THE CLOAK THAT SITS ON THEIR SHOULDERS IS TOO BIG FOR THEM: not just physically, but emotionally - the larger-than-life presence that once wore it like a rally-banner now replaced by someone who wears it as a funeral shroud: wears the scarf like it's their personal rope in the gallows, saved just for them. of course they're aware that the others view them as a monster after the shore. who wouldn't ? hell , they don't fucking remember most of what they did - memories missing & fragmented & shattered & corrupted. ( was it truly a trauma response , @organiq? was it a mind scarred from UNLEASHING THE NEW , GAPING VOID IN THEIR HEART ? or was it something deeper that was wrong with them ? was it something in their code ? was it another failsafe of braytech like the killswitch in their neck? was it something the body willed the mind to forget? was it something they , on some level, wanted to do? ) but here's the thing about surviving a tragedy - nobody talks about the miserable , rotten work of living in the aftermath. nobody talks about what to do. so why is it so surprising for everyone to learn that a guardian from the dark ages that's been trained to serve as shield & sword for humanity chose to be a blade for the memory of someone they love?
a humorless , haunted laugh escapes from them - dying quickly as they white-knuckle the railing, before turning to face her friend: thumb brushing over the grip of the iconic hand-cannon holstered & strapped to their thigh before toying with the edges of the black cloak - pinned up to keep it from scraping their ground, grounding weight upon their back. " unfortunately , i think we both know i came out very much ... scathed. this . . . this wasn't a fight , though - " hotaru admits , dull cyan eyes tracking the rig & the people living outside of the city. the people that have created golden fields of grain that stretch on for acres - the same grain they trade & sell in the city as bread. as flour. as baked goods. ( the same flour that's in their pantry, that they received from a kind , elderly couple with comedically bad eyesight & their adult children that smile & call them aunt hotaru , because there are generations of their family that have known them as such. )
" it was . . . a catastrophic loss. for all of us. but i think we both know i was bein ' a bit of a selfish bastard. "
even now , after centuries of service, the city's love for them remains so very conditional compared to their fellow lightbearers. from the moment they stepped foot in it, THEY KNEW PARADISE WOULD NOT KEEP THEM FOR LONG. still , the news - it's unexpected. of all the things they've done - for the city , for humanity --- why was this the final straw ? WHY THE FUCK WAS THEIR VENGENCE AN ISSUE ? ( one selfish act in their long , long life to avenge someone they loved ? )
no , hotaru knows better : IT WAS A STRING OF DISASTERS WROUGHT BY THEIR OWN MISERABLE HANDS, NOW CAKED IN BLOOD. & there is so much blood , if the reports are anything to go by:
there is blood in the den of the mad bomber , beat to death & splattered upon the walls. ( that one , they remember , because he was the first: how he goaded them , gleefully taunted them , until their vision narrowed , until all they could see was red-hot rage & ether splattered on every surface & then everything went black & their memory ends there--- )
there is blood coating the wreckage of the rider's pike , fragments of a crushed skull under twisted metal.
there is blood on the hangman's censer, fire snuffed out after they apparently used it to meteor hammer the bastard to near death before hanging him by the chain in his grisly torture pit.
the throne world of the mindbender no longer exists - formed by the shockwave of the death of cayde-6, but surely, there is still blood there.
there is only a scorch - mark where the trickster used to be , the loser of a dead man's volley.
there is only an impact blast left of the machinist , burned with white - hot flames of void until there was nothing but an imprint of her on the wall.
there is blood on the gun of the rifleman, now eternally fused with sundance's: in a mound of guts, gore, & borderline unrecognizable mush & the blood was running down the walls - dripping from the ceiling - from their HANDS -
the fanatic has not stayed dead. ( the fanatic calls them wrath-thing & death-beast to the guardians that have killed him since. )
but the fanatic's blood still layers his walls. new layers are added with every strike , like a grisly , horrific masterpiece. ( but they are the one that first primed it with rage. )
but the worst thing ? the most wretched act that has haunted them? it's the metallic taste of prince uldren sov's blood that still haunts their fang-lined mouth & tongue. ( their modulator has only now recovered from the horrified, guttural scream when they finally snapped out of whatever the fuck happened to them. shooting him with ace would've been kinder. why weren't they kinder? )
there is blood. there is blood. THERE IS SO MUCH BLOOD. THERE IS TOO MUCH BLOOD . IT WON'T COME OFF OF THEIR SKIN. NO MATTER HOW HARD THEY SCRUB, IT WON'T COME OFF ---- IT'S UNDER THEIR FUCKING SKIN-----
& this city is a place of life - intolerant of bringing that gore & bloodshed home. that level of violence. " THAT BEAST OF BONE & METAL ," the citizens once called them in horrified whispers, before they learned how to hide, " THAT CREATURE FROM HELL. "
( but her shoulders still shake at being exiled. tears still fall as they are faced with losing the home they built with their own two hands. a strangled sob still escapes them as they flinch at the word excommunication. the idea that officials are worried about their mere presence. that people are scared of them. even after all this time , after everything this city has done & put them through , she still craves the city's love. still, they want to be of service. )
" is it safer for me , " the monster asks their friend - dearly beloved , even in tragedy as tears roll freely over the knights cheeks & their voice is quiet & shaking, " or safer for everyone ? it can't be both , ikora. " because c'mon, who the fuck is EVERYONE ? THEY HAVE ONLY FELT SAFE AT THE SIDE OF THEIR FRIENDS, BECAUSE THIS CITY HAS NEVER MADE THEM FEEL SAFE A DAY IN THEIR FUCKING LIFE---
no .... no, that's not fair. she's just doing her job. ikora is trying so goddamn hard to protect them, just as fiercely as she always has, after all these long centuries together. still , when their vanguard --- no , when their friend turns to look at them, those familiar, kind brown eyes screaming i cannot lose you too , hotaru simply pulls her into a tight hug- unable to express the unfathomable depths of sorrow as they sob. " 'm sorry --- i'm so -- so sorry -- i don't want t'go , 'kora ! " ( but even in saying that, they know that they must go. & know that they will go - to spare their friends the pain of being the next to be buried, the next to be grieved. )
( a part of hotaru wonders if there will be enough of lumax to bury with them. will they sleep together , ghost in the palm of her beloved guardian's hands, cradled to a dead, lifeless generator even in death ? & after all they have done , do they even deserve to be buried next to the empty casket of a vanguard next to the empty casket of cayde-6, someone they loved yet couldn't save? that they loved & failed ? loved & couldn't bring home ? will they even be buried in the city they have loved for so long ? will they be buried at all ? or will they be dumped into an unmarked grave in some potter's field for the unknown, with no flowers to cushion their fall? )
it's just more pathetic behavior from a pathetic excuse of a shitty failure of a warlock. waste of light . waste of time. only good for killing. but ikora ? ikora has always looked at hotaru as someone worth saving. & being one of her hidden ? now that is an honor : that even after everything , she still trusts them.
the guardian --- no, hidden scrubs their tears , steadies their breath , & looks ikora dead in the eyes as they avow, "i'll do it. i always wanted to take that old camper out for a spin , so - maybe . . . " they're getting choked up again - a new wave of grief at all the families they will have to bid a fond farewell. all the children that they can't walk to school. all the generations that may pass between now & whenever they return. ( if they even can. ) but they swallow it , & press on: "-- maybe .... this will be good for me. not havin' to look over my shoulder all the time. what's the mission ? "
( when they get home, they'll write all the goodbyes they must make until dawn. they will make sure nobody can get into THEIR fucking house without the keys their friends hold. they will pack their ship & camper to the brim with everything the former warlock cannot bear to live without: the mementos, the curios, the gifts from friends. their favorite blankets, their seed binder, the library of books in their study. they will take cuttings of their dearest garden to propagate wherever their new home will be - & the things cayde left to them in his will, the knick-knacks a hunter delivered to them with a sad smile & a warm, deep hug that heated their grief-chilled bones. & they will leave nothing that they cannot bear to part with. like they never existed at all.
& when all's said and done, they'll lay as many flowers as they can at cayde's graveside - make sure the flowers they planted for him can thrive without them. there will be nothing left of them but a warlock bond on a headstone & a sea of color in a graveyard. )
" c'mon - " they grasp ikora's hand - a sad smile on their face as hotaru looks up at her, pleading, "you can tell me about the mission while i make you one last dinner with all your favorites, 'kay ? " ( sad cyan eyes silently plead her to acquiesce --- let me do this for you , for i do not know when i can again. )
