"Our fate is not sealed. With the proper will, and enough force, it can be rewritten." -Death of Fate


Meren had never been on board a Ketch - or not a proper one, at any rate. The gutted hull that housed the Vestian Outpost and the fragmented modules that had been incorporated into the Prison of Elders' construction, while interesting, were little more than shades of the technological and cultural wonders they'd once been. To compare them to the grandeur of a fully-functioning Ketch would have been like comparing the tumbledown ruins scattering the EDZ to the magnificent Golden Age cities that had once stood in their stead.

And so it was, perched on one of the bridge's peripheral observation decks, her fingers wrapped tightly around the guard rail that separated her from the drop to the main deck below, that Meren found herself struck with an awe she hadn't felt since...maybe ever.

Her eyes drank in the sights, from the sweeping, slitted viewport spanning the bridge's forward bulkhead, to the clusters of blinking terminals and monitors flanking its peripheries, to the vaulted ceilings arching high above her head. Everywhere she looked, some piece of intriguing alien technology caught her attention. It was overwhelming. Exhilarating. And this was just the bridge! One small subsection of a vessel capable of ferrying thousands of Eliksni through the void between stars.

She'd glimpsed more of the Spider's Ketch on the way in, after her Eliksni escorts had transmatted her aboard. And from what she'd seen so far, the rest of the vessel was every bit as astonishing as what she'd encountered on the bridge. Each hall she'd traversed and chamber she'd passed through housed its own technological marvels that, though likely constructed millenia ago, far surpassed anything humanity had managed since. The scale alone of some of the interior spaces she'd spied boggled the mind. Even the smell of the place - all hot wiring, ozone, and the faint but distinct tang of Ether - captivated her.

Everything was more incredible than she could have possibly imagined.

…In her purely academic ruminations, of course.

Still, for all the starship's allure, Meren did have one minor criticism: the hull. Or, rather, whatever they were attempting to do to it.

From her spot on the bridge, the prow stood out against the starry sky beyond the forward viewport like the point of a spear. But where it should have gleamed in muted earthen tones, its surface had been debrided down to bare grey alloy. That alone wouldn't have been so bad, Meren supposed. It was the garish gradient of neon pink-orange that was being slowly layered onto the front quarter of the vessel that was the issue.

At present, the colors bled together haphazardly, more resembling a child's attempt at abstract art than anything else. Were there...black stripes as well? Meren couldn't tell definitively from where she stood, but she suspected she was right.

Either way, the final product, should the paint job hold, promised to be an eyesore of epic proportions. No doubt the Kells of old would have the House of Silence up in arms if they could see what the Spider had done to their sacred craft.

The Spider's gaudy tastes aside, the fact remained that Meren stood aboard an operational Ketch. It was a milestone for her, academically speaking. And yet, the awe that had consumed her the moment she'd crossed the threshold onto the bridge was already fading. In its place, apprehension crept in.

Meren glanced down at her hands, still clasping the guard rail, her knuckles bleached of color. On the main deck below, Vynriis, Arrha, and a handful of other Eliksni - all kitted out in the Spider's spiny signature armor - milled around, chattering among themselves. Once the Pilot Servitor had locked in the Ketch's course, there wasn't much to do other than wait out the journey - barring complications. Still, if the crew below were in any way concerned about such, it didn't show in their easy conversation or the way they lounged against the consoles and displays they were supposed to be keeping an eye on.

Meren chewed on the inside of her cheek. As it stood, they would reach the Tangled Shore in just under an hour, give or take. At which point, she'd have to once again face the Spider, who she'd last seen glowering down from his throne in the wake of accepting the Queen's bargain. Only minutes before that, he'd had his claws around her neck, threatening her for a betrayal she'd never committed. The memory made her tense, even now.

As for what he wanted with her this time? Arrha and Vynriis had been mum on the details behind the Spider's forceful summons. Her suspicion, however, was that it had something to do with her unannounced departure from the Reef. No doubt, he'd discovered her absence by now and wasn't too happy that his 'business partner' had decided to take off without a word. She could practically picture his fuming.

Meren sighed, rubbing the heel of a palm against her eyes. She didn't have the energy for this. The days of poor sleep and even poorer nourishment were catching up to her, and fast. On top of that, she was filthy. Despite her reservoir bath, dust once again caked her face and limbs, and her hair, half undone from the once-neat bun, stuck to her neck in grimy tangles. She longed for the comforts of her apartment: a shower, a proper meal, her own bed.

But no. It was back to the Tangled Shore for her, to whatever reception the Spider had waiting.

