Chapter Text
Chapter 9
A long sigh of annoyance slipped out from Eris’ lips as she tenderly shimmied into her robes and armor; the process of adornment taking longer than the usual routine with only one good arm. The right half of her body was still tender and ablaze with healing warmth, screeching its discomfort with every movement. Unwilling to concede to physical brokenness, she pushed through it. For a little while, gnashing her teeth worked to stave off the great ache hanging on like creeping gossip. Yet the natural desire to dwell on self-pity ignited deep within, bolstering a simmering frustration fueled by doubt. The wounds Eris had assumed were healing seemed to be gradually revealing a deeper and sustained trauma. It hounded and heckled like angling Cabal War Beasts, chasing until their quarry is torn asunder. Perhaps, there were worse problems beneath the layers of epidermis, the matter of which Eris was becoming increasingly aware.
While the Huntress prepared for her quiet and unpublicized departure to Luna, a private summons arrived through the secured Vanguard Network with a chirp. As Eris’ tablet blinked with neediness, she squinted at the notification, hurriedly gleaning its contents. Ikora was requesting for a private audience, no doubt to talk her out of leaving and forgoing the dangerous sojourn altogether. Yet, she was resolved to seeing this mission through. These compounding events were beyond ignorantly fashioning an air of peace for the mind and spirit. None of them could afford to sweep these series of misfortunes under the rug anymore.
Eris was doing all of this for humanity and the worlds within the solar system. Each of them beholding fearsome harbingers of tenebrous paracausality which presided within their individual firmaments. How could she willingly stand by and abide by their unwanted habitation knowing that her people would be filled with raucous qualms toward these symbolisms of bête noire?
Cinching down the last of her armor, Eris stormed out of the apartment as she pulled down the hood of her robes. Unfit to tie her veil in place, she resigned herself to embracing the present situation. However, doing so was like the “nails-on-the-chalkboard” of her life—painful and irksome. Eris wrestled with herself, working to abstain from the flow of superficial anxiety that pervaded her mind. It was near impossible to be comfortable in her own skin when the sudden cessation of systematic disquiet campaigned against a decade’s worth of ingrained habit. The toxicity of such sorrowful self-abasement only grew more poisonous as that not-quite-humility morphed into self-loathing.
All these things raged in Eris’ mind despite the hallway and elevators being deserted. Traveling skyward, the car’s steady journey came to an end as the doors opened, biding her admittance into a corridor of the Tower’s Bazaar. The narrow hallway lit by hanging lanterns cast long shadows which Eris followed into a small piazza encased by a two-platform stairwell. The large tree planted in the middle of the roofless room followed her steady ascent, its rustling leaves waving in the breeze. Stepping out into the periphery of the Courtyard, Eris traveled the grated causeway and took an immediate left.
Normally, she would have heard Shaxx about now. The booming bravado of his baritone voice, even when he whispered, tended to carry. Perhaps the charismatic brute had not finished his morning coffee—a staple and large credit toward his pep. Without that bean juice, he would continue to remain, in fact, just a “brute”. Chuckling at her inner-witticism, Eris gingerly descended in a two-step shuffle. To her detriment, the snail-like crawl became the bane of her existence as it leeched her of that lighthearted humor. Her spirit ballooned with agitation, tired of being injured. Once or twice, she plucked up the courage to quicken the pace; the fracturing of her brittle patience winning out. Erroring instantly, pain like lightning bolts zapped through her body, rolling in waves of hot and cold, wounded nerves. Eris fumed, begrudging the stairs as if a life-long nemesis.
Curse these injuries!
Finally, she reached the veranda, the walkway stretching toward the Vanguard Hall on the right. While she mused her newfound annoyance with this location—specifically with a belligerently, reprobate Titan-Hunter duo—just as subtle movement over by the tables captured her attention. Two Guardians, quaint like a couple, sat together as they sipped on steaming cups of coffee. Plucking fresh pastries out of a small, pink box between them, they laughed and carried on as if reminiscing over an inside secret in which they were the only people privy. While their jovial mood was quite captivating to someone who never experienced such pleasantries, a check light of recognition illuminated her mind.
