Chapter Text
Shahin and Lodi meander through the crowds of the Market District on a rare day where they’re both free from their respective obligations, or as free as they’ll ever be, anyway. At Spanner’s request, Shahin left his communicator at home. His hand still itches toward his jacket’s inner pocket by habit; he anticipates receiving sixty messages by dinnertime, if not more.
Lodi returns a ceramic figurine of a starry cat to its stall and stares at the Warlock with a look of astonishment. “I’d heard of Miss Eido’s work as a Scribe and her operating a pharmacy, but I had no clue she’d had a brief stint as the interim Kell!”
“That’s right. When she wasn’t caring for her father or arming us against the Revenant Scorn, she had her hands full with resource allocation, conflict resolution, the settling of new refugees…”
Shahin closes his eyes briefly in reminiscence. He’d drag himself in from the Tangled Shore still reeking of Dark Ether and corrupted blood to spend another twelve hours at the lab with Eido, dousing himself with experimental tonics or devising advanced horticultural techniques on the fly to keep their Europan starworts alive. Sometimes he’d catch his research partner dozing on her feet, nearly weeping from exhaustion, and he’d half-carry her to the cozy mezzanine above them. Sometimes he’d wake up behind the Walker-centrifuge with no memory of how he’d gotten there.
Their friendship had begun in earnest when Shahin was chasing after Nezarec’s relics, but it had alchemized in those long weeks together at the bench, and in the field under fire, and crouched on the floor in the backroom of Spider’s bar when Eido couldn’t take it any more. A horrific chapter of their shared history that nonetheless secured them a permanent place in each other’s lives.
A gentle smile touches Shahin’s lips. “Eido’s one of the brightest lights in this system,” he says. “You’ll see what I mean.”
“Shahin!”
He turns toward the voice and is immediately enveloped in a four-armed hug. Eido draws herself up to her full height and rests her chin atop Shahin’s head, her luminous eyes waxing to crescent moons from contentment.
The Warlock squeezes Eido back, allowing himself a moment of contentment as well. They’ve had to put their weekly meetings for the paper on hold as Shahin investigates the planetary anomalies that have risen from the ashes of III’s death. Today marks the first day they’ve seen each other in weeks. “Hey, Eido. I’m glad to see you’ve escaped from Variks’s reading-room,” he remarks with a grin, before stepping backward and introducing Lodi.
“Emissary Lodi, I greet you in the Light,” Eido cheerfully declares, offering a primary hand for him to shake. “I’d been looking forward to us speaking since you arrived on Earth, and have quite a few things I’d like to ask you, but I promise to try and ‘rein it in’ for now.” She chitters.
Lodi beams back at the Scribe, charmed already, just as Shahin expected. “Please, Miss Eido, I’m all ears. I’d be delighted to answer any questions you have. Believe me when I say that I’ve been eager to make your acquaintance as well! Mr. Tir was just telling me…”
Shahin is only half listening to their conversation on the stroll over to the restaurant, his mind preoccupied with Omar’s assignment. He divides his attention between updates from the agent’s Ghost and his own private satisfaction from his two companions immediately hitting it off, their hands gesticulating with enthusiasm.
He stifles a grin as Lodi forgets yet again that exterior doors are all automated in the City; the man had approached it with the intent of holding it open for Shahin and Eido.
Eido settles into a booth next to Shahin. She scans the menu for a couple minutes, then nudges him with an elbow. “I didn’t know this place served fusion cuisine! Do you want to split this with me?” she offers, pointing at the yaviirsi fig cake. “It looks just like the one you made for Father and I.”
“Ooh, yeah, let’s get it. I’m pretty sure theirs tastes better,” Shahin muses.
Lodi hands his own menu back to the Frame and starts to say something to the two of them when his expression suddenly falls. The thinning of his lips is a dead giveaway as to the cause. “Excuse me,” the Emissary murmurs, getting up from his seat to step outside.
Shahin watches him go, a glass of water pressed to his lips. He mentally logs: 0730: Third instance in 24 hours.
“Is he alright?” Eido asks worriedly, twisting around in the booth.
The agent assures her, “He will be.”
Omar has the decency to wait until the trio are almost finished with their entrées before he pings Shahin. The Titan’s “knock” is, appropriately, a bit of a punch.
[OMR-732] The new stealthskin cameras are installed. Dark matter sensors were giving me hell all day. Calibrations alone took us four hours.
[SHA-611] Where are they located?
[OMR-732] One in the living room, one in the bedroom. How’s dinner?
[SHA-611] Fine, thanks. If you need me to occupy VIP #1963 for a little longer, I’ve got you.
[OMR-732] We all knew you were the best man for the job.
Shahin’s a natural at suppressing his reactions to psionic conversations, but even he has to turn his face away to raise a brow at the mental equivalent of a wink from his colleague.
[SHA-611] How do you figure?
[OMR-732] Me and the others were starting to think we should’ve bugged you instead.
The Warlock’s grip tightens, very slightly, on his fork.
[OMR-732] #1963 prefers to be out and about with you than stay at home in his apartment. Can’t blame the guy; if I was him, I’d hate to be alone with my thoughts too.
[SHA-611] Do you know of another person he’s spent a lot of time with lately?
[OMR-732] IKO-006?
[SHA-611] Correct. And what did she say when you suggested we install cameras in her study?
[OMR-732] Uh, I haven’t-
“…symbolized by their- oh, good, he’s wearing it!”
Shahin glances back to the table where Eido and Lodi are watching him expectantly. He blinks; the connection slams shut like a door in Omar’s mind. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Do you mind showing Lodi the relic?” Eido inquires.
“Not at all,” he replies. Shahin shrugs out of his jacket and rolls his sleeve up a few inches to reveal three bracelets. Eido points at the one in the middle, with the black cord and chrysoprase beads.
Lodi leans his forearms on the table for a better look. His gaze briefly strays to the tattoo on Shahin’s ring finger.
“The Slayer Barons of old eschewed House livery on the grounds that they were an apolitical collective who swore allegiance to no Kell,” Eido explains. “Of course, they’d still get pulled into inter-House conflicts, but the illusion is what mattered.”
“Ah, I’ve worked for a few organizations like that,” Lodi mutters, his pen flying across the notepad. He nudges his plate away to make room for Eido’s datapad. Both Scribe and Emissary brought research materials to their casual dinner. Shahin is in no position to judge.
“These hunters dressed simply to distinguish themselves: a black cloak emblazoned with a pytha-hide crest,” she continues, graciously allowing Lodi a few extra seconds to finish writing. “But because pytha are extinct, there are no records of what this crest looked like, and Shahin hates uniforms, I had to get a little creative.” Eido giggles at the Warlock ducking his head in mock shame.
“What made you settle on a bracelet?” asks Lodi, shaking his head with a smile at Eido offering him a slice of her cake.
“Honestly, the base design was the easiest part! Shahin likes wearing jewelry.”
Shahin raises a brow when Lodi jots that down as well. Is this detail important for his studies?
Their waiter soon arrives to clear the dishes away, dutifully chirping that it hopes their evening was a pleasant one and to come back very very very soon.
“Could you tell me how much I owe, Lodi?” Eido retrieves a small disk from her bag. “I can’t read the screen from here.”
“Don’t sweat it, Miss Eido — dinner’s on me tonight,” he answers with a grin.
Eido’s eyes widen in mortification as Lodi reaches for his Glimmer card. She clicks anxiously, her expression one of deep regret: I shouldn’t have ordered dessert.
Shahin squeezes her secondary hand under the table, trying to wordlessly convey that it’s fine: Lodi wouldn’t offer if he couldn’t afford to pay.
(That’s not entirely true. Shahin has gleaned enough about societal norms from Lodi’s era to understand that he and Eido could request everything from the menu and Lodi would scramble to cover it. His honor wouldn’t have it any other way.)
“That’s… not good,” Lodi mumbles under his breath, patting down his pockets. He quickly checks under the table. “Did I leave my wallet at home? Damn it. I could’ve sworn I took it with me. Let me go see if I dropped it outside.”
“He’s so thoughtful,” Eido gushes after he hastily breaks for the door, handing the disk over for Shahin to take and scan. He does, tapping it to the small tablet by the edge of the table to secure her payment. “I hope he finds it. I can’t wait to begin collating the information he shared about his— What do you mean it’s unreadable?” she demands, leaning across Shahin to squint all four eyes at the screen in offense.
Lodi returns to his booth a minute later, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I couldn’t find it anywhere,” he sighs. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about the bill, Louis,” Shahin insists. “I paid already.”
“This is bizarre,” Eido grumbles to herself as they leave. “It was working just fine yesterday. This establishment must have faulty equipment.”
***
Shahin remarks to Lodi, “I’m starting to think you know the City better than I do. I had no idea this subdivision existed.”
“You can thank my own two feet and public transit for that. I avoid transmatting if I can help it — makes me feel like my soul’s being sucked through the world’s tiniest straw.” The other man winces.
