Alive

Prologue - Ghost

Day One

Lonely was the one who traveled without a Partner. A common suffrage of the Traveler’s many scattered drones. Artificial Intelligence, Ghosts were called. But there was nothing artificial about intelligence, or emotion.

For a long time, the almost demanding consideration of calling himself “Traveler” had piqued his interest for a name. But he’d wait. Even if it paired well with the amount of distance Ghosts and their fellow brethren would cover between planets and vasts lands, or even if it fit the criteria of how Ghosts were essentially parts of the Traveler itself - albeit scattered, confused and hurt in a strange way that lessened overtime with experience as individuals from the sudden separation - it didn’t seem right to give himself a name.

He is “Ghost.” Just as many others still were and once had been. Some Ghosts named themselves, or accepted nicknames, taking to them and their comforting legitimacy. Many waited, restless and eager to be gifted a name through the adored Risen they’d come to painstakingly discover and cherish.

But Ghost was alone. And so he’d stay Ghost until he became something else. Humans, Awoken, Exo - they took names for granted, sometimes. There’s always a way one identifies themselves, but a name? An official, great name? Something to single out the being, and not generalize? “Look at Ophiuchus, what a fine Guardian he raised! His Partner protects the City itself, and even helped to build its walls! Such a smart, cunning Warlock he rezzed!”

The feeling that would come with the discovery of his Risen, as he’d come to pin down through joyous boast of other Ghosts, was like the Light itself would rez him as a Risen.

If he even came to find his.

Nonsense. Ghost adjusted his shell around his core with squeezed mannerisms, pupil movements shifting in an almost awkward manner. Soon enough. Soon. It would happen soon. He’d told himself that for centuries, but it’ll happen soon. Soon.

Ghost didn’t necessarily like to admit it, but sometimes he thought the feeling would be as if his Risen found… well, him. Even if Ghost was the one doing all the searching, the wandering, it’d all be worth it in the end. A spark would call out, make itself known in the worthy form his Chosen would have, and it would catch his attention. Rather than him calling out for their attention and body, asking them, ‘Where are you?’, he encouraged fantasies of how finding the spark would be the other way around. Even if that wasn’t really how it went.

After all, his Risen’s dead. The dead don’t tend to have a very good perception on who’s looking for them.

Maybe he’d find them here.

A thought that would always prod his mind whenever his surroundings even slightly changed.

Alaska is a good place to revisit and look over regardless, as going over a previous location would let him see if his Chosen had been missed. Seven weeks across the Americas - heading North, then much further, then west - and the chilly countryside lacking its previously expected snowfall slowly became more barren of old ruins more and more. Just as his last visit had shown him, ruins of little settlements, long abandoned, were the “common” find here. They were rare, and spaced out, their integrity long lost to the dark age. The long dead homes and living spaces were barely recognizable through modifications of their structures by unknown previous occupants. Creeping vines of the mindless, clingy forestation added to the weather born damage plaguing every material.

No more ruins of cities, and very few towns bigger than some streets that lead to one another. A town such as the one he’d just come across was more so a village than anything.

Given the state of the area, the rural-even-for-Alaska, small, village-like settlement had left its marks on the surrounding environment that suggested life here, even with the inevitable decay that had clearly started to catch up fast awhile ago to claim its rightful boon. Only the bare bones of its past vibrant economy remained, hinting at what once was. Overgrown and dying crops grew at random and dry patches.

Most definitely, at least regarding the lines of crumpled skeletons and clothes amongst the overgrown brush nearby, barely buried beneath plants that used their ribs and joints for their own uses, the people who had lived there had faced an end to their lives.

Normally, such a settlement would go undiscovered. But the little being of Light making his way through saw it. The little being of Light with no name and a strange pull knew. And he wished them well, wherever they may be in the stars now.

Making notes of his environment, Ghost took some time to become acquainted with the landmarks of the area. Landmarks aside from the many skeletons in mostly torn brown and grey rags.

Patterns seemed to make up the dead zone. In three chunks of land that shared a similar but unevenly close distance from one another and nearly symmetrical in how each grouping of houses were made and organized, twenty-one plain, wooden buildings in groups of seven with their shattered windows sat not all-too many feet apart. Each of the three areas, clearly belonging to the same settlement, was reminiscent of the others that were further into the woods in their pattern and structure. Whoever had resided here, Ghost realized, had done so with each other for a similar, maybe identical purpose.

Just to live, safe and close together. But not too crowded.

Three houses taking up the middle differed only in how their foundations seemed angled, their porches and their railings splintered off and busted by unknown assailants. After the three residing on the same side of the little “clearing” reminiscent of a weed infested road, another structure of darker oak had a large, light colored door, its contents filled with simple machines of rusted metal, gates, and fences. A barn, maybe. The fifth, facing away from all the rest, held rusted metal that resembled pots and pans, and a rope hung limp and broken atop a thin and straight line of rotted old oak wood, contrasting its darker counterpart. The sixth and seventh seemed more of outhouses or compost boxes than anything.

The middle house of the three, with its square window just beneath the roof hinting at a short attic, was the only one with an open door that, tilted on its hinges, opened and slammed with every shift of wind as though a small child were handling it. Even though the strange pull he had started noticing moments earlier became more faint when he approached it, he wanted to at least see for himself the isolated ruins. Sure, he could dematerialize and appear within the other homes that once belonged to a now shattered life, but this one was already open. So, why not?

He got close.

Creeeeaaaaaak. *BANG* Creeee-ooooak, tech-tech, EEEEEEEEEEE!