Eris’ stomach seized together in a jumbled mess the size of the late-Taken King’s Dreadnaught. The Wraith with sandy hair twisted up in a lazy bun, seemed at home with the woman sitting across from him. The she-Guardian was a subtle beauty with her ashen hair braided like a crown and loose wisps curling about her ears and neck. This observation swiftly changed as Eris locked gazes with her striking, storm-cloud eyes. Eris felt inextricably tangled up in a rollercoaster of emotions, unsure of what to truly think or feel.
Is this what he meant by needing to talk?
Much less willing to untangle the mental stress plaguing her mind, Eris kept her head low and determined to evade their mutually, exclusive doting session. She was about halfway across the terrace when a familiar voice called for her and Eris sabotaged her own escape plan. Peering over her shoulder, she found Roman jogging toward her.
“Eris,” he greeted. The corners of his lips drew back briefly, expressing a subtle sense of excitement, and pearly whites. “I’m glad you’re here. After speaking with the Drifter, I—how are you?”
“Tender.” Sighing, she asked, “What did that insufferable Rat-man say this time? I grow weary of his wanton proclivities.”
“Nothing,” Roman quickly denied, scratching his neck. Not quite looking at her, he said, “I thought that perhaps after what happened in Zavala’s office you wouldn’t want to see anyone—including me—for a while.”
Eris frowned, abruptly distinguishing his growing concern over her disapproval. “That—conversation—is the least of my present worries,” she mumbled, exhibiting similar trepidations toward his conceivable rejection. Suddenly, the contents of last night’s darkness-induced vision came flooding back, filling her with foolish wishes.
The timeless leisure they spent alone together in the garden hideaway and his hungry observation of her. Roman’s phantom had craved her complete attention like a flower yearns to bask in the glory of potent sunshine. His lips were soft as silk, enticing her curiosity—even now—as they brushed gracefully against her own. It had all happened as if it were mere routine, and she secretly coveted that slice of normalcy. As Eris pondered these things, her cheeks began to simmer with embarrassment. Shaking her head, working to bury concepts she was not willing to understand quite yet, the Huntress cleared her throat.
“With the Darkness having plotted and sown the Seed of Silver Wings,” she continued, lowering her voice, “I grow concerned as to whom the enemy beguiled into planting and concealing this seedling…” Frowning further, she whispered, “The repercussions of such secrets is what I fear and what it might mean for loyalty’s sake…especially inside these walls.”
“I don’t know” he replied, “but we’ll figure it out together.”
Before Eris could respond, a silly tune captured her renewed attention. I’m on the moon, it’s made of cheese. Glancing beyond the Guardian’s shoulder, her brow raised at the modicum of carefree eccentricity. She had almost forgotten about the she-Guardian, the only tip-off to her presence emerging in the form of unconscious entertainment. As the unnamed beauty dug through the pastries, Eris flicked her eyes to the ground dejectedly.
“I will let you get to your—,” she paused, unsure of wanting to put a name to her suspicions, “I did not mean to intrude on your private moment.”
“Oh, no-no-no-no!” Roman yelled, frantically refuting the misunderstanding. “It’s not like that.” Looking up, the Guardian made a face Eris had never seen before, his expression bursting with complete surprise. His cheeks were bright red as he waved her meanings aside, the action quite uncharacteristic of his usual modest demeanor. “She’s a friend from the good ol’ days. I never did join a clan, but I consider her the closest thing to a clanmate. Her and her fiancé—may he rest in the Light of the Traveler’s blessing…um—it’s the anniversary of his passing.”
Eris’ stomach soured, suddenly feeling guilty for jumping to conclusions. “Oh…” she mumbled, “I was not aware—”
“No need to apologize,” Roman said, calming exponentially, “just—just as long as we’re clear. I’m not interested in anyone else.”
“Me either,” a woman’s voice spoke. Eris, already flummoxed by Roman’s candor, turned with surprise to see Ikora standing behind them. Silently she thanked the Warlock, and yet, she could not have had worse timing. “Sorry to intrude, but I require Eris’ audience, she’s overdue for our meeting.” The Guardian, suffused with part annoyance and part mortification, gave a wordless nod. “Truly, I am sorry. It is good to live beyond our roles as Guardians—time can sometimes be too short which makes every day a gift. Cherish the time while you both have it in this existence.” Clearing her throat with a small smile, she said, “I promise to give her back when we are done.”