Another sigh escaped her. She needed to think about something else. Otherwise, the next hour would be absolute torture. She cast about for some new object of interest that she might distract herself with. Her attention eventually settled back on the bridge's forward viewport. Beyond the massive pane of transparent alloy, the inky darkness of the cosmos spread out, pinpricked with a thousand points of light.

It took her back to those nights in the desert. All those hours spent atop a Pike, staring up at the stars, fantasizing about Cayde's impending rescue, or panicking over Chiisori's driving…

Chiisori.

The thought of the Captain filled her with a mix of emotions. On the one hand, he had been her captor, holding her against her will with the explicit intention of bringing her before Craask to be judged, possibly even killed. But on the other hand, he'd also spared her when he could have easily executed her himself. And the way he'd barked the order to stay hidden? Meren hadn't missed the concern that had threaded his voice.

The rest of the Kings, too. Kosis, and Drekhis, and Yriik. All the others. Her interactions with them had been brief and often strained. Even so, something about them stuck with her. Their camaraderie. Their pride. Their humor, however incomprehensible at times.

Meren's mind paused, brow furrowing. Was she seriously waxing sentimental about her abductors? Her tired mind had truly started going. Yet she couldn't help but wonder what would happen to the crew now.

Back on Earth, the Kings' clash with the Spider's lackeys hadn't lasted long - if one could even call it that. In reality, as she'd later managed to parse from what she'd overheard, the entire skirmish had consisted of a single discharge from the Ketch's forward canons for intimidation purposes, followed by the two opposing sides squaring off across the ridge, bristling and yelling but otherwise not doing anything more to escalate the confrontation.

To everyone's surprise, it had been the Spider's crew to first offer up ireliis. That alone had been what truly defused the stand-off, flabbergasting half of the parties involved. From the way Vynriis told it, the Kings had no choice but to accept the truce on principle, and once it had been established, both crews had begun a brief, yet heated exchange that, of course, Meren hadn't been privy to.

After the fact, her escorts had filled her in on the main points, which boiled down to negotiating her exoneration in return for...well, nothing. From what Meren had managed to drag out of Arrha, it sounded like the Spider's crew had recouped her on a clever technicality. Something about a House-claim on neutral territory she didn't fully grasp.

Whether it was the Kings' staunch adherence to honor that had bound them to that obscure, ancient tenet or the battery of Ketch canons trained squarely on their positions, Meren couldn't say. All she knew was that the Kings had not looked happy about it - Chiisori and the hulking Kellsguard, Iroskin, especially. Thankfully, as her new captors had marched her past them on their way back to the Ketch, their ire hadn't seemed to be directed at her. Their sullen scowls had been reserved solely for the Spider's band of miscreants.

Now, in hindsight, Meren couldn't help but feel a little bad for the Kings. Robbed of their captive, they'd be forced to return to Craask empty-handed. Their failure, no doubt, would come with repercussions. The thought weighed on her more than she'd expected it to.

Would they be docked for the loss of their prize? Forced onto the front lines of some senseless skirmish with the Devils? It wasn't unheard of for Kells to dole out extravagant punishments to crews that had disappointed them. With Craask, though, who could say?

Best not to dwell on it.

Meren straightened up from the railing, forcing herself to let the subject lie. She had enough on her plate without worrying about the fate of a band of Eliksni she barely knew.

On a more positive note, at least her situation had become marginally less dire. While still technically a captive, the Spider was a known quantity. So long as she played along with his whims, things would work out alright. Probably. Then, with any luck, he'd see fit to let her return to the City, and she'd be free from this saga of Eliksni entanglements once and for all.

The thought alone brought a small but welcome wave of relief. The City - home. Soon, she'd be home. And then, she'd sleep. For a day, at least. Maybe two.

Once that was out of the way, the first thing she would do was call Hiro because, oh, the stories she had to tell! He'd be horrified, no doubt, and rightfully so. Still, he'd want to know every excruciating detail - he was consistently nosy like that. Afterward, she'd have to jot down everything while it was fresh. All of it would make a fine tale for her journal.

Or better yet, a book. The more incriminating bits redacted, naturally.

In the meantime, there was nothing to do but wait out the last leg of their journey to the Tangled Shore. She returned to the viewport, the stars stretching out endlessly before them. Leaning against the railing, she lost herself to the quiet thrum of the bridge, content to stare out at the cosmos, trying not to think too hard about what was to come.