Now’s my chance!

Weaving through the door just in time and avoiding an unpleasant bust to his shell, the small metal core adorning four striped shell pieces and a glassy optic took the time to go still and take in the room. His optic drifted from one side of the space to the other, utilizing what little time he’d have before the rectangular flood of light beaming in juuuuust right would be cut off.

Even if it wasn’t the greatest of ideas (nor really efficient. He had his own light.), there was still opportunity to assess what lay inside the dust filled walls. L shaped, the thick width of walking areas and furniture immediately apparent at the door was interrupted by a tall rectangle of open space, a few boxes under the visible bottoms of steps. The steps themselves, in the most simplest terms, were wrecked. Weak splinters at the shattered hollow interiors of each old square that were visibly able to be discerned as soft and old pointed inward at one another in diagonal, inaccurately lined up rows. Never quite alone in their weak almost-spikes.

Dark boots hung limp and stiff midway up the staircase, held in place by a covered leg. An odd mold pooled beneath.

Taking advantage of the details he proudly noted in only a few seconds - he’d been practicing! It’d help his Chosen one day! - the inhuman shape didn’t escape from Ghost’s notice. A piece of purple cloth gripped in the hands of old remains half curled stiffly around the couch he brought himself around sparked curiosity. Old, worn, torn, and tightly restrained in exposed knuckles, it acted as one of the few colors still occupying the skeleton wrapped in faint blue and brown clothes.
Shredded directly above the heart, the blouse offered no modesty for jagged, broken ribs. A quick fate, hopefully. Humanity had its flaws, but for the most part were undeserving of their plight. Innocent, almost. He wondered if that’s why the Traveler stayed. Could it have seen Humanity to be like its children, in a way?

May this one, like the rest, have a peaceful-

BANG

Save for an angled sliver of light from the crooked, tilted door hanging on only to its bottom hinges, fearful, Ghost snapped around at the abrupt fall of dark and flicked on his flashlight as if to catch someone in the act. Taken!-

….no, no it’s not. Not Taken.

He’d gotten so invested in his surroundings that the screeches and whines of the door had gone past his mind. Now, cautious instead of destroyed, Ghost’s slow movement away from the door would be the only thing to proceed those silent seconds of tense air and whistling wind that shook the door on its hinges.

Ghost couldn’t even be embarrassed at the realization that he had become startled by the very door that he had been waiting to open not even moments earlier.

He found it…. laughable. Embarrassing, yes, but there wasn’t any embarrassment. So it was just... laughable.

Tell me my Chosen was watching and maybe THEN I’d feel bad about that. What am I saying? That’s ridiculous, I don’t even have any reason to- am I debating a door?... Right, back to business.

Briefly bobbing up to the leg crossing the boundary of below and above the stairs, Ghost briefly spared another glance to the mold, now shrouded in dark when his light wasn’t trained directly at its dark appearance.

A shock rifle. Short and old, it looked as if its inner mechanisms had overloaded at some point. The jagged metal that looked as if it had at some point melted didn’t look all that inviting at all - and with a sudden start, he realized, it wasn’t mold that corrupted the floor at all. Black patterns of different, almost unintelligible severities mimicked that of Arc damage. It was somewhat like that of the Titan, he remembered, who had slammed his Fists into the sides of an old barn full of Fallen after the old sprinklers had inexplicably powered back on. Back in the Dark Ages, all Risen had to make do with what they were given to work with, and the Titan had utilized the opportunity he’d been given to his utmost ability. Only, this was more controlled, like that of art pieces and designs in wood that Warlocks in the Tower would sometimes create on a big plank of one material or another depending on the week. Always adding to it, like a cooperative mural. While the exaggerated amounts of damage from the already aged wood made it difficult to discern…. that must’ve been the cause.

Figuring out little things like this made Ghost feel nice. If his Warlock - only a possibility, of course - wanted someone to go through mysteries over, Ghost would surely be at LEAST interesting input!

Its mask layered in rust and jagged features on one side threatening to slice an open palm, the Fallen crumpled on its side, head angled oddly from how it laid against steps, deviated very little from the usual Fallen corpse. Even with curved, dull slits for eyes still partially opened, Ghost pictured the look that must’ve been on its face when it had attacked the settlement and consequently lost its life. Taking another moment to stare down the body illuminated by only his flashlight, what he had guessed was a female through judging specific head wraps and other cloths atop her armor - as well as her counterparts and their servitors - must have been passing through in hopes of finding a place to hunker down.

Light bulb. That could be why the place was in such decay. Unrefined, simple materials, exposed to Ether and other chemicals, must have sped up the decay for the once sturdy foundations and bare bones that made up a home. In consequence, the place became uninhabitable, and once the invaders traveled elsewhere, the decay must have sped up. It wasn’t the only possible explanation - not by a long shot for old or pre Golden Age infrastructure - or cause, but it was a theory and it made him feel smart and prepared. Ready to help. Even if it’d been centuries since the Warlords and powerfully corrupt Risen, he was ready to help in just about any form he could when his Chosen was discovered.

Heh. Ehehehe! Discovered! Like an artifact! One-of-a-kind special, just for me.

….

I’m lonely.

Morose, the thought and its unpleasant feel was very brief. He returned to his search, pleasant and alone. His search. His and his alone. Unshared by all in every moment and purpose except one: to find their own Risen, ones that are surely never going to be nearly as amazing and fantastical as his and could NOT even begin to BREACH on the same level of joy that would be brought upon Ghost when he’d find his. And so his thoughts had been for many a dozen decades.