"Ikora. Eris,” he answered in farewell.
Eris nodded, drinking in his icy-blue eyes which lingered upon her for several moments more before he resigned himself to a bittersweet parting of ways. Walking backwards, he said, “Don’t leave without saying good-bye.” Not one to promise anything in haste, she remained quiet and watched him rejoin his longtime friend at the table.
Turning toward Ikora, she found the Warlock pinning a sleeve to her mouth.
“Your timing—impeccable as always,” Eris glowered.
Ikora chuckled lightly, her mirth slipping ever so slightly. “Perhaps…should I not have rescued you?”
Eris cocked her head to the side in a sort of noncommittal shrug.
Quieting thereafter, the two trudged onward to the Warlock Vanguard’s office. Only once inside and the doors sealed, Ikora strode to her desk, and extracted her datapad. “I imagine you know, in part that is, why you’re here. There is no doubt that your report is both intriguing and astonishing, but—”
“Do not attempt to persuade me, the mission before me is my own,” Eris interjected, grimacing slightly as her fervor pulled at her side. The pain from her injuries resumed their nagging, flaring in vindictive agitation.
Frowning, Ikora asked, “Are you alright?”
Trembling, Eris held her arm tight to her side, and replied, “Do I not appear to be fine?”
“You appear functional,” the Warlock sighed, placing the datapad back on the desk. Striding over, her root beer eyes studied Eris like a book, and gleaned the truth. “You are paler than usual, have you gone to the infirmary since coming back?”
Perturbed, she quipped, “Even if there was enough time in the world to do so, I would not be pitied as they scour my body for infirmities. I am not as—human—as I once was.”
Ikora folded her arms, fighting the intense need to roll her eyes. “Will you at least let me tend to you?” The Huntress neither conceded nor rejected the offer as she swayed in place. Eris watched as the Warlock grabbed a medical kit and nearby chair, dragging it across the floor for her use. Obliging her longtime friend to avoid handsy-coercion, she took purchase upon the amethyst cushion. “As much as it pains me to agree with you on this matter, the situation is out of my control. We cannot sit on the sidelines anymore, even if Zavala is content to do so.”
Very delicately, Ikora pushed up Eris’ sleeve and saw the healing carnage. Though the skin was no longer broken, there were newly translucent scars stitching her friend in place. “What took a chunk out of you?”
“The Taken—Nokris or rather Savathûn’s temporary emissary—loosed ravenous Thrall after me,” Eris said rather matter of fact.
Ikora winced with sympathy, but continued, “I will not hinder your efforts. Just like Anna and Sloane, Asher is also testifying to bizarre circumstances upon Io. There is little communication from Brother Vance on the subject, but I surmise that he is experiencing the strange pull of Darkness in his part of the system as well.”
Eris immediately quieted, the fight in her snuffed out like a dead star.
While in the throws of contemplation, the Warlock Vanguard opened the medical kit resting at her feet. Extracting some bandages and a splint, Ikora began ministering to Eris’ arm, wrapping firm but gentle. “This is just for added support,” she murmured. After a moment more, Ikora charged, “Listen carefully, friend, even as our enemies reveal themselves from the shadows in these coming times, we must keep them from escalating into obsession. While I understand that you have waged war against the infernal Osmium Court—and please, hear me clearly—do not turn Savathûn into another Crota. I am warning you of the folly in this. Do not gloat or revel in the destruction of your enemy, neither let yourself rejoice. To do so would be to construct and wield the very sword that would bleed you through. Trust me, I would know.”
“You need not concern yourself,” Eris chided. “I am well aware of the weight of revenge and what it costs.”
“Eris,” Ikora pleaded, “I am merely speaking out of concern. After Cayde died, I have had to live with the guilt of what I have taken. I was so hellbent on seeking my enemy’s destruction, I even used the Guardian to relay my message. In doing so, the very sword I warned you of is slowly killing the relationship between myself and Zavala.” She scoffed, “He warned me, you know, not to seek vengeance. Sometimes I wish I could lob a nova bomb in his face for being right, but—dang it!—I cannot seem to get past how much I hate myself. Even now.”
Jade eyes cast themselves to the ground, Eris sighed, “That tin can, unicorn never did replace the ship he so lovingly commandeered.”
Ikora smirked, “Knowing him he would have stolen a better one than you already possessed and gifted it to you…eventually. Hold still.” Eris quieted as her friend focused on the Light of Dawn, calling a warm radiance into the palm of her calloused hands. Gently and with patience, a pure white glow leaked out between the cracks of her fingers. Sighing in disappointment, Ikora informed, “Eris…there’s more damage than I realized. You’re full of fractures—physically and ontologically speaking—and considerable trauma. Muscle trauma.”
Chagrined and afraid of what her friend could holistically envision, Eris pulled back her arm. The reflexive anxiety cost her dearly as she cradled the limb to herself, groaning with discomfort. Immediately ashamed of what she had done, the Huntress looked away. “I will heal…with time.”
Standing quickly, Eris turned to leave, wanting nothing more than to put distance between her and the heaviness of her dilemmas. It was much too deep to comprehend, the wounds broader than simple chatter could mend. This was well past the marrow, plunging in the abysmal chasms of spiritual despair.
“I can’t begin to understand the whole of your struggles,” Ikora blurted, stopping Eris in her tracks. “The best I can do is imagine the blade that has pierced you down to the spirit. However, the Guardian—Roman—he has endured much, fought valiantly, and sacrificed endlessly. More than anyone, he would understand you the best. You can find something good in him if you try. I implore you, don’t leave without saying good-bye.”
Eris sighed, “To say ‘good-bye’ implies an intention to never see the other again. To this fact, shall I contest this notion explicitly. I will say ‘good-bye’ to those who require it and give a more generous valediction to those who I feel are obliged.” Stopping just short of the door, the aperture whooshing along its track, the Huntress said, “As always, I give you my thanks. Your kindnesses are astoundingly genuine and an unrelenting gift. Until next time, I look forward to our meeting.”
Some days Eris wondered if the city life would do her good like a medicine, nourishing her famished bones and renewing a comfortable spirit within her. What with the constant clamor of countless denizens she may never meet. To be just a blip in the crowd experiencing the human-desire for inclusion and—peace—that is bred from a sense of familiarity and companionship. However, these dreamy musings would drop to the wayside each time she returned to the stark quietude of Luna. Perhaps to the average person, existing within a metropolis is a precondition that feeds their wholeness but to Eris it was merely a luxury she could not afford.
Not anymore.
In these troubling times, Eris’ past experiences have fashioned her for today, placing her under intense pressure like a diamond in the rough. Toughening and shaping her into the fate of solitude and rarity. Up to this point in time, she has struggled tooth and nail to endure. Was becoming comfortable with isolation a breakthrough of acceptance, or was it all borne of nihilism? If anything were missing during her separateness, it would be the warmth of Sol. Even now, she imagined its auriferous rays of sunshine kissing her skin. Philosophically, she genuinely enjoyed the concept of deep shadows retreating when the sun rises to power in its zenith perch.
It was and continues to be a picturesque embodiment of boldness in her mind; a promise against the sorrows which come in the night. A banner to rally to and find strength renewed; a joy that comes in the dawn of early light! Yet, here on the Moon, the vantage point changes things drastically. Who is rising and who is retreating? There is no day here, only the vacuum chill of space and the far-off token of things she only allowed herself to observe.
Pondering on these matters, Eris rummaged through all the crates stashed about the Sanctuary in search of necessities. A backpack. A week’s supply of rations. A sleeping bag rated for polar conditions. Changes of clothing. Grabbing whatever she could think of requiring, Eris prepared to stage an ad hoc campsite in the Cradle on Io. No matter how many times she ran through a mental checklist, there was always one or two things missing.
Normally she was not so absentminded, but her thoughts were beginning to fumble down the slippery slope of self-sabotage. Whittling away at her resolve until the dam of mental fortitude collapsed. Ushering in a floodgate of guilty desires, a certain humble Wraith surfaced from the waters of tumultuous thought life. Roman seemed to be the driving force continually knocking down her seasoned willpower by the meter. His unintentional demands were like a tsunami, crashing into her forethoughts, forcing the lagoons of passing contemplations to become large bodies of meditation. His memory was here to occupy, not willing to relinquish the chance to challenge all manner of reasoning.
