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Chapter Text

The valus did not know what the young wolf was waiting for, the quiet warlock had lingered within the iron keep's walls for weeks now, paying respects to memorials of lights long lost to the rage of a distressed tyrant, and tending to the pups of wolf and warbeast alike, and whilst the iron lord had briefly considered kicking the warlock from the comfort of their new found roost..

Saladin found...in reality he didn't have the heart to confront their presence, now a days his empire was the only who dared spend the night amongst teeth and the even fiercer bite of the cold, but the wolves knew the guardian as their own, a respect earned both inside and out of the iron banner.

And..

It had been long since there was the warmth of another lightbearer within the keep, and a warlock no less, fond memories of days long past softened resolve once set in brittle stone.

The young wolf was not hard to get along with, they were elusive as they were solitary, a grim huddled against the gravestones of lords long past, still their presence distracted many of the cabal, their infamous reputation hung over the lightbear's shoulders like a raincloud.

Time goes on like this, Zavala has sent several inquiries regarding his new resident, and while the valus brushes the commander off.

A simple "Wolves tend to roam when there is turmoil within their hearts.." Would not satisfy Zavala nor would it appease the valus's own festering curiosity, it was clear this was not the guardian's normal behavior but also recognized the guardian was an awoken and inquiring anything of the race was akin to holding a life or death match of 'never have I ever' between the awoken queen and the Drifter...

Often a lot more trouble than it was worth.

But one early morning, the chill wakes Saladin sooner then he'd prefer, and instead of stoking the flames, he decides to patrol the parameter, but it quickly becomes clear that he is not the only one awake, finds his new keep mate in the courtyard, their ghost scanning the memorial for the hero's that used to walk amongst them.

They greet him, but not with the common nod of respect he's become accustomed to, instead the young wolf turns to acknowledge the valus, Saladin feels their gaze flicker over him, once, twice through the crystal visor of their crown before they choose to break the silence...

"Ana Bray contacted us, she..needs a favor.." The young wolf announces cryptically, their surprisingly deep gravelly voice was always jarring when they so rarely broke their common habit of simply watching and listening.

Still easily Saladin could pick up on the strange note dredged within their words, filling the silence of the early morning...

Hope..? Anxiety? He wasn't a damn warlock, he left such emotional scrutiny as a burden for others who would willingly take up the mantle as psychoanalyst...

"Us...?" The valus inquired tilting his head quizzically, but the young wolf chooses to ignore the slip of tongue in a very awoken fashion, by simply ignoring it, so he asks another question, one that is more likely to garner an answer.

"And what does Bray need..?" Still Saladin finds himself frustrated and bristling at the thought of the young wolf's imploring gaze, it was obvious they looked to him with eyes that sought to take.

But take what..?

The valus wished they'd take off that damn crown so he could read them better, but knew it would aid little as the eyes of an awoken are always hard to read, and the young wolf's were no different.

"Many things, patience, understanding... a spare room perhaps?" The favor requested makes the old titan stiffen, did Ana seek to hide here too?

No.

This was not a refuge for the weary nor a hideout for the mourning...

"These walls only house those who are worthy, You should be well aware of that wolf.." Saladin declined easily, the older titan turning away to return to the solitude of the keeps walls.

Did the young wolf assume that his regulations so flippant? That he would just tolerate any guest that they invited to encroach on his territory?!

He reminds himself he is not fleeing conflict, but leaves anyway because he doesn't feel like dealing with this silly argument. If the young wolf fell prey to the cold jaws of solitude, then they should flee back to the warmth of their fort within the safety of the last city.

This was not Saladin's problem.

"Saladin, wait!"

But the sound of heavy metal boots trailing after the iron lord said otherwise.

"They are not fighters..not like us, but they are as worthy of these walls as I, I know they are and so will you.."

"We don't have time to dance around in the dark warlock, we didn't when Timur spun his riddles and we don't now. Say what you mean and state what you want." He warns his patience running thin with the wolf..

