Chapter 3

Prophet moved through the corridors of Sword Base, his footsteps echoing softly against the metal flooring. The scars of the recent battle were everywhere—scorch marks along the walls, shattered bulkheads hastily patched with welding plates, the faint lingering scent of burnt wiring and plasma fire. Technicians and engineers worked tirelessly, moving between exposed conduits and half-repaired control panels, their uniforms stained with grease and soot. Sparks flew from welding torches as repairs were made to damaged support beams, the occasional burst of bright light illuminating the weary faces of those trying to put the base back together.

He passed a section where a team of workers was replacing a shattered viewport, their movements precise despite the weight of exhaustion hanging in the air. A Marine, helmet tucked under one arm, stood nearby, watching them with quiet focus. His other arm was wrapped in a makeshift sling, likely the result of an injury sustained in the fight. He caught sight of Prophet as he passed, offering a small nod of acknowledgement. Prophet returned it, saying nothing but understanding the silent exchange—a recognition of shared battle, of survival.

Further down the hall, a pair of ODSTs leaned against a stack of supply crates, their armor scuffed and dented, talking in low voices. One of them glanced up as Prophet walked by, his gaze lingering for a second before turning back to his companion. There was no hostility in the look, just the quiet curiosity that always followed Spartans when they were out of their armor.

The hum of machinery and the steady voices of workers formed a backdrop of controlled urgency, the base slowly being restored to full function. The war outside hadn't stopped, and neither had the people inside. They worked not because they had time, but because they had to. Every repair made, every system brought back online, was another chance to hold the line a little longer.

Prophet took it all in as he moved through the halls, his gaze sweeping over the repairs, the workers, the lingering signs of destruction. It was a reminder of how close they had come to losing Sword Base.

But for now, the battle was done. For now, there was a moment of stillness.

He was reminded by his stomach why he had left the barracks in the first place. His feet carried him toward the cafeteria, the distant hum of voices and clatter of utensils growing louder as he approached. The wide doors slid open with a hiss, and the scene before him was as familiar as it was grounding. Long metal tables stretched across the room, filled with clusters of Marines, technicians, and a handful of other personnel. Some were eating quietly, lost in their own thoughts, while others laughed and joked in small groups. The smell of food hung in the air—stew, fresh bread, and something fried. It wasn't the kind of smell that made your mouth water, but it was warm, inviting.

Prophet moved to the serving line, tray in hand. He nodded silently to the staff as they filled his plate with the offerings—steaming stew, a thick slice of bread, and a small portion of fried chicken. At the end of the line, a server handed him a bottle of water, their eyes flicking briefly to the scar on his face before quickly looking away. He didn't mind.

Balancing the tray, Prophet scanned the room. Most of the tables were full, but near the corner of the cafeteria, an open spot caught his eye. He walked toward it with measured steps, weaving through the maze of soldiers and chairs until he reached the table. Setting his tray down with a muted clink, he slid onto the bench, the soft murmur of the room settling around him like a comforting blanket.

He ate slowly, the motions deliberate and unhurried. The stew was lukewarm, the bread a little tough, but it didn't matter. He had eaten worse—MREs that tasted like rubber, rations that barely counted as food. This was better. Real food, made by real hands. And the act of eating, of sitting in a room filled with people living their lives, was grounding.

Prophet leaned back slightly, letting his eyes wander. People-watching. It was a habit he had developed over the years, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly when. Maybe it started when he first joined the program, when his world was suddenly filled with people who looked at him differently. Or maybe it came later, when he realized how much those people mattered.

A Marine sitting a few tables over caught his eye. She was young—barely out of training, by the look of her—and she laughed loudly at something her friend said, her face lighting up in a way that made her seem invincible. Another group of technicians sat nearby, hunched over their trays as they argued about something—plasma conduits, by the sound of it. Their hands moved animatedly, bread and utensils forgotten as their debate grew more heated.

Further across the room, an older officer sat alone, his posture straight but his expression tired. He ate in silence, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him as though the weight of command hung heavy on his shoulders.

Prophet watched them all, his eyes moving from table to table, picking out the details. The way a Marine shifted nervously as he glanced at the scarred Spartan in the corner. The way two friends leaned into each other, laughing over some shared joke. The way someone else, sitting alone, poked at their food with a fork, lost in thought. Each person was a story, a life filled with moments that mattered—moments Prophet would never know but still felt connected to in some small way.