Within the hour, the Ketch was docking alongside a massive asteroid anchored on the fringes of the Tangled Shore. From her perch on the bridge, Meren watched, rapt, as the Spider's crew made quick work of securing their vessel, deploying massive mechanical claws from the bow that latched onto the asteroid like grapples. A series of grinding whines echoed throughout the ship as the anchor cables retracted, slowly dragging the Ketch into the shadow of its quay.

The process, for all its noise, went off without a hitch. Meren counted two minutes, maybe three, before the final thuds and clunks from the mooring deployment ceased altogether. An announcement followed, rattled off in Eliksni over the Ketch's internal comms system. Docking sequence complete.

"The Professor, it is time."

The call pulled Meren out of her thoughts, and she looked down to see Arrha peering up at her from the lower deck, waving two of his arms in her general direction. Behind him, the rest of the bridge crew were in motion, initiating standby protocols on the consoles, running maintenance checks, or making for the exit, intent on vacating the bridge.

Arrha gestured once more at Meren, indicating she should follow. "The Spider waits."

"Right, right," Meren muttered.

She cast one last lingering glance at the viewport, her eyes searching the field of asteroids and Golden Age detritus that now filled its frame. Somewhere among all that junk lay the Spider's safehouse, hidden away within a gutted chunk of space rock. That's where they'd be headed.

With a heavy exhale, she tore her eyes from the viewport and forced herself off the railing. No point in prolonging the inevitable. With that thought in mind, Meren moved, clambering down the access ladder and onto the main deck.

"Lead the way," she told the gaggle of Eliksni awaiting her.

Her escort comprised a half-dozen individuals, with Arrha and Vynriis flanking her, while the remaining four fell in behind. Like a spined security detail, they whisked her from the bridge to a cargo lift, then off into one of the ship's arterial corridors, a high-ceilinged thoroughfare that ran the length of the Ketch's axis. From there, it was a direct shot to the primary docking bay and a waiting short-distance transit shuttle.

They were off the Ketch in minutes, darting from the cavernous bay into the dark and harrowing expanse of the Tangled Shore. The gaping maw of a hangar carved into a massive asteroid soon loomed before them, a single scrawled arachnid symbol beckoning them inside. The Spider's insignia, Meren knew all too well. The very same adorned the cloak he'd given her, which was currently stuffed in the bottom of a closet back in her apartment, safely out of sight from visitors' inquisitive eyes.

In less time than it took for her to process the thought, the shuttle was banking into the hangar, skimming past a collection of docked single-occupant Eliksni craft, towering piles of crates and shipping containers, and what looked suspiciously like a decommissioned Glimmer drill rig, of all things, before touching down on the opposite side of the bay. The shuttle's thrusters had barely begun to cycle down before Arrha and Vynriis had moved from their seats, engaging the latch to lower the craft's boarding ramp.

"This way, the Professor!" Arrha trilled, already moving off.

Meren followed them down the ramp but at a far more sedate pace, glancing about as she did. The interior of the hanger was just as she remembered - a sprawling cavern of bare, jagged stone, illuminated by banks of yellow work lights hanging from the ceiling and crowded with random stacks of cargo containing Traveler-knows-what. Not to be missed was the Eliksni foot traffic weaving between it all, loading and unloading crates from transports, hooking conduits to the vessels for fuel cell recharge, or simply ambling along on personal errands.

And yet, an out-of-place figure caught her eye. Amidst the bustle of Eliksni, a broad-shouldered Titan in black and silver armor stood sentry against the far wall, arms folded over his chest. A helmet sporting a pair of menacing recurved horns hid his face from view, but it wasn't the helmet that drew her eye or the dark ruff of fur sprouting from the neckline of his cuirass. Rather, the mark that hung from his hip, bearing an identical insignia to the one adorning her cloak.

The Spider had employed some Guardian muscle, it seemed.

Meren tore her gaze from the Titan, not wanting to linger in case his gaze might drift towards hers. Even if he was being paid off by the Spider, that didn't mean he didn't still retain some allegiance to the Vanguard. The last thing she needed was word to make it back to Zavala and Ikora that not only was she outside of the City walls, but also that she was hobnobbing with Eliksni in the wake of her suspension.

Forcing herself to put the Guardian from her mind, Meren ducked out from beneath the shuttle after Arrha. A few moments later, she and her retinue were through the hanger, passing the threshold of an armored door into a craggy labyrinthine corridor. There, the lighting dimmed significantly, and the atmosphere grew thick, a musty sort of mineral smell permeating the stagnant air. The path wound on ahead of them, twisting deep into the heart of the asteroid.

"Not too far now, the Professor," came Arrha's voice as the Vandal rounded a corner.