Beneath the Traveler, safe and plentiful, the Last City was the perfect example of impressiveness. Particularly for its walls, and thick, trusty doors, few as they may be. For the most part, Guardians, distinctive from Risen who didn’t protect the city, in his mind, were the only ones to enter and exit the City, and would commonly take to their trusty ships for transportation. Even if it was sometimes just to jump out in a stunt a few miles out! Ghost dreamed of being able to experience it one day. If his Chosen was one of the daring types, the thought of their big, unceasing smile that’d stretched from ear to ear as wind whipped at their body and screamed past their ears in the most marvelous of dives from ship to water filled him with eagerness to see it and beat the record of Elija Monroe, a major player in the swimming team of the 'alternative sports' sometimes sponsored by the Crucible. Always, always he’d imagine that smile, even in simple, passing thoughts. Daydreams such as those procked at any occasion, for the sole reason of his enjoyment and entertainment of them.

Like now. He’d gotten so caught up about it that he’d been moving around without really taking much note of anything upstairs.

Daydreams still lingering in his mind and lightening his spirit, it was about then Ghost started returning to his previous analysis of his surroundings. A few seconds’ sweep, light lingering almost hopefully over one of the few bodies within the upper floor, and he determined his Chosen was not here.

Banging downstairs. Along with the creaks that filled the house, it made him a little jumpy and expectant to find a culprit hidden amongst the shadows when he dematerialized and reappeared downstairs, but the openness of the small but comfortable, simple once-homes allowed for some leniency in ignoring his urges to add to the sunlight that beamed in brief periods and shine his flashlight over every surface. It was an old place, and any intruder, including him, would stand out like rare Awoken crystals amongst cheap jewelry in betting pools Guardians would sometimes indulge in with Civilians, even if only to humor them. Given the lack of hiding places, assurance took his mind off potential dangers like Fallen black market dealers or Hive, even if the thought of them being quiet was almost silly.

The door was still acting up in its erratic movements with the encouraging force of light but consistent wind. Ghost went to leave, honest, but… he briefly glimpsed over to the crumpled body he’d first examined coming in, and his flashlight smoothly took up the role of light when the door sputtered mostly shut again. It… was odd. Was he sensing something, or just curious?

Optic fixating on the purple cloth, he figured he’d found the source of his curiosity. Now low, so low that his shell almost scratched against the ends of the stained carpet, he angled a piece of his shell beneath the phalanx bones of the skeletal hand so as to make the cloth more evident. He stretched his shell, moving aside the fingers that fell over the middle part of the cloth.

Faded and dusty, it took a pulse of a pale line of light to clean it off, revealing a white symbol. House of Dusk, with the adopted symbol of the House of Rain after its demise to the Whirlwind. A circle in the middle, two straight lines on one side of the circle consisting of different sizes, and three on the other. The destruction of the settlement had him pause. No, this wouldn’t be a repeat of the Mercury settlement. The House of Rain was long gone, and so were the invaders, gruesome as they may have been mowing down runners not far off from the end of the street he’d initially arrived through.

Sympathy ringing in his core, Ghost gently moved the boney hand back down as an act of respect. He spared the corpse a lingering stare as he made his way outside, a little voice wishing he’d of found his Chosen sooner, travelled here, and protected them in an awesome show of fury and devotion to good.

Of course, the flashlight went off as he left the dark space.

Ghost peered down the stone well not far down the street, the one hanging from an old rope next to rusted kitchen ware that reminded him of soup kitchens and campfires meant to heat up food before the City’s walls had been built. He wondered if there was any water in there, the inside darkened by the little roof the rope hung from. Even the well was riddled with bullet holes and black spots.

Flicking on his flashlight, sparkling water shifted with indefinite ripples whenever the many water bugs would pump their little legs from one place to the next in an otherwise lazy well. Endlessly moving, some of the bugs were stuck. He’d leave them to it.

He retracted from the well’s interior. If he’d come here a few years earlier, even without his Chosen to protect them, would there have been people here, alive and busy, tending to the veggies that now grew unchecked, and thus became wild, dry and weird? Perhaps there’d have been…. Children?

Or would they have already been dead?

Maybe, just maybe he was wrong in the timing of how long it had been since the place became a hollow shell of what it once was. Maybe the state of the dead was older than a few measly years. Maybe the now-skeletons had moved in sometime when the previous inhabitants had moved out or fled, and whoever remained had met with fate’s hand. Maybe that’s why everything seemed so old but the bones remained, still skeletons yet to be consumed by the elements like how their muscle and the rest of their bodies had been devoured by maggots and worms. No matter how corpses were normal both to him and to evolution, decay was a rancid process to witness. The only reason the Fallen body hadn’t decayed so much was probably due to the ether deterring bugs along with the cold.

Despite exposure to the high, bright sun’s touch that had followed Ghost throughout his days regardless of where he traveled, little warmth was offered to go with the surrounding chilly air.

People that had kept to themselves, separating their lives from the grace of the Traveler aside from the bountiful crops it offered the Earth, often lived here in Alaska, or in other rural areas where similar isolated ruins Ghost had found were. Some of these areas were in Japan, Egypt, Sudan, or China, old and abandoned. Lifeless, usually, with the marks of life either gone or simply undone by Earth’s natural elements and vegetation. Finding places such as those was a rare but always sad little treat that reminded him that not everyone lost their roots of self management with the coming of the Light and its wonders.