He took another bite of his stew, chewing thoughtfully as the room buzzed around him. This—this was what it was all about. It wasn't just about tactics and battles, about holding the line or destroying the enemy. It was about them. The people who filled these tables, who laughed and argued and worried about things far removed from plasma fire and energy swords. Watching them reminded him of what he was protecting, why he did what he did.

A voice cut through the low hum of the room, drawing his attention. A Marine had just walked in, his fatigues streaked with grime. He waved toward a group sitting near the center of the room, his grin wide as they called him over. The group made space for him, sliding trays and bottles aside to welcome him like a long-lost brother. He laughed as he sat, the sound carrying across the cafeteria.

Prophet allowed himself a small smile as he turned back to his food. It was rare, moments like this. Quiet, normal. The war always seemed far away in the cafeteria, even when it raged just outside the base. It wasn't peace, not really, but it was close enough.

He finished his meal slowly, savoring each bite more for the act than the taste. When his tray was empty, he sat back for a moment, his gaze lingering on the room. These people, these moments—they were why he fought. Not because they needed him to, but because they deserved a chance to sit in rooms like this and share meals with friends. A chance to laugh. A chance to live.

Prophet's quiet moment was interrupted by the sound of boots approaching his table. He didn't need to look up to know who it was—the confident, unhurried steps, the faint mechanical whirr of her cybernetic arm. Kat.

She slid onto the bench across from him without hesitation, setting down a steaming cup of coffee. Unlike most of the cafeteria's occupants, she didn't stare, didn't hesitate. She just sat like she belonged there, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Even out of her armor, wearing only standard-issue fatigues with the sleeves rolled up, Kat still carried herself with the same quiet confidence. She was lean but strong, the kind of build that spoke to a lifetime of training rather than brute strength. Her compact frame, built for speed and agility, made her deceptively quick both in thought and movement. The cybernetic arm, sleek and efficient, barely stood out against the rest of her—if anything, it only added to the presence she carried. Her short, dark hair was slightly tousled, like she hadn't bothered to do much with it after stepping off the battlefield, and her sharp blue eyes carried that familiar glint of mischief, always calculating, always a step ahead.

"Never thought I'd see the day," she said, smirking as she stirred her coffee.

Prophet glanced at her, brow slightly raised. "See what?"

Kat nodded toward his empty tray. "You. Sitting still. Eating real food. Thought Spartans ran on pure stubbornness."

Prophet exhaled through his nose, the closest thing to a chuckle. "Some of us still appreciate a decent meal."

Kat grinned. "Decent? Come on, you and I both know this stuff isn't exactly gourmet. Still, better than what we used to get."

Prophet shrugged. "Better than an MRE."

She scoffed, taking a sip of her coffee. "Low bar."

For a moment, they just sat there, the background hum of the cafeteria filling the silence. It was a rare sight, seeing her out of full gear, looking more relaxed than she ever did on the field.

"You look different," he said finally.

She arched a brow. "Because I'm not covered in two inches of titanium?"

"Something like that."

She smirked. "You're one to talk. It's weird seeing you without your helmet. Feels like I should be bracing for a fight or a mission briefing."

Prophet hummed, stretching his shoulders slightly. "Maybe I just wanted a quiet meal."

Kat's grin widened. "Yeah? How's that working out for you?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Not well."

She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her coffee cup slightly before setting it down. "Figured as much." Then, leaning back slightly, she gave him a pointed look. "I knew you were on Reach, you know. Just a matter of how long it'd take me to find you."

Prophet's gaze flicked to her, unreadable. "That so?"

Kat smirked, tilting her head. "You know me. I have a habit of looking through files I probably shouldn't."

That got an actual chuckle out of him—low, brief, but real. "Still getting yourself into trouble, huh?"

"Old habits," she said, feigning innocence as she took another sip of coffee. "You weren't exactly easy to track down. ONI's got you tucked away in places most people don't even know exist. If I hadn't dug a little deeper, I would've thought you were missing in action."

Prophet leaned back slightly, resting his hands on the table. "And what exactly did you find?"

Kat's eyes glinted with mischief. "Enough."

