The light of the sun danced across the Traveller’s surface, distorted by rushing clouds like the light reflected from rippling water. It drifted like an aurora above the golden lights of the inner city, threads of green and blue-tinged light, altered by the passing storm in the west.
Distant thunder rumbled through the sky, and Rohan’s eyes were drawn for a moment to the churning clouds over the mountains. The thunder sounded like barely a grumble, like a sleeping titan. They felt a shudder run through their body as the thunder brought a memory of haunting words, a conversation with their mentor…
But soft music drifted from the Speaker’s Observatory, a warm woodwind melody, and it washed the worries from Rohan’s brow.
They stepped into the Speaker’s office, their fingernails tapping nervously on the neck of the bottle in their hands. The divining machine stood still, resting in its pit for the night, and its absence made the observatory’s size all the more apparent.
Rohan felt very small, and they walked the long way around to the silhouettes perched at the great window.
They stepped purposefully louder than usual, not wanting to sneak up on the pair as the beautiful lights drifted across the Traveller like some kind of show.
Willow was the one to look up as Rohan approached. She lifted her head from Jem’s shoulder, her hair slightly ruffled by being beneath a hood all day, and the reflected light on the Traveller made her skin shine with the setting sun. Her smile was soft and warm… motherly.
Rohan let Estë take their coat, and perched on the edge of the balcony with their friends. “Hey,” the mumbled through an uneasy smile, “sorry I’m late.”
Willow and Jem both smiled, and Rohan looked down at the bottle in their hands. “You know,” Rohan said, frowning at the bottle. “Now that I think about it, wine was not the best choice of gifts…”
Willow giggled, one hand automatically falling to her belly, and the sound set Rohan at ease. “Next time I’ll bring orange juice.”
“Don’t forget to bring extra,” Jem said, “it’ll be a bigger party when you get back.”
Rohan didn’t even bother popping the cork of the bottle. They placed it on the floor behind them, and scooched closer to Willow and Jem. Jem placed one hand over Willow’s on her belly, then lifted her hand to his lips.
The small radio beside Jem crackled, the music from it distorting a little before clearing. It was quiet, simple songs for a Sunday evening, and as Rohan leaned close to Willow’s side and wrapped their arm around their shoulders, they almost felt like they sat back in the Golden Age.
Willow took Rohan’s hand and pressed it against the mound of they belly. Willow had cast aside her robes for the evening, and the shirt she wore was thin enough for Rohan to feel the cool of her skin, and as they kept their hand there, they felt the tiny bumps of movement.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you grin like that,” Jem said, and Rohan looked up, their mouth slightly agape.
“It’s amazing,” Rohan mumbled, looking down at Willow’s belly. They rubbed their hand softly back and forth. Willow began to blush a deeper blue, and she brushed her hair behind her ear absently. “They’re amazing.
“You’ll have to introduce me when I get back,” Rohan said, squeezing Willow’s shoulder fondly. She hummed in return, resting her head on Jem’s shoulder once more.
Rohan stayed there for a time, hugging close to Willow’s side and watching the lights playing on the surface of the Traveller. The storm was brewing in the mountains, but it would not reach the City for some time yet, and even as the sun sunk down below the horizon and the City fell into twinkling lights amidst the purple of dusk.
Estë summoned Rohan’s coat, but they draped it across Willow’s shoulders like a blanket, to keep her warm.
After a time, Estë nudged Rohan’s shoulder, and they rose.
“You’re leaving?” Willow asked, looking up. Rohan could see the concern in her eyes – she knew all the details of Rohan’s mission, knew how dangerous it was, knew how long it would take, and how much she would likely be up against.
Rohan nodded. “Gotta keep the City safe if we’re bringing new life into it.”
Willow nodded softly, but the tinge of sadness was still in her eye. Rohan knelt down behind her and Jem, wrapping them both in a big hug. They turned to Jem and pressed their lips to his for a moment as they came away from the hug. “One for you,” Rohan hummed, turning then to Willow. They placed a hand on Willow’s belly and leaned down, kissing it very softly. “One in advance for you,” they whispered.
“And one for the mother to be,” Rohan smiled, cupping Willow’s face in their hands. They pressed their lips to Willow’s, kissing her slightly longer.
Then Rohan rose. They lifted a hand as Willow went to hand their coat to them, urging her to keep it. “I’ll see the three of you when I get back.” Rohan winked, then left their friends to their observatory, the bottle of wine still sitting unopened beside them.
As Rohan reached the door of the observatory, they looked back, feeling the chill run down their spine with the distant rumbling of the storm. They heard a whisper as Willow spoke to Jem.
“We’ll open the bottle when they come home, celebrate as a family.”
Year 3495 or 96; Baz and Tavi in a hallway, Baz high after a week of clubbing and Willow sleeping in the next room. Pre-history for Baz and Willow’s origins. 1400 words.
Tavi catches you in the hallway, shoulder scraping his side of the wall and your head running over smooth paint at the temple. The cool, firm texture is soothing, an element of your home you never took the time to appreciate. You have all the time in the world tonight, hand going numb around one of Estelle's plum juice packs and red leaking on the salmon carpet. That's good: you like to leave a mark when you come through.
“You shouldn't come home like this,” Tavi chides, voice blurry with hushed urgency. Not even words, a familiar mush of syllables until you lift your head in his hands and he peels your eyelid back to make you—look at him.
You've been speaking French for the last week, running the circuit on the other side of town. It makes you sound more like the person on your ID, older and a little beyond reproach. When you speak French it is all laughter, long kisses in the dark alleys between one club and the next. You are a person who has a good time, for its own sake. And when the BG Surrey introduced you to says come back to mine, you are still laughter, kissing both of his cheeks and stumbling up the street to the pink-lit doors.
“Zašto," you ask, leaning your face on his shoulder. He has his pajamas on, even the shirt, and you laugh into the soft fabric. Willow must be here tonight, which means what you already knew: "It isn't like him to be home."
Tavi cuffs a hand around your head, rubbing your short hair under his palm and holding you close. "How would you know," he whispers.
You preen into the touch, pushing up on your toes and catching your hands on his sides. He is all ribs under the flannel, soft and scholarly, with all the calluses where his pen sits in his fingers. He smells of storms, chlorine, old books, detergent. Both natural and clean. He is the first person you have touched this week who did not smell of cigarettes. "I always know." You say it like a secret, but Tavi understands. Tavi knew it before you, the storm that lives inside Callum. It can change the pressure in a room, strike like lightning. Your brother could write a paper on it better than any of his rocks.
Je kiffe ton frère, Surrey says, every time you mention going home. She puts a hand to her heart and leans against the nearest solid object, and you laugh now as you do then. Surrey wouldn't get within a kilometer of Tavi. If Callum had his way, you wouldn't either, but this isn't the Academy. This is home, on your toes to rest your chin on his shoulder and feel the steady beat of his pulse. Tavi is okay. Everything is okay.
"What are you on," he asks, brisking his hand over the back of your neck like he can keep you here.
"Don't know," you sigh, lucid enough to not question your contentment. You lift the juice box around his back and suck noisily at the straw. Surrey had walked you to the edge of your neighborhood and pulled you off the patrol grid for a goodbye. We have to go dancing again soon, don't stay long. She dipped her little finger in a vial of something violet-white and held it under your nose. What is the saying? One for the road? You didn't know either, but you held the other nostril and reeled from the relief of the bump. Something cut with spirit bloom, in your expert opinion.
Not your drug of choice, but a good one for going home. Keeps away the hunger, keeps away the fear. Surrey knows how to protect you from what might make you stay.
"Can I sleep on your couch," you ask, when Tavi steps away and extracts the juice box from your hand. Your brother is gentle and exacting, rumpled curls and careful hands. They lift and drop around an answer, his gaze shifting to the wall as he considers.
"Willow's on it," he admits.
You suck the back of your teeth until your lips press back against them, then pop on release. "Do they know their grandbabies will be grown in test tubes," you ask, leaning again against his wall. He takes your wrist and pulls you to the door, his entire head turned away in answer. "I already told him they won't be coming from me."
His head whips back, eyes wide and black in the dark. "You told him? Is that why—"
Everything is easier to say on spirit bloom. It's why you try to avoid it most of the time. "You don't have to marry her, you know. Just because he wants you to."
Tavi's grip tightens on your wrist. "What did he do? Baz, please."
"Nothing worth that face," you murmur, patting his hand on your own. You're moving through warm water, sleepy and awaiting the return of sorrow. It'll be there in the morning, an ache under your skin. Your father's plates will be empty on the counter and his door will be locked, and you will have to go. "You know how he is." Tavi nods. "Now I know too. I can fix it. Tavi, I can be so bad—he won't care that it isn't her. You can pick someone else."
He backs you into the wall. For one clear moment, the fear wakes up under the drug, and you breathe sharp through your nose. It's Tavi, you think, the shaking ready to take over in your bones. It's Tavi. Tavi doesn't hurt people, especially not you. But you don't recognize the look on his face, the way the shadows cut his eyes and his brows draw together as if in pain. His hands are on your arms, pinning you, with the crushed edges of the juice box digging into your skin.
"Baz, you don't have to do that. You don't want to do that." Tavi bites his lip, sucks the whole thing under his teeth and scrapes it back out. "If he catches you behind closed doors—"
"It's okay. He's so busy these days, he's never even here—"
He lifts you a little on the wall, rubs his free hand over your arm. "I do—" he swallows the words. Tavi was never a good liar. "Willow is a wonderful person. We have so much in common, it is no tragedy to see this through. I could love her. You're the one who wants a fairy-tale, but I'm fine."
Even spirit bloom can't let you laugh. "You're always fine. You light up when you talk to her, but that's just—what you talk about. You don't light up when you talk about her, Tavi. Does she light up when she talks about you?"
"How would I know?"
"You know."
Tavi lets you go, standing in the dark hall with a crushed box of juice dripping from his fingers. "Why did you tell him, Baz? Why would you ever tell him?"
You already told him the large answer, and the small ones are so simple, you can't imagine his mind hasn't tangled them out. She has a younger sister, and you are not him. You are never fine. It isn't like you want him to meet Surrey—people like her, people like you, are like holes in the world. You take the good and the bad, you exist to tip the scales while you chase any good feeling you can find. And Tavi is a good feeling. Tavi is a good person. She would ruin him. But you like to imagine a third girl, somewhere between a black hole and Willow's cold star, who makes your brother feel more alive.
One of you should have that, without a price. You lay your hands out at your sides, taking scope of the hall and your home. "He's my father," you say, hands lifting with your shrug. "I want him to know me."
"You're so full of shit," Tavi sighs, pulling you up for a hug. You're slipping away again, limbs going to sand in his grip and sleep a deep pit to fall into. "I know you," he says, leaning down to tuck an arm under your knees. "Let it be enough, ahki al-habib."
Willow snickered and tugged at her sister’s collar, idly rubbing off a spot of dirt from Psyn’s chin with her rubber-padded mechanical thumb as she neatened the front of the robe.
“Not like you to be this nervous, Psyn.” She said as her sister jittered under her watchful eye.
“Shut up.” Psyn mumbled with a slight glare as Willow frowned at the massive tear on the side of her robe. “I’m allowed to be nervous, okay? I didn’t make fun of you for being nervous about graduating your stupid courses and stuff.”
“Actually, yes, you did.” Willow folded her arms and fixed Psyn with a stern look. Psyn couldn’t help but think that she looked like their mother when she did that. “You made fun of me every time I was nervous about a ceremony. Relentlessly.”
Psyn broke into a grin. “Yeah.” She said, scratching the shaven side of her head. “That was fun…”
Willow punched Psyn’s arm. “Ass.” She muttered, smoothing over the ruffle in the sleeve immediately, but Psyn could see and hear in her words the grin she was trying to hide.
The doors behind them opened, and Willow stepped back. “Looks like it’s your time. Break a leg, Symphony.” Willow said with a wink.
Psyn turned. She took a deep breath and stepped into the hall. Two other Warlocks walked at her side and Willow walked in behind her – she could hear the tapping of her shoes on the tile – but she split off to join the small crowd on the sides.
The crowd wasn’t particularly substantial, filled mostly by friends and Guardians she and the other two had worked with. She spotted Vanir in the crowd – it was hard not to from the vibrant rainbow-striped flag on her hip and the bright beaming orange smile as she waved frantically. Even Anya at her side had discarded her customary frown for a few minutes.
Psyn’s eyes snapped ahead, to the front of the hall. She felt anxiety building in the pit of her stomach, like bubbling acid and a twisted knot of air that couldn’t escape.
As she walked towards the other end of the hall, where a large platform stood raised at the top of a set of steps before them, the shoes of the two Warlocks beside her clacked on the tile. Her eyes met with the two senior Warlocks standing there.
She recognised them both, though not by name. Their dazzlingly red robes reminded her of the New Monarchy’s loyal, and the chainmail and scale plating like ancient knights glimmered softly in the firelight. The Cormorant Seal shone on their arms, a unique second bond beneath it for each of them.
In the shadows behind them Psyn spied the glow of green eyes, tucked away from every single line of sight but her own. The three covered eyes met hers and she felt her heart and stomach lurch with a surge of nervousness.
She swallowed, and stepped up to the front of the steps, hands clasped stiffly behind her back.
The forward of the two Warlocks standing before them spoke, and their voice boomed through the hall. “Warriors of the Light. You have shown great bravery in the face of the Darkness, time and time again. You have shown the strength and devotion worthy of Warlocks, and tenacity and willpower in battle that brings pride to all Guardians.”
They stepped forward, to the edge of the top stair as they spoke, and gestured gently at each of them in turn. “You have shown admirable strength, determination, and compassion.” They rested their gaze on Psyn with the final word, each meant for a specific Warlock who had excelled.
The second senior Warlock on the dais stepped up beside her leader. “It is the decision of the Vanguard and the Praxic Order, that each of you be inducted into our order.”
On either side of Psyn, Warlocks knelt. She quickly followed suit, wondering what cue she had scarcely missed.
She knelt, knuckles of her fist cold on the tile floor and staring stiffly down at her boot. She swallowed dryly and spoke, her voice resonating with one on either side.
“The Darkness gathers, and so must I.” She said, reciting the Oath from memory. “The nature of my fight is not in theory. I am not bound in poiesis. My cause is praxic.
“I am the fire that burns through the night. I am the blaze that banishes the shadow. My drive is action. My fire shall act and it shall burn until it’s light is no longer needed, or is extinguished.”
Their words swelled in unison, harmonic and haunting until they drifted off in the solemn end of their vow. Psyn’s head remained bowed. She heard a voice, the booming thunder of the Warlock before her.
“Praxic Warlocks are not philosophers.” He said, addressing them all. “We stand not for discovery or study of the Darkness, but to push it back with the Light of our fire. The Praxic Order stands for action, to fight.”
“You are individuals chosen for your Light and fire.” The woman at his side chimed in. “We are the fire of the fight. We are the fury that burns bright against the Darkness. We stand firm and unmoving in our service, to fight the Darkness and pushing it back to the beyond.”
“Karst Proxian.” The man commanded. “Rise.”
Psyn heard the rustle of robes to her left as the small Warlock stood and ascended the stairs.
“In honour of your actions at the gate of Olympus Mons and the defeat of a Vex Gate Lord, we present you with the Cormorant Seal.” Psyn heard more sounds as they presented a bond to Karst, and felt pins and needles lacing through her thigh.
“Sarren seven.” He said, addressing the other kneeling Warlock. “Rise.”
Psyn began to regret picking a pose that would look cool – it was incredibly uncomfortable. The Exo Warlock strode up to stand with the others.
“In recognition of your efforts against the Darkness in the Mumbai Push, we present to you the Cormorant Seal.”
They bestowed a bond upon Sarren-7, and Psyn wiggled her leg ever so slightly to keep it from going numb. She shivered as the man spoke her name.
“Symphony Adhara. Rise.”
Psyn stood and held herself as tall as she could. She tried not to fiddle with the stringy torn hem of her robe against her leg. Her hands were shaking as she walked forward. She balled them into fists as she ascended the staircase and stood before them.
Eris watched her from the darkness.
The second Warlock, the woman with a gentle voice, opened her hands before her, conjuring a ball of flame. The orb glowed, entangled fire contained and controlled like so many of the balls of Solar Light Sunsingers threw in battle.
“The Cormorant Seal, sigil of the Praxic Order, is given to few.” That wasn’t what Psyn had expected her to say. She felt sweat slick on her palms, the rise of bubbling, fluttering, flaming nerves. “Individuals are chosen for their actions, those who rise reforged in the Light and refound in the heated tempers of battle.”
Psyn struggled not to shake with visible nerves as the woman stood before her, clasping the flame between them. “Some rise above even this.” She said.
She raised the orb and pressed it against Psyn’s chest.
She felt the power lifting her slightly from her feet, holding her aloft like a bubble of void-induced stasis. Her robe wavered and burned with illusory immolation. The woman’s Ghost hovered before her, bathing her in a beam of light that sifted her robe away in tendrils of light and flakes of dissipating ash and embers.
Psyn floated, held aloft in a small beacon of caressing fire. She felt naked with her robe stripped away, left in the undersuit of her armour and clothing, but white lines traced quickly around her from the Praxic Warlock’s Ghost.
She felt weight sit against her shoulders, felt material form and bunch and flow across her torso. She watched the flakes of ash hanging around her in the same stasis and felt the sudden lurch of heavy chainmail on her arms and the thickness of a fresh robe as it materialised around her arms and torso.
The lifting Light vanished and she fell with a thud to the ground, landing in a crouch. Ash fell in a pure circle around her, staining the floor, and she burned with Radiance. She felt her wings of Solar energy unfolding behind her and she glowed in the new robes and her seal.
“We present to you the Heart of the Praxic Fire.”
Psyn looked up, her body burning with brilliant energy, and she rose, ash sliding from her shoulders like a reborn phoenix from the fire.
Willow sighed and fell back against the rusted form of a half-buried car as smoke billowed from the barrel of the rocket launcher at her feet. She coughed instinctively even though her helmet filtered the smoke out. The car creaked under her, but she could not spare the effort to stand up after the fight, dragging a hand over her visor lazily to clear sand and hide her face from the harsh sun.
Her eyes snapped open and she turned to see flames licking across her left sleeve. Psyn was at her side before she had time to start yelling wildly, and as usual, her sister did not help things in the slightest.
She could practically hear the stupid grin on her face when Psyn yelled "Whoosh!" and raised her arms to send the flames into a massive flare that make Willow's heart leap into her throat before she extinguished them. Willow fell straight onto her backside in the sand as scorched and blackened threads smouldered against the metal of her prosthetic arm.
"What the fuck, Psyn?" She muttered, too stunned to be properly angry. Her sleeve had been mostly consumed by the fire, and she delicately tried to pick the threads away from the casing of her arm. They left thin streaks against its surface where the fire had darkened the metal.
"Did you not... feel that?" Vanir asked, crouching at her side as Willow growled up at her sister.
"Of course I didn't." She said as Trinket floated over and started patching up her arm with a replacement combat undersuit from their inventory and covering it with a fresh sleeve. "The suit numbs my whole arm, it's hard enough shooting when I can't feel my fingers... it's not like I was expecting to catch fire..."
The Titan stood sharply at her side, tugging off her helmet and extending the antennae on the side of her head. "Anya, we're heading back to the tower. Willow's armour needs replacing, and a hell of a lot of adjustment."
-
"Describe exactly what you feel when I do this."
"Alright." Willow said somewhat warily, holding her prosthetic arm out to the side in the makeshift harness-frame while Vanir picked something out of a toolbox in front of her. She swallowed nervously, a little uncomfortable standing around the hangar in nothing but her combat undersuit. It might have been full length and covering her entire body save for her head, but it was somewhat less... covering than her robes.
Vanir turned sharply and lunged towards her, fist sparking furiously. Willow let out a yelp and pulled her arm back after Vanir slammed an open hand full of lightning down on it. "What the hell was that?" She asked, taking a step back as the Titan shook her hand loosly to dislodge coils of arc energy. "You punched me."
"What did you feel?"
Willow paused. "Well... nothing, actually..."
"Exactly." Vanir said, extending her hand somewhat more kindly. She took Willow's arm again, resting it in the frame. "The problem is that your suit is built for an Awoken. That's why it works fine and you feel all the right input everywhere else." Vanir jabbed gently at Willow's stomach as she said that, just enough for Willow to tense and feel the pressure of two fingers poke her.
"The problem with that is" Vanir continued, tapping her Ghost's shell and directing them to pull apart Willow's suit. The suit came free in sections, like tight plating or an insect's carapace. They floated around her arm as Fuse suspended them, and Vanir tapped the metal arm underneath and winked, "you're not all Awoken."
Vanir picked the pieces of plating from the air and neatly layed them out on a workbench beside her, so they sat like an exploded blueprint exactly how they should fit back together. She held her hand to the side, and her Ghost materialised a tool for her immediately. She started stripping away outer layers of the armoured suit. "You need this part of your suit to be built to Exo specs, otherwise all the nerve inputs and responses are incompatible, which is why you don't feel anything through the suit."
Vanir changed tools several times as she spoke, and Fuse kept whichever she was not using, but might need again, floating in of stasis field of some kind just beside her. She took a thin stick of metal and ran a test spark along its length. She touched it to the pad of Willow's fingertip, through her suit's glove. "Anything?" She asked. Willow shook her head. "Curl it." Vanir asked, watching the exposed wiring that led along the back of her hand like veins.
Willow did as she was told, curling and uncurling her fingers, bending and straightening her arm, saying where she could and couldn't feel Vanir's testing sparks of input. Eventually, she started feeling sensations more often than not, as Vanir slowly tweaked the grid wiring and occassionally attached devices Willow did not recognise to calibrate settings at a more complex level.
"Any chance we could do this sitting down?" Willow asked after a quarter of an hour of standing while Vanir re-wired with painstaking precision.
"Oh, sorry. Of course." Vanir whistled to Fuse, who quickly slid all her tools onto the workstation again, and walked across the hangar floor to where Shipwright Holliday was working.
Willow slid her arm out of the frame, flexing the synthetic muscles and joints and groaning slightly at the stiffness in her back, knees, and shoulder from standing as she had for so long. Vanir returned scooting along on a swivelling stool and with a chair for Willow. She slid the chair into place behind Willow, and she sat.
The workstation which carried the pieces of her suit turned out to be on wheels as well, because Vanir glided it over to sit beside them again. She cleared space for Willow to rest her arm on the surface, and picked up one of the tools again.
"Would you mind explaining the changes you are making to me?" Willow asked, and Vanir smiled with a small whistle to her Ghost to carry out a task Willow was not sure of.
"The way nerve detections work for Exos and Awoken are quite different. We're built after humans, but we're not built exactly the same. That, coupled with the changes inherent in an Awoken's physiology, means they don't line up very similarly." She pointed with each index finger at a different section of the grids of wiring that were exposed on Willow's arm. "If you look here," She said, tapping one set of wires, "the way the connector nodes are set up is to get the optimal degree of information onto an Awoken's skin.
"They're built along the main nerve routes Awoken have and most of the nodes are placed as closely to large nerve clusters and crossroads as possible. You can sort of see how they follow patterns a bit like veins." Willow looked closely as Vanir gestured along the wiring and at each node where the wires would connect to nodes on the plating and then, in turn, to her exterior armour.
"They're a much more organic shape." She commented, noting just how much they did look like the vein and nerve routes she knew from her biological studies. Vanir nodded.
"Then if you look down here," she tapped on the other grid that she had rearranged almost completely. Willow felt a jolt rush through her arm, like Vanir had pinched a nerve directly, though not as uncomfortable as that. Vanir smirked at the twitch reaction in Willow's hand. "This is built along the way an Exo's nerves work. It's much more grid-like, mechanical, as you'd expect."
She started working again, adjusting the grid further along Willow's arm and along the upper arm where biceps would be. "So few of the nodes align properly when you compare the two styles, which is why you weren't just having stunted feeling, you weren't getting anything at all.
"Think of it like if the impulses were something getting injected directly into your bloodstream." Vanir swapped tools and whistled sharply. Fuse shifted, flicking on a light to brighten the space she was working on. "But because your arm is different, it's trying to inject into the meat of your muscles intead of where your veins are. The impulses are falling flat and useless on the muscles rather than getting into your veins and going somewhere useful, you see?"
"Interesting." Willow muttered, and she continued watching Vanir work. She was truly growing to appreciate how well the Exo managed to relate things to Willow. Though she shared only an arm with her in terms of physiology, Vanir knew exactly how to relate the things she was saying to Willow. It wasn't dumbed down, simply translated into fields she knew better - from mechanics and electrical construction to biology.
It was nice to be able to have a conversation like that, about something she did not understand, but one that made sense. It wasn't like the insane 'magic' that flowed through her from enigmatic 'Light'. It was methodical, logical, explainable.
She laughed a little when a jolt of feeling through the suit had her twitch her whole arm like a knee-jerk reaction. She watched Vanir work, all the way until she was touching up the final connectors of her suit along the seam of where her skin met metal. It was fanscinating watching her work, and her skill and knowledge were evident all the way. But when she worked across that change in grid, weaving the difference between organised mechanical orders to the chaos of biological nerve routes so they flowed as well as any Golden-Age painting; it was like an art.
Ghost light was harsh and bright, useful for navigating Hive tunnels or the darkened fortresses of ancient powerless human settlements, but ultimately terrible for late-night paperwork. Rohan instead opted for more conventional lighting; admittedly the bulb in their desk lamp was cheap and likely to fail after a mere day or two, but its soft, warm lighting relaxed the environment for their eyes.
That helped to fight off any possibilities of the harsh light giving headaches, but more importantly, it freed Rohan’s Ghost, Este, to assist them with their work properly.
“Rohan?” A soft voice piped up from across the dimly lit room. “Could you stop tapping?”
“Sorry.” Rohan set down their pen and leaned back in their chair with an irritated groan. “Hey, how’s Psyn’s report coming along?” They asked. Willow’s soft look turned sullen in an instant. Rohan raised an eyebrow and smirked. “That well?”
“Would you like to hear an excerpt?” Willow asked, and Rohan nodded. Willow straightened her back and cleared her throat quietly. “So,” she started, and Rohan could already tell she would struggle not to put on a voice, “Annie ran is guns blazing with like her sniper rifle all pew-pew-pew! Like not even using her scope just shooting the-
“Do I really have to read this?” Willow growled, slamming her sister’s report down on her desk and accidentally denting the corner of the wooden surface with her Exo arm.
“One more line.” Jem asked.
Rohan turned in her seat to meet Jem’s eye and stared at him. He shied away slightly and went back to the reports before him that he had to organise. Willow continued, “so Vanir runs in with her shotgun and it’s like bwaaaah bwaah bwaaaaah tearing the dregs up and there’s void everywhere it’s super crazy.”
“I think that’s enough.” Rohan rubbed their forehead softly.
“Why can’t she write reports more like Naeda’s?” Willow groaned, cradling her head in her hands.
“Are you serious?” Jem asked, hefting the seventeen-page report of Naeda’s from his desk. “She wrote an entire three pages about some dumb rock she found in the swamp, there’s so much unnecessary information in here!”
“At least it has information at all.” Willow rolled her eyes. “How in the System are sound effects supposed to help us gather information from Psyn’s reports?”
Rohan turned back to the report Este had fetched for them. Their fingers splayed across their bare forehead like the support beams of a building as they read. After sifting through the reports from the entire fireteam and dividing them up; Psyn Adhara’s report, a shambling mess of a report that resembled a transcript of an excitable story over the radio, had gone to her sister, Willow.
Naeda Tanejak’s report had contained a wealth of information. Sadly, not all of it had been useful or necessary. She had a habit of rambling for pages and pages about things that had been of interest to her, rather than things that were actually of use in the report. Hers, along with Tetra’s, had been the most substantial reports, Tetra’s full of monumental mathematical analysis of wind directions and velocities and accuracy statistics from the mission. Both had gone to Jem to be fitered for what information was actually useful to what they needed.
That left three reports for Rohan to analyse, along with the main target of their investigation.
Anya Utkin, Fireteam leader, her second-in-command Vanir, and Novella Faye, all a fair bit more succinct than Naeda or Tetra’s.
Anya’s report had been quick to go though, by far the most professionally written, though perhaps rather brief by comparison to most – it outlined objectives, briefs of each event, successes, shortcomings, and changes. Her partner, Vanir, had something more resembling a performance report detailing the excellence of her team – particularly its leader – but without enough information on the actual mission.
Now, Rohan’s head was bent over Novella’s report – the last in their pile.
The sun crested the valley like a burning beacon, a sphere that bathed the land in fire and searing light. It chased away the shadows, just as our Light chases away the Darkness.
I stood, a Devil in my hand and Guardians by my side, looking down at the wreck of the Fallen ship. Fallen, I thought as I twirled my revolver and stepped purposefully down towards them, finally an appropriate name. Anya appeared at my side like a whisper, the ghillied cover of her rifle blending her in with the vegetation as well as her optical camouflage. She waved me forward, an index finger aimed at the Fallen that scrambled from their ship.
That motion would be their death.
It felt destined that I walk out into the Valley of Death with the Devil in my hand at high noon; I was the lawmaker in the lawless deserts and these Fallen would feel the justice of the City in the taste of flaming lead.
“How many time do I need to ask the Vanguard to teach proper report writing?” Rohan groaned, sliding their thumb across the holopad to switch off the display that held what read like Novella’s first draft of a Western action novel rather than a mission report. “Jem, can you pass me the flight recorder they recovered?”
“Sure, think fast!” Jem yelled, picking up the dense cylinder and tossing it at Rohan like a grenade. It slammed against their chest rough and painfully as they caught it, and Rohan glared at the Titan.
“Can’t you at least pretend to act professional for once, Jem?” They asked calmly, setting the object on their desk. They quickly asked Este to transcribe the Fallen recording for them to then translate, and turned back to their assistants. “Your girlfriend seems to manage it just fine.”
“My, my, my what?” Jem stammered, dropping his report. The papers shot out across the floor, completely losing the order, and Rohan’s shoulder fell. “I, we’re not, she- Willow’s not my, well I- She is but- is sh- are you? Are we? Am I?” Jem asked, pointing back and forth between himself and Willow as the woman looked up with an amused smile.
“Goodness, and you said you don’t have the best way with words.” Willow teased.
“Rohan, why’d you do that?” Jem hissed, and Rohan grinned.
Rohan held up their hands defensively, “Hey, not my fault you haven’t clarified your relationship.”
“Rohan! I, uh, Willow, I… um.”
Rohan muttered in the guttural language of the Fallen and rolled their eyes. “Goodness, Jem, just ask her out already, you two clearly like each other! Why else do you make goo-goo eyes and hold hands behind my back every time we work together?”
Willow flushed – it was difficult to notice in the Awoken, but Rohan read faces well.
“Well, um…” Jem cleared his throat and stood up. “Willow, would you like to go… uh, out with me?”
Willow smiled sweetly and stood up, “Of-“ she began, but Rohan cut her off.
“Uh, uh, leave your date for after we figure out why the ship was in that sector.” Rohan reminded them, pointing them back to their reports and turning back to their own. They couldn’t help an amused grin at Jem’s growl of irritation, and a genuine, gentle smile when they heard Willow whisper “Of course, you idiot.” Behind their back.
It was not the first time a fireteam had returned from the Vault, but there was always a celebration for the returning team. It was more of an affirmation of survival. The returning party rarely attended, mostly due to exhaustion, but Psyn was on a high and didn’t want it to end. She relished at the chance to tell the thrilling tale and celebrate to the wee hours.
After all it’s what she did best.
“And I swear there were like 50 solar grenades surrounding this guy,” Psyn belted out a drink in hand, “he couldn’t move and you’d need a pair of sunglasses to see him.”
The night flew by the party dwindled to the last dregs. Psyn finally decided it was time to return home and face the bark of her older sister. Psyn chuckled to herself at her tree pun.
She stumbled back to the dwelling her sister and her shared and slowly opened the door to the darkness of her apartment.
“Good,” she said under her breath, “Willows asleep.”
“Who’s asleep now?” came a voice from the darkness.
Psyn froze in place.
“Symphony Juniper Adhara,” Willow stood up as she flicked the lights on.
“Look Willow I can expla…” Psyn started.
“You forge papers from the vanguard, you run off on a dangerous mission,” Willow spoke monotone as she approached her sister.
“Willow I..” Psyn stammered, but Willow held up her hand signaling silence.
“You’re gone for days, not so much as a goodbye,” Willow was now face to face with her sister.
“Willow..” Psyn prepared for the worst
“AND most of all,” Willow drew her sister into the biggest hug, “you came back.”
Psyn stood there, shocked. Willow was giving her a hug. Her uptight, methodological stick in the mud sister, was giving her a hug. All Psyn could do was stand there arms at her side, staring off into the wall.
After a few minutes her sister released her putting her hands on her shoulders, “Now, you must be tired. Go get some sleep. We’ll discuss this more later.”
Psyn was still shocked so all she could do was nod. Willow walked off to her own room and Psyn auto piloted to hers.
She collapsed on her bed not even bothering to remover her gear. She stared at the ceiling.
It was over, finally over.
Her eyes grew heavier, darkness descending upon her vision.
Then an image flashed across her mind, one of a shiny metal being.
She bolted up bringing her hand up in defense. She was sweating and breathing heavily.
He was dead. There was no way he could be here.
Psyn sat on her bed staring at her hands as the sun peaked through the blinds in the window behind her.
----------------------------------
The next couple of days were spent getting the team back into the groove of things. They had submitted their reports, had days of rest and were now getting back to the stack of vanguard missions waiting for them. The only problem was…
…Psyn couldn’t sleep.
The rest of the team could tell her moves were becoming sluggish, her grenade throws were missing their target, her melee reflexes were getting sloppy and in her last mission she had blacked out and crashed her Sparrow into a cliff face.
“Psyn are you okay?” Vanir asked as they returned to the Tower.
“Yeah I’m fine,” Psyn responded starting to walk off, “Just up late getting some reports for Anya done.”
A sudden screech from some power tools echoed through the tower.
Images of Atheon flashed through Psyn’s mind again.
She crumpled to the ground and let out a scream.
Vanir rushed over to Psyn, “PSYN, PSYN WHATS WRONG!?”
Psyn didn’t respond, her eyes were wide and she was shaking. She was muttering incoherently.
Heads were turning towards the two guardians; Vanir picked Psyn up and carried her to her house.
As Vanir approached the door flew open and out rushed Willow.
“PSYN,” Willow rushed to her sister, “What happened?”
Psyn was still shaking, muttering to herself. They took her inside and Vanir lowered her into a chair. Psyn bunched up drawing her knees in close, staring off into the distance.
Willow nodded to Vanir as thanks.
“Anya says she needs me, I’ll check back later,” Vanir responded returning the nod.
Willow turned back to Psyn after closing the door behind Vanir.
Willow lowered herself to Psyn’s eye level and rested her hand on her knee, “Symphony..”
“Symphony it’s me Willow,” Willow spoke softly, “It’s Willow Tree.”
Psyn turned her head to her sister, tears streaming from her eyes, “Will..Willow.”
“Where am I, where’s Atheon, what happened,” Psyn said frantically looking around.
“You’re in the Tower Psyn; you’re not in the Vault anymore. You’re safe.” Willow responded.
“No, we were in the Vault….Branch just brought me back…Atheon…I need to make sure the portal is clear,” Psyn stammered.
Willow drew her sister into a hug, “Psyn you beat Atheon. You came back safely. Everyone’s fine.”
Psyn broke down and wailed into her sister’s shoulder.
“I can’t sleep Willow, every time I close my eyes I see that shiny frame,” Psyn cried into her sister’s shoulder.
“Symphony…” Willow responded.
“I don’t know what to do Willow Tree,” Psyn cried on.
“We’ll figure it out,” Willow embraced her sister, “You’re suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. There are ways to help, and I’ll be right here with you.
“Willow Tree..” Psyn cried into her sister’s shoulder.
Willow let her sister cry, she needed it.
Branch whistled, signaling a call attempting to get through. Psyn lifted her head from Willows shoulders and wiped the tears from her eyes. She nodded to Branch to accept the call. Anya’s voice came through after a cloud of static; her tone was not of her usual cadence.
“Psyn, Novella is losing her eyesight,” Anya spoke, “Only the Relic can cure her.”
There are more sounds in the plaza of the Traveller’s Walk than most people seem to notice. That is not to say it is not quiet or peaceful, serene even, as would suit for the grounds of meditation. Many of those nearby do not listen to the plaza; they would hear perhaps the occasional whistle of the wind through the pass from the Tower Watch, or the constant trickle of the self-recycling water in the centralized pond.
And there were more. She hears the gentle crackle of Lord Saladin’s fire across the plaza. She hears the dull hint of the Vanguard’s voices below them. She hears so much, but she knows even then she does not hear everything.
Meditation defies its own definitions, as blurred as they were in decoherent texts. Vanir had read several texts that mentioned or attempted to explain the purposes of meditation. None of them agreed with one another, and none had a concrete description.
Vanir dips a fingertip in the stream of water beside her and watches it bend around the digit, trickling softly up the pale plate of her finger by two millimetres or so.
What she had read made meditation out to be a spiritual act revolving around a lack of direct thought. It focused on aspects of relaxation, letting conscious thought drift, and ‘emptying the mind’.
People would think her supposed ‘difficulties’ understanding meditation as a spiritual act were part of the limitations of being Exo. That was one aspect of humanity that Vanir grew frustrated with: their arrogance and assumption. They were self-absorbed enough to create machines of war with minds that worked like their own, yet at the same time they were so egotistic they assume Exo cannot understand ‘what it is to be human’.
The truth of it was that the spiritual definition of meditation Vanir had read was flawed. With the exception of death, the mind never ceased working, whether human or machine. Emptying the mind was not possible.
It was, however, a comfortable way to sit.
The act gave lease for distractions to depart. The edge of the Traveller’s Walk in the tower is often quiet and calm. Many Warlocks make their way to it to meditate and think on their studies. There is a greater presence there now than there had been prior to the Queen of the Reef’s emissary’s departure.
Meditation, it seems, is far different from how the books described it. It is an opportunity not to switch off one’s mind, but to concentrate it. It allows one to ignore the usual concerns of their lives. It allows one to forget mission reports and daily pressures in exchange for the ability to devote time and focus on something else.
Some Warlocks use it to ponder on the mysteries of the Traveller and how better to manipulate the Light. Some use it as a calm place to read, or to write, studies of philosophy or theses on the workings of the Traveller, translations from the Golden Age and before, even texts stolen from the Hive or Fallen.
Vanir is using meditation to think about meditation.
She smiles, knowing all too well how that tautological route, that circular trail of thought, might rattle the tunnelled minds of human philosophers who thought her people nothing but calculating circuits and clockwork.
Vanir lifts her finger from the stream and touches the wet point to her forehead. She imagines the Golden Age philosopher Diefenbach standing before her trying to discern the purpose of the action and smiles again at the pure pointlessness. There was no purpose it in beyond its own inherent purposelessness… which gives it purpose.
Philosophy is so silly, Vanir speaks the thought to Fuse; human egos are larger than the Traveller’s backside. Her Ghost blinks but says nothing.
Vanir slides her scarf from her neck and gently folds it into her lap. She enjoyed times like this for their simplicity and peacefulness, less so for the occasional philosophical debate within her.
That is why, after the seventeen seconds in which she waltzed her way around the pre-made decision that meditation’s definition was flawed, Vanir returns immediately to enjoying the present.
Meditation for her is not about focusing thought on a single subject of study. She is able to do that at most times unlike humans or awoken.
This is the reason she loves sitting cross-legged with the meditating Warlocks, dipping her finger in the pond and watching the mountains warp with the ripples in their reflection, listening to the sounds of near-silence and breathing in each one like a sweet scent.
“Vanir, what does this symbol translate to?” She looks up at the Awoken perched cross-legged like her on the grass. Over her hand a symbol burns in the air, bobbing ever so slightly as she tenses her fingers to keep its form from fading or warping. The small flick on the left hand side of the character is slightly out of place, but Vanir recognises it.
“Shēn.” She reads, “In English it would mean ‘deep’.”
The girl frowns; looking down at the book she held in her other hand. The book is perfectly steady – something that gave away the fact that the arm that held it was not of flesh, (though perhaps not so obviously to one who did not already know) “That doesn’t make sense…” she mutters.
“What is the context?”
“Deep can not measure?” The girl asks.
“Bù kě cè?” Vanir clarifies the characters, and the Awoken nods. “The spacing may be unintentional. Together they mean something similar to ‘unmeasurable’ or ‘unfathomable’.”
Her eyebrows narrow, but she looks back at the book and nods. Willow does not seem to be enjoying the book Vanir has leant to her, though she in unsure if the cause is the irritation of constant translation, or the theoreticality of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. Willow is one for concrete, for science and fact. Less so is she one for ancient theories on warfare.
“Why are you even reading that thing, it’s so boring.” Willow snaps her attention at the question, trying awkwardly to glare over her shoulder at the other Warlock who is leaning against her back like the trunk of a tree. “At least these are fun!”
“Comic books are drivel, Psyn. You should read something of use, not…” Willow trails off as she reads the title of the comic in her sister’s hand. “Calvin and Hobbes?”
Psyn grins and slaps Willow on the shoulder playfully, “you gotta lighten up sis! Although, I guess technically we are pretty lit up with the whole being able to channel Light thing… take a load off? You’re already sitting down so that doesn’t really apply. Read a boo…” Psyn frowns, scratching at the shaven side of her head. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, but do you know what you mean?” Willow raises an eyebrow but does not wait for an answer. She returns to her more intellectual book.
Psyn smiles as Vanir and holds up the anthology of comics, “thanks for letting me borrow this, by the way!”
“Bié kèqì!” Vanir smiles back. She does not notice that she replied in Chinese.
The second half of The Sunsinger Sisters origin story. (featuring my Destiny OC Psyn Adhara and tali-zorahs Destiny OC Willow Adhara)
Pease enjoy. (hopefully)
“Get off my back, it was one Dreg,”
“You still deviated from the plan.”
The shadows grew longer as the sun fell behind the Tower. Two Warlocks were standing in the middle of the rotunda, heads turning to look at them. One appeared displeased with the other.
“Willow, I punched one Dreg,” the blonde haired Warlock crossed her arms and pouted, “so what if he was 20 yards out from our camp.”
“Psyn,” Willow responded coldly, “You deviated from the plan. You broke cover. You could have put yourself in danger.”
“There was no one around Willow,” Psyn retorted, “You’re plans are always so boring. Stand here. Shoot this. Don’t get too close. There’s no fun.”
“This isn’t vacation or some kind of spring break adventure to Mars,” Willow stared at her sister, “You’ve always been like this. Why can’t you ever follow the rules?”
“Because it’s not fun Willow,” Psyn said.
Willow shook her head, “Fun…For the last time, this isn’t about fun anymore. You need to grow u-”
A hand whipped across Willows face. Psyn looked at her sister tears in her eyes. Psyn took off running towards the hangar. She needed to get out of here. Anywhere would be better than the Tower. This wasn’t the first time Psyn and her sister had fought but for some reason this time just stung more than usual.
Psyn froze in her tracks. She turned to come face to face with her physics professor. This wasn’t going to be good. She was used to it though. Another tongue lashing, another 5 minutes she wouldn’t get back today.
“Ms. Adhara, I’m sure you are aware of the dress code her at Isthar Academy.”
“Yes sir,” Psyn responded cheerfully.
“Then you must know that your new hairstyle is a clear violation.”
Psyn slid her hand across the shaved part of her head, “no sir.”
Psyn could see the veins starting to pop. She stifled a chuckle.
“Ms. Adhara why can’t you be more like your sister, a PhD candidate, a hard worker, one who follows the rules.”
This touched a nerve. Psyn hated being compared to her sister. Granted she loved Willow very much and was certainly proud of her, but Psyn would always be standing in her shadow. She wasn’t great at the theoretical part of her studies. She was better at the practical.
“I’m afraid I can’t let this slide. Please join me at 4:30 in my office.”
The elder walked off muttering something under his breath. Psyn kept smiling until the man was out of sight. Her face grew a displeased expression as she stormed off to the library. Every time she got into trouble she was always compared to her sister. Maybe she had cut her hair so she could stick out more herself. Maybe just once she wanted to be known for something other than being Willow Adhara’s sister.
“Psyn, what’s wrong?” said a voice in front of her.
Without even realizing it her anger and displeasure had carried her to the library to the table the two sisters always used. It was in the corner away from more of the busier areas of the library.
“One of the elders reprimanded me about my new hairstyle,” Psyn exasperated as she sat down across from her sister and took out a fusion rifle she had been tinkering with.
Willow looked up at her sister and sighed, “Well what do you expect? It’s in clear violation of the dress code.”
“Not you too,” Psyn rolled her eyes, “Just for once can’t you be on my side.”
“I never said I was taking sides I simply stated that your hair was a violation of the dress code,” Willow replied returning to her work, “I don’t know why you didn’t expect to get away with it.”
“Because it’s HAAAIIIRRR,” Psyn retorted, “Why does it matter what it looks like?”
“I don’t make the rules Psyn,” Willow replied putting her pen down and looking at her sister, “You need to start setting a better example. If you continue along this path you’re going to be kicked out of the academy. What will mother and father think then?”
This touched a nerve, Psyn felt as if she was being compared to Willow again, only it was being done by her sister herself. Will she ever be perfect in her family’s eyes? Will anyone ever acknowledge her talents in the field not behind a book?
“You sound just like the elders,” Psyn said packing up her stuff, “You’ll make a good one.”
Psyn turned and rushed off. She heard her sister trying to call her back but let it pass right through her ears. She hated this. She hated this school. She hated that she would never be seen as more than Willow Adhara’s sister. Why did she have to be born into this family?
A low rumbling started to form as the building begun to shake.
“An earthquake?” Psyn thought to herself, “on Venus?”
The vibration got stronger as the rumbling grew louder. Then from behind her Psyn heard what sounded like an explosion.
Willow.
Psyn turned around and started running back towards the library. Turning the corner she came face to face with the cause of the explosion. An 8 foot tall machine turned looking at Psyn with its glowing eye. Psyn froze.
What do I do?
What is this thing?
The last thing that went through her mind was; MOVE!
It was too late. Psyn felt a burning sensation in her chest. Psyn looked down and saw a gaping hole in her chest. The ceiling started coming into full view as she started falling back. She land hard on her back knocking out what little consciousness Psyn had left.
Psyn gasped for air as her back arched. She had forgotten how to breathe apparently. She coughed as though her lungs had been filled with dust. Her body felt warm, warmer than usual. She almost glowed, well more than usual.
“It worked! You’re alive!” echoed a soft voice.
Alive?
Wait, had she died? She looked around for the voice for she had so many questions. She spotted the source; a white, flying, eight pronged machine.
“Were you the one who said that?” Psyn asked sitting up.
“Yes, I’m Ghost. You’re Ghost to be exact. You’ve been gone a while,” Ghost chirped.
“Okay, now when you say gone,” Psyn asked, “do you mean dead?”
“Yes”
“And now I’m alive”
“Yes”
“How”
“By the light of the Traveler,” Ghost responded.
Psyn nodded in response. It all seemed to make sense. Willow had told her, or at least tried to, about the Traveler…wait…
“WILLOW!” Psyn exclaimed.
Psyn scrambled up and darted off towards the Library. She turned a corner and slammed into a pile of rubble.
“No…nonononononononono…please no,” Psyn repeated ignoring the pain coursing through her face.
Psyn continued running down the hangar corridor and rounded the corner slamming into someone’s back.
She really needed to stop doing that, she though rubbing her nose.
“Are you okay?”
Psyn opened her eyes to see an Awoke standing in front of her sporting a light pink side wave. Not a bad hairstyle Psyn though.
“Yeah, I’m sorry for bumping into you,” Psyn exclaimed wiping tears from her eyes.
“Not your fault, she was standing in the middle of the doorway,” said her EXO companion.
The Awoken shot the EXO the dirtiest of looks.
“No really it’s fine. I wasn’t paying attention,” Psyn said with a hesitant chuckle.
The Awoke looked down at the kid, “Okay what’s wrong? I know I have a hard back but it’s not as hard as my companion over here.”
Psyn had no idea what it was that compelled her to tell her but she blurted it out anyway, “My sisters a jerk.”
The Awoken looked down at the kid and laughed. Psyn looked back perplexed.
“Haha is that all kid,” the Awoken wiped a tear from her eye which then focused on Psyn with softness.
She removed her hand cannon from her holster and looked down at it, “Siblings can be hell sometimes, but you have to remember one thing, they do it because they care.”
“I’m sure your sisters just trying to look out for you kid.”
Psyn looked down at her feet.
“Maybe you’re right,” Psyn said defeated.
“haha you bet I am,” the Awoken said puffing out her chest, “Always are.”
“What about that time you thought you could make that jump,” the EXO said, “Or how about when you thought a Van-”
“SHUT UP TETRA I SWEAR TO GOD,” the Awoken snapped back at the EXO
She turned back to Psyn and put a hand on the kids’ shoulder, “Anyway kid the point is they just want to protect you even if they seem like the biggest jerks on the planet.”
“Nova, Anya says the preparations are complete it’s time to go,” the EXO said to her companion.
“Got it,” the Awoken confirmed, “we’ll see you around kid.”
The two Guardians walked off, the Awoken looked back and gave Psyn a thumbs up.
Psyn smiled back and returned the thumbs up. When the Awoken was out of sight Psyn clenched her fist and headed towards the North Tower where she knew she would find her sister.