Ah, that must be why he’ll often insist on walking Shahin back to the Tower.
The pair linger outside of Lodi’s apartment building as he scrolls for his superintendent’s name in his contacts list. “I hope he’s still awake and can issue me a replacement card. Otherwise, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get inside.”
“Keycard readers double as biometric scanners for the unit’s occupants,” Spanner pipes up. “You can use your finger or your eye. I suggest the normal one.”
Lodi’s head snaps up in surprise. He peers left and right for the source of the voice before settling, uncertainly, on Shahin’s chest. “Mr. Spanner? Where are you?”
“Here!” The Ghost materializes in front of him, entertaining Lodi with a little spin. “I’ve been with Shahin the whole day.”
“Wait, really? Aha! I see your waveforms now. They were occluded until this very moment.” He furrows his brows. “Well, regardless, forgive me for not greeting you earlier!”
Spanner comfortably settles in the Emissary’s outstretched hand. “No worries. In my mind, saying hi to my Guardian is the same as saying hi to me. We’re like two cakes in the park!”
Lodi takes a second to parse that sentence, then nods in agreement. “You sure are.”
He releases Spanner like a small armored bird, then tests his brown eye against his unit’s scanner. Lodi staggers in relief when the door beeps open.
“Technology!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up. “Love it, most of the time. Thanks for the tip, Mr. Spanner.”
Shahin snickers. “Good night, Louis,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets. “We’ll see you in a few days.”
Lodi smiles. “Good night, Mr. Tir. Or is it Dr. Tir?” He raises his brows. “I think you were distracted when Miss Eido very briefly touched on your assistance in her apothecary work. You’ll have to tell me about it sometime. I knew if I pressed her for more details, we would’ve kept you there for another hour… or three, haha.”
Before Shahin’s brain can command his mouth to speak, Spanner cries, “I can’t believe Shahin never told you about his other job!”
[SHA-611] Spanner.
[SPAN] Relax. I’m not talking about the OTHER other job.
[SHA-611] I know, but it’s unnecessary for him to-
“Shahin’s a renowned astro-ethnobotanist and the foremost pteridologist in the system,” the Ghost begins, his iris brightening in pride. “He delivered a groundbreaking presentation in Neomuna on integrative taxonomy, cataloged huge swathes of the Black Garden’s flora when he was still a New Light, and worked day and night alongside Eido to cure her father when he was possessed by the Final God of Pain. Now they’re coauthoring the first joint human-Eliksni paper on herbal medicine in a post-Drift society!”
Lodi opens his mouth to interject a question or five. Spanner remembers something else and immediately cuts him off. “He’s very passionate about ecosystem restoration and strives for the day Earth recovers fully from the Collapse! Oh, and he also volunteers at the herbarium processing tens of thousands of preserved specimens from our past, many of which he personally rescued before they were lost to the ravages of time! Oh! AND he’s an immensely talented botanical illustrator! They put his art on the cover of-"
Shahin, blushing something fierce, makes a swift cutting motion behind Lodi’s back.
Spanner rolls his eye. “Alll-right, fine. Lodi, let me know if you want any of his books!” He disappears from view and merges with Shahin’s Light once more, leaving but a Ghostly cackle in his wake.
In the silence that follows, Shahin scuffs the ground with his boot and does his best not to look sheepish. “Spanner gave a pretty decent summation of what I do. I have nothing more to add.”
Lodi is staring at him with his mouth curled into a wide grin, and his eyes ablaze with the very same delight he reserves for unraveling the universe’s mysteries. Shahin wonders what fascinates the Emissary most: that the Warlock had another life outside of chasing the Nine around, or that he can be embarrassed.
Either way, he despairs.
Lodi sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth. "Ooh, Mr. Tir, I'm gonna need to see those books," he whispers, grinning wolfishly. "Why would you keep your other profession a secret? It’s perfectly respectable!"
"It's not a secret. It just hadn't come up before in conversation."
He jabs a finger at Shahin. "Nuh uh. No sir. I recall at least a half dozen occasions where I've asked you, point blank, 'What do you do for fun or when you're off the clock?' and you've told me, 'Louis, I don't know what the hell that means.'"
Shahin snorts at Lodi’s retelling. He shrugs one shoulder. "That's because you were asking the wrong questions," he replies dryly. Lodi shoots him a blistering side-eye. "When it comes to botany, I’m never off the clock. Besides, the compendium of my life’s work is accessible on the VanNet. I suppose you just never bothered to look me up,” he casually adds.
“Mm, so it’s my fault for not doing my homework,” Lodi concludes, nodding sarcastically. He snaps his fingers. “Guess I’ve sorted out what I’ll be doing with the rest of my evening.”
“I’d recommend- I mean, if you’re really interested…” Shahin fiddles with his nazar bracelet, plucking at one of the beads. “Venusian Ferns: A Supernatural History is a good place to start if you’re looking for a primer. It’s probably my favorite among the books that I’ve written.” He isn’t biased toward the subject matter or anything.
“Good to know.” Lodi favors Shahin with a fond, yet shrewd look. “Does it make you shy when people show an interest in you? Or your accomplishments?”
“No,” he answers coolly. Shahin’s head would’ve exploded years ago from all the blood rushing to it if all it took was some positive attention to get him stammering. Compliments are acknowledged with quiet nods; flattery, be it from his allies or his enemies (or Spider, who occupies both spheres) doesn’t merit so much as a blink from him. Bow your head, take your shiny new gun, get back to the front. “I’m just not one to rest on my laurels, as a scientist or a Guardian. There’s always room for improvement.”
"Well then, I think you could stand to hear a little more praise," Lodi replies thoughtlessly, barreling forward like he always does. "It boggles my mind that a celebrated war hero like yourself is able to carve out a little time to put on a lab coat — I assume ethnobotanists wear those — and contemplate the beauty of nature."
The Warlock chuckles. “I try, man. Maybe one day, after I’ve labored enough, I’ll meet a guy whose eyes don’t glaze over as I tell him about the alteration of generations in Nessian cacti, or how to use pink asphodelia as an antidote to derealization — and that’s how I’ll know I've made it in life.”
“I wish you all the best with finding him… or maybe I should be wishing him luck with winning such a mysterious man’s heart?” Lodi teases.
Shahin presses a knuckle to his mouth in consideration. “Mysterious man whose works are available to the public at no cost, definitely,” he answers, winking. Before Lodi can fire back a witty rejoinder, Shahin motions with his eyes: go inside.
Lodi swiftly complies, Shahin following closely on his heels. He starts to relax from the familiarity of Lodi’s apartment right up until he remembers the cameras. Then he forces himself to relax again.
“Now you understand why I was keen to lend my assistance with these temporal anomalies,” Shahin says as soon as the door’s sealed. “From the very beginning I’ve devoted myself to preserving this planet. That doesn’t just end with humanity and its allies — it includes Earth itself. The two have always been inextricably linked.”
Shahin wishes the Vanguard would enlist more civilian naturalists and metaphysicians beyond the trusted few they’ve picked from OWL Sector. Eido’s recruitment alone would help curb the number of Eliksni deaths from ingesting afflicted plant and animal matter. But Zavala’s word was final: for now, we must keep the general populace in the dark about the Prophecy.
The Warlock seethes. It’s always some damn prophecy.
“You’re something else, Mr. Tir,” Lodi calls. He’d gone into his room to drop off his notes. Shahin takes a moment to slide his wallet across the counter; when Lodi emerges, the agent wears a look of perfected innocence. “When I was young and dreamed about heroes who could hold back the apocalypse, I have to confess: botanists were nowhere on that list.”
Shahin tsks. “Sounds like young Louis didn’t have a vivid imagination.”
“He was wrong about a lot of things.” Lodi’s smile is wan.
“« My love, please. »” Nadia, an Aionian archaeologist, gently strokes the side of an Exile’s rebreather mask. “« You can trust him. He’s the same Anomaly-Blessed I spoke of! »”
Shahin sighs inwardly at the translation scrawling across his HUD and unmutes himself. To the Marauder, he greets, “[Luraskes, I am also a Slayer Baron of the House of Light. I give you my word that I will not harm you],” and then makes the sign of respect: palms lifted upward.
His archaic Eliksni and mannerisms are all thanks to Variks and Misraaks. Coupled with his accent, it’s earned him a few odd looks over the years, particularly from the younger generation. Shahin thinks — he hopes — that House Light ultimately find it charming, or at least inoffensive.
Luraskes listens in spite of her refusal to look directly at him, narrowing her three functional eyes in thought, and clutching a broken primary arm all the while. Shahin can sense internal injuries as well: perforated organs, bleeding, contusions. He worries that the longer this standoff continues, the more likely it'll be that Nadia returns to the Caldera alone.
But pride often breaks down in the face of a pleading partner. Luraskes clicks in frustration, growling, “[I don’t know your House, Lightbearer, but I do know that title. It used to mean something.]”