A deep ache flared in Meren's jaw, and she realized she'd been grinding her teeth. "Oh, good," she replied.

True to Arrha's word, they weren't long in arriving at the Spider's audience chamber. One more turn in the winding hallway, and then there it was, a reinforced blast door standing sentry at the corridor's end. Meren couldn't help the frown that crossed her features.

Arrha must have caught her expression. His mandibles worked briefly beneath his mask, and then he said, in his usual light way, "You should smile, the Professor. I have heard it can improve one's disposition."

The remark almost startled a laugh out of Meren. Instead, a weary snort escaped her as her entourage closed around her.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied.

With that, two of the Eliksni flanking her stepped forward and activated the door's controls. There was the heavy clunk of locking mechanisms disengaging, followed by the scrape of metal on metal as the blast door rumbled open.

A gust of dank, Ether-tinged air swept over Meren as Arrha and Vynriis urged her forward. The next moment, she was through the door into the chamber proper.

Like the hangar, the audience chamber was much as she remembered: a claustrophobic hole in the asteroid carved by mining equipment long ago, now decked out with swaths of dull green tapestry and cluttered with Eliksni caches. At its center hung a throne made of scrap and salvage. And seated atop the monstrosity, slouched in his typical repose, was the Spider.

The second Meren set foot in the room, he pushed himself up into a seated position, shifting his massive bulk in the chair's confines. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn he was trying to make a good first impression.

"Welcome back, Professor!" came the booming baritone of his voice. He shifted once more, leaning forward, three arms gripping the arms of the chair. Another arm swept out towards her in what almost looked like a magnanimous gesture. "It's been a while."

Meren didn't miss the grin that had crept into his words. But she couldn't decide what unnerved her more: the Spider's odd posturing or his even odder jovial tone. Either way, she did not share his apparent enthusiasm.

"Look at you," he continued, "all dressed up for our long-awaited reunion. Really embracing the Wolf-Killer aesthetic, eh?" He cackled at his own quip.

Meren, on the other hand, did not laugh. Nor did her expression shift from the pinched, thin-lipped stare she was currently leveling at him.

The Spider, seemingly oblivious to her dour disposition, plowed ahead, the grin in his voice only growing more pronounced. "I must say the mud and tattered cloak really complete the ensemble."

Still, Meren didn't acknowledge his humor, even when the ever-pleasant Arrha sniggered at the remark. She simply took the last few steps up to the base of the Spider's throne. Stopped. Looked up.

"What do you want, Spider?" she deadpanned.

It was rude. She knew that. Yet Meren couldn't have cared less; she'd had quite enough of Eliksni toting her around the system with no regard for her person, thank you very much.

Her brashness seemed to catch the Spider off guard. "Whatever happened to 'Baron'?" he gasped, looking visibly taken aback. His tone, however, made it clear it was more overdramatized pearl-clutching than anything else. "Has our friendship so quickly, ah, 'fallen by the wayside,' as you humans say?"

Meren sighed. "What do you want, Baron?"

The Spider's exaggerated offense eased. "That's more like it," he grunted. "As for what I want, well, why don't we start by discussing your recent travels?" He paused for a fraction of a second, his voice darkening slightly. "Because I don't seem to remember giving you permission to take an…unannounced holiday."

There it was.

Meren crossed her arms, meeting the Spider's gaze dead-on. "I went back home to the City. Is there something wrong with that?"

The Spider scoffed at her reply, one set of claws drumming idly against the arm of his chair. "Thought you could wriggle your way out of the Spider's web, did you? Thought I'd be none the wiser? Ha! Fat chance of that, my friend." The drumming ceased, and his hand settled. "You don't get to be where I am without a few informants, you know."

"Look," she sighed, "It wasn't up to me, alright? The Vanguard decided to recall all personnel from the Reef last minute. No warning. Just back to the City on the next available ship."

The Spider leaned forward, interest glinting in his eyes. "And why is that, I wonder?"

"No idea."

"Hmph." He slumped back into the depths of his seat. He looked unimpressed. "Well, no matter. These sorts of things have a way of... coming to light, shall we say, when one has access to the right channels."

Meren stared back, hard. It wasn't like him to drop a subject so easily. Something wasn't adding up.

"In the meantime..." The Spider turned his attention to inspect the claws of one of his right hands, a bored affect in his voice. "Safe to say, me and my boys are glad to have you back in the Reef. Things just aren't the same without the Professor here to keep us on our toes. Right, Arrha?"

He flicked one claw in Arrha's direction, prompting an "It is true, the Spider!" from the Vandal.

A slow smirk crept into the Spider's eyes. "There, you see? Arrha knows. Besides," he drawled, "those stuffy City bureaucrats and their Guardian lapdogs don't know how to appreciate an asset like yourself. No, you, my dear Professor, deserve better than that rabble. A place where your talents can truly flourish."

Meren's jaw had begun to ache again. She forced herself to unclench her teeth and willed herself to speak.

"Cut the bullshit, Spider. Just tell me what you want from me."

"Ah, straight to business. I like that." The Spider settled further back in his chair, his arms folding over his belly. "And here I was, worried that the House of Kings had quashed my Wolf-Killer's entrepreneurial spirit."

The words suddenly rerouted her train of thought.

"Oh, speaking of." Meren held up a finger, forestalling his next words. "Did you seriously tell your... minions that I sliced a Skiff in two with my mind?! Because the Kings seemed to think-"

A sudden burst of raucous laughter drowned out the rest of her words. The Spider had thrown back his head and was howling, clutching his middle with all four arms. It was a toss-up whether the outburst was a confirmation of his involvement or simply a response to the absurdity of the claim itself. Either way, it only irked Meren more.

After carrying on for an irritating handful of seconds, the Spider, at last, managed to reign in his mirth, wiping an imaginary tear from two of his eyes. "Pah, those Earth Houses will believe anything. It's a wonder they haven't gone extinct already."

"Okay, well, they're not," Meren grumbled, "and your stupid joke nearly got me dragged before a Kell to answer for imaginary crimes against Eliksnikind!"

The Spider waved a hand dismissively, still chuckling. "Craask. Feh. The old relic's more talk than action these days. Hasn't left his hole in decades, from what I hear. No wonder his House is floundering."

His disregard rankled Meren to no end. To insinuate that Craask was no concern, as if her entire ordeal were simply a minor inconvenience? He had no idea.

She had to force herself to keep her tone level. "That doesn't change the fact that one of his lieutenants was dead set on running me through with a shock blade, if not for the most tenuous ireliis in the history of Sol! Who knows how that would have held up with Craask."

"Bah, Twilight Gap truly put the last of the Kings' sense of humor in the grave - what little they had to begin with," the Spider snorted. "Ah, well. My boys got you back to me safe and sound, didn't they?"

Safe, yes. Sound was debatable. Meren couldn't even begin to imagine how many scrapes and bruises lay beneath the grimy layers of her gear. Her whole body throbbed in protest just from the thought alone. She didn't feel the need to correct him, however.

"So, what?" she demanded instead. "Did you drag me all the way here just to lecture me on leaving the Reef without telling you first? Or is this supposed to be your idea of a heroic rescue?" She jerked a thumb at her retinue of escorts. "Swooping in and pulling me from the Kings' clutches like some...I don't know. Some hero from a pre-Golden Age adventure novel."

Suddenly, the Spider was pitching forward in his chair, a grin creeping back into his eyes.

"Oh, my naive friend. Altruism doesn't pay!" His tone shifted, a businesslike edge to it now. "No, just so happens someone made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Retrieving you from the Kings was simply my half of the deal."

Meren couldn't believe what she was hearing. His half of a deal?

"Hold on," she interjected, indignant. "You're using me as leverage?! Is that all I am? A- a bargaining chip?"

"Business is business, and you, my delightful Professor, are quite the hot commodity."

A commodity. He'd called her a commodity."You have got to be shitt-"

"Ah, the law of commerce," the Spider interrupted, not seeming to have heard her, or to care that she was fuming. "Supply and demand. Such an elegant system. Your...what is it, academy? That institution of yours back on Earth. It lectures on the topic, I presume?"

"I'm not an economist," Meren bristled.

The Spider ignored her, continuing his musings, "The concept is simple. One supplies a product, while the customer demands that product. Of course, the same applies here as it does in any market, with one key difference. Here, you see, I am the supply, and I make the demands."

Meren made a face. "Fairly sure that's not how market economies work."

He had the nerve to chuckle. The nerve!

"It works however I say it works," growled the Spider. "Now, concerning this transaction..."

"You're mad. I can't believe-"

He waved a hand. "Don't act so offended, Professor. We both know your value. Rest assured, my client has offered quite the incentive to retrieve you."

If anything, the Spider's statement made Meren more offended. Not only was he using her like some piece of salvage to be dragged back to his den and resold, but he was regaling her with the details like she should be proud of how much he'd profited off of her.

"Yeah?" she scoffed, arms crossing again. "And to whom, might I ask, did you pawn me off? If you sold me back to the Vanguard..."

Her words died as a dark chuckle rumbled from the Spider's throat, his gaze boring down at her from on high.

"It's in poor taste to divulge one's client," he said, "but, seeing as how this deal concerns you..." His eyes glinted in the half-light of his chambers. "Why don't I let him speak for himself?"

With a lazy flip of a hand, the Spider motioned to Arrha and the others, who had remained quiet and watchful throughout the entire exchange.

"Show him in."

A quick nod from Arrha, and the two Eliksni nearest the door moved to activate the controls. Meren's shoulders tensed at the sound of mechanisms grinding anew as the blast door cycled open. In the next moment, Arrha, Vynriis, and the remaining guards were filtering out of the audience chamber, passing a figure silhouetted against the corridor lights beyond. Meren could make out little other than the lanky form of an Eliksni draped in a bannerless grey cloak.

The newcomer stepped over the threshold into the glow of the audience chamber's lighting. The cowl of his cloak had been pulled up, concealing the upper half of his face. His mask, however, was exposed. A standard-issue Eliksni rebreather. The type that was distributed to House crews the system over, indistinguishable from any of ten thousand others. And yet...

Something about the way the stranger carried himself struck her. His steps, a measured, deliberate march towards the throne, seemed at odds with his hunched frame and slight stature. At the same time, there was the ghost of a limp to his gait, almost unnoticeable unless one were to be looking for it. An old wound sustained centuries ago during the Drift, perhaps?

It was just short of the Spider's throne that the figure came to a halt. His hands moved from beneath his cloak, long, gloved fingers twining neatly before his middle. Then he lifted his chin, fixing her with those arcblue eyes.

The shock of recognition was instantaneous.

Even stripped of his distinctive helm and the ventail of interwoven rings that shrouded the lower half of his face, there was no mistaking it. Meren knew those eyes. She'd peered into them on countless occasions. She'd watched them glitter with mirth, or narrow with annoyance. She'd felt the heat of them rake across her skin in a moment of passion.

"Variks," she breathed.

His only response was a slight inclination of his head in her direction, a gesture so reserved and formal it might as well have been their first meeting. His eyes, though, spoke otherwise. They locked with hers and held, filled with an intensity that made the room feel a few degrees warmer all of a sudden.

Meren, for her part, had frozen where she stood, staring. Never mind that she probably looked like an idiot - a slack-jawed, wide-eyed idiot. One of the last people she had expected to see, and yet there he was, standing a mere meter away. It felt like a hallucination. Some side effect of days of poor sleep and nutrition manifesting in the form of a vivid Variks mirage.

Meren swallowed hard, hoping to quell the flutter that had ignited in the pit of her stomach. No luck. The feeling fluttered on, heedless of her will.

Meren wasn't sure how long she and Variks had been standing there, staring at one another like fools, when the Spider interrupted the moment.

"Eugh," he shuddered, blatantly loud. "Truly disgusting." He shook himself as if ridding himself of an unpleasant thought. "The things I have to put up with in this business. Just look at you two. All..." He waved a hand as if to summon the correct descriptor out of the air, but it never came. "Bah."

The Spider's commentary had been enough to draw Meren's attention away from Variks. The Spider, predictably, was eyeing them both, wearing an expression that was equal parts repulsed and bemused.

"Disgusting," he repeated with another shudder for good measure, which gave way to an exasperated huff. "Alas, I can't say I'm surprised, Professor, knowing your tendencies. But you, Variks." He turned a claw on the Scribe, his voice taking on an edge of wry amusement. "My, my! Now, this is, dare I say, scandalous."

Meren noticed Variks appeared entirely unimpressed with the Spider's mockery. His head had turned to face the Spider's throne, fixing the larger Eliksni with a pointed look. Then, suddenly, he was spouting off something in the High Speak of Judgement. His voice was calm yet authoritative, the sonorous words rolling off his tongue with a gravitas befitting his station.

In theory, Meren should have understood. The High Speak wasn't too far removed from standard Eliksni. Just a novel set of verb conjugations, some variance on particle usage, with the added twist of honorific modifiers tacked onto certain nouns. The cadence of it was somewhat different, too. There was less emphasis on the sibilants, the vowels stretched into melodious drawls and dips, and the syllables were lilting rather than clipped like its common counterpart. What resulted was a tongue both elegant and intimidating in equal measure.

Unfortunately, Variks spoke too quickly for Meren to keep up. All she caught was something about "projection," "personal vices," and a "Calamity," though the last word hadn't come out in Eliksni. It must have been a proper noun, like the name of a ship or a place. It could have been a person, too, she supposed.

Whatever Variks had said, it made the Spider sit up straighter in his chair, a hand dramatically flying to his chest. "You wouldn't dare!" he bit back in a voice thick with mock scandal.

A shrug was the extent of Variks' reply.

It was difficult to imagine someone of Variks' stature daring such a flippant attitude with the likes of the Spider, especially while they stood in the latter's audience chamber. Then again, the two likely had centuries of shared history from their time with the House of Wolves. More than a few of the House's young had grown up under Variks' tutelage during those days. If the Spider was among them, that might explain how Variks could get away with being so impertinent.

That, or Variks was simply too valuable an ally to squander, and he knew it.

A snort from the Spider sent a plume of Ether curling from his rebreather. He sank back in his seat once more, all the dramatic pretense falling out of him.

"Someone's gonna cut out that snide tongue of yours someday, Variks," he growled. "And you best believe I plan to have a front-row seat when they do. Maybe the Professor here will even join me."

Variks looked unfazed. "It will be quite the occasion, I am certain," he replied dryly.

The Spider made a disgruntled sound and waved him off, signaling an end to the exchange. Variks took it as his cue. He turned his attention back to Meren, his demeanor shifting to a token formality. Like she was a mere acquaintance, nothing more.

"Professor Hale," he purred, the velvet rasp of his voice more overplayed than Meren cared for. "My apologies for our abrupt intervention. I assure, these actions were taken only out of an excess of concern for your well-being."

"Speak for yourself," the Spider grumbled from his throne.

Variks didn't miss a beat, continuing in that same smooth tone, "What Spider means to say is that the loss of a talented individual, such as yourself, would be terrible misfortune. One we wish to avoid."

Meren didn't even get a chance to respond before the Spider was cutting in again.

"Talented?" He had the gall to scoff. "Spare me. All she's talented at is wasting my resources and time. Sending a Ketch to ferry her back and forth across the system isn't cheap, you know."

"Of course not," said Variks, the Spider's comment finally drawing his full attention. "But the agreed upon compensation was sufficient, no?"

"The next time she decides to entertain her hostage fantasies, it'll cost triple," the Spider huffed. "I'm not running a charity here."

That earned him a withering look from Variks. "Triple."

"You heard me," said the Spider, unmoved. "She's been a thorn in my side since you offloaded her onto me, Variks. You should have listened to what I told you from the start. She's more trouble than she's worth."

At that point, Meren piped up.

"I'm right here." The words came out flat and annoyed.

Her input seemed to stall the Spider. An opportunity that Variks promptly seized.

He took a step past Meren, spreading his palms as he spoke. "Such unkind words, Spider. Where are your manners?"

"Don't patronize me, you decrepit old bastard," the Spider fired back, stabbing a claw at the smaller Eliksni.

At first glance, Variks appeared to take the insult in stride, but Meren didn't miss the flicker of annoyance that crossed his eyes. It was gone just as quickly, replaced with an aloof mask as he replied, "And yet one of us stands while the other lounges in his chair." He chuffed. "Decrepit, indeed."

The Spider's inner eyes narrowed. "Don't push it."

That was the end of it. No sly retort from Variks, just a detached hum as he stepped back, putting himself level with Meren. His posture straightened, hands once again twining neatly before him.

"Now then," he began. "If we have concluded with requisite pleasantries, Professor Hale and I shall take our leave. I am certain she is eager to be free of your brand of hospitality."

Despite Variks' restraint only seconds ago, he apparently couldn't resist a parting shot. Unsurprisingly, it didn't fail to get a rise out of the Spider.

"As if yours is any better!"

Meren saw Variks' eyes force a smile beneath his cowl. "You are welcome to visit the prison whenever you like, Spider," he offered. "One such as yourself would be treated as a most distinguished guest." A note of guile crept into his voice. "Allow Variks to, ah, 'show you around,' as they say. A personal tour, yes?"

"I'll pass," the Spider grunted. "Now, get out of here - you're a liability! Both of you!"

Meren was all too happy to oblige. Better to face the inevitable awkwardness that awaited her beyond the chamber's doors than to spend a moment longer listening to the Spider's pontificating.

Variks, too, seemed more than ready to leave. Still, he graced the Spider with a sweep of his arms and a not-quite-bow.

"A pleasure as always, Spider."

And then he was moving, the billow of his cloak fanning behind him as he spun and started towards the door. Meren wasn't far behind.

They'd nearly reached the door when the Spider's voice called out once more.

"She's mine, Variks," he said, prompting a pause before the threshold. "Remember that. Mine!"

Meren glanced over her shoulder, but Variks kept his back to the throne, his posture still.

"Ah, but of course."

"And Professor." Somehow, the Spider had still more to say. "Keep in touch, won't you? I'd hate for another lapse to put… unnecessary strain on our partnership."

Meren was already turning away, heading out the door. "Of course, Baron," she answered.

With that, Variks followed her out into the empty corridor. A second later, and the door cycled shut behind them, closing the two off from the Spider's presence.

Yet no sooner had the mechanical click of the locking mechanism signaled their privacy than Variks was wheeling on her, a hand darting to her shoulder, halting her mid-step.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded.

His facade had dissolved in an instant. Where there had been an air of indifference, there was now concern. Meren could see it in his eyes as they flicked to her face, over her grimy frame, and back.

"I- no," she stammered.

The grip on her shoulder tightened. "The Kings, did they lay a claw on you? Anywhere? Tell me!"

"What? No!"

Meren was dumbstruck. The sudden change in his demeanor. The vehemence behind his words. She couldn't recall ever seeing Variks so frazzled. Not even when Kotoc had tried to turn her mind into mush all those months ago.

"No," she repeated. "I'm fine."

Gradually, his grip on her shoulder relaxed, and a hissing sigh gave way to a slow shake of his head. His hand fell away.

"What were you thinking?" His voice sounded almost pained. "Do you understand the danger you put yourself in?"

The words stung despite their softness, and Meren suddenly found she couldn't meet his eyes.

"Well, it wasn't exactly intentional. More of a wrong place, wrong time situation," she mumbled. "But I had it under control, alright? I would have been fine."

A beat, and then. "Always the hatchling," Variks hissed in frustrated Eliksni, a few more near-unintelligible words slipping out before he seemingly regained his grasp on human language. "Is this truly what you believe? Look at me."

Meren did. And instantly regretted it.

The worry that had shone through moments ago was gone. Instead, she was met with a gaze that was cold and hard. Disappointed. Any lingering fight went out of her in an instant.

"You are reckless," he said.

The words were nothing compared to the look on his face, but even so, they left her feeling small and foolish.

Her only defense was to repeat herself. This time, with less conviction. "I would have been fine-"

"No," Variks cut her off, a frustrated hand coming up between them. "No more. This is not the place. Go." He gestured to the hall ahead, shooing her forward. "Go, go."

"Nice to see you too…" she muttered, not bothering to look back as she started down the corridor.

The return journey was made in silence, broken only by the occasional curt direction from a trailing Variks, pointing her down a different series of passages than the one she'd arrived by. Soon, the new path deposited the pair outside onto the asteroid's barren surface.

It was the same stretch of rock where she and Heavy had set down all those months ago. In the time since then, absolutely nothing had changed. The landscape remained a craggy wasteland, dotted here and there by the husks of once-habitations and the occasional scrap pile.

The only new addition was a small ship. An aged, beat-up thing of Eliksni make, though it bore no House markings or colors that would indicate a particular affiliation. Just a nondescript little craft, waiting for her and Variks a short ways off, its engines thrumming softly in idle.

"Come." Variks stepped past her, beckoning her towards the vessel.

The ramp was already lowering as the pair neared. By the time they reached it, the entry hatch was yawning open, the ship's interior spilling forth a warm orange glow.

"In," Variks instructed. "Take the primary seat."

That stopped her. The primary seat was for the pilot, not the passengers.

"Wait," she started, "I can't pilot an Eliksni ship." She didn't even know how to fly the standard-issue City craft, let alone a completely alien one. For an instant, flashbacks of her ill-fated Pike lesson with Chiisori came rushing back. The thought of careening headlong into a rock face, this time in an entire spacecraft, filled her with no small amount of trepidation.

Variks was either suicidal or had utmost faith in her because he didn't so much as bat an eye at her protest.

"Time to learn," was his reply. He swept a hand towards the boarding ramp.

"You can't be serious..."

The look on his face suggested he was, indeed, quite serious.

"Inside," he ordered.

Meren bit back a groan, but there was no arguing with him. With a final glance back at the desolate waste that was the Tangled Shore, she resigned herself to her fate and started up the ramp.

She couldn't decide what she dreaded more: the impending disaster that was certain to be her first attempt at piloting an Eliksni ship, or the prospect of spending the entire flight cooped up with a moody Variks.

One thing was for certain, though. It was going to be a long ride back to the Prison of Elders.