Steeped in the harbors of confusion, Eris knelt over the lunar dust, cradling herself tenderly as a raw surge of ache played her ligaments like a harp. Diverting her attention from the pain, she thought about what her response might have been back at the Tower. It was beyond frustrating; clamming up at Roman’s honesty. How was she to respond? What was an appropriate measure of time to ruminate on his meanings? Was she purely imagining things? Was there really something there for them to lay claim to or was she examining much too deeply in the underground connotations that existed between the lines of truth and feeling?
“My how you have fallen, O Mournful one,” a man’s voice echoed. The sound of this spectral source seemed as if it was rooted and projecting from an alternate existence, reverberating in a sort of polyphonic clamor amid a depthless chasm. “To be brought so low despite the heralding Nightmares having ceased their harrowing madrigal…makes this old, blighted soul contemplate puzzling conundrums.”
“Toland,” she glowered, caught off guard by his sudden presence. Looking upward, she watched the white orb that was his remnant essence, undulate in the ether like a flaring sun. “Skulking about this forsaken rock as usual I see…”
“Not as forsaken as one would assume,” he answered, bobbing slightly. “What troubles the mind?”
“It is nothing,” Eris dismissed quickly. Sitting back on her haunches, she swept her legs out and rested her head against a nearby trunk. “Just—leave me be.”
“Perhaps, without spectral tormentors gloating—”
“Floating,” she nitpicked.
“Semantics,” Toland argued. “As was intended to be conveyed: is it possible that the ordeal meant to forge your greatness, has leeched you bone-dry like the Hive drains the Light in the deepest of places?”
“Why, O Shattered one, are you here?” Eris quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Are you to resume in their stead and punish me further? Are you to nag and wail until I have been unmade?”
Toland’s substance flickered in place, merely observing her with the patience of a serpent. Evaluating his words, he pressed, “Has the familiarity between ourselves grown so cold that the candle of our understanding has been snuffed? Are we as passing acquaintances who should remain unconcerned about worlds outside their own?”
“Do not speak to me of such things!” She bit. “Are you not graduated beyond this realm of habitation and become as the Angels of the Deep?! Yes, come—sing to me! Serenade me with time-bound chords, those fateful melodies full of rot! Cast your hatred like the Siren-Deathsingers who enchanted you—body and soul. Let loose! Bewail my ears with gloom-ridden choruses of spirit-snatching tongues. Let the sinew on these bones melt as slag, the skeleton ground to fine powder as if a horde of Ogres paraded upon them. And let the spirit of this mortal vessel evaporate, forgotten as breath on the wind!”
Silence.
“What?” Eris snapped. “Hive got your tongue?”
Toland’s wisp trembled, coronal flares of silent displeasure weaving energetic ribbons in the air. “Mortification does not behoove you. Whatever internal machinations are directing your quest down this road of self-destruction must cease. Lest I should flay you in that groveling stoop, banish these maddening meditations before they become wholly consuming.”
She scoffed, “What shackles hinder your terrible power from taking shape, hmm? Get on with it! My ears are bleeding from the hypocrisy of your sins.”
“Ah,” he sighed. Whether this was done with boredom, annoyance, or sadness—Eris knew not. “The truth finally reveals itself.”
“Was it truly hidden?” she mused, suddenly exhausted.
Looking up into the bleakness of space, Eris quieted as her hive-eyes roamed the endless sea of stars. Together, the Shattered and the Mournful, let silence wash over them for a long while yet. Their boiling contentions gradually reduced to a low simmer and then cooled into rationality as it steeped off.
Gathering her thoughts together, Eris asked, “You knew, did you not? About the Darkness and its moored vessel in the harbors of the Moon’s enduring abyss…?”
"My ears were surprisingly attuned to its gradual sonata,” Toland answered honestly. “It did not take long to recognize its voice when it beckoned, unlike the tether anchor that was my companion. Guren, the Ghost, required time to accept the strange power while I chomped at the bit—waiting for him to catch up. My inquisitive nature as a Warlock had nearly reached the point of academic starvation that bordered the line of spirituality. I had never known that kind of thirst or hunger so great the mere thought of it was pure famine.” As the unsung Hive-master recounted his tale, his wisp bobbed in place with sudden energetics. “Finally, one day he was curious enough to end his needless struggling. Then…then…we were like the fabled maiden of old, traversing the rabbit hole into Underland. We chased after adventures untold, burrowing further and further as we forsook the light to gain deeper knowledge.”
Tether anchors—there the familiar verbiage was again. Suddenly, an idea sparked within Eris’ mind, harkening back to the banter-session she held with a certain necromancer: "The Mournful-one—cast off by the Sky—with no tether anchor." Was—was it possible to forsake the Light and exchange it for Darkness? Not just Guardians but…Little Lights too?
Oh, be careful little eyes what you see.
Oh, be careful little ears what you hear.
Oh, be careful little hearts whom you trust.
“This secret of yours it cost us—no—it cost me dearly…” Eris whispered. Her voice was a mixture of something beyond ire and grieving sickness as it caused her throat to swell. The moment her eyes felt a sting, free-flowing ichor trailed down her countenance and into the neck of her garments. “Why would you care? We trusted you. I trusted you. It is beyond my current comprehension. How was it that I had become so naïve as to think you would reciprocate my—oh—never mind!”
As if receiving a swift cue to leave, Eris rose offendedly to her feet, “Curse it! Count it all as loss!” Digging awkwardly into the folds of her robes, she extracted the Ahamkara bone nestled there, and willed open a portal. “What a grievously, vain assumption on our parts—to believe you cared for any of us. What fools we were as you lead us to our end!”
“I am not a contemptibly, emotionless ignoramus too blind to see the look in their eyes—or your own!” he seethed. “Eris—my dear Eris. For a long time, I surveyed you with perfect regard and whispered secrets in your ear alone. Admiration grew in my heart! Though I got carried away with seeking my prize, I led you through those dark tunnels, disguising you from terrors you have yet to realize. Just as you were summoned for greatness, I was called to evaluate the dark things and learn their mysteries which have been whispered since the inception of wickedness.”
“Oh, how noble of you!” she spat. “Do you dribble this nonsense to all things Hive and powerful? Do you grovel at the feet of terrible Queens like Savathûn with such devotion?! You are out of touch and focus like the blight you claim to be. Shattered in infinitesimal ways, never to be whole again. Spare me your counterfeit kindnesses!”
Toland followed Eris as she took a step toward her monochromatic aperture. “What can I give to assuage such vexation?”
“Do not bestow upon me your worthless pity!” she snapped, turning on her heel. “Your casual disregard for life and love is more than enough. If all you can gift are stones, then I want no part.”
“Stones?!” he blazed. “What about the provender of knowledge I spoon-fed that imbecile of a Guardian at your behest? Hmm? Would I truly have done this on my own? No! My interest was allied with your own.”
Eris sighed, her shoulders sagging in bittersweet defeat. “Long ago, we came to a fork in the road, and I waited to observe what direction you would take. Now the way forward is clear, and it seems we are travelling different paths as always. I am done running roundabout in the gauntlet of your abusive trials like a rat caught in a wheel. Goodbye, O Shattered one.”
Taking a step forward, she was halfway submerged when Toland zipped over to her side. “Eris, my dear Eris. If it is a parting of ways for now, know that the road will intersect in the future. Until then, I gift you bread and not a stone. Meditate upon it day and night, and this cautionary warning. Many things are on the horizon; machinations from murderous Queens willing to leave their mark upon the very fabric of reality to change their fate. Do not become stranded in the sea of their treachery, even a well-seasoned Bishop can be knocked off the chessboard. You have unmade many a terrible thing but be careful of what takes hold. Some nightmares, you can become…with time.”
Pausing for thought, Eris looked ahead not sparing him a glance as she said, “Sometimes, the things you say remind me of the Guardian. Perhaps, it is the other way around.”
Toland’s wisp seemed to droop. “Pray for their sake, it isn’t so.”
Eris frowned as she departed.