. "Call me Andy again-"
"Yeah, yeah, 'up the exhaust pipe'." Cayde shifted in place, bringing his foot down as close to Andal's head as possible. Andal still kept his eyes steady on the target. After a moment, the rifle in his hands boomed. At that same moment, a tiny, perfectly circular hole appeared at the center of the distant target, just beneath Cayde's last attempt.
Andal let out the deep breath he had been holding. He let himself relax. "I believe that's the match."
"Ouch!" Sundance's laugh was overshadowed by Cayde's loud groan, the Exo bending backwards to further emphasize his frustration.
"Best five out of-"
Andal wasn't interested. "See that my winnings are wired to me by the end of the day." He stood and stretched before pulling the rifle strap over his shoulder. "Or you could buy me the equivalent in drinks."
Cayde sniffed. "I'd rather you take the Glimmer and buy your sister something nice rather than watch you embarrass yourself again." His tone was serious but he laughed when Andal shoved past him. "So 'everything'. That's what you think is inside the Traveler?" He followed Andal out into the hall, one lined with thick glass windows that faced east and were warmed by the sun. "Kinda sounds like you're saying that just to contradict me."
He was. That did not mean some part of him didn't believe it. At least, more than Cayde's theory. "I can make a gun out of fire, Cayde. That's not 'nothing'."
"I…" Cayde paused. Andal dared to believe he was actually thinking about it. "Alright, fair point." The hall rounded and took them into the plaza, as busy as ever, civilians and Guardians going about their daily business. In the background, the Traveler hung overhead, ever-preset, ever-still, ever-silent. "Shame we'll never find out, huh?" Cayde murmured, seemingly speaking to himself. He had stopped to stare.
Andal hadn't. He walked up to a nearby terminal and opened his vault. "Lucky you," he said, "Cause if we did and I turned out to be right, I'd bankrupt you." The sniper disappeared and Andal closed his vault. When he turned back to Cayde, the Exo was still staring at the Traveler, strangely introspective and stoic. It didn't suit him.
"Hey."
"Yeah?"
"You alright?" Andal asked.
Cayde put his hands on his hips and sighed. "Fine. Just…wondering what I want to eat."
Andal looked from him to the Traveler and back. Then, Cayde clapped his hands together, as if in revelation and shouted, "Rice balls!" Earning the both of them a few looks.
Andal stared at him. "Okay."
"Wanna come with?"
"Nah," he said, "I'm going the other way."
"What, you've given up on trying to figure out how Exos eat?" Cayde was already walking backwards, eyes still on him.
"Not at all." Andal kept his tone as even as he could. "Just gonna wait for the next time you get yourself killed. Then, I'll have you dissected. Sundance promised to give me an hour."
Cayde guffawed at that as Andal started to leave. Between fits of laughter, he could hear the Exo asking his Ghost how she was roped into such a joke. Andal didn't hear her reply. Cayde asked again. Sundance continued to remain silent, only giving him an expressive look before turning and floating away.
—
Shiro was where Andal suspected he would be; a quiet corner of the library, going over recent scouting reports with Suzume. He was likely planning their next big score, always with his eyes on the next target. Lucky for them, otherwise they'd never get anything done.
Andal never needed to announce himself. Shiro's head shifted when Andal was halfway to him. "Andal. Thalia," he greeted them without turning. Suzume's eye was kept forward as well. It wasn't surprising that he had memorized Andal's footsteps and pacing. Never made it any less impressive. Shiro held up a datapad behind him. "Here to help?"
Andal took the tablet from his offering hand and gently set it back down. "Looks too important for the likes of me."
Shiro chuckled. "Maybe you're right."
"We're close to something," Suzume said. "A possible haul stashed away on the Moon by a few in the House of Exiles stealing from other Houses. Ether, Golden Age tech, an entire trove."
"Problem is, we can't seem to pinpoint a location." Shiro lowered at the waist to peer closer at one map in particular. Andal had to stand on his toes to see over his shoulder. "The delivery routes they take change regularly and there's no rhyme or reason to them. It's like they know we're watching." His head was moving closer to the screen as he spoke; almost as if he didn't know he was doing it. Andal had to suppress a laugh.
Instead, he said, "Take a break."
"What? I'm busy."
Andal scratched the thin layer of hair growing on his cheeks. "Never stopped me before."
"I'm aware." But the man sighed. Then, he stepped away from the table and slumped heavily into the chair beside Andal. He asked, "How's your sister?"
"Fine," Andal replied, maybe too quickly, "Have you met the other Guardians joining us out in the field?"
"I just have their names for now. All have some experience, thank the Traveler."
Andal couldn't tell for how long they spoke. Not long enough. Or maybe Andal wasn't too keen on their conversation ending. But it had to, even if Andal had to do it himself.
Instead, Shiro stood. "Best I get back to it."
"You're real dedicated to this stash. What's so important about it?"
"It's not for us. Tallulah asked for my help in tracking it down so she could pass it along to someone who needs it. Like we did for you and your sister." He rubbed his hand over his head. "She was very…insistent. Has Caliban doing the same."
The humor in Andal faded. It did help. More than either of them realized. More than he was willing to admit. Andal patted his shoulder. "Let me know if you need help," he told him, "I'll be…out tomorrow. But the day after. I'd be glad to pay it forward."
Shiro graced him with a look and a quick nod. "Sure. I'll be in touch."