Reluctantly, she copies Shahin’s gesture as best she can. “[Perhaps it will again, one day.]”
Shahin summons a rift beneath his boots and beckons Luraskes over before giving her a wide berth. Luraskes hesitates slightly beyond its reach. Then Nadia slips her hand through the Eliksni’s, and they walk together.
The Marauder’s wounds stitch closed; chitin strengthens; her lower right eye is cleared of blood. She sags in plain relief, gulping down a cloud of Gift-Ether.
Nadia sings a bright thank you to Shahin before launching into a more complicated melody.
Lodi translates, “She apologizes for scaring the dean into thinking she’d been abducted, and leading us all on a wild goose chase.” He waits patiently for the Aionian’s next verse. “…Nadia would also like to know what, exactly, we plan to do with her girlfriend.”
“That’s entirely up to Luraskes. The Vanguard will grant her sanctuary if she moves to the Caldera,” Ikora answers. “I’m optimistic that with Levaszk gone, more Exiles will follow her example and abandon his teachings. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll eventually restore their connection with the Aionians.”
“You really think that could happen, Ikora?” Lodi’s skepticism is biting. “After everything the Exiles did under the Archon’s banner?”
“I do. I’ve experienced it firsthand: allies born of old enemies who were willing to forgive the past and build a new future together. And even if I hadn’t seen it happen with my own eyes, hadn’t laid some of those foundational bricks myself, I still choose to believe it’s possible,” Ikora replies, with grim determination. “I’ll inform Rebecca that we’ve located Nadia and her partner. Send them over once they’re ready.”
That leaves Lodi with the task of conveying her message to the couple via Shahin’s external speakers, which he does with gusto. To his fireteam he says, “Okay, I’ve got a lock on their signals. Let me just… hmm…”
“I gotcha, Lodi. Transmatting them now.”
“Thanks, Mr. Spanner. Don’t know if you heard that shout, but I’d say the dean’s pretty happy to have Nadia back.” Lodi chuckles. “You, ah, heading over to the Caldera yourselves soon?”
“We’ll be taking the long way back. Shahin’s got to make sure that none of Luraskes’s kin try to follow her,” says Spanner.
“Good idea.” Lodi pauses. His silence curls upward in hope; he’s waiting to see if today’s going to be the day that Shahin will chime in with an assent, a question, any commentary at all.
Shahin does not. Spanner’s already spoken for him. So the Emissary concludes, “Great work, team.”
The Warlock emerges from the bunker and is immediately set upon by three Dregs. He dispatches them without firing his gun, and steps over their still-warm bodies to find a better vantage point.
A Vandal who had the same idea awaits him at the top of a crumbling tower. Shahin severs them, then takes their nest for his own.
He looses arrows into the throats of the Exile search party that attacked Luraskes.
He destroys a massive Servitor flanked by several Exploder Shanks, luring the final Shank into an alcove where it detonates an unlucky Marauder who had been lurking there for some time.
He’s challenged by a Captain to a duel that ends with the Eliksni’s honor in tatters, along with his squad.
He ignores a growing migraine.
Shahin moves through the Accord with a surgeon’s precision, eliminating all combatants that cross his path. He rips a slime-coated Brig’s pilot from her seat and leaves her mangled body in the dust, hunkering down behind the vehicle to contact Ikora. After a few seconds, he feels the ephemeral brush of fingers disturbing the pond of his consciousness as his former spymaster connects to his implant.
[SHA-611] I’m almost to the Caldera. There were more hostiles than I’d anticipated.
[IKO-006] Understood. When you get back, we’ll discuss our plans for-
Psionic messaging was a mistake — the pain in his temples has escalated to include an aura that nearly blinds him, field of vision reduced to a helpless flicker. Shahin bites down on his tongue to stop himself from crying out at the sensation of something trepanning him with a shard of (tungsten). The line to Ikora goes dead.
But this agony is nothing compared to a charged Arc bolt from a wire rifle, its sniper perched beyond the Warlock’s dwindling perception.
The first shot misses his head, tearing through his abdomen, searing flesh and rupturing organs.
Shahin flattens himself against the ground, coughing wetly. He can’t see the shooter, but he’s got a vague idea of their position. He feels along the Brig and tries to shelter beneath it, choking on his own blood and coating the inside of his faceplate in his attempt to expel it from his airways. Spanner will heal-
The second shot is clean.
His shields are decimated on impact. His helmet shatters around the point of entry, an enormous crack that exposes his stricken face as plasteel shards are embedded in his head. The projectile exits the back of his skull along with fragments of his brain.
He dies. Spanner revives him.
Shahin rolls to his feet. He quickly scans his new surroundings; Spanner hid him inside an abandoned domicile. Gun at the ready, the Warlock positions himself by the entry and triggers the door’s motion sensor. A bolt lodges itself in the cavern wall where he would’ve stood.
A flock of Threadlings burst from the cover, gliding through the air and descending upon the Vandal with emerald talons. Shahin grapples his way up to the sniper’s perch, lands on his feet, takes aim at the Eliksni’s forehead, and squeezes the trigger. The Vandal wheezes their final gasp of Ether as they topple into the abyss.
Shahin reloads Fatebringer and licks the phantom taste of his own gore from his teeth.
[SHA-611] Sorry about that. Which plans were you talking about?
***
Shahin convalesces in the tiny galley of the Constellation Tracer. He’s downloaded their mission’s footage from Spanner and sits at the table, leg bouncing, to dissect his own mistakes. Once he’s finished, he’ll work on his after action report and submit it to Zavala. Then, maybe, he’ll lie down for a bit.
He notices something odd toward the end of the recording. It took Spanner almost five minutes to rez him from that sniper in the Accord, the majority of which was spent pacing the air of the safehouse he’d found for Shahin, back and forth, back and forth, like he does when he’s having a long conversation. The audio is also missing from those five minutes.
Spanner ceases humming the moment he hears his Guardian’s footsteps approaching the cockpit. Shahin hadn’t, until this very moment, suspected his Ghost of tampering with the vid, but now there’s a strong case to be made for it.
He crouches by the pilot seat and looks up at the little Ghost. Spanner focuses his attention on the navigational panel. His hard round shell lacks flaps to twirl anxiously, though it’s plain to his Guardian that he’s upset about something.
Shahin asks, “Did something strange happen after I died, Spanner?”
Spanner’s iris dims. He answers testily, “Lodi and I had an argument. He asked me to strike it from the record because it was ‘unbecoming’ of him.”
What? Those two had a fight? Shahin is stunned; Spanner and Lodi had bonded quicker with each other than Shahin and Lodi. The idea that they would have any sort of falling out is intriguing to him. “Did you think his behavior was unbecoming?”
“Yeah! He was a real jerk!”
Shahin bursts into laughter. His amusement abruptly ends when a horrible thought occurs to him. He groans, “Please tell me that you didn’t doctor the video you gave to Ikora.”
Spanner scoffs, “Who do you take me for? An amateur? No, she received everything up to her sign-off. There’s nothing critical in the section I redacted. That was just recorded for posterity.”
“In that case, I’d like the audio transcript, if not the unedited film.”
“I can’t. I promised Lodi I wouldn’t bring it up again.”
“So you’re taking the jerk’s side over mine, huh?” Shahin’s tone is deceptively light. “Wait. What was the argument about, anyway?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Spanner hovers a little higher, as though he thinks he can escape the ship and Shahin’s scrutiny.
There’s only one reason why his Ghost would hide something from him, and it makes Shahin’s skin crawl to think about. “Spanner, what are you protecting me from?” he sighs.
“I’m trying to protect Lodi,” Spanner returns sharply.
“So am I,” Shahin replies evenly. “If he’s in trouble, I need to know the details.”
“Not everything is- look. I really don’t think it’s important for you to read the transcript. It has nothing to do with his safety, or the Prophecy. I swear! He just said some crap he’ll probably regret later, and- and aren’t we all owed a little moment of stupidity now and then?”
Shahin answers, “Yes. However.”
Spanner sighs explosively.
“If a little stupidity between friends is going to lead to more problems in the field, we need to nip it in the bud right now. A minor disagreement is not an acceptable reason for leaving me dead for so long.” The Warlock glares. “Anything could’ve happened while you were on your own. You could’ve gotten hurt. The Caldera could’ve been attacked.”
“I know,” Spanner replies, wilting. “You’re right.”
“I usually am.” Shahin reaches over to gently bump his knuckle against the Ghost’s shell. “Now I know why the man stormed off the instant we boarded,” he says thoughtfully, startling a snicker out of Spanner.
“Okay, fine, I’ll send you the transcript. Please don’t tell him I did it.”
“He won’t have a clue,” Shahin promises. “I’ll leave you to it, Captain.”
He returns to his seat in the galley, pulls up the transcript on his tablet, and begins to read.
TYPE: LIVE COMBAT FEED, KEPLER LOG [00153]
PARTIES: Two [2]. [ERROR]-type [u.1]; Ghost-type, designate Spanner [u.2]
//AUDIO UNAVAILABLE//
//TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS…//
[u.1:01]: NO!
