I was still Human then, when the Traveler arrived.
Most called it the Golden Age, a time of 'great prosperity, great technology, we lived longer…
flew further'.
Well, some did.
I thought humanity would join under one banner, that this gift, the Traveler, would be shared
amongst society…
I was wrong.
The only way I was leaving this planet was by replacing arteries with wires, nerve endings
with sensors, flesh with metal.
For all I cared they could have my soul, too.
I heard Clovis Bray would accept anyone.
He'd taken in gamblers, alcoholics, addicts, rejects…
Clovis offered a new life, a fresh start.
I thought I would be transferred immediately; the dangers of transferring the human mind
into a machine would never be approved on Earth.
I was wrong.
My "procedure" was to be conducted right here, on Earth.
Seems Clovis Bray was more untouchable than I imagined.
Earth needed his technology for the Colonisation effort; defensive satellites, nanotechnology…
Pfffftt, the man could build entire civilizations and erase them just as easily.
Like many others, I didn't care, there was nothing left for me here, time to start over.
My recollection is hazy at best, but I recovered something.
Dark memories…Clovis kept his promise, I traded my skin for the next ticket off this
planet.
Turns out I did not account for the approaching storm… the Darkness.
Every man, woman and child was trying to get out, trying to get somewhere, anywhere, ELSE.
Math was against us, though; millions of bodies trying to cram onto a handful of shuttles,
people pushing, shoving, clawing their way to the only salvation they could see.
But it'd never be enough.
Security were swamped.
Warning shots turned to targeted aggression.
Then the mob fought back and those boys and girls kept right on firing.
As far as I know, a muzzle flash was the last thing I saw.
There's nothing to feel, when you're dead.
I've got - not memories, exactly - but this picture of being nothing, feeling nothing.
And then something pulled me back.
Yanked me out of my dark freedom and back to this dying world.
I gasped to life in the middle of a pile of corpses.
A single bloom of life in a garden of ancient decay, a single glowing eye staring me down.
I wouldn't find out until later but something had crippled the Traveller; hobbled it, shackled
it to our dying Earth.
Unable to run, it choked out one last gift (sarcasm) to humanity: the Ghosts.
The Cosmodrome was a rusted wasteland.
Metal worn away to nothing in some places; cars, boats, planes, starships all shot through
with maggot holes.
Decades had passed but the echoes of screams rang in my head.
So I turned and stared at the horizon split, right down the middle, by a ragged peak.
A beacon for the survivors.
My floating friend warns me of the peak… rumors of freshly minted 'Warlords' fighting
over the tiny kingdoms they'd scratched out of the ruins.
But, it admits, it's been some time since it's been here, and we might even pick up
some allies along the way.
I was no Iron Lord, I wasn't ready to join their war yet, I didn't even know what I was
fighting for.
I was headed for the Traveller, I needed to see what was left of the humanity I wanted
to save.
The Traveller had been in view for almost a week - just the top of the sphere, where
it peeped above the ragged hilltops surrounding it - and was still deceptively far away.
You never really appreciate how big it is until you're right there, next to it, under
it, staring up at this impossible thing just hovering there...
We crested the brow of the last hill between us and the Traveller and I saw the remains
of humanity spread out below me.
I heard a child's cry carried up to me on the wind.
"I realised, then, that we weren't fighting for the Guardians.
We weren't fighting for the Traveller.
We were fighting for those frail, scared and, above all, mortal people, down there, desperate
to be safe.
"I was willing to fight for them.
"I defended the City at Six Fronts, I stood with my brothers and sisters at Twilight Gap.
Every bullet counted; a million metal deaths finding their mark between the joins of Fallen
armour; alien screams, falling bodies, hissing ether spewing from their insides.
"I had already encountered the Fallen beyond the City's walls, then, death was without
consequence, now, every moment that I was not fighting could cost a civilian's life.
A single death could allow the Fallen to advance further into the City, clawing out new territory
for themselves; one step closer to reclaiming the Traveler.
"My 'skills' didn't go unnoticed and the Vanguard recommended that I serve the
City beyond the walls, scouting missions, intelligence gathering.
Guardians who need no fireteam, lone wolves…
Hunters… and so I have been repurposed; I've joined the Hunt.
It's always sad to see a dead ghost… the light completely drained, a pit of darkness
replacing that all-knowing, glowing eye.
The official line from the Vanguard was that the moon was off-limits to all Guardians;
lost to the Hive.
This didn't apply to me.
We suffered tremendous losses in the battle for the moon and the terrified survivors from
Mare Imbrium, when they said anything, whispered only a name…
Crota.
We Guardians thought we were immortal so the first wave to take on Crota were careless
with death, relying on the false belief that their Ghost would always be there.
The Hive fed off their light, consuming it, engulfing it, gulping it down… until there
was nothing left to revive them with.
Another planet, another battle, another post-action scout and report.
I was sent to investigate the Vault of Glass.
If the Fallen were going to rob us and the Hive were going to eat us… then the Vex
were going to erase us.
A team of Guardians had been sent into the Vault of Glass to investigate the Vex, but
only one returned.
Pahanin.
My job was to see if there was anything left of the others; Praedyth and Kabr.
I pressed further into the Vault, until I was stopped by a labyrinth; a labyrinth patrolled
by Vex sentries.
You don't build labyrinths to keep people out.
You build them to trap something in.
They always took the same route, past these oval doors, not doors... cells.
Maybe they were holding Praedyth there?.
The cells were too many and the way too convoluted to risk further exploration I took note of
the path and mapped what I could before leaving.
I toldmyself and Pahanin that we would return for Praedyth.
One day.
The Tower was on quite the winning streak: after Atheon went down we also had our revenge
on Crota, the Hive god that caused so much devastation on the moon.
Turns out Crota had a father, Oryx, the Taken King.
The closest single thing to the Darkness that we would ever encounter.
His throne world, the Dreadnaught, mocked the Tower and burnt a hole in the rings of
Saturn.
There are many strange things on the Dreadnought.
I came across one tucked away under a Wizard's nest.
I have no idea what it is or what it does but Eris Morn calls them 'calcified fragments'.
Seems I have an eye for finding them and, let me tell you, they have quite the story
to tell.
They form map, a map to a weapon, to make and wield this weapon, a weapon bound to Malice,
would be to mantle Oryx, the Taken King.
The fragments whispered to us, justifying that Touch of Malice was a weapon that would
be used for good, killing for good, killing to keep humanity alive.
Oryx killed to save his kind, we are no different.
It seemed that I was not to be trusted anymore.
I brought Hive arcana into the Tower.
After all I'd done I was sidelined, confined to the Tower.
They blamed the 'quarantine'; a SIVA prototype had run rampant, but I knew they were punishing
me for Malice.
I thought this year, maybe, I'd be returning from a successful raid.
I'd be hailed as a hero; wearing the skin of my foes, proudly displaying them as trophies.
Instead heard stories of how they cut Aksis' legs from underneath him.
Good for them.
As a Guardian?
I got to the first party pretty early, sure; saw some cool stuff.
But I've been late ever since.
I've always been good at telling stories.
But only the first part of this story was my own; all the rest has been someone else's
tale.
So my defence of the City was inconsistent at best.
In the early days I defended it against the Fallen, thought I might go on to be one of
those legendary figures up there in the Tower.
But the Vanguard had other plans.
I was destined to a solitary life in the field, skulking in the shadows, combing the battlefield
well after the fighting was done.
I wasn't there when Atheon fell.
I wasn't there when Oryx and his son were killed I wasn't there when Aksis crumbled.
But I'm here now [understated], and humanity needs me more than ever.
That's it.
Enough storytelling.
It's time to fight.
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