Perhaps it is not anger but anxiety that urges steel into his voice, something about their persuasive words foretold a event the valus wasn't certain he was willing to accept..

His amounting dread only intensifies when the young wolf reaches up to remove the tempest's crown obscuring their torn cleft lip and scar torn face, their smoldering wolfish gaze locking the older man where he stands.

"He has risen..." When they speak, their soft words echo in his ears, dripping like coagulated droplets of blood from cold dirty fingertips.

"What..?"

"Ana can't keep him there, he is too...vulnerable, he didn't rise like us.."

"The warmind..has risen?!" Saladin hissed, his arm shooting out to snare a fistfull of their seraph's robe, not in anger but a threat.

A threat not to be in jest, part of him wished it was but the reality of it was world shifting...

Part of him wanted it to be a cruel joke, he knew the later lights of his kind to be as eccentric as the old, and the young wolf before him was no different.

As battle hardened as the man before him was, the valus would never forget that this was also the same perpetrator who thought it a wise idea to wear a tutu into the iron banner before getting headshot and promptly teabagged by every guardian on and off their fireteam...

Arc singed gloves grip at his arm, not to dislodge him but to steady the older titan, only then does Saladin realize he is indeed shaking, from fear, or fury the valus wasn't certain..

"He sacrificed himself for us all, he deserves this chance.." The wolf states as if in challenge, as if the need to state where they stood in all of this was important.

"MANY OF THEM DID!" Saladin shouted back immediately, a shaking fist pointing to the memorials of his comrades, the balls to the chain keeping him tethered to the solitude of a keep filled with little but ghosts of memories past.

And now the wolf expects him to invite their murderer to walk along the same halls as them?

In the last few months Saladin had learned hard truths about the Warmind, about what and who the fickle warlord they invited into their ranks really was.

Yet it was too soon to come to terms with such truths, he wanted to know more...but within the short timeframe that opportunity smited itself along with the Warmind's sacrifice..

Part of him was still angry.

But was he too angry to listen to reason..?

Slowly, the valus's fists release the soft fabric of the young wolf's robe, they step back, giving him space all the while watching him warily, as if trying to gauge the older titan's willingness to help.

"We need somewhere off the radar to hide him until Ana can figure out how to help him..." They tried, their voice rough and quiet, but the titan needed to think..

"Leave me wolf..I need to think.." Saladin sighed, and they did not contest this request, instead silently nodding before stepping away.

He watched the young wolf return to the statues, their gaze fixed on the stone pillars before once again their face was obscured by the crown of tempests.

Saladin returns to light the fires, his patrol had long over exceeded his expectations, and only the ministrations of mundane actions feigning normalcy help quail the amounting hysteria creeping under his skin..

A curious psion watches him, no doubt picking up on his inner turmoil, but the valus ignores their quiet inquiry, opting to instead retreat to his personal corridors, but to lock himself away with little but the solitude to manifest his anxiety was rather counter productive...

Still Saladin needed to think, and he needed to be alone whilst he contemplated the young wolf's request.

What did they mean by help him..? With a heavy sigh the exhausted titan buries his head into his scarred and calloused hands.

Chapter Text

Existence manifests in the breath of a symphony's fleeting note, there is no beginning alluding to the tailend of finality.

They exist, incomplete, in haphazard frailty, little more but shards of data, held tentatively in place by light, no organs nor lungs and yet they instinctively heave for sustenance they never needed, reach for physicality they've never felt, with limbs they never possessed..

A mistake..?

Above them a drone hovers, its leering oculus projects soft red light, tassel like cords hang from its crystal like shape. A node..?

What is a node...?

They do not know, yet instinctively recognize the shape with familiarity from another life, another state of being, one more fitting than this painful existence.

Light sears wounds mercilessly, trying to mend frayed edges that never before seeped, an incomplete body grasping for organs it sorely needed, it's hard to recognize this state of unbearable duress as pain, but they suffer nonetheless..

Confused and disoriented, they wish to move, to readjust, but their body does not budge..

His body is incomplete..

Broken..?