The walk back to his quarters was silent. He didn't speak to his Ghost and Thalia had nothing to say to him. Free of any further distractions, he could only fixate on what he was about to do next.
"You don't have to do this," Thalia said suddenly, causing Andal to pause for a moment while closing his door. He locked it.
"You don't get to decide that." The edge in his words could not be helped. He returned to his bedroom and pulled a small duffel bag from beneath the bed. Within, he threw a few rations, some camping supplies, spare cartridges and shells. Where he was going, he wouldn't need much.
Deep down, Thalia just wanted to know why. Why do this? What is its purpose? What is he hoping to see or learn?
He knew no more than her. A burning need was what drove him. Nothing more.
As soon as his boots touched the ground, Andal twisted to watch his ship rise back into the air. It turned once it cleared the trees that now surrounded him, its engines firing and sending it skyward. He watched until it became a speck amongst grey clouds. He watched until he could no longer see it at all. Then, he simply watched the clouds roll by.
Even with his conviction waning, he could no longer justify his stalling. Andal turned his gaze towards the trees; as tall as they had always been. The nav told him where he needed to go, drawing him a path through the forest. He just needed to follow it. But he couldn't; his feet felt as rooted to the ground as these trees. Fallen Spider tanks, Hive Ogres, he had faced down so much worse with little more than a blink. This couldn't be what got the better of him. Not now.
Andal started forward, legs slow, almost dragging but he was moving now. The muted sounds of the forest and the crunch of wood and leaves beneath his feet were all that accompanied him. With the silence, he had room to think, about what he would do, about how he would present himself. To keep his helmet on or to walk in with his face bared. To sneak and blend in or announce himself and show who he had become for all to see.
Would he even be remembered? Did he want to be?
Andal stopped, staring straight ahead at a row of trees, no different from the many he had passed already. Through them was where his map led. Through them was where he needed to go. He put his hand up to part the branches, fitting his shoulder in and following through. The forest cut off abruptly behind those trees, opening up to a downward slope that led into a clearing. Within lay a village, small but sprawling. Alive, despite everything.
His village. His old home. The place he ran away from and hoped to never see again.
It hadn't changed much since the last time he laid eyes on it, before he and Akira snuck through the trees to make for the coast. The layout remained the same so that he could discern what buildings were old and new with little but a look. It had grown despite the difficulties. Living in the City had softened him, especially since he moved into the Tower. It was hard now to imagine how people managed to survive anywhere else, let alone live a life.
This was the burning need that drove him. That led to constant restless nights over the past few weeks. To answer the question, "What would it be like to return to this place as a man, as a Guardian? What would it be to walk these streets and not feel helpless and afraid?"
His head felt heavy and his neck stiff as he turned his gaze upwards. Past the town, past the small farms, to the houses at the back of the very clearing. One house , in particular, some distance from the others. It was as unchanged as the rest of the town. If it wasn't for certain clues outside, like an axe buried in a wooden stump and stacked wood beside the door, he would've thought it abandoned. But it wasn't.
"Andal…"
Thalia's voice brought him back to the present, forced him to release the breath he had been holding and the fist that had been clenched. He brought his hand up near his face and saw it trembling just slightly. He bit out a bitter laugh; all the power in the world and this is what he could still be reduced to. Old habits died harder than Guardians. But he had already come this far.
Adjusting his hood and ensuring any weapons were properly holstered or hidden, Andal started down the hill, taking the well-worn path step by step. Jumping off directly would've gotten him to the base faster but he was in no rush. He reached the bottom eventually but for fear of losing whatever nerve he might have built, he did not stop to ready himself any further. Wouldn't do him any good anyway. He kept going until he reached the edge of the settlement until he was close enough to notice the people and they could notice him.
Some stare but try to hide it, others stare but don't. Visitors were a rarity. One that was masked and hooded, with a weapon strapped to his thigh would draw whispers and looks at best and at worse, a more volatile reaction. Still, Andal kept his head straight and his shoulders squared, even as his eyes flitted between every person he passed behind his visor.
"There's the butcher," he told Thalia, his eyes aimed at a bald man with pink-stained clothes set up at a wooden stall, haggling prices with mother a balancing a child on her hip. His eyes moved to another building. "There's the blacksmith though I think his daughter runs the place now."
"I'm surprised you remember it so well."
"Yeah, well, spent as little time at home as I could."
He remembered that they had been a mistrustful lot as well. The more Andal walked through town without an obvious intention, the more people would steal glances and whisper to each other. By the looks of it, he could no longer put off what he needed to do next. He approached the butcher once the customer had left and asked, "Know where someone can get a hot meal around these parts?"
The man's dark eyes looked up from the cleaver he was cleaning and did a once-over on him before pointing his chin towards a building behind him. Andal already knew where it was. He didn't bother looking. "That way. Two streets down."
Andal nodded his thanks. He pushed off the booth. Before he could move away, the butcher asked, "What brings you 'round these parts?"
Andal looked back, feigning hesitation before he answered. "Work. For the Vanguard of the Last City."
"I'll assume that's important," the older man quipped, "But if you're here to help us, you'll get no issue from me. I'm sure the people here would appreciate it as well. If they knew."