Exploring the other buildings offered very little difference in results. The house on the left had nothing in it, its contents overturned and wrecked and a hole in the upstairs floor that lined up with the roof, while the house on the right had a pile of bodies. Ghost’s previous assumption that the place hadn’t been too crowded crumpled with the numbers he briefly guessed. He wasn’t about to count individual bodies, the quick once over having been more than satisfactory. No spark, no Chosen, no Risen.

Having gone unnoticed by his first glance around behind the barn, torn fabrics below a partially crumbled booth made of stone, just barely holding on to its foundation, seemed to house some religious texts on Islam and Judaism. Really old texts. Strange to see for him, given the - well…. Traveler.

Well, the Traveler never exactly demanded worship or anything, it just sorta developed amongst humanity overtime due to its greatness. So, he supposed it made sense that some humans kept to their old texts of Gods and welcomed the one in the sky.

Humans that reject it, and call it evil? THOSE Humans he doesn’t understand at all. What Ghost does understand, though, is that Humans sometimes associate something bad happening to something, and then that affecting them, to be the fault of whatever had initially been attacked or followed. It didn’t really make that much rational sense. The fault is on the attacker, not on what it followed! The Traveler didn’t bring the Darkness, the Darkness followed it, and then the Traveler even sacrificed itself to protect humanity! It doesn’t take a Cryptarch to read the scribes’ written history, so carefully preserved and passed down through the Collapse, through the Dark Age, through modern day!

Read a book, like the religious ones! It’s THAT simple!

Bristling as lonesome leaves dragged against his shell, rocking the small twigs they were attached to, Ghost’s shell adjusted itself in an irregular, agitated pattern as he made his way through more foliage.

There it was again, that feeling from earlier. Something’s close. Closer than before, becoming more at his attention by the moment. Something important.

It wouldn’t leave his mind, wouldn’t let him focus on anything else while also managing itself from becoming like that of an obsession. It reminded him of when he’d wander the roads and up the walls of apartments in the City, daydreaming high up in the air and eliciting fondly kind words from people on their balconies or with open windows as he envisioned what life would be like to finally have his Chosen, and spacing out to watch markets he passed as an enticing smell attracted the attention of children with their mothers or adolescents who’d engage in trading glimmer for treats, crumbs creating a mess on the wraps that often covered their heads for warmth and protection from the elements. Their looks of ‘want’ mixing with ‘need’ and the urge to go, go, go. He felt that right now. Go, go, go.

Go to what? It, depending on what ‘it’ is. But what is ‘it’?

Crumpled and curled in on itself, Ghost briefly spared another dead Fallen with its brown and purple armor and cloth a look through his newly found concentration. One of its hands lay right below the machete in its chest, jammed through a break of leather that allowed for more mobility to go with the more metallic areas of its armor. Leather on its stomach and arms were slashed, the abdomen itself showing four or five openings about the size of the blade’s width. The only difference in the wounds was that it seemed whoever fought their bravest against the monstrous scavenger had been hurried, affecting how long the straight cuts would stretch. In contrast to the relatively shallow looking injuries, the machete suffering the effects of exposure to the elements and ruined by oxidation was buried up to half of its length in Fallen ribs. The dead flies in all their insect glory piled up beneath or near the openings of armor had their own decisive death. Maybe it’d been the ether that poisoned them. Not like he could see the ether anymore - again, what remained in the surrounding area was all very old.

While Ghost had never really taken the time to learn of Fallen anatomy, he’d seen enough quarrels and acts of violence against, and instigated by them, to guarantee that this had been the killing blow. Many times these private interactions as presumed by their captors had been stumbled upon over the years of subtly making his way through wastelands and villages and Fallen infested areas and territories, hoping to navigate through safely or efficiently. The fights were always unique, he recalled, even if they almost blurred together overtime from the repetitive nature of it all. Between humans or Fireteams or Cabal, interactions always had some semblance of repeat. It helped, in a way.
He’ll ignore it for now. Ghost had to get back to what he was doing. Follow the trail, there’s something there.

Follow the trail, there’s something there. Go, go, go.

Through tilted branches, brush, and trees, a bright sparkling of water caught Ghost’s attention. Sharply singing their tweets, a few birds changed their placement at his passing, cocking their heads at him like in the manner of a child goofing off. Birds did it faster, and the movement was almost like they’d snapped their necks. They didn’t, of course.

He wasn’t even that close to it, but the bird flew away quickly and rushed for no apparent reason. Moments filled with the sound of erratic wings disappeared and cut off seemingly just as suddenly as they had begun their jittered escape.

Clearing the end of the thicker brush, small, individual blades of grass, spread out in occasional groups of patches atop blackened dirt animated from limp to wavy as they shifted with the gentle wind passing through. Where the clumps of sandy colors shifted the appearance of an already lighter shade of dirt, pond water met its cool uncaring edge, its blue body and darkened bottom carrying algae and leaves with its tentative movement. After years of placement, rain had run both mud and sand down into what it had become today at the ends of the water. For those who had seen the rotting wooden walls of the desolate would-be homes nearby, maybe then they’d have guessed that the pond had once been a source of life for a presumably once pleasant place.

After he’d taken in the scene, something caught his optic. There was a ceasing of movement from the striped Ghost. Something so absolute hit him that he couldn’t even think.

What could’ve caused it?

Could the source of his sudden freeze be the dark bird standing in the pond, water up to its knees, the bird stopping to look around before it tilted its beak forward into the water and repeated itself every brief second or so? The buzzing ball of gnats above the water, feeding the croaks of noisy frogs in their insect genocide? Or, perhaps, the skeletal forearm - starting at the shoulder and bent at the elbow, the humerus tilted forward like a bent sapling stiffly embedded into the ground. A long forgotten tragedy, as if the woman had tried to escape the Earth itself.