[u.2:01]: Don’t worry, I’ve got him. Just got to move us somewhere else.
[u.1:02]: Jesus Christ. The sound he made…
[u.2:02]: Hey, it’s gonna be okay — this isn’t the ugliest death he’s had this week. Shahin’s tough.
[u.1:03]: (inaudible)
[u.2:03]: Damn it! They’re trailing me. Lodi, can you confirm this building isn’t rigged with tripwires?
[u.1:04]: N-no. I mean, yes, you’re clear to enter. How–
[u.2:04]: Repositioning.
[u.1:05]: Mr. Spanner. How can you be so blasé about your partner dying?
[u.2:05]: Because we’ve been doing this for almost a decade, and I know I can bring Shahin back from anything.
[u.1:06]: The Light’s not infallible. I Saw that you’d lost it once before.
[u.2:06]: Twice, actually. It was our friend’s Light that brought me back, by the way, that second time – did you See that too?
[u.1:07]: I did, as a matter of fact. It got me thinking that – well… I’ve tried beseeching the Nine on Mr. Tir’s behalf because it just– it doesn’t sit right with me. If he’s their Weapon and the key to saving us all from universal extinction, why not render him invulnerable? Why subject him to so much suffering, even if it’s temporary?
[u.2:07]: It’s kind of you to do that, but it’s – I mean – I think it’s obvious they don’t care about anyone but you, Lodi. And even if they did offer that kind of power to him, he’d refuse it on principle. Shahin doesn’t want special treatment from the gods. He’d demand to know, “Why me and not them?”
[u.1:08]: You’re positive he’d say that?
[u.2:08]: Trust me; I know Shahin like I know myself. He’ll always put others’ lives before his own. That’s what makes him a real Guardian.
[u.1:09]: What about you, though? What do you think about true immortality for the both of you?
[u.2:09]: It’s kind of a moot point, isn’t it? The Nine aren’t taking your calls.
[u.1:10]: I’ll keep trying to reach them. There might be another way to ensure his survival… if only to ensure that we survive as well. Would he accept it on those terms? …Spanner, don’t you want to be with him forever?
[u.2:10]: I- of course I do! Who wouldn’t? But we don’t want the Nine meddling in our lives more than they already have. I thought you of all people would understand that.
[u.1:11]: I see now. You would be receptive to this kind of gift; your issue is with the benefactor. And, it seems, with me.
[u.2:11]: Yeah, I do have an issue with you, pal. Stop hiding behind your bosses and tell me what your real problem is. You wanna help us so bad, get out here with a gun and cover Shahin.
[u.1:12]: You know I won’t do that.
[u.2:12]: Then shut up!
[u.1:13]: What if the Traveler decides it’s had enough and leaves you for a better system, Spanner? What will you do when your Light’s on the fritz and you can’t bring him back?
[u.2:13]: We’ll both die. Is that what you wanted to hear?
[u.1:14]: No! That’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent from happening! Are you listening to me?
[u.2:14]: You’ve been here for, what, a few months? And you think you know better than the ones who’ve safeguarded the City for centuries? You act like WE’RE insane for making the most of our impossible lives and protecting those who can’t or won’t defend themselves! People like you!
[u.1:15]: I don’t want your sacrifices! I never asked for them! I get sick to my atoms watching Guardians die over and over and over! They asphyxiate in the vacuum of space, get eviscerated by weapons I’d only seen in my nightmares, are expunged from reality and forgotten by everyone who ever loved them, ERASED. COMPLETELY.
[u.2:15]: Lodi—
[u.1:16]: The worst part is, I can feel myself acclimating to it as easily as I condemn it. I’m — I’m almost resigned to the day where this shit doesn’t affect me at all. And that frightens me more than whatever the Nine have in store for me.
[u.2:16]: Lodi… this is just how it’s always been for us. I understand that death is permanent where you’re from, but that’s just not the case for Lightbearers. They fight and they die and they dust themselves off to do it again – or they don’t. So unless you achieve the power to defeat death itself…
[u.1:17]: Maybe I will.
[u.2:17]: Okay, that sniper is REALLY pissing me off. Bringing Shahin back now.
Shahin turns to face the bulkhead above and scrubs at his eyes, chair teetering on its back legs, his mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Even without the benefit of audio, he can hear their voices so clearly: Spanner’s evasiveness, Lodi’s prodding and mounting anger.
He inhales deeply a few times, properly returns his chair to the deck, and types out his thoughts:
- These are the words of a man carrying the weight of millions of lives latched onto his back. Lodi was — is — a civilian ripped away from everything he knew and loved with no way to return home. No reasonable person would’ve blamed him for getting consumed by his despair. Yet when encouraged, begged, and shouted at by his antecedent to save himself, he dug his heels in. Lodi truly believed (or said that he believed) he would save others from making the same choice. In Shahin’s estimation, Lodi is closer to Spanner’s platonic ideal of a Guardian than he is.
- Lodi has a quick temper that flares when his capabilities are called into question. Shahin knows this already, knows he’s easy to rile up and keeps grudges long past their expiration date. But what interests him about this outburst is the Emissary admitting that he’d overstepped. This doesn’t happen often with Lodi; he can be stubborn about views he holds as unimpeachable. What made him feel that it was a bad idea to voice his opinion? What doesn’t he want Shahin to know?
- That final response from Lodi, ‘Maybe I will’… Shahin wrestles with it for a long while. There’s a part of him that wants to write it off as blustering — he got pissed at Spanner pushing back and needed to have the last word. At the same time, he grimly recalls something Lodi had said to Shahin when they traced the stars together: “...but as an Emissary… I could still put a finger on the scale. A check.” What was he insinuating there? To Shahin’s knowledge the previous Emissaries never exerted that kind of mastery over life and death. They were alien mouthpieces and purveyors of strange goods, and nothing more. Is there something definitively unique about Lodi’s bosons, or is he just blowing smoke?
- While he doesn’t appreciate Spanner putting his business out on the streets, Shahin is largely in agreement with his Ghost – he has no desire to be blessed with the Nine’s ‘gifts’. His only quibble— okay, one major issue is that Spanner called them gods. They’re not. Shahin has never met a genuine god. He has encountered a sad cast of creatures with lofty aspirations that reached beyond the limits of their ecological niches, and then he crunched their bones into gristle. It’s only a matter of time before Shahin adds Savathûn and Xivu Arath to that list.
- Lodi is still sulking in Shahin’s room.
- Someone should do something about that.
Shahin’s cabin has seen more activity in the past few months than in the five years he’s flown this jumpship. He and Lodi transformed it into a conference room for all things Prophecy, and sometimes they just chat. Occasionally they’ll confer with Ikora via holoprojector, but lately it’s just been the two of them, sitting on the mattress or the floor with a mess of reports encircling them like a paperwork rune. The desk is ignored; Lodi is too polite to ask why, and too self-conscious to sit there if Shahin’s chosen the floor.
Lodi’s made himself comfortable, stripped to his undershirt and pants as he lies in bed, fingers laced loosely over his stomach and feet crossed at the ankles. Were it not for the starlight beneath his eyelids, one could believe he’s sleeping.
Is he still trying to coax the Nine to intercede on Shahin’s behalf? Shahin cautiously approaches the bed, wary of the last time he intruded on their business. Nothing happens beyond a slight twitch from Lodi.
At least it doesn’t look to be painful, Shahin thinks, gingerly resting on the edge of the mattress. Lodi’s spoken to him lately about the great strides he’s made as Emissary, pleased as can be. It should’ve lightened the feeling of so much lead sunk into Shahin’s stomach. It hasn’t yet.
Lodi comes to an hour later. He blinks the silver from his eyes, and rolls into a sitting position. “Any news?”
“Nothing from the Vanguard,” Shahin answers, finishing his report, “which is probably good. That’ll change when we land.”
“Sounds about right.” Lodi reaches for his glasses. “Um… How’s your head?” he asks, a touch awkward. “I heard you ran into some trouble when I signed off.”
In response, Shahin sits up and removes his helmet. He twists around, tucking one leg beneath him on the bed, and turns his face toward Lodi: ready for inspection. A short “I’m fine, Spanner healed me” is insufficient here.
The tip of Lodi’s tongue darts out to wet his dry lips, there and gone in an instant. He studies Shahin’s features with a quiet relief that the other man finds deeply agonizing, his weary eyes sweeping over the Warlock’s unburnt skin, calm smile, the absence of holes in his skull. Then he shutters them.
It all crystallizes for Shahin in this vulnerable moment where Lodi’s neither the Emissary nor a man doing his best to get by. His friend’s caught under the impression that Shahin is as trapped by the Light as he is by the Nine.
But it isn’t quite the same. Shahin didn’t choose to be a Lightbearer, and it’s debatable whether or not he had a choice in being a Guardian, but he does choose to show up every day and try to make the system a little less horrifying. To entertain Lodi’s theoretical offer of true immortality is to deny the progress he’s made in tearing down the pedestal he was born upon. He will never touch the shadow of divinity again.
And he won’t stand by to watch Lodi creep ever closer to it.
“What can I do for you, Louis?” Shahin asks softly.
Lodi massages his temples. “Just… be honest with me for a second. Do you think there’s any hope for us? Seriously. I’m asking you as a friend. Don’t feed me the PR answer.”
“Yes, I do think there’s hope for us.” Shahin ticks off his fingers. “We have the benefit of hindsight from the Collapse. We have a Coalition with whom we’ve maintained strong relations for years: the Awoken of the Reef, the Cabal Ascendancy, and House Light. The Neomuni and Aionians are undeniable proof of resilience in the face of catastrophic odds, and dependable allies besides. Guardians are stronger than ever and our potential is, thus far, limitless. We even have the previous Emissary fighting alongside us; Orin’s expertise is invaluable to our survival.”
Lodi listens with an expectant look. As Shahin concludes his list, he frowns, pointing out, “There’s you.”
“That goes without saying.” Shahin wears a fierce grin, which gentles when he reminds Lodi, “You as well.”
The Emissary is less than thrilled by his inclusion. His friend’s interminable exhaustion brushes up against Shahin’s heightened awareness, heavy like a head falling onto his shoulder. “Me. Yeah. Sure. The guy who got onboarded at the worst possible time.”
“I heard of a Guardian who was rezzed shortly before we embarked to the Pale Heart. On his first day of life, he had it explained to him during an interview with the press that the world was ending.”
“Great,” Lodi mutters. “There’s no doubt in my mind he’s doing a bang-up job now.”
Shahin’s brows furrow. “Look at me.”
Lodi, the very picture of misery, does. Shahin bridges the gap between them and offers his glove to take. “We need you, Louis,” he says steadily. “We have to look out for each other or we’re not gonna make it. I’ll never promise you that everything’s going to work out in the end; I’d rather chew phaseglass than offer hope without the evidence to back it up. But there is real, tangible hope all around you in the system, if you’d just stop for a moment to check. I’m sure your new senses can reveal even more.”
Breathing deeply, Lodi clutches his hand, his expression unreadable at first. It seems to take tremendous effort for him to finally produce a tiny smile. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Shahin squeezes him back. “We still have a few hours before we reach Earth, if you’d like to sleep.”
“Funny, I was just about to suggest the same to you. You’ve been awake for more than a day.” Lodi raises his brows.
Huh. Has it been that long? “I’m used to it. I’ll sleep when I’m home.”
The Emissary sighs dramatically. “Fine.” Shahin smirks at him in triumph. “Don’t know why I bother sometimes. You’ve always pushed yourself to the limits of an ordinary person, even as a medic.”
A frigid shard pierces Shahin’s heart. His mind whites out. His hand becomes a vice around Lodi’s wrist.
His friend’s head thumps against the wall when Shahin leans dangerously close to Lodi’s face, their breaths commingling. “What did you say?”
Lodi freezes at the violent change in his countenance, eyes wide in confusion. “I-I Saw that your predecessor used to be a field medic in the Dark Age. I’d been using my Sight to catch up on the last thousand years, and… that was a detail that stuck out to me.”
“Were you specifically looking into me?”
“No! I swear! I wasn’t trying to snoop-"
“What else did you See?” Shahin snarls.
Bewildered, the Emissary explains, “Nothing, you- his entire life was condensed into a single drop in a bucket. Entire centuries boiled to their most basic components. I-it was too much information to properly digest; I’m still picking through it.”
Shaking, Shahin inhales deeply through his nose, attempting to smother an all-consuming rage from destroying everything he’s tried to keep under wraps. Panic rides next to it, its mouth stretched wide in a scream that began seven years ago.
“Unless the knowledge will help us unravel the Prophecy, I don’t want you delving into my past. EVER. I don’t care if Ikora orders you to do it, I don’t care if the Nine order you to do it, I don’t care if- if you want to know something about me, you fucking ask me. Do you understand? Do you understand, Louis?”
“I do, Mr. Tir.” Lodi squares his jaw. “I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”
He tugs his hand through Shahin’s iron grip. It reappears a heartbeat later, reaching out to cup the Warlock’s cheek.
Terror unlike anything he’s endured overtakes Shahin. He instinctively jerks backward, scrambling to his feet to flee the other man’s touch.
“Wait!” Lodi cries. “I wasn’t going to-"
“I’m the one who should apologize,” Shahin grinds out, stopping just short of the sealed door. “I know you can’t always control what you See.” It’s said almost accusingly, like he’s daring Lodi to prove him wrong.
Lodi moves like he’s going to stand as well, then thinks better of it. “I won’t violate your privacy like that again. I should’ve- Is it verboten to discuss a Guardian’s predecessor?”
Shahin scrubs his hands down his face. “For some, it can be,” he sighs, thinking of Ikora’s initial reaction to Nella. “We have an ‘unofficial’ directive to leave our past lives behind us, but it’s not strictly enforced.”
“That’s- that’s insane.”
If it was only a question of breaking the Vanguard’s decree, Shahin wouldn’t have minded Lodi’s cursory interest in his history. At the very least, the memory he uncovered is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. “I don’t have any recollections of my previous life. But Saint knew him.” Reluctantly, he adds, “Aza: that was the man’s name.”
Lodi silently repeats it. “…For what it’s worth, Mr. Tir,” he begins softly, “I’m grateful to know the man you are now.”
Shahin almost rolls his eyes in response. Instead he throws his friend a brittle, disbelieving smirk. “Really? Even after freaking out on you like that?”
“Can I be honest? I’m… a little glad that you did. I was really starting to worry that nothing ever bothered you.” Lodi rubs the back of his neck. “Are we good?”
"Tell me you didn't know about this!"
"Brother-"
"TELL ME!" Shay screamed, his knees hitting the stone floor, the walls of the Lighthouse trembling from the force of his cry. He released Vance’s robes to tear at his own hair instead. "Tell me you didn't hide the truth of my identity to trap me and Spanner here! Tell me I'm still destined for greatness! Tell me I won’t turn into that thing-"
“Yeah.” Shahin moves to the floor, back against the wall and utterly drained. He swallows. “We’re good.”
Shahin had been keen to make Orin’s acquaintance from the moment she’d shared her ancient name with him. He’d approached her after a half hour break of listening to Drifter’s stories — well, Lodi had been listening; Shahin had stood motionless in the darkness, poised to grab him on Ikora’s order — and said, “Vaght bekheir,” his heart caught in his throat.
Orin had sat at the edge of the Caldera with a battered silver container clutched in her gauntlets, its reflection warping her blank expression. “Khatamkari,” she’d replied, without turning around. “Our inks once flowed together.” Then she’d patted the space next to her. “You’ll have to be patient with me, bird of my blood: I haven’t spoken my mother’s tongue since I was Nasya. I will not be her again.”
They stayed in contact after departing Kepler with the Prophecy and became friends overnight, given to discussing philosophy in the streets of Bannerfall as they sparred. They went to concerts and poetry readings together or separately, and talked about what they enjoyed, and what didn’t work for them. Their texts were an amalgamation of Farsi, the textures left behind when the mightiest voice has sung its last verse, and scanning electron micrographs of leaves.
By slowly being shown what it is to simply be for no reason save that one could, Shahin and Orin gifted each other a kindness that would’ve infuriated them if it had come from anyone else.
It came as no surprise to Shahin that as his affection for Orin deepened, his hatred for the Nine did as well. He’ll see to it that Lodi is the last Emissary they’ll ever have.
“I wish we were surveying montane grasslands for fun and not because we’re on the verge of another extinction event,” Shahin grouses one scorching afternoon, kneeling by an etiolated Caiophora coronata. Today he’s armed with a hori hori knife and shears, though his hand cannon is never far from reach.
“There will be time later for nightshade,” Orin assures him, shielding her eyes from the harsh sun. She grimly adds, “Maybe.”
“Orin, what are your plans for after this is all over?”
“Chrysalis… I’m not sure. ‘Tomorrow’ is a name that doesn’t quite register to my ears the way it once did. Why?”
The Warlock sometimes catches himself wondering what Orin would do if he confessed that he envied her. She’d laugh, probably; she’d demand to know what about her current state is enviable.
You saved yourself, he’d say. Fate isn’t a chain around your neck any more.
Shahin transfers his samples to his ship’s inventory and suggests, “You could join Eido’s lab. We’ve been looking for new additions for the past year now, and I think you’d be a perfect fit.”
Orin’s face has forgotten the shape of many emotions from her years as Emissary. Sometimes her mouth moves before her eyes can catch up. The biological need for blinking still surprises her at times. “Are you bismuth?”
“I am,” Shahin answers.
Hesitation creeping into her voice, Orin replies, “I’d heard her laboratory is replete with flowers of all notes.”
“It is indeed.” The Warlock’s chest tightens at the thought of Gol. “Our flora come from all over the system, mainly angiosperms and bryophytes: the key ingredients in Eido’s tonics. We hope to establish a proper physic garden next.”
Shahin stares into the middle distance. “One of my many, many, many pipe dreams is to expand our nursery, but for that we’ll need more space. Unfortunately,” he adds under his breath, “we’re at the mercy of the Last City Council.”
“Whenever you speak of them, your eyes are jet fuel,” Orin observes with amusement. He huffs a laugh.
Shahin sits by the remains of a myrtle tree and produces an orange from his inventory. He hadn’t felt like packing anything for lunch. After peeling it, he tears the fruit in half and offers it to Orin. She holds it delicately in her palm and stares at it, pensive.
“What do you think?” Shahin prompts, popping a wedge into his mouth.
Rather than answering immediately, Orin picks a dandelion. Its buttery florets disintegrate into tiny piles of ash. The stem follows in short order, rotting from her touch. Her mouth draws into a deep frown. “I… will rotate on it.”
“The offer stands indefinitely — unless, and until, we all perish from the Nine’s cowardice,” the Warlock jokes.
The former Emissary’s eye twitches. She grits her teeth, then shoves the entire orange half into her mouth. Juice drips down her jaw as she chews thoughtfully. “Let’s assume I say platinum. What would be expected of me?” she inquires, tilting her head. “Would I direct my own project? Or would I beaver with the two of you?”
“Entirely up to you, Orin. Didn’t you tell Ikora you were going to write a paper on the interactions between trans-dimensional matter and material flora?” Shahin had been looking forward to that with great interest.
Orin chuckles, wiping her mouth. “I applaud your ability to recall the morsels I’ve said. Cross sections of my hippocampus were scraped with diamond and left to propagate in the fifth dimension… along with my sense of humor, or so Drifter tells me.”
She chews on her lip. “You do paint an enticing slice. I miss being part of a constellation. I was never alone as Emissary, of course, but the Nine were emetic company. Having a future alongside a few friends would be…”
She shuts her eyes, smooths over her thoughts. “It would be daisies, Shahin.”
Shahin smiles. “Let me know when you’d like to tour our facility. We’ll visit the herbarium as well.” He’ll be sure to pull the Cattleya rex specimen for her viewing pleasure.
“Dusty beetles need direction too, I suppose,” Orin mutters to herself. Her face spasms. Her lips remember to smile back.
Lodi is frozen in the entryway of Shahin’s house. “I thought you said you had a dog,” he says slowly.
Shahin pretends he doesn’t understand what the problem is. “I do. You’re staring right at him.”
“That,” his friend replies, edging closer to the Warlock, “is a monster. I watched a bunch of ‘em obliterate this poor Hunter in that abandoned Warsat facility.” He leaps back when the war beast pads closer.
Apple paws carefully at Shahin’s pant leg. His good manners are rewarded with a vigorous chin scratch; the beast’s tongue flops out of his sharp jaws.
“Apple has never harmed anyone,” Shahin assures Lodi, fully aware that ‘war beast’ is not a moniker that instills confidence. Nor does it accurately describe Apple, to Saladin and Caiatl’s disappointment. ‘Beast’ just makes him snort, though. This is my beast. He has nigh-impenetrable scales and teeth that can chew through plasteel. Rub his belly or get out of my house. “I can keep him in my room, if you’d prefer.”
Dubiously, and always keeping Apple in his line of sight, Lodi begins, “If you can promise me he won’t bite…”
Shahin promises, “He won’t.” He worked very hard to ensure that.
Lodi exhales. He bends down a little, rolling a small rubber ball across the floorboards, surprising Shahin. Apple joyfully chases it into the master bedroom and then carries it back, a slobbery offering.
Some of Lodi’s trepidation melts away. He glances up at Shahin, grinning despite his worry. “Does he know any commands? Um, drop it, Apple.”
Apple drops the ball at Lodi’s feet, looking at him expectantly.
“Congratulations. This is your life now,” Shahin tells Lodi, and claps him on the back. The Emissary almost folds like a lawn chair. “I do request — shoes off please — I do request that if you’re gonna play fetch, you take him outside. I’d rather not clean up another massacre today.”
Lodi squeezes past Apple and a potted philodendron to follow Shahin, his head swiveling around to admire wall shelves of assorted trinkets and framed artwork. “Did you paint these?” he inquires, adjusting his glasses. “They’re lovely.”
“Nah. They were all done by a Neomuni watercolor artist I’m a huge fan of.” Shahin glances over his shoulder when he hears a snort. “What?”
“I was honestly expecting to walk into a forest,” Lodi quips, gesturing to the living room. “But I can still tell the furniture apart.”
Shahin snorts. “There were more plants,” he says dejectedly. “Most of them died when III did. The survivors don’t share a discernible link between them, but I intend to get to the bottom- Apple, c’mon boy, go play.” He slides the glass patio door open and tosses the ball into the yard. Apple bounces after it. He sighs. “One of us was going to trip over that, I just know.”
“Very kind of you to leave some ambiguity as to who that’d be,” Lodi replies, grinning.
Shahin’s home has been described as an inviting cottage by some and a reclusive Wizard’s lair by others, if said Wizard was super into horticulture and collecting tomes from the 17th century. Thanks to his busy schedule he doesn’t entertain guests all that often — he feels like a guest in his own house, sometimes — but thankfully, Lodi’s used to his eccentricities. Shahin can be a little lazy as a host. “Alright. Ready for a tour?”
“Ready- oh no. He’s staring straight at me. I’m so sorry, Apple.”
“He’ll forget about you when I feed him in a little while. Right, so: Laundry room. Bathroom. Closet where I keep all my skeletons. Kitchen-"
“Sorry, what was that last one?”
“-Living room slash library. Guest room slash second library.”
“Is your bedroom the third library?”
Shahin brings a hand to his heart. “How’d you guess?”
Lodi raps a finger against his temple with a wink. “Got a mind like a steel trap. Hmm… I don’t see a desk anywhere, Mr. Tir. Where do you do your research?”
“Used to be the living room table, but these days I use it as storage space.” He gestures to the stack of books alongside a plant press and then starts to move both to the kitchen counter, which is in a similar state. The pantry, which he didn’t show to Lodi, is the fourth library. “I work in bed, mostly.”
Lodi pauses. “Do you ever sleep there?” he asks suspiciously.
“On occasion.”
Shahin plops down on the couch, discreetly dropping one of Apple’s stuffed toys over the other side. “What do you want for dinner? I’m feeling takeout tonight.”
“I’m game for anything,” Lodi answers, sitting as well. “Mind if I pay?”
“I do. Indian food alright with you?”
They argue about the bill with faux pleasantness until Lodi concedes with a long-suffering sigh. 4-0.
Shahin retrieves their order from the kitchen’s transmat beacon a short while later and hands Lodi’s biryani to him.
“You know, it’s the damnedest thing…” Lodi spears a piece of beef and eyes Shahin. “I found my wallet right after you left my apartment a couple weeks ago.”
Shahin deliberately shoves curry into his mouth before replying, coolly returning the Emissary’s gaze as he chews. He might enjoy messing with him a bit too much.
“I like your clothes,” he murmurs, looking him up and down. Shahin lightly plucks at his shirt collar. “Is this new?”
“It is.” Midnight blue is a nice color on Lodi. Anything that isn’t his Emissary robes is a vast improvement, honestly.
“Well, you look great.” Unlike Shahin, who foolishly thought ‘yeah, I can get some chores done and shower before he arrives, no problem’ and then lost track of everything, sprinting to answer the door when it buzzed. He’s just noticed he’s still got potting soil under his blunt nails.
“You’re kind to say so.” Lodi leans over, his lips close to Shahin’s ear to whisper, “You’re also a rotten thief,” his knee bumping into the Warlock’s thigh.
“That’s a strong accusation, Louis.” Shahin throws his right arm over his friend and drags him closer, drumming his fingertips on Lodi’s shoulder with a pickpocket’s touch, laughing. “But can you prove it?”
Lodi rolls his eyes and merely grins back, his cheeks flushed.
“Thanks for dinner, Mr. Tir. I hope to repay the favor. Someday.”
Keep dreaming, pal. They’re meeting at a café in the near future, and Shahin knows the owner.
They move to the yard for some fresh air — it’s been a week without noxious fumes and birds dropping from the sky — and watch through the window with amusement as Apple noisily devours his food in the kitchen, growling into the bowl between bites, his thick tail smacking the sink cabinet. Lodi, seated next to Shahin beneath the oak tree, wraps his arms around his legs and chuckles. “Poor thing’s never had a meal in his life.”
“Never,” Shahin agrees.
He’s comfortable in his own skin tonight. Shahin looks over after a few minutes of companionable silence to observe Lodi, by habit. The Emissary has his head in the clouds: bright-dark gaze raised to the heavens, moonlight reflected in his glasses, blinking slowly in wonder. When he glances back at Shahin, that soft affection remains firmly in place. Something light and strange joins the block of lead in the Warlock’s stomach.
A corner of Lodi’s mouth quirks upward. “Do you know what fireflies are?” he asks Shahin.
“I’ve heard about them,” Shahin returns, thinking of a particular tome in his second library. “I find it hard to believe a creature like that once existed in nature.”
“Well, they were everywhere in the summer where I lived. Kids would catch ‘em in jars to keep as nightlights.”
That sounds rather cruel to Shahin, but maybe they were so ubiquitous they needed their numbers tightly controlled?
“I’d sit outside on evenings like this and watch them dance, never for a second thinking of a day where they’d be gone.” Lodi sighs. “They’re high up on the list of things I wish I could show you.”
Shahin imagines the night dotted with tiny glowing insects, and his chest aches. He insists, “Louis, I want to see this list.” He hungers for a glimpse of a younger Earth that wasn’t ravaged by the Collapse, as told by a man who loves this planet as much as he does. Whatever Lodi shares with him would be worth more than any book in the universe.
Lodi coughs into his fist. He’s taken aback by Shahin’s keen interest. “It’s, um, still a work in progress. A lot of it might sound quaint to someone like you.”
“But you’ll show me someday?”
“Sure.” Lodi smiles, warm and sweet.
— A vine slowly but surely coiling around a trellis. The waves of an ocean that still teems with life lapping at the shore. The wind billowing through (my) clothes and (my) hair, cooling (my) fevered skin. —
The Warlock realizes what’s happened before he even has to look down: Lodi’s right elbow had nudged against his left arm. Their eyes meet; Lodi blinks owlishly. “…What… was that?”
Shahin’s Strand prosthesis had contracted minutely in response to Lodi’s skin, processing the sensation with intriguing imagery. Normally, Shahin would get a clear impression of the object or entity touching him, not whatever he’d just experienced. A glimpse into Lodi’s memories?
“Oh, this thing?” he asks cheerfully, masking his annoyance with himself. If Shahin’s memory serves him, this is the first time he’s worn short sleeves around Lodi. He should’ve been more cautious about their proximity; he’s usually good about sitting on the left side of others.
“I lost my arm two years ago. For reasons I’ll not get into, it was impossible for me to wear a traditional prosthesis. I wove this one instead.” Shahin brings his wrists and elbows together, locking his bare arms for Lodi to examine under the stars.
His right arm’s all brown skin, tattoos, and a scar that predates his resurrection. The left: a Strand prosthesis fitted for a shoulder disarticulation.
The Strand itself is unusual. It's completely static, lacking the fluidity and undulation of a tangle, its tightly woven threads mimicking the striations of muscular tissue. Shahin flexes, rotates, and extends the arm to demonstrate his full range of motion.
Lodi wrinkles his forehead. "Isn’t it a strain to manifest at all times?" His hand hovers shyly for a closer inspection.
Shahin holds up a leather palm to halt his advance, shaking his head. "Not any more. It's a solid object that's permanently fused to my body. I encountered Light fissures in the Pale Heart that stabilized it.”
“So, that means… what, roughly 5% of your body mass is now concentrated Darkness. Wow. What’s that… like for you? Sorry, let me know if I’m asking too much.”
On the contrary, Shahin’s relieved to have this conversation in the first place. He doesn’t even have to lie to answer this new question. “In the field, when I rely on the Dark, I can tap into the system’s reserves without needing to deplete my own. Strand, Stasis — the configuration doesn’t matter; it’s effortless for me. It feels… right. In a way that nothing else does.” He repeats Nimbus’s story of the river of souls, expounds upon the sense of interconnectedness and inclusion in a greater whole that Strand grants to its users. How Shahin, the first one to give Strand its form, had unconsciously visualized it as the color that matched his passion. What else could better fit the ‘element’ of life? And who else was better suited to wield it than he?
“But fusing myself with Strand came with a couple of drawbacks, too. For one thing, this arm’s incapable of most types of somatosensation, meaning I can’t use it to touch anything in the material world.” It’s taken him almost the full two years to utter these words without emotion. He omits any mention of still waking up some nights panicking because he can’t feel his left arm, the dreams he suffers from the night he lost it, or the constant vigilance he employs to protect others from himself — and himself from them.
I chose this. I don’t get to complain.
“There’s also… well.” Shahin chews on the inside of his cheek. Lodi has been listening so patiently, and with such rapt attention. His pleasant curiosity might sour with this bit of information. “This arm enables me to take psychometric readings from any sentient creature that comes into direct contact with it. Your vitals, your emotions, your strengths and weaknesses — all that you are, rendered unto my fingertips.” He wiggles them for dramatic effect, smirking. It fades quickly. “It’s not an ability I can freely ignore, or shut off. I needed Osiris’s help in designing a glove that dampens my ESP on the rare occasion I bump into someone without noticing it. All I got from you just now were a few visions of Earth; you’re still safe from me,” he chuckles.
Shahin’s surprised by the lack of a strong reaction from his captive audience. The Emissary is staring at the Warlock’s hand with an intensity that would’ve unsettled him before he learned that Lodi can’t hear his unique brand of Darkness. Or, it seems, his patron.
Lodi meets Shahin’s eyes steadily. “So you have used this power on another person?” he clarifies.
“A couple of times in the past, yes. But I don’t do it any more.”
“Why not, Mr. Tir?”
Shahin blinks, floored by the question and the frankness with which it was delivered. Uneasily, he answers, “Because it’s invasive.”
“Well, sure,” Lodi slowly allows, like he’s speaking to an idiot. “But what if it could reveal more about the- you know.” He casts a furtive look behind himself at the fence.
“The-" No. No. “Louis. Are you suggesting the answer has been hidden inside you all along?” Shahin demands in a hiss. He can feel another killer migraine looming on the horizon.
In sharp contrast to the Warlock, Lodi’s giddy at the prospect that he’s been harboring the solution to the Prophecy within himself. “There’s something there! I can’t reach it, can’t talk to it, can’t do anything on my own or through asking the Nine.” Lodi runs a hand through his hair and insists, “It would mean everything to me if you could just take a look. If it’s nothing to do with that, at least no one suffers for it in the process, right? It’s just reading, you said.”
Now that the idea’s been presented to him on a silver platter, Shahin can’t deny it’s a seductive one. Could they really be that lucky? Could the Prophecy be defeated tonight? Or is Shahin putting himself at risk for nothing?
His cynicism is swiftly shouted down by the insidious re-emergence of an old fear: Has he been letting his desire for self-preservation damn the system all this time?
Shahin squeezes his eyes shut until stars explode behind his lids. “Louis, I don’t know if I made myself clear enough: I can learn all there is to you if I focus well enough. Even IF there are clues buried in your subconscious, I might discover other things you aren’t willing to divulge.”
“I understand that.” Lodi lifts his chin, his mouth set into a determined line. “But I want to end this threat once and for all, so I can’t let this opportunity pass us by. I trust you. Please: use me as you see fit.”
Omar would lose his shit if he discovered what the hell his coworker was getting up to with his VIP on a Wednesday night. Shahin grits his teeth as he tugs the glove off his left hand. “Very well.”
Lodi’s stoic expression breaks out into a wide smile. He beams at Shahin, asking brightly, “What do you need from me?”
Shahin has no idea if his subject can influence his reading in any shape or form. He’s only visited this power upon two other people — Nimbus and Osiris — both of whom had been unaware of what he was doing. “Focus on what you know,” he instructs anyway, his voice low, “and drown out all the rest. Give me a clear signal into your mind.”
Lodi shuts his eyes with a firm nod. Silver illuminates his lashes within seconds.
Shahin takes a deep breath to center himself, prosthetic fingers twitching in anticipation — and apprehension — of their task. Then, with some difficulty, he reaches out and takes Lodi’s hand. His thumb pad lightly grazes a knuckle; paracausal receptors report to his brain, perplexingly, that it’s a hill, and that his interdigital webbing are valleys. He tightens his grip oh so slightly on the transform boundary, plates gladly shifting to accommodate his intrusion.
In defiance of propriety, Shahin’s palm next glides over Lodi’s wrist before stroking the underside of his forearm, tracing the radial artery until his curious exploration is halted by the cuffs of his rolled sleeves. His fingertips curl beneath the fabric, combing Lodi’s skin for secrets. The Emissary’s molten lifeblood thrums at his touch, hot and eager to spill at the mere suggestion that it should.
This sense stills Shahin’s hand. “Open your eyes, Louis,” he whispers urgently. He worries that his friend’s ventured too far into the Nine’s realm without a way to follow him. “I’m losing you.”
“I’m here,” Lodi whispers back, blinking at Shahin. “Is it working?”
Shahin opens his mouth to respond, but instead succumbs to gravity.
A heavy curtain of hopes and fermions separates him from What Might Be, bisecting his psyche into warring hemispheres. Shahin picks wrong. He hears discordant laughter ordering him to choose again.
He picks wrong. The atonal voice scolds him for going off script, mocks his poor Sight and wipes the stage to start fresh. It displays three glittering spheres: Mars, Venus, and Europa. With an impossible tongue, it demands he try again.
Shahin chooses Europa, thinking: Of course it gives me the option of hurting myself. But he picks wrong.
Venus, then. Still wrong.
Wait, why did Venus light up? He’d indicated Mars. Shahin furrows his brow. He’s having trouble concentrating with the geometry burrowing under his flesh and making a nest of his bones, yet he still makes his will known: Mars. Mars. I said MARS.
He snatches up the planet. It crumbles in his palm, slips through his fingers and stains them red red red red. His punishment is simple: deliquescence. Shahin drips down the galaxy’s sink.
In the blink of a cyan eye, Shahin stands alone in the wasteland of Eternity. He looks to the vanishing horizon and then at his marble hands, and starts to run. He outpaces the storm but not its howl; it smashes Shahin into bitter pieces, and from them the Realm selects the bishop. The knight tramples it in a fit of rage before turning upon its tessellated prison.
He, the arrogant thing that entered this sacred space, whose tethers to the World Without snap like sinew, marks Time’s passage by witnessing his own corpse’s decomposition. Liquid hydrogen leaks from his nose and mouth. A giant with serrated teeth chews thoughtfully on his organic matter, declaring: STIFF-BACKED AND MIGHTIER THAN HIS BROTHER but that he LACKS THE REQUISITE PLIABILITY.
The refuse is drowned in the sea of stars. A mind that would’ve failed the Turing test summons the remainder of its energy to whisper, “I must remain myself.” But first it needs to remember itself. Where did it come from? What does it seek? Why isn’t it groveling for the Emissary’s forgiveness?
The Emissary! This mind knows of him. It shouts to the heavens, “Louis, it's getting dark out, will you take me home?”
Louis is walking Teresa home from practice, grass stains all over his uniform and sweat-saturated hair sticking to his forehead while she's looking like a dream. A slightly nervous dream — she’s keeping her eyes fixed upon the sidewalk; she’s worried that she’ll trip in her pumps. Louis offers her his arm and she takes it with a giggle, her gait suddenly much improved.
They’re not actually going up to her house, of course. They’re just going to spend a little time together in the shed, where Teresa teaches him a few more things they wouldn’t learn in school, and Louis demonstrates how fast he can sprint when her folks’ car pulls into the driveway.
With a serene grin, Ben ignores his kick under the table — their code for “help” — when their mother asks Louis over dinner how he could have possibly confused "Tu es belle" with "Jesteś piękna" on his French exam.
The ephemeral joy of teenage romance glitters in his periphery. He wraps its gossamer thread around his wrist and holds on for dear life. Here! His link to the one that guards his conscience from being swept away.
He wonders, Why this memory? What’s it got to do with the Prophecy? But what comes out of his bleeding mouth is, “You know I love you, Lou, but I don’t need your fussing. Go back to bed.”
Louis is hunkered down with Frankie in their C-47, sitting in on one of his cargo bay confessionals. His gunner's eyes are either red from crying, or from a lack of sleep. It’s probably both: Walter's death is a specter that looms over them all, but it hit Frankie the hardest.
Still, Frankie's voice is surprisingly steady as he spills secrets that would have the Major write him up for a dishonorable discharge, his stare boring holes into the fuselage. He croaks, “Lou, you tell me if I’m sick or crazy, but you… you get what I mean, right? You saw the way he stared at me. Like I was the one who hung the damn moon in the sky.”
Is there another way to look at Frankie? Louis’s words stick in his throat like shrapnel. He takes his friend into his arms when the shaking gets to be too much, lips pressed to Frankie’s hairline and mumbling that it’s going to be alright. It’s going to be alright.
(The Gordian knot in his chest tightens.)
It’s going to be alright.
The waves dump him onto a shore of obsidian sand that cuts like diamond. Shahin, drenched to his molecules, crawls on his belly toward a fractal lighthouse. He hacks up cosmic dust and the cigarette ashes of a dozen unsent letters.
Shahin crawls for hours. Days. Weeks. The beach stretches his mind in brand new cardinal directions. He arrives at some point beneath the structure’s eerie glow, his body sundered by its journey — but he ignores it. He’s close to the finale. He lies supine, blinded and gasping as the tides of one more memory threaten to pull him back under.
Louis is collapsing in on himself like a neutron star, dying for the first last time, and for one resigned moment, he’s at peace. He never wanted to stay in this goddamned universe to begin with. He’s going to see his family again. The next moment, just one synapse over: He’s terrified, his paralyzed tongue unable to scream NO, no no NO, please, I need to help them, let me live—
Someone slams an orb of Light into his chest and jumpstarts his heart like a car battery. It’s Mr. Tir, he thinks fuzzily, glasses slipping down his nose: the faceless agent of death who hadn’t spoken a single word since he’d arrived on Kepler, now whispering urgently to him, “I’ve got you, Louis,” as he helps the Emissary to his feet. A quick reassurance uttered in one moment sears itself into Louis’s mind.
That reassurance quickly becomes a steady hand at his back, and a soft voice in his ears that drowns out all the others. Something inside Louis slots into place even as the Nine get to work ripping out his rotten veins to make room for new ones. He smells rosewater and cardamom on the solar winds, hears azure notes in the shades of the Warlock’s rare laughs. He’s starving for a kiss, jonesing for his touch, stumbling down alien highways and racing through silver woods only to arrive back at his apartment in an exhilarated daze.
God, could the guy at least let Louis buy him a drink?
A blanket of celestial fire the color of his wildest dreams falls over Shahin. Someone lifts him out of the surf, kindly minding the lacerations.
***
“…okay? Say something, for the love of-“
“Hey,” Shahin mumbles, squinting. Lodi swears above him. “I don’t think… it worked. ‘M sorry.”
“Forget about that! Will you be alright? Should we call Spanner?”
Shahin’s murky head is propped up on Lodi’s thighs. It’s a fine pillow while he catches his breath. He coughs, “No, I just… need a minute. How long was I out for?”
“About ten seconds,” Lodi answers, his gaze anxiously mapping every inch of Shahin’s face, fingers teasing back the other man’s hair. Shahin squirms a little, unaccustomed to the sensation, and stares up at the night sky. “Felt like an eternity to you, though, didn’t it. I take it you saw something truly heinous if it made you faint?” The Emissary almost sounds optimistic about it.
With a little help, Shahin pulls himself up into a sitting position and retrieves his glove. His bearings are still stitching themselves back together as he recalls, to the best of his ability, almost everything he saw and experienced before he’d lost consciousness.
“Given the pushback from the Nine, you’ve convinced me that there is more to learn from you,” Shahin admits, “but my ability to retrieve it is… limited by my own biology.” He has to force these words out.
“We’ll try something else, then.” Lodi exhales. He looks out over the yard, subdued. “Should’ve known it wouldn’t be so simple. Nothing in life ever is, especially when it concerns me.” After a moment, he says quietly, “Didn’t think I’d ever hear Teresa or Frankie’s names again, either. So… what happened after you got to the island?”
“I’m not sure,” Shahin replies, which is a lie cushioned by the truth. “I just know that you were there.” He tucks his chin toward his chest, muttering, “Whatever else you think of yourself, Louis, it was the thought of you that led me back to my own mind. You anchored me to reality.”
“I… I didn’t know you felt that strongly about me. It’s…” Lodi scratches his cheek, grinning. “…a little hard to read you sometimes.”
Shahin no longer needs the Darkness or a Veil-spun hand to decipher his friend’s expression, when he’s finally gathered the courage to look him in the eyes, but the former helps while the latter is busy clenching the grass. There, in the center of Lodi’s being, is a torch: lit by a flame eternal and stoked with immeasurable tenderness. It burns so hot that Shahin is sure he’d be incinerated if he moved any closer.
Even after his ill-advised trek through Lodi’s psyche, Shahin's retained enough of his wits to grasp that he's made a terrible mistake: By trying to keep the Emissary from the Nine's orbit, he'd bound Lodi to his own.
It's not a big deal, Shahin stubbornly thinks to himself later, when he’s alone and pacing holes in the living room floor. There's a good chance this infatuation will fade on its own, and if that doesn’t work, some strategic cold shouldering might be in order. He'll crush Lodi's feelings, but if the man knew who he was dealing with, those feelings would’ve never come to fruition in the first place. Shahin's doing him a favor. He’s doing himself a favor.
Shahin's heart hammers in its triple-bolted cage when his communicator pings. It’s Lodi, of course, thanking him again for the hospitality and wishing him a good night. An innocuous message that deserves an equally innocuous reply, which he sends after an appropriate number of minutes.
He leaves the communicator facedown on the counter and goes to bed. Not to sleep, but to stare at the clock and stop himself from texting back: I like it when you say good night to me.