It wasn't lost on him what he was just told but he had no intention of making himself known. At least, not yet. It was just before midday when he reached the tavern so its relative emptiness wasn't a surprise. The place was familiar but Andal could note changes, most of them improvements. The fireplace had been widened, the chairs replaced. There was a certain level of coziness to it now that the bars at the Tower could never manage.
Those who frequented the tavern at this time rarely had good reasons for being there. But those reasons would keep their attention off him for the time being. Still, Andal kept his footsteps quiet so as to not draw any wandering eyes. He signaled the server once he got to the bar, leaning on it.
She approached him when she was done with another customer. She was pretty. Very pretty. Pretty enough to make Andal wish he had cleaned up some before coming out here despite the fact she couldn't see him at all. The smile she gave actually seemed to reach her eyes. "What can I get for you?" She asked.
"Just a beer, please." Glimmer appeared beneath the hand that lay flat against the counter. Her brows raised slightly.
"Now how did you do that?" She asked, taking out a clean flagon and filling it to the brim with foaming brown liquid.
"Magic." He wiggled his fingers. She snorted at that and shook her head. The patron from before called her away and Andal took the opportunity to slip from the bar. He had already taken stock of his surroundings when he entered. When he stood with his drink, he immediately made way for one of the more private, shadowed corners of the bar, just behind the stairs that led to the bedrooms on the upper floor. A spot that kept him out of sight and gave him a good view of the door. He didn't remove his helmet until he was sure his cloak hid his face properly. It was unlikely anyone would recognize him but he wasn't willing to risk it.
There, Andal remained, as still as stone. He brought the flagon to his lips occasionally and only on instinct while his eyes were glued on the door. He watched every arrival like a starving wolf, taking note of where they went, what they ordered and then pushing them to the back of his mind because none of them was who he was looking for. The hours passed mostly in silence with Thalia breaking it with occasional commentary on their surroundings Andal rarely responded. Sometimes, he just wanted to hear her talk. Time continued to pass, the shadows cast by the sun stretched, reached their peak and then began to shrink.
He had always casted the longest shadow. A shadow that followed him and his sister from the village to the Last City and even out into the reaches of space. When the door opened, every muscle in Andal tensed, his breathing deepening and that was before he could see who it was.
In the most general of ways, Andal's father had not changed. He was still imposing, a large, bearded man, taller than Andal and twice as broad, with a round pair of shoulders and back leading down to a widened waist. He was wearing an old, patched brown coat that went just past his waist and brown boots filthy with mud. His hair and beard had lengthened and silvered slightly, the former tied behind his head and the latter, an uncombed, bushy mess.
The world around him blurred. Every footfall was like thunder in Andal's head, heard even above the ringing in his ears. He did not realize how hard he was squeezing the mug in his hands until it began to give under the pressure of his fingers. He placed the cup down before he could break it and pulled his feet in towards himself and his chair, resting his elbows on his knees.
Andal's father approached the bar at a slow, lumbering pace. There was a limp in his right leg. He settled himself heavily into one of the seats, arms resting on the counter. His eyes remained pointed down. He never called to be served. So when the waitress stopped in front of him with a drink already in hand, anger briefly gave way to surprise. But only briefly.
How often had Andal dreamt of this moment? More and more as time went on, as he grew in strength. Shiro had warned him about letting his immortality go to his head but how could he not after being made to feel so powerless for so long? Andal was never spared the rod whenever he did something his father or mother didn't like. But now? Now, he could take it. And he could give it right back with interest.
Venting his frustrations on someone too powerless to fight back; that is all he's ever known his parents to do and now, he was considering doing the same. The only difference is that Andal's target deserved what was coming. He got to his feet, the chair sliding back against the wooden floor. He was still covered by the shadows so only a few noticed him move; those that did shook off their surprise long enough to remember themselves and avert their eyes.
It didn't matter. Andal was beyond the point of caring who saw.
He only had time to take one step. Thalia only had time to get one word of protest out. Andal's gaze whipped towards the tavern door on pure instinct, his hand flying to a hidden pistol. A moment later, it flew open, slamming against the back wall hard enough to crack. Now everyone's eyes were on the door and the panting man scrambling through it. He gathered himself long enough to scream only one word.
"FALLEN!"
In the quiet before the storm, Andal could hear the swelling cacophony outside, as well as the distant sounds of engines. Then, the reality of the situation struck and panic erupted like steam from a sealed pot. After that, it was madness. Some tried to push the door close while others tried their best to get out. Some hid behind knocked over tables or ran for the back rooms and others shoved past Andal to reach the second floor, as if they were taking shelter from a flood.
"Andal!"
"WHAT?!" He shouted back before he could catch himself. Even over the noise, his voice drew some eyes. He hadn't even realized he had spoken out loud until a moment after.
"The Fallen. There's quite a few," she told him, "I don't think these people will be able to handle them by themselves."
"Of course they won't," he muttered. He turned, eyes returning to the bar. His father was still seated, only now he was sculling down his drink, eyes closed as if he didn't have a care in the world.
Thalia appeared in front of him in a blinding flash of light. "Andal! Fallen first!"
She was right. She was always right and he'd beat himself up later for hesitating. The Fallen came first. The lives of innocents came first.
So he would make this quick.