Something was odd. This one felt different. Like someone Ghost knew. Someone close to him. True. Someone to comfort and confide in, to be comforted and confided by. To bury the memories of the Dark Age and live in the greatness Ghosts proudly boasted of when describing their Chosen’s achievements, trying to conclude who truly had the most influential and greater Guardian. It felt like Light.

His Chosen’s spark.

It felt like something he’d imagined for centuries. Familiar, in a vague sense, but entirely new.

Ghost came closer at once, half heartedly shooing away a few oblivious tiny bugs as they crawled up the tilted bones.

Although it had been hidden in the ground with more subtlety than the arm, Ghost felt the awed pride in the Risen he’d soon meet already, and found himself entranced by the face - well, by the thought of the face. Dozens of ideas passed through his mind as he stared into empty sockets above a hole for a nose, sunlight just barely revealing the dirt filling the inner skull roughly halfway. The jaw was still attached, albeit open and stiff, positioned in a way that reminded him of how stiff, clasped handles tended to move and stretch. So many possible skins, so many people’s faces. Mostly human faces. He had to forget them, this was a new face. One more unique and original than anyone else could be!

Even if it wasn’t true, it was to him. And that was a fact.

This was her. Ghost didn’t know how he already knew the sex, or how he already knew for certain this one was his, but it was irresistible to think otherwise!

The spark!

Thoughts of clothes, armor. He started circling around the remains, mind completely cleared that this was a corpse. The shift from ‘this is a body’ to ‘I will give my Chosen the best’ was absolute.

A straight beam of white occasionally left his optic, like he was prodding, trying to get more of a feel of what he’d make in both clothes and limbs. Ghost felt with his Chosen’s Light a strength, capability, worthiness. It was like Ghost was ready to tap into Light like that of the Traveler’s, amplified by his own growing excitement and determination. Determination that had been grown, honed, prepped forever it seemed.

Ghost’s shell pulsed up and down his core, like magnets meeting and resisting against one another but never launching away. Not even the bristling from moments before came to mind. Bright blue started to gather around him, reaching out, spreading out, feeling for its joining with the future that awaited him.

Clumps of dirt and earth surrounding the bones parted ways, carrying grass and roots and dropping bugs drilling into and around his Chosen across wherever they’d been moved. Snapped ribs quickly became visible over a spine. Then jutted hips, the bones stained from the years of filthiness and exposure. The feet only just barely had been uncovered when the skeleton itself seemed to writhe with power. Still and quiet, but alive and thriving. Bones shook, the Light moving in its own way.

You’re going to be the best thing in the world, Ghost decided. In the Galaxy! I know it. Better than Saint-14, better than the Iron Lords, better than the God Slayer. I say it, and it’s true. It’s true and I’m so excited! I’m so excited!

I’m so excited!

Whether or not this was true, it certainly felt so to him.

Muscles, veins, brain matter, skin, blood. The skeleton was lacking it all. No - his Chosen’s skeleton was lacking it all.

He’ll give her some.

With a sudden burst of energy and Light, he focused whatever he could into the pale light and once again pressed at the skeleton, now familiar with its quirks. His shell seemed to vibrate in a way reminiscent of magnets pushing against one another, being pushed together by that of an eager child.

Organs, veins, blood, muscle, skin. In whatever order it had come, Ghost couldn’t be sure. Only the pieces, chunks, and whole parts had his attention. Meeting his Chosen had his attention. Giving life to his Chosen made his purpose more clear and apparent than it had ever been before.

Clothes formed, layering and stretching, offering protection for the body and from elements. Clothes that Ghost himself had made over and over and over and now finally had the perfect ones made through Light and will. For his partner.

For his Guardian.

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While not registered, the subconscious effort to take in the environment through sound and make guesswork of what unseen things were there, as well as where, began to raise its head.

It took some time, but after Zadie became self aware of her lack of thoughts - an apparent eternity that had really only been a few mere seconds - she slowly came to the understanding half her face was flush pressed against something rough. Dry, coarse dirt. It was scratchy, and cold.

Zadie opened her eyes without thinking only to immediately squeeze both shut as specks of dirt made their way into her right eye. Hand smacking to her face to rub with her palm, she rubbed at her eye, blinking somewhat dryly as the tiny specks rubbed against her lid.

Widening her lids super big with her fingers invited a cold dryness and had her tear ducts kick into action, filling her eyes in an attempt to clean them out. Squeezing both shut again, Zadie kept them like that until the feeling under her lid subsided.

This time without incident, brushing off her cheek of whatever may have clung to it, Zadie was able to open her eyes. What met her this time was not a face full of dirt. Standing inside a clunky hole from toes to eye level, trees shifted with a steady but light wind, orange and yellow leaves standing amongst others with green and lime colored trees.

“Shhh, shhh, shh,” came a voice. “It’s alright. You’re okay, I promise.”

Zadie came to realize the stiffness of her movements, and the difficulty in how she was breathing becoming lighter and more natural by the second. A strange anxiety lightened with the pressure in her ribs, with the constricting nature of her lungs. She was breathing quick, and shallow, and yet that hadn’t been what she’d first noticed when she’d…. She’d…. Woken up? She doesn’t remember going to sleep. She knows who she is, what she is, and what’s around her in the sense that everything was familiar in more than one way. But that’s it.

That’s it.

At the sight of the strange metal orb with a glowing ‘eye’, Zadie’s gaze locked onto it, following the movements of its shell as they made their uneven and smooth rotations around the thin metal core, the shell just barely scraping the dirt beneath the hovering eye she just now realized was the voice she’d heard. As her dark eyes with hints of golden tones like that of her dark skin met with his optic, a sudden euphoric glee filled Ghost. If he had a heart, Ghost felt as though he’d understand when humans say their hearts flutter at the sight of a loved one, as he knew he truly loved his Chosen since the moment he met her. He thought he had already, but he was wrong. Nothing can compare to this great and amazing moment, not even the most vivid of daydreams. While he’d tried to offer his fast-breathing Chosen some comfort, it just seemed that she was getting her bearings for the most part.

He hoped he could make the experience easier on her. After all, new Risen are sorta like babies. Okay, maybe not like babies, but they always have to experience everything in their forever-living lives again and learn from their experiences. The least Ghost could do was greet her, and get to know her, and watch her hunt, and watch her shoot, and - and experience and guide her through everything, he hoped!

Cautious, his Chosen spoke slowly, almost sluggish, yet to learn of him and his purpose as her partner who’d searched throughout the stars and planets for her. “Who are you?”

His eager reply came without even the skip of a beat. “I’m Ghost!”

Having been immediate and sure, Ghost felt happy. Happy to meet her, happy to speak to her, happy she wants to know who he was - is! Happy that they mutually want to know about one another, at least in some way.

But… why did she still look… lost, almost? Unsure? Not energetic, not excited, not fond of him like he’d imagined? crept into his core. He hadn’t considered that his glee and desire to meet his Chosen wouldn't have been possible to even exist from her. She had no daydreams of glory, no idea of the chaos that unfolded more into unrest throughout the centuries, no expectations of the world around or before her. She didn't have any eagerness to meet him, the ultimate companion to end the constant loneliness he’d been searching so long to find a true, final end to. This was her first day alive.

Her first minute.

The realization he’d have to figure out what to say, gently, as the stiffness of her bones and muscles were flexed out by their first movements in possibly centuries, was daunting. It made him quiet, his joy and excitement mixed painfully with his embarrassment, and despite how he knew she wouldn’t, he hoped that, for all it was worth, his Chosen didn’t notice the clash of emotion. Thankfully, she seemed to look elsewhere as she rolled her arm, hand on her shoulder, straightening her posture, just getting general stiffness out of the way. Maybe she was just uncomfortable with him staring at her so quietly. What seemed as awkward silence to him must have been simply time for her to get more comfortable in a body she’d long since lost.

Clicks and a slight whirr left him as he contemplated what to say, drawing a flicker of eyes to and away from him. Ghost didn’t like seeing her uncomfortable - truthfully, he found the thought of making his Chosen uncomfortable this early on to be quite daunting.

Less than one minute ago, he’d been certain they’d be the best of friends. Now, filled with embarrassment and shame, his view on the future seemed dreary. Even with logical thinking warding him away from his worries, he felt a slight cold. What if she’d hate him?

The moment became raw and real.

Focusing on his joy had no point. It’s good to be happy, but several important points, not even considered over the years of what he’d think and becoming obvious for the first time, filled him with fresh clarity.

They were alone, just outside an isolated village filled with piles and lines of old corpses. They were in Alaska, where it was cold, and had no way to get her somewhere safe. Even if she was Risen, she was still new to the Light, and her regained life, only a corpse waiting to become Chosen three silent, awkward minutes ago. He had no weapons to give her. Her clothes, even if it hurt to admit it, weren’t the best for the cold weather of a country that had barely a few hours of sunlight every day, if even that. There was no ship.
His Chosen would be hungry soon. Risen can starve. Pangs of hurt at the thought of her inevitable suffering only added to the daunting situation and environment his Chosen would have to adjust to.

Hunter. Hope flickered through his core. His Chosen was a Hunter, he’d just realized!

Sudden excitement wasn’t enough to ward away the clarity settling still over his mind. Watching her adjust how she stood and shift her limbs - bored, no longer stretching now - he suddenly knew what to say.

Sure and smooth, Ghost moved to the side, catching her attention. It stayed on him, this time. He tried again, this time sure of how to make her understand his intentions, and what she needed to do. “I know you must be…. Confused, now. I am, too. But we need to get you shelter before daylight falls. My name is… Ghost.”

It felt alien, saying that was his name. It was different from going ‘I am’, because that was simply referring to who he was. But his Chosen’s stare, her beautiful stare. It held more understanding for what he was - the association of an ally. It was a comforting thought, he could tell, even with the sparks of suspicion and wariness that he knew so well accompanied by Hunters and older Guardians alike. He wanted to get to know her, just like he had for centuries before. But now? In a different, newly perceived way.
“Do you have a-.... Do you know your name?” Ghost asked.

His Chosen was quiet, too quiet to assure him, but he still knew she’d answer. There was something about her he just knew. Her dark, curly hair, fuzzy, short and filling the entirety of her scalp, perfectly complemented her features. “Zadie,” his Chosen said. As if to make it more official, just as he’d wanted since forever, “My name is Zadie.”

Beautiful, Ghost thought. I hope she gives me a name as beautiful as that.

His previous positively started to return, along with his vision of the future.

She was okay with him.

Zadie was okay with him. And that was a good start.

Fingers digging into loose sod, bits of dirt fell and shifted with the drag of Zadie’s boots as she hoisted herself out of the little prison she’d once been buried dead. Her cloak, lengthy to about the upper calf, didn’t match the same shades of brown she wore, but still went with the same color scheme of her grey-brown pants and gingerbread brown shirt. Oddly enough, Ghost realized, the clothes resembled those of the shredded rags of the village skeletons. Maybe he’d wanted to give her a sense of home when he was making them for her.

Well, he’d seen such simple clothes on other Guardians in the tower, he supposed. New ones, always greasy and dirty from their many days travelling to the city, already fit and lean with somewhat shaped arms and muscles from the wilderness and its demanding requirements for survival. The clothes were always different, but simple and efficient.
The only thing that irked him at the comparison was how most of them held some sort of weapon. Unlike his.

Not even a knife…

Wait.

Suddenly invigorated, more sure and confident than the energetic excitement of before, he bobbed up, quick and swift. “Wait here!”
Even when her face took on a look of confusion and a wanting to understand how or why he suddenly had to disappear, Ghost staved off his feelings of guilt as he rematerialized at the Fallen with the machete embedded in its body. Normally, Ghosts couldn’t repair weapons on their own, but he’d just found his Chosen and his Light was still more unstable and powerful than normal, allowing for some leniency for him as a piece of the Traveler that had once been shed from its body.

I’ll be taking that.

Sparkling blue and white light enveloped the blade, and in a vague sense, he could feel along its shape and body as it pulled itself out and floated in place, rotating calmly. Light slowly expanded to the hilt, the blade shaking, vibrating with power and purity. Changing, sharpening, becoming more reliable and handy. Only the best for his Chosen. The best that he can give. Even if it hadn’t processed how he’d give his Chosen weapons until he found her, it seemed fate was much more merciful to him than he’d thought.
For a while, he was there, focusing and honing its light as much as it’d allow. Like rezzing his Chosen, he didn’t know how long he’d been perfecting his craft. Nonstop, the blade shook and bucked, extending slowly above the body, and as the light shifting over and around the machete faded, he could see it.

Now a material like that of steel, the chips of rust starting to levitate like leaves reversing their falls and disappearing, the blade had an almost unimaginable sharpness to it. If he pressed his shell to it, he was nervous he’d slice it. Just imagining the blade in the hands of his Chosen, used to gore a deer, or protect herself, had him glancing at the handle. Sure enough, the grip would go well with her hand. Firm, trusty, and fitting. In short, a tulwar with a custom grip. Finally, finally something else was going right, and he’d be able to stay by his Chosen’s side until he’d come to realize something else that’d come to be an issue.

Wanting to return to her as soon as possible, Ghost didn’t bother to hover over. Just as he’d left, he disappeared and rematerialized back to her, proud and more than eager to gift her a reliable blade, and was more than surprised to see his Chosen crouched by a pile of sticks, bent over and biting off the ends of a hemp plant, tied at the ends of a bent and curved stick meant to act as a bow. Had he really been gone that long? He supposed he shouldn’t have been taken so off guard at the sight. Guardians sometimes retained memories or skills from their past lives. Usually not at the same skill level as before, but if they didn’t there was usually a knack or intuition driving them to learn it.

Like riding a bike, as he’s heard humans and Guardians alike say. He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t have legs. Or anything aside from his Light, his mind, and his shell, anyway.

At his arrival, Zadie didn’t seem too happy. Not angry, or upset, or scared, just not happy. Maybe he was imagining things, but he could’ve sworn he saw a downward pull of her lips when he approached.

Ghost hated the thought of being something that made her unhappy. Hopefully, it was just the confusion of a newly rezzed Risen affecting her views on him. After all, a Risen hating their Ghost wouldn’t do. He’s heard of that happening, and he wouldn’t be able to bear it if his Chosen ended up hating him after so many years of loving and adoring even the thought of meeting her.

Ghost transmat the machete and its new elegance beside her, the thought of the noise it’d make didn’t even cross his mind. “Zadie, I made you a-”

Startled and alarmed, his Chosen scurried back from the suddenly appeared object, a sharp stone suddenly raised in her palm as wild brown eyes trained on the machete. Her rapid chest suddenly hitched in realization that nothing threatening was beside her. Faintly, red darkened her brown-gold cheeks, eyes flicking to Ghost. He almost felt hurt that he’d made her so alarmed, until… his Chosen smiled, showing off nice teeth and returning to her previous spot, now sitting instead of crouched. Amused, as if he thought he’d done this on purpose. “How’d you do that?”

Oh! This was good, very good. Zadie palmed the hilt, running her fingers over the flat of the blade. His shell spinning, “My Light allows me and other Ghosts to do many things otherwise impossible. The same goes for you, and other Risen like you.”

Zadie looked up at that, her brows quirking, grin still on her face. “Risen?”

Right, right. She didn’t know. Ghost bobbed as if to nod. “Risen, yes. You’ve…. Been dead. For a while,” he told her. When she seemed about to protest, he quickly aimed his gaze at the hole she’d taken her first breath in. “You woke in dirt with no memory of your past life. You have no memories, yet you know how to understand things around you. You were dead, Chosen. Dead as bones, literally. And I found you. I found you, after so long, I really did, and you’re here now, with skin and muscle and blood and a body and - and a great, beautiful smile. We were destined and I finally found you. I don’t think you can understand how much I am loyal to you, I wouldn’t lie to you about this. Please believe me. Please. After all these years, please don’t call me a liar. I wouldn’t lie to you. Please don’t think I would, not on purpose! You’re the best thing in the world, please don’t say I’m a liar! I’m not, I’m really not! Not to you, not to anyone! Risen are corpses rezzed, and you happened to be my Chosen who I resurrected. I told you how you and I can do things otherwise impossible, you saw it, please. Please believe me. I love you, please believe me!”

He didn’t know what caused it, but instead of a simple explanation, he poured out his feelings through his pleads as honest and raw as he could. Maybe it’d been the stress and embarrassment from earlier, maybe the centuries had been building up to it. But even when the uncomfortable look in her eyes returned with a slight fall of her smile, he knew she understood he was genuine, and he was affected in some way. She was curious, but off put. And that was okay. It was better than her not liking him.

Anything would be better than her not liking him. Even… even being sold on the black market by a Fallen mercenary to an Awoken Tech Witch, like an item. Stars, that was a much more desirable fate. He wanted her to like him - or at least, not dislike him.

In those uncomfortable few seconds, Ghost searched, desperate, wanting to change the subject and have her act like he didn’t just blab off. He hoped he hadn’t annoyed her with how he was. First he disappeared for at least an hour, and now this? No wonder his Chosen had been so well hidden, he must be a pain!... “Your cloak!”
Where’d it go?

Zadie dragged her dirty palms slowly on her shirt and gave him a quizzical look, adding to the marks of dirt on the sides. He tilted his core like a head in a sort of gesture, but stopped once he remembered it wasn’t exactly the same as having a body like hers with cues and facial expressions. So, to make up for it, he brought himself behind her and tapped his shell between her shoulder blades. “The hood I gave you… where’d you put it? Did I make you a bad one?”

“What? No,” Zadie turned her upper body to face him more, his fretting, worried voice spawning sympathy as her hands worked at rubbing two sticks together. Bark chipped off in steady, disproportionate sizes, gathering on her pants and the wet grass beneath her. “I just needed something to dry the wood and protect the fish. I need to cook the fish.”

Fish? When did she have time to - oh… right.

At least the machete was of trusty quality. He didn’t like how he was so anxious. A good anxious, kinda, but anxious nonetheless. Like the time he’d met the newly Risen of another Ghost he’d grown into friends with, who left with her Risen three decades ago. The two had been searching for their respective Chosen together for five years. The other Ghost had taken the name Gertrude, and they made their goodbyes, him happy for her to a point he couldn’t even be sad about her going and eager to find his own Chosen, and nervous he’d miss where his Chosen would be. Most of the time he doesn’t even think about her, but whenever he does, he wonders where Gertrude and her Chosen ‘can’t-remember-my-name’ are now.

Over beside many clumped up sticks, the long part that draped below the hood was partially filled with sticks that bumped the surface and stuck out at their ends, the top of the bundle also piled with some. Not many, as that would create problems with the moisture not leaving. The hood, laid more flat out and straight, was pulled over on itself, and a stone similar to the one his Chosen had almost bashed him with pinned it shut, effectively protecting the fish from the gnats in the air and from exposure.

But… where did?- “There’s fish in the pond?”

“No,” Zadie lifted her hand as far up as it could go, tilted her wrist and pointed, “there’s a river that way. It’s spawning season.”

Wow! Complements and praise once again filled his consciousness. His Chosen was so good at these things. Was it just natural skill carried over from her past life, or was it because she was a Hunter? Either way, his worries from earlier about her starving eased up, erasing parts of his anxiety messing everything up that he didn’t even notice was there.

Maybe it wasn’t messing everything up, and he was just anxious about that, too, and it just seemed that way. She was treating him more naturally, after all. He loved it.

His Chosen - he’d have to get used to just referring to her as Zadie, if he could - managed to get the fire started in about half an hour, sparking quiet praise from him. They didn’t talk too much, but when they did, the conversations beside the small fire felt long and full, and they took his mind off everything else. His Chosen didn’t seem to mind getting her hands dirty, given how she used the sharp stones to slice them open and removed the scales and other unwanted bits with ease. It didn’t take long for him to realize Zadie trusted the machete with more than just offense or defense, as seen when instead of just using a stick to pike the two fish, she instead favored the blade he’d spent quite some time on. Ghost didn’t mind it, of course, he just didn’t expect it to help his Chosen like… that.

Well, it helped. That meant both he and it were doing their jobs.

After a while, when his Chosen took to sharpening the two already sharp stones together over the fire, creating nice little sparks along with loud clunks every now and then. He’d forgotten the purpose of the heat, but he’d remembered it was cold when he drifted away to peer into the pond water, still unable to see past algae and the darkness within. No matter how much he wondered how deep it was, he wasn’t about to try and find out.

Sometimes, Zadie would ask him questions. What is the Traveler? What are the other Chosen like, and what makes one Chosen? Why did he think it was going to get dark during spawning season? While the first two he’d explained to the best of his ability, eager to satisfy any and all of her curiosities, make her like him, and educate his Chosen as much as he could, the last one stumped him.

“It gets dark every season,” he’d tried to explain. But she’d lightly wagged her finger in a manner that clearly wasn’t serious, but still made it clear that she was correcting him. Spawning season matched up with the twenty two hours of day. The other two hours, she had said, “... are filled with dusk or dawn. Usually, I call it dusk.”

While Zadie’s retained memory was impressive, it wasn’t huge. When Ghost had asked her if she knew of the settlement not even five minutes walk away, she’d said no, but she’d like to learn about it. He ended up telling her he didn’t know much and how it held nothing of value, hoping to deter her from finding all the bodies that he himself was used to, and while she herself clearly wasn’t disappointed with what he told her, Ghost was still disappointed in himself. Like his thoughts from earlier, he wondered if he’d have been here a few years earlier, would the people have still been alive? And if they had been, maybