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The moon burned. Not with fire, but with song.
As the Deathsong reached its final crescendo, a terrifying sonic wave tore through the lunar crust. Its devastating tremors faintly lingered in the hearts of the guardians as they watched from the colony ships.
On the lunar surface, hive magic flooded like a dark tide of ichor staining everything in its path. Everyone watched, as only ash and dust remained.
Inside the ships, battered and weary guardians slumped against the walls, falling flat on the floor. For a moment, there was silence. Many heaved short ragged breaths, while others blankly stared at their feet, lost in thought, as if still in a trance.
Some remained hopeful, glad that they had survived a war. But some were distraught, their sunken eyes wandered, stopping at each sullen face, praying they'd recognize a soul or two.
But as the minutes passed, a grim and mortifying reality settled in. That perhaps those not present, would never be seen again.
Moments later, the thrusters flared, and one by one the colony ships broke away from the ruined moon, routing back to earth. Their engines glowed against a backdrop of ash.
It was a long, quiet and bleak ride back home.
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[ Earth, Tower]
The colony ships docked at the hangar, and as the gates fell open. Hundreds of guardians dragged themselves out. Among them were those that silently wailed, those that doggedly checked for other survivors, those that hung their heads low, and those that looked to the skies, basked in light of the Traveler, and questioned everything they had ever known.
No one spoke, there was nothing to say.
When the people of the City saw what had become of their heroes—those once hailed as humanity's champions, beings of courage, of fire, of Light—they were shaken.
The Tower, once alive with motion and chatter, fell still. For the first time in a long while… there was no hustle, no bustle.
Only silence.
Only sorrow.
The last bastion of humanity grieved and there was no one left to guide them through it.
Soon, the crowds dispersed. The Guardians carried out their wounded—hundreds poisoned by the Deathsong, their bodies rotting from the inside out, their spirits barely holding on. Every squad converged, tending to the injured with desperate urgency.
Tevis stood to watch as his squad was carried off, almost everyone was in critical shape. But during all this, only Bandit had noticed that Void was nowhere to be seen.
The day bled into night.
Survivors gathered in dim-lit circles. They spoke names, shared stories, passed around weapons and trinkets left behind—tokens to commemorate those they feared they'd forget.
The city was choked with a hollow silence, and through it, grief became its only solace.
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As the city mourned, Void walked alone—his cloak brushing against crumbling stone, his steps muted in the back alleys.
He wandered in silence, until the noise of the Tower faded behind him, and all that remained was the wind. Eventually, he found himself at the city's edge.
Whatever had happened… it was strange. Unsettlingly strange.
His instincts itched with unease. He could feel it crawling beneath his skin, whispering something he hadn't yet pieced together. He focused—and then, it came rushing back.
He recalled how he ran from Crota. His body remembered each step, each breath, each glance he spared. He recalled the chill just as he was inches away from the portal.
That chill—he'd felt it before. It begged the question, what had truly transpired?
Void furrowed his brow.
If the Hive planned to use the Deathsingers, why bother chasing them down? Why send an army at all?
Most of all, if that was their plan, why did Crota appear? Void knew that the timeline was in disarray. He had already expected something new on the moon. In fact, his very presence was an element no one considered. So why had it gone this way? Why, was it exactly when he had let his guard down?
That was the problem. It was too precise.
These questions loomed in his mind. But slowly, as he unearthed the cause, Void paused.
What he had arrived at, was an unsettling and unnerving answer. An answer he wasn't prepared to face.
He had experienced that chill once before, and now only one name came to mind.
'Toland.'
The old warlock was crazy and obsessed, but Void did not think he was willing to go this far. At least, not at this scale. Even in the original timeline, Toland was the core for every Hive discovery. Without his journals and knowledge, the City would know nothing.
But if it was, as he thought. Void grit his teeth. He turned to glance back at the City—its lights dim under the Traveler's watchful eye.
Then his timeline was utterly twisted, and he had no choice but to set it straight. Void clutched his sword and made up his mind.
"Obsidian," he said lowly. "Where does the City store its old records?"
The Ghost blinked into view, humming softly. "Records are stored by timeline. Depending on the era, you're looking at either the Warlock archives or the Vanguard's personal logs."
"Recent operatives. Decommissioned personnel. Start there."
"The Vanguard quarter, then. But it's locked down."
"Can you get in?"
Obsidian pulsed. "With all eyes on the Courtyard? Won't be a problem."
"Good."
Void turned from the city's edge. As he stepped forward, he vanished into shadow.
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[Vanguard Quarters]
Buried deep within the Tower's labyrinth, the Vanguard's personal floor was less an office and more a bunker. Reinforced walls. Surveillance arrays humming in every shadow. Under normal conditions, it was impenetrable.
But the Lunar War had cracked more than just the Moon.
Void prowled through the corridor, little more than a shimmer. A green laser gate loomed ahead, pulsing faintly. His form flickered, fading near invisible as Obsidian spliced the field—just enough of a hiccup to let him slip past undetected.
The door to the main chamber whirred open with a low groan.
Inside, a vast conference hall stretched before him. One side anchored by a holo-interface. The other: the city's primary control console, its presence like a silent sentinel.
Void's gaze narrowed.
He approached the console without a sound, Obsidian hovering in sync. A soft chime echoed as the Ghost interfaced, blinking in low pulses as encryption dissolved. Lines of names bled across the screen—thousands, maybe more.
But Void's search was precise.
Toland.
He found the file buried beneath decommissioned tags and restricted keys. As he accessed it, the console projected lines of text, diagrams, field notes—enough to fill a lifetime. More than a lifetime.
Research spanning centuries. Patterns drawn in madness. Obsessions inked in secrecy. Encounters with the Hive that felt too intentional. Too rehearsed.
None of it mattered. Not now.
Not until the entries shifted—highlighted data flagged from the time of Toland's exile. Final communications. Classified sites. Probable hideouts.
Void leaned in. He tapped for extraction—and the screen blinked red.
"Obsidian." His brows furrowed.
"Already on it." The ghost replied, "System's not corrupted, its just that the data seems to have recently been taken off grid."
Void's brow twitched. "How recently?"
"No timestamps. Whoever scrubbed it used the Central console. No logs left behind."
Void clenched his jaw. "Backups?"
Obsidian nodded, "But it would take hours to scour the City's backup archives for such a small file. In that period, security will be back to normal."
With his last lead lost, Void felt frustrated. A bitter rage built up within him, he should have seen it coming.
But then—movement.
Void jerked around, only to find a ripple in the shadows.
Across the table, a figure emerged from within like ink from a bottle. "Looking for something?"
"Bandit?" Void froze, a few seconds passed as he stared Bandit down, neither said another word. A sullen silence, akin to a frayed wire, stretched between them. Finally, Void heaved a sigh.
"If you know what I'm doing, don't try to stop me." Void shook his head, ready to leave the room.
Bandit let out a dry chuckle, the kind that sounded like it hurt more than it healed. Perhaps the war still lingered behind his eyes. He glanced at Void, his dour gaze lingering for just a few seconds till he finally looked away.
"Stop you?" His clenched his fist then shuffled his fingers, an encrypted data disc appeared in his hand.
"You seem to have the wrong idea." He replied. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the disc, it flipped and landed on Void's palm.
"Take it." Bandit turned to leave, but then he paused half-turned, silhouetted against the soft blue glow of the holo-console. "We both know what needs to be done."
"But don't forget....you're not alone."
Their eyes met. Then there was silence, but also a mutual weight. A trust built upon unspoken words. A belief cemented by what they had experienced.
Void nodded.
Moments later, a lone Jumpship subtly took off from the hangar, broke through the clouds and vanished into the horizon.
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