Andal turned away and marched towards the door, closed but hanging off one of its hinges. He kicked it so hard, flew several feet down the stairs. He pulled one of the bigger knives from a belt hidden behind his cloak and pressed the button at its pommel to prime it. Once he was outside, he flipped the knife once to catch its blade in his fingers. Then, he flung it. It sailed in a high arc over the heads of the fleeing townsfolk and did not begin its descent until it reached the line of Fallen pikes racing down from the treeline. It landed in the thruster of one of the vehicles before it began beeping rapidly. Then, it detonated. The chain reaction with the engine sent smoke and shrapnel forward, damaging other invading vehicles and obscuring line of sight, to the point that some were forced to alter course. Right to where Andal was waiting.
The machine gun in his hands roared to life and chaos erupted amongst their group. Both Fallen and their pikes alike were riddled and torn apart with heavy armor-piercing ammunition. The catastrophic damage to the vehicles triggered even more explosions, turning the Fallen's organized raid into a scattered mess. He let the machine gun disappear once it ran empty and pulled out an auto, taking aim and killing the Dreg trying to run him down. The Dreg bucked with the force of the bullets and slumped over, steering its pike into another and wrecking both.
Andal moved systematically through the town, gunning down any Fallen his eyes landed upon, helping the remaining townsfolk to safety while the invaders either targeted or tried to escape him. It wasn't long before all were trying to escape. They had clearly not been prepared for any retaliation, much less a Guardian's. All they could do now was flee in order to survive.
But not all of the Fallen had the same idea. Andal had just put down one Vandal and just as his rifle clicked empty, he saw movement within the shadows of an alleyway hidden just out of his peripheral vision. He did not need to turn fully to know what it was. The four arms, glowing eyes and the distinct sound of a person begging for their life told him all he needed to know. He let the spent rifle fall and pulled out a pistol, taking aim but knowing deep down he would not make it. The Vandal's raised arms were already on the downswing.
More movement in the dark. The sound of heavy, running footsteps reached Andal's ears just before they gave way to a ferocious roar. A noise that pierced him to his core and made his heart pound in his head.
The sound caught the Vandal's attention and in that single moment of distraction, a figure barrelled out of the shadows. Its size belied impressive speed and before the Fallen could fully brace itself, the figure rammed into it with so much force, Andal could hear its armor groan. Both went tumbling into the road and kept tumbling, the surprise attack turning into a vicious fight for dominance.
Shaking himself out of his stupor, Andal swiftly rounded the pair to reach the downed person, helping him onto shaking legs and sending him running towards safety. When he turned back, he could finally begin to process what he was seeing. The Vandal had lost the battle for control, its shoulder pinned to the ground by a knee.
Black strands of hair clung to his glistening forehead as Andal's father held a large black sledgehammer in both hands and brought it down, over and over again, each strike punctuated by dull, crunching thuds.
The Fallen were in full retreat now. The pikes that still functioned were being mounted and racing for the trees. Andal thought of giving chase but found he couldn't shake himself from that position. His father stopped, shoulders heaving and stood, using the sledgehammer covered in broken armor and gore to push himself to his feet. His eyes were wide and his teeth showed through his wiry beard in a vicious snarl. It looked as if he thought to give chase as well, even taking a few limping steps forward before stopping.
A tense quiet came over everything once the sound of engines had faded. While his father's eyes were on the trees, Andal's eyes were on him, struggling to make any sense of what he was seeing. His father's gaze suddenly turned to meet his', narrowed beneath a heavy brow. Andal remembered the pistol still in his hand.
A nearby door creaked open and Andal almost flinched. Slowly, a short, balding man stuck his head out, his wife, stricken with fear, clutching to his shoulders. Once they were sure the coast was clear, they took a step out into the street.
More doors began to open. Slowly, more and more people began to emerge. The silence of the battle's aftermath filled with the low humming murmur of voices as people filled the street, sounds of relief punctuating the residual fear that hung heavy in the air.
So taken was Andal by the gathering crowd, he did not see someone approach until the person was right beneath him. It was the butcher, shaved head sweating rivulets and apron still decorated with gore. "Your City sent you, yes?" he asked.
Andal's eyes went from the man to the people in the village behind him. Some were looking in their direction and even taking a few tentative steps over them. His eyes landed on his father, who was also watching the gathering crowd.
"They did," Andal lied. He lied it again, louder, so that others could hear him. "The City did send me. To remove the Fallen from your borders and ensure the people of this village have the means to protect themselves."
He hoped this would stave off further questions. If he was going to do this, he wanted to do it quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, his father shifted and began to move, climbing the stairs one by one and reentering the inn. Andal's disgust was short-lived, however, because, in moments, he was back carrying a wooden chair. He descended the steps and placed the chair against the wall of the inn. Then, he reached into the wild brush surrounding the door and revealed a large black duffel bag.
Andal watched him openly now. His father dropped heavily into the chair and began fishing into the bag. He quickly pulled out what he was searching for, a thick leather brace with silver buckles. He began to wrap it around his knee, the right one, the one with the limp. Securing it, he stood again, flexing and extending the leg a few times before putting his weight on it.
Andal's eyes narrowed behind his visor. "I don't need any help."
A pouch went around his chest and a belt over the front of his waist, one with an opening he could slip the hammer into. He then produced a shotgun. Pump-action, large, black and surprisingly well-maintained, he threw the strap over his shoulder to let it hang across his back.
He tested his leg once more. Then, he started forward, heading west towards the forest. "Did you not hear me?" Andal asked incredulously.
"Then stay here." His father didn't even dignify him with a look back. Even with the assistance the leg brace provided, he was still slow. And the back of his neck was exposed. One hard strike and he'd drop like a sack of engrams.
No guarantee he'd stop at one.
"You don't want to see where this goes?" Thalia asked, "The man you knew would never put his life on the line like this. You don't want to find out why?"
"Not if it means having to be alone with him." He sighed heavily. Despite his answer, Andal began walking, footsteps blending into the ambient sounds of the village, quickly closing the distance between them. Despite this, he never moved to strike him. There was a determination about him Andal had never seen before, a will for violence but not towards it alone. Thalia was always right; he was curious. This one act alone made this man different from the one he knew as a child.
A few quick strides and Andal pulled ahead of him. "Keep up then," he told him. Pulling from the comms of a dead Vandal, Thalia narrowed down the general location of their camp. The way his father started making for the forest, Andal had to wonder if he already knew where to go.
—
Andal didn't spare him. Following Thalia's trail, he weaved through the forest, leaving his father to struggle to keep up. He didn't take much pleasure in it. There was much worse he deserved and Andal hadn't yet decided whether or not to give it to him.
"Your huffing will give us away," Andal muttered.
"They know I'm coming." His father's reply was simple and even. Growling but his voice had always been like that. There was no anger there, not where it used to be; when the simplest verbal misstep was enough to set him ablaze.
"Yeah? And how do they know that?"
"Because I've been there before."
Andal had guessed that but he still turned his head slightly. "Oh? And when were you going to mention it?" He had stopped walking, forcing his father to stop as well. They had been cresting a small hill, forcing his father to glare up at him. In his eyes was annoyance, frustration but also weariness. It wouldn't last, Andal knew it. He was pushing his buttons, trying to elicit a response. Any moment, blinding rage would flash behind those eyes and he would lash out, violently, as he always did. But then what would Andal do?
A stupid question. Andal already knew what he would do and he would make sure his father knew who he was before he did it.
His father glowered for a few seconds more. But then, his gaze fell to the ground and his voice softened. "You're right. I should have said something." He looked to their left and pointed. "There's a tall rock formation in that direction. We can use it as a vantage point."
His father stepped past. It took Andal more than a few moments to force himself to follow. He said nothing, he thought nothing. He could only hear a ringing static in his ear that muted all other sounds. It took all of the facilities that remained to him just to put one foot in front of the other. After a time he could not know, his father stopped, raising a hand. Andal had to catch himself to keep from colliding with him. "Just up here." His voice lowered to a whisper.
The forest ground gave way to plain gray stone that crawled upward at an angle, steep enough that at a certain point, both men needed to use their hands the rest of the way. At its highest, the stony projection cleared only the smallest trees. It was enough. Beneath them, less than another hundred meters was a small clearing amid the dense forest. Dim firelight illuminated the area and cast moving shadows across the trees. This was them.
"They'll be rattled after that last raid." They were far away but his father still kept his voice low. "It's never gone so badly for them before."
"We barely killed half of them," Andal said.
"More than they've ever lost in one run over the last year." His breathing deepened, nostrils flaring. He started to push his way back down the slope, Andal following after a moment. Thalia warned them when they began to close in on the camp and both men slowed their steps. Andal took the lead from there, doing his best to put his mind towards the upcoming fight.
Andal came to a stop just before the trees ended. Through a tiny gap in the brush, he could just make out a number of guards placed at possible entry points they had cleared out to make quick traversal easier; all of them tall and stiff, heads on swivels, weapons braced. They were expecting retaliation.
Andal raised his hand and waved behind them, indicating that they should retreat into the forest. His father did so until they were out of hearing range. "That's them." His father's breathing had deepened again. His eyes were on Andal but he seemed to be looking past him. "What now?"
Andal had to swallow the lump still in his throat to find his voice again. "I do what I came here to do. You'll remain here."
"What?" Now he was looking at Andal, eyes wide and blazing. Now this look Andal knew well. "No! I brought you here."
"And now you'll just get in my way."
"You owe me this."
All I owe you is a bullet between the eyes," Andal nearly said before his better judgement took hold again. He turned to leave but a massive hand wrapped tightly around his bicep and held him in place. His reaction was instinctual. A current of Arc lightning shot down the length of his arm, not enough to kill or injure but it sent his father reeling back until he fell on his backside.
Now, for the first time in both their lives, it was Andal looming over him. "Never. Fucking. Touch me. Again," he snarled every word like a rabid animal with nothing left to lose. "Do you hear me?"
For the second time today, there was no anger. Only silent acceptance. A few moments passed, the tension in the air falling but never fading entirely. When his father spoke again, it wasn't to apologize. An apology would have been easier to deal with. It was worse. It was a plea.
"I won't get in the way. Please. I…" A shuddering breath left his father's body, "I need this. I need this. "
Andal felt even sicker than he had before. He had to swallow back bile. "You really don't care if you die, do you?" It sounded like a question but it wasn't.
His father pushed himself to his feet, stumbling slightly once weight was put down on his braced leg. "I stopped caring a long time ago."
Andal stared at him for a long time. He looked back at the Fallen, ensuring none of them had been alerted. Then he said, "I'm going to find some height. When I drop in, you take out the closest guards."
The smallest of smiles appeared on his lips as his father nodded. He pulled the shotgun from his shoulder, holding it ready. Andal stepped around him, pressing his hand against various trees to find the tallest and sturdiest he could. Then, he began to climb. The light of the camp grew even dimmer the higher up he went. He eventually reached the last branch strong enough to hold his weight and peered down into their camp.
A meager thing; they couldn't have been there very long. What was keeping them there, Andal couldn't begin to guess. As easy as raiding the village must have been, their victims would be unable to make enough to keep them sated. It made too little sense.
Didn't matter anymore. Andal leaped off the tall tree for a shorter one, rattling the leaves, likely drawing attention. He moved from tree to tree, Thalia telling him that they were getting antsy. He dropped onto the last branch and used that to spring himself forward.
Andal burst through the leaves, jumping again to get more distance over their heads before he dropped. He landed at the center of their camp in a crouch, drawing all their eyes towards him. Slowly, he rose to his full height. "Don't look at me like that," he said to the Fallen, "You knew this was coming."
A Vandal screeched and raised its rifle only to find a knife lodged between its eyes. Andal takes out an auto rifle and begins to mow down the Fallen as they scatter, ducking under one's swiping arm while twisting at the waist to shoot it in the back. Even over the cacophony of fighting, Andal can still hear his father's voice at the top of his lungs. Lunging through the brush, Andal sees him take the butt of his shotgun down into the knee of a Dreg and then blow a hole in its chest.
Some fought, others attempted to flee but the pair of them would permit no escape. One by one, the pile of Fallen corpses grew and grew; until the last one fell, the plinking sound of an empty bullet shell punctuating the stark silence that followed.
Andal lowered his rifle, an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Whether that was due to the ease of the situation or that his father had a loaded shotgun at his back, he was not entirely sure. "Is that all of them?" He asked.
His father, sweaty and covered in gore, replied, "No it's not." He began reloading the shotgun, shouting, "Come out! There's nowhere left to run."
"Andal…" Thalia murmured.
"I see 'em." Red appeared on his radar, his eyes set on the dark trees at the Fallen camp's rear. Then, he saw a flame.
"Get-" Before he could finish his warning, the scorch cannon discharged. A sparking, volatile ball of flame came flying from between the trees to strike the ground in front of them. Even as Andal saw the attack coming, he did not expect the force of the impact. It shattered the earth where it struck and the force sent both men flying in a shower of dust and acrid smoke.
As soon the pain of hitting the ground faded, the pain of burning shrapnel embedded in his torso and arm began. Thalia was already working to repair the damage as Andal's attention went towards his father; an arm drenched in blood and a massive Captain, the bandit leader, moving slowly through the smoke towards him.
Andal shot off the ground and charged at the Fallen. Its large stature belied frightening speed as it took the scorch cannon in its arms and swung it down on Andal's head. Andal just barely managed to duck and slide beneath the blow, his knife striking against its armored torso but only enough to tear the cloth that draped it.
Andal's father was on his feet, running towards them, teeth grit more with fury than pain. While the Captain was distracted, he grabbed onto one of its arms, the one that balanced the cannon, preventing the Captain from aiming. His black hair had come loose and covered his face, smeared in blood and dirt to the point where his teeth stood starkly out. Veins popped through the skin of his arms. With great force, he managed to rip the scorch cannon out of the Fallen's grip and send it clattering across the forest floor.
The Captain immediately wrenched its arm free and brought it down on his head with a dull crack. His father stumbled backwards but did not get far. The Fallen grabbed him in two clawed hands by the throat and lifted him into the air until his feet dangled just off the ground. The Captain began to squeeze, watching with sick enjoyment as the human's brown face began to darken. It squeezed even harder.
Andal tore across the expanse just out of the corner of their eyes, sheathed in blinding blue. His blade tore through the upper left arm of the Captain and the lower right; tearing through armor, muscle and bone as easily as it did the air.
A shrill screech erupted from the Fallen's covered maw. At the same, Andal's father lifted his feet as high as he could, pressed against the Fallen's chest and pushed his way out of its grip. He hit the ground back-first and immediately began to scramble away. The Captain did not give chase, its attention permanently fixed on the Guardian now. But by the time it found him, it was too late.
Andal fired the scorch cannon, the kick of the weapon nearly toppling him. The payload struck the remaining arms the Captain had raised to protect itself and sent it flying back towards the trees. Andal charged another load, closing in to finish the alien off.
But his father stood between him and it, back heaving and hair obscuring his eyes. He had his hand held out, as if holding Andal back from danger. Then, he began to walk forward himself, fading into the smoke.
"What are you-"
"He's mine." He had retrieved his shotgun, pulling shells from one of his pouches and reloaded it. He held the weapon in both hands. Despite his request, Andal followed him, his own weapon at the ready.
Andal heard when his father found the Captain. The sound of a shotgun going off once, twice, a third time, a fourth. Andal followed the sound just as the weapon ran empty; the rapid, quiet clicks of the trigger were both quiet and almost deafening.
Andal's father remained unsated. Standing over the Fallen's unmoving body, he tossed the gun aside with a frustrated shout and brandished the sledgehammer. Andal's arms fell to his sides. He watched mutely as his father brought the hammer down on the Captain's already ruined head again and again and again. Spouts of gore, cracking bones and guttural roars accompanied each thundering strike. It was his father's wrath and propensity towards violence that drove him and Akira to the lengths they took to get away from their home and still, Andal had never seen the man this angry.
Andal doesn't stop him. He could if he wanted to but old fear keeps him rooted to the spot, watching until whatever fuel drove him to such lengths finally ran dry. His father stumbled off the Captain's body, shoulders heaving, his face and torso stained with ash, dirt and blood.
He suddenly turned his eyes onto Andal, who had to keep himself from raising his weapon. But where he had once seen rage in his younger years, all he saw now was exhaustion. Exhaustion and a deep sadness. As soon as it was seen, it was gone, pushed down and away with what little strength remained to him.
"We're done here," he said, turning away before Andal could even think of responding. Andal's eyes went back to the Captain, its body splayed out with a pool of dark slowly growing beneath. He moved to follow.
—
The sound of night insects grew louder the longer they walked but it only served to draw attention to the silence between them.
Their pace was slow. His father walked ahead, limping slightly, grunting every other step. Andal had almost forgotten about the brace around his knee. Something of its kind made in a place like this wouldn't completely reverse the years of age and wear. That meant with all the walking, running and climbing, his father just fought the pain until he couldn't anymore. All to do what he did back there.
Thalia alerted him that they were approaching the village and when Andal relayed the message, his father replied with a short and soft, "I know." They soon pushed through the final line of trees, the clearing opening to them, illuminated by the falling sun and covered the shadow of western trees. His father stopped at the edge. Andal did as well.
His father pointed. "I live on the far side," he told him, "If you would like a place to recover without pay. Least I owe you."
No more distractions to be had. There was only one reason Andal came here and now, it was time to see it through. He let himself be led to his former home, losing track of time and surroundings until he realized they had crossed the expanse of the village and were climbing up another hill. He took in the wooden building at its crown, plain but sturdy and remembered it being so much bigger.
He stopped halfway as the nerve left him. His father noticed after a few more steps, turning. "I should go tell the people that the Fallen are gone," he said, trying not to grit his teeth, "But I'll be back."
His father looked at him and then to the village. Then, he simply grunted his agreement and continued. Andal took his time making his way back down the hill, searching for the butcher. He found him near the center amongst other villagers, still cleaning the wreckage of the Fallen's raid. Their last raid, he assured when he reached them. Their camp was wrecked, their Captain killed, every one of them murdered to the last. It was the first time he had seen the butcher smile since coming here. It was barely an upwards turn of the lips.
Andal rejected the pay they offered. When they tried to give him free lodgings, drinks and food, he told them he would be departing very soon. He did stay there for a while longer, letting people come up to him and thank him personally.
He could only delay the inevitable for so long. Once the crowd began to disperse, Andal slipped away. He returned to the base of the hill and started up once again one step at a time, eyes on the wooden house. When he reached the door, he could not hear anything inside. When he pushed against it, he met no resistance.
He felt like a child again, with how I changed the inside seemed to be. The wooden walls were bare and only essential furnishings adorned the lodgings; an old couch, a few wooden chairs. The fireplace was next to the front door and a fire crackled within, newly lit and freshly fed. Andal hadn't noticed smoke upon his return but the house felt warmed.
Despite every terrible memory he had of this place, Andal only felt nostalgic. For an ideal past rather than the real one but nostalgic nonetheless.
The sound of rustling led him to the kitchen past the living area, though he didn't need to be led. He found his father there, holding two clean cups. He had cleaned his face, tied back his hair again and changed shirts.
"I'd offer you a drink but I don't keep alcohol in the house." Behind his helmet, Andal's eyes were ready to fall out of their sockets. His father continued, as if he hadn't just rocked the foundation of Andal's memories of him once again. "There's water if you want it."
"I'm fine, thank you," he said too quickly, "I saw you drinking at the tavern." He was taking a risk in pressing this matter but he found he couldn't help himself.
His father did not take to anger or defense. In the same tone of voice, he said, "She watered it down. I would be done with it but quitting entirely would be dangerous."
"He's right." Thalia confirmed when Andal asked if this was true. "Alcohol withdrawal can be deadly to humans. And Andal?"
"Yeah?" His mind was still absent.
"I've scanned the house multiple times now. There's no one else here."
His mind raced for how he would broach the topic. "It's a nice house," he decided to say.
His father's eyes widened slightly, maybe in surprise. He looked around. "Thank you. Built it myself."
"A bit big for one person, isn't it?"
His father looked at him, expression even and solid. "I built it for three. Me, my wife…" Andal heard him swallow, "And my son. Started building it the day I found out my wife was pregnant."
It was Andal's turn to swallow. He knew the answer to what he was about to ask next but he needed to hear it. "And your wife?"
"Gone."
Knowing what was coming did not make enduring it any easier. Beneath the table where he sat, Andal's hands squeezed into trembling fists. His father's eyes turned down to his hands. Andal hadn't noticed them before. They were scarred and slightly mangled. The ring and little fingers on his left were missing their upper halves.
"I'm sorry." Andal nearly choked on the words. He wasn't sure how sincere he was.
"Don't be." He ran a hand over his bearded mouth, still refusing to meet his eyes. "After we lost our son and daughter, she stopped drinking. She refused to start again, no matter how much the urge pulled at her. Soon, she became sick. Fevers, tremors. She started seeing things, acting strangely. Not even the doctor could help. She would be out wandering the streets in the dark, calling for our children to come home, fighting off all those who tried to help her." He sighed deeply and that mangled left hand tightened into a fist.
"Last year, the Fallen made their first raid on us. Their leader, that Captain we fought, was the one that led it. He found her before anyone else could."
Andal's own fist became even tighter.
"He put a sword through her chest and then cut off her head, brandishing it like a prize. At least, that's what I was told."
"Where were you?"
"Sleeping off another morning of drinking. I found out the next morning because no one could wake me."
Andal's eyes flicked to the shotgun, placed against the wall in a shadowed corner. "You wanted revenge."
"What I wanted was to end the raids." His voice grew stronger. Of that, he was certain. But that voice grew soft again and mournful. "I failed as a husband. I failed as a father. My life means little to me now. It's the only good thing I can think to do with it, even if it never changes what happened."
A torrential downpour of emotion threatened to drown him in his own head. Cold spite, blinding rage, terrible grief but most of all, confusion. Not only towards his mother but also towards the man sitting across the table from him. Andal knew what remorse felt like, looked like, sounded like. But from this man, he couldn't believe it. He was doubting his eyes, his ears, his instincts all because they clashed with everything he had ever known.
"Trust your senses. Then, trust yourself." Tallulah told him, Shiro told him. Even Cayde and Caliban told him this. Figure out what the world is trying to tell you before you decide what it is. And what was the world trying to tell him, free of any bias or intrusive thoughts?
It was that his mother grieved them. It was that his father missed them. It was that, deep down, they really-"
"Guardian." Thalia's voice out loud makes Andal flinch, his breathing heavy. His father blinked in surprise at the new voice. "The Vanguard is requesting our return to the City," she said, "It is urgent."
She was lying. She was giving him an escape but he could not move. Not until, across the table, his father stood up first. He hobbled closer, using the table to keep upright. The other hand, he held out.
"Thank you," his father said to him. Andal had never heard those words in his voice before. "For helping us with the Fallen, for giving my wife justice and…and for listening." His father smiled sadly, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening.
Andal suppressed his trembling for as long as he could to return the gesture. He refused to think of how gentle his father's hand was now.
Andal walked into the forest and kept walking until he could no longer hold anything in. He ripped off his helmet and with a yell, sent it flying deeper into the trees. He punched the trunk of one, broke four of his knuckles and punched it again and again, the bark cracking beneath his blows and pain shooting up his arm like fire. He didn't care. He would rather feel anything than what he was feeling now.
Thalia had reconstituted behind him, before he had started his raging and just watched. If there was any judgement from her, Andal did not feel it.
His anger soon spent itself. He fell back against another tree, sliding to the ground. Thalia flew closer, eyes roving over him. Silently, she began to heal his hand.
"Andal…"
"No, I don't know, okay?" He no longer cared who heard him. "I don't know what I…" He choked back a sob.
"I thought, when we first realized what he was doing, that you would be glad to have seen him change." Her unblinking eye stayed on him. "But you're not."
He wasn't. His father was trying to make himself a different man, a better man and he wasn't happy about it. Not after what they suffered at his hands. Not after what they endured just to get away.
"It's not fair." He sounded like a petulant child and he hated it. "It's not…it's not fucking…"
Thalia let his words hang in the air for a bit. "Do you want to go back? Tell him the truth?"
He considered it deeply but he had no more of himself left to give. "No. No, I don't think I can." He turned to look back, the house just barely visible through the trees. He started to walk, moving until he was at the edge of the forest.
Then, he began to climb, once again pulling himself from branch to branch until he could go no further. At its height, he still stood higher than the house, too far above and too close to the trunk to be noticed by anyone who wasn't looking for him.
At the far end of that branch was a window. Through the window, Andal could see into his old bedroom; the one he and Akira shared. A large dressing shelf sat in the back. A wide nightstand beneath the window and between two beds. Everything looked exactly as he remembered it. Exactly as they had left it. For him and Akira, this had been the one safe place in the world they had.
The beds had been made, the sheets kept clean, the furnishings remained in good condition and try as he might, he could not make out any sort of dust on any surface.
"He maintained it." Thalia voiced what he was realizing. His father had kept the room clean. His mother too, most likely. For them. As if one day, they would decide to return, to forgive, to give them a second chance that they would not waste.
It may have been one thing to ignore what his father's actions were trying to tell him but this…Andal didn't think he could ignore this.
No roiling storm of emotions this time. There was nothing left to feel. There was nothing left to say.
Thalia silently agreed. She only called for his ship.
—
It was dawn when he reached the Last City. He hadn't realized they had arrived until the Traveler was too close to ignore.
Once the ship was docked and after some silent beckoning from his Ghost, Andal stood from the pilot's chair. He stumbled for a moment, bracing himself against the cask like a drunkard. Thalia waited until he had readied himself properly to transmat him out.
This early in the morning, the Hangar was only just starting to fill. He left it as quick as his unsteady legs could carry him, his helmet staying on and his hood up. He reached his quarters and dropped his bag by the door.
He doesn't throw himself onto the bed, choosing instead to sit against it, curling up into himself.
He doesn't remember falling asleep. When Thalia woke him, it was only midday. She told him that Akira was calling. Nothing urgent but she could really use his help with something.
Andal felt sore all over; sore and spent and so very broken. It didn't matter. Not when it came to her. He pushed himself to stand.