He shook his head, but there was no real reprimand in his expression. She'd always been like this—too smart for her own good, too curious to leave things alone.

Kat tapped her fingers against the side of her cup. "Figured I'd find you eventually. Just had to let the trail lead me here."

Prophet exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting back to the cafeteria. "And now that you have?"

Kat shrugged. "Now? Now I just wanted to see if you were still the same."

Prophet glanced at her, arching a brow. "And?"

She grinned. "Jury's still out."

For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet buzz of the room around them—the soft clatter of trays, the murmur of conversations, the warmth of something that almost felt normal.

Kat leaned forward slightly, her smirk softening just a fraction. "It's good to see you again, Elias."

Prophet met her gaze, giving the smallest of nods. "You too, Kat."

For a moment, there was just the quiet hum of the cafeteria around them, the distant murmur of voices, the rhythmic clatter of trays and utensils. Then, Kat's expression shifted—just a little, barely noticeable if you didn't know her. Her fingers tightened slightly around her coffee cup, her usual playful glint dulled by something heavier.

"I thought you were dead." Her voice was quieter now, lacking its usual sharp edge. Serious. Honest.

Prophet didn't look away. "I thought so too."

Kat exhaled sharply, leaning back as she dragged a hand through her short hair. "Damn it, Elias." She shook her head, staring down at the table for a moment before looking back at him. "You just disappeared. No word. No sign. One day you were there, the next—gone."

Prophet knew better than to explain. Not fully. There were things he couldn't say, things she already knew better than to ask. ONI had pulled him from the field, buried him in black ops so deep he may as well have been a ghost. And for a long time, that's exactly what he had been.

"I didn't have a choice," he said finally, his tone even. "You know how it is."

Kat scoffed, but there was no real bite in it. "Yeah, I know how it is." She stared at him for a long moment, eyes sharp, searching. "Still. You could've let someone know you were alive."

"I did what I had to," Prophet said simply.

Kat let out a breath, shaking her head again. "You always do." There was no anger in her voice, just something close to understanding—maybe even regret.

She went quiet for a moment, sipping her coffee as if trying to shake off whatever thoughts had crept in. Then, with a small smirk, she tilted her head. "You're still a bastard for not telling me, though."

Prophet huffed a quiet chuckle. "Figured you'd be more resourceful."

Kat rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I found out you were on Reach, didn't I?"

He gave a slow nod. "That you did."

She drummed her fingers against the table. "I should be giving you more hell for this."

"You should," he agreed.

Kat sighed, then gave him a look—half-amused, half-exasperated. "Guess I'll let it slide. This time."

"Generous of you."

"Don't get used to it," she shot back, but the weight between them had eased just a little.

They sat there in silence for a few moments, not awkward, not uncomfortable—just the kind of quiet that came when words weren't entirely necessary.

Then Kat spoke again, her voice softer this time. "I really am glad you're here, Elias."

Prophet met her gaze, his expression unreadable, but something in his posture eased, just slightly. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."

Kat tilted her head slightly, studying him again. Then, almost absently, she swirled the last of her coffee in the cup before setting it down with a quiet clink.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The cafeteria buzzed around them—Marines talking, the scrape of trays against metal tables, the occasional burst of laughter from a group a few tables over—but between them, there was nothing but silence.

Not the uncomfortable kind. Just the kind that came when there was too much to say and no rush to say it.

Her posture shifted, just slightly—shoulders rolling back, fingers tightening briefly against the table before she exhaled through her nose. It was subtle, something most wouldn't notice, but Prophet did. A shift from easy conversation to something heavier, something pressing.

"The Covenant finding Reach is practically a death sentence to the planet," she muttered, her voice losing its usual teasing edge. "The worst case. And you know what happens to a planet once it's found."

She looked past him, her gaze distant, lost in thought. The flickering overhead lights reflected in her sharp blue eyes, but they weren't really focused on anything in front of her.

"They don't just kill people," she continued, her tone quieter now, almost absent. "They erase them. Cities, history, everything. We fight, and for what? To slow them down?" She scoffed, shaking her head, but there was no humor in it. "No one's ever stopped them. Just delayed the inevitable."

She leaned forward slightly, her fingers tapping a slow rhythm against her cybernetic arm. "We've fought them for years, pushed them back, made them bleed where we could—but the moment they know where you are, it's just a countdown. They don't stop. They don't retreat. They don't negotiate."

Prophet didn't respond immediately. He let the weight of her words settle, knowing better than to offer empty reassurances. Kat wasn't looking for that, and even if she were, he wasn't the one to give it.

Finally, he nodded. "You're not wrong."

Her gaze flicked back to him, something sharp and assessing behind her eyes. Then, after a brief pause, she tilted her head slightly and asked, "So what are you doing here?"

"Hopefully? Change the outcome."

Kat arched a brow, skepticism flashing across her face. "That's optimistic."

"Maybe." Prophet gave a small shrug. "But it's why I'm here."

Kat studied him, her fingers tapping idly against the table again. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

Prophet leaned back slightly, his posture still relaxed but his tone firmer. "By working closely with Noble Team."

Her brow furrowed, and for a second, she looked like she was running calculations in her head, piecing together everything she knew. Then, something flickered across her face—realization, curiosity, maybe even a little excitement.

"Wait—you're joining Noble?"

Prophet smirked faintly, shaking his head. "No. But I'll be close by."

The brief excitement faded slightly, but she didn't look disappointed. Just thoughtful. "Close enough to matter?"

"Close enough," he confirmed.

Kat let out a slow breath, nodding slightly. "Good."

Prophet arched a brow slightly. "That it?"

"For now." She grabbed her cup, tilting it toward him before finishing off the last of her coffee. "But I'll be keeping an eye on you, Elias. So don't go vanishing on me again."

Prophet allowed himself the faintest of smiles. "No promises."

Kat huffed, shaking her head as she stood. "Figures." She tossed the empty cup into the disposal bin nearby and stretched, rolling her shoulders before glancing back at him. "I need to get back to Noble, but… it's good knowing you'll be around."

She paused for a moment, then reached into her fatigues and pulled out a small data chip. She flicked it toward him with a precise movement, and Prophet caught it effortlessly between his fingers.

"Encrypted channel," she said. "Direct to me. No ONI filters, no middlemen. If you need to reach me, use it."

Prophet glanced down at the chip, then back up at her. "Didn't think you'd make it that easy."

Kat smirked. "I didn't. You try using it for anything other than what it's meant for, and it'll wipe itself clean."

He turned the chip over between his fingers before tucking it into one of the small pockets on his fatigues. "Noted."

Kat gave him one last look, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she nodded. "See you around, Elias."

As Kat turned to leave, Prophet pushed his tray aside and stood, adjusting his posture slightly. But he had one more thing to say.

"Kat," he called after her, keeping his voice low enough to not draw attention. She paused mid-step, glancing over her shoulder with a raised brow.

He walked up beside her, matching her pace as they made their way toward the exit. "Let Carter know I want to set up a meeting with Noble Team soon."

Kat gave him a sidelong glance, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. "Look at you, all professional."

Prophet exhaled through his nose. "Figured it'd be better than showing up unannounced."

Kat chuckled, nodding. "Yeah, Carter would probably appreciate that. I'll pass it along."

They stepped through the cafeteria doors, the noise of the room fading behind them as they entered the quieter corridors of Sword Base. They walked side by side for a few moments, neither speaking, but the silence was comfortable.

As they reached a junction where their paths would diverge, Kat slowed her steps. "Guess I'll see you soon, then."

Prophet gave a small nod. "Yeah. Soon."

He started to turn, but before he could take more than two steps, Kat grabbed him by the arm, spinning him back around. Before he could react, she pulled him in, pressing her lips against his in a fierce, unrelenting kiss. It wasn't careful, wasn't tentative—just raw, driven by frustration, relief, and something deeper she wasn't saying out loud.

When she finally pulled back, her blue eyes locked onto his, sharp and unyielding. "Elias," she murmured, her voice low, dangerous. "If you ever go without telling me again, I will break every limb in your body."

Prophet blinked, barely phased, but there was something unreadable in his expression. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I missed you too."

Kat huffed, shoving his shoulder lightly before stepping back. "Good."

Before Prophet could react, she suddenly drove her fist into his stomach—not hard enough to do real damage, but enough that he felt it through his fatigues.

"And that's for not saying anything," she said, smirking as she withdrew her hand.

Prophet barely moved, only exhaling slightly at the impact. He gave her a flat look, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Fair."

Kat just huffed again, rolling her shoulders before turning on her heel and walking away, disappearing down the hall without looking back.

Prophet watched until she disappeared around the corner, her confident stride never breaking, her presence fading into the steady hum of activity within Sword Base. His expression remained unreadable, but his thoughts lingered long after she was gone.

Kat.

They had come up together—Beta Company. The second generation of Spartans, trained from childhood, built for war before they even understood what war really was. He remembered the drills, the relentless training, the constant pressure to be better, to be stronger. They had been raised in fire, forged into something unbreakable, or so they had been told.

And Kat… she had always been the smartest in the room. Always thinking three steps ahead, always watching, analyzing, pulling at the edges of problems until they unraveled in her hands. While the rest of them were being shaped into weapons, Kat had been sharpening her mind just as much as her combat skills. Even back then, she questioned things in ways the rest of them didn't. She never disobeyed outright—not when it counted—but she thought about things. That made her dangerous.

Maybe that's why ONI had taken notice of both of them.

Prophet exhaled slowly, starting down the hallway in the opposite direction. He and Kat had been two of the few from Beta Company that ONI had pulled aside, marked for bigger things. At the time, it had felt like a reward. They had survived the impossible—while the rest of Beta was being sent to die on suicide missions, the two of them had been pulled into the black.

But that didn't mean they stayed together.

ONI had their own plans, and those plans rarely cared about personal connections. They had been deployed to different places, assigned to different objectives, operating in different shadows. Sometimes, their paths ran parallel, but more often than not, they didn't.

The rare times they did work together, though? It was like slipping back into something familiar. Missions that barely left a trace on any official records. Covert operations where one wrong move meant never coming back. He could count the times on one hand—classified assignments that sent them deep into Covenant-controlled space, where Kat's mind and Prophet's precision made them an unstoppable force.

They had worked in sync without needing to say much, just like in Beta. Kat always found the angles, the exploits, the weaknesses no one else saw. Prophet always made sure the job got done, clean and efficient.

But those moments were fleeting.

More often than not, they were just names buried in ONI reports, glances at mission briefings, the occasional intercepted transmission that let them know the other was still out there, still breathing. There had never been time for more than that. And then, after the artifact—after him—even those moments disappeared.

ONI had sealed his fate the moment he came out of that coma. A classified anomaly. A strategic asset that couldn't be wasted, but couldn't be trusted either. His fate had been locked in the second he started seeing things—events that hadn't happened yet, moments from the future bleeding into his present.

ONI had made sure that whatever life he had before? It was over.

A ghost.

For a long time, he had been just that. Moving from one classified operation to the next, never staying long enough to be remembered, never reconnecting with the past he had left behind. But he had never forgotten Kat. Never forgotten Beta Company.

And he sure as hell never forgot the ones who didn't make it.

Operation: TORPEDO.

Prophet hadn't been there, but he had read the files. He had seen the casualty lists, the mission reports, the cold numbers that didn't even begin to capture the horror of it. Three hundred Spartans sent in, and only two had walked away.

Three hundred.

The brass had deemed it a necessary sacrifice—an acceptable cost for crippling a Covenant refinery. He had read the justifications, the strategic assessments, the after-action reports filled with detached military terminology. But buried between the lines was the truth: they had sent them to die.

And he hadn't been there.

That part ate at him. No matter how much time had passed, no matter how many operations ONI had buried him in, he couldn't shake the thought that if he had been deployed with them, maybe—just maybe—things would have gone differently. Maybe he could have done something.

He had survived, but at what cost?

Prophet exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing the memories back where they belonged. No point in dragging ghosts to the surface. The past was set. Nothing could change what happened on Pegasi Delta.

But that didn't mean he had forgotten.

It didn't mean he ever would.

His boots echoed softly against the floor as he continued walking, the halls of Sword Base stretching ahead. Seeing Kat again, working with her again—it stirred something in him that had been quiet for too long.

This time, he wasn't disappearing. Not again.

AN: Another chapter, Took me a bit to write this and figure out how I wanted Prophet's/Elias first meeting with Kat to go. I think I'm happy enough with it. Let me know if you see any mistakes in the writing or errors! Thanks for reading!