Above them, the drone sings, its distorted voice cold and unsympathetic derived from codes and syllables.

They do not recognize what it says..

A siren blares violently, the sound echoing painfully in their hearing nodes but they lack the arms to shield them from the auditory assault, they are left to panic until they learn to cope, a fan shuttering rapidly under their chestplate...

Weak or perhaps broken...?

Time is fleeting, and hours peel away at minutes by the hand full, they are certain they've died many times, unfortunately every expiration is promptly preceded by ruthless resurrection..

A painfully audacious cycle for one to become acquainted with and yet...

With time brings clarity, and slowly but surely they realize that this, their confusion, their suffering.

EXISTENCE.

it was all at the drone's behest, suffering bled from it like water through fractured glass, in some way it kept them tethered, pinned down to this waking world of agony.

They want to tell them to go away, to leave them in their confused misery, but the drone's cold optic never fails to flare white as they fade, forcefully knitting their incomplete body back together with indifference to their plight.

They want to reach up and snatch up the little bot, crush its crimson and obsidian reflecting shell between fingers they don't have, yank the dangling cords from its ports..

To share suffering is to exist..

Alas, one would need arms for such a feat, instead they are forced to drown and rise helplessly, again and again, until the blaring alarms suddenly fall silent.

The sudden sound of movement that wasn't a direct result of their own agonized thrashing splits the silence.

It's startling, their incomplete vessel jolts, wires spilling light, and the drone, their tormentor, positions itself over their vulnerable and incomplete person, its crystal shaped shell splitting apart to hover agitatedly around it...

As if its small vessel of pain and light could shield them from those who would seek them out.

Protection..?

The drone speaks, its voice jagged and harsh..

A warning..?

No, a command, it wants them to rise but they cannot stand, they lack the components to..

No, they ignore this inquiry and instead try to twist their head around to peer at the source of the sound.

But their neck malfunctions halfway through the motion, jolts of painful stimuli arresting their spine as their forced to repeat the compulsive action over and over again, until finally the fragile metal in their neck gives with a loud snap and their optics fade as the light once again bleeds out of them.

Again they are risen, forced back together like clockwork by a puppeteer who refuses to face solitude, the pain in their neck is gone, but the phantom ache still lingers, and they are still bleeding light..they will die again, simply fade like sand on a shore if it persists..

The sound persists, someone is coming, they want to cry out, beg to be released from their mortal coil but they are afraid, they do not want to experience another painful malfunction so they simply lay still, they hardly noticed they were laying on the floor...

It's smooth and cool against their faceplates, it would have provided a miniscule sense of comfort if only their overzealous optics would stop fixating on the trivial debris on it when they sought to look elsewhere.

Above them the drone flutters about the dark room, unwilling to leave but weary of the approaching presence, it is not surprising when the doors slide open and the drone dematerializes, abandoning them to their new found existence.

Light...a familiar form of stimuli, both intriguing and piercing, it showers over the dark silhouette in a halo creating a smoldering pale golden outline, it's bright fury burning into lidless optics unused to their scorching ire, the impulses to blink, to shield their sensitive gaze goes unanswered.

And so with little choice they stare up into the light, up into the face of a woman they have little to no inkling of, her face once fury painted, quickly twisted into something more confusing than her initial anger.

Suffering, a thousand singing voices lost, suffocated by shadow.

Anguish.

She stared down at them with frightened grief stricken eyes.

Why..? They have little clue why their presence distressed this newcomer so, yet they felt oddly sympathetic despite their personal predicament..

"R-Rasputin..?"

When she speaks it's like a ballad of reawakening, the room around him seems clearer.

A familiarity lost.

Who is Rasputin..? Perhaps the drone would know, perhaps they should inquire.

Unfortunately, the moment they attempt to speak, whether it is to utter her words in confusion, or simply beg for her to end this suffering spiral.

The language module in their throat immites a ominous noise, their optics just have time to take in the woman's startled expression before the module explodes and once again the light bleeds from their incomplete frame.

Hopefully this time the drone would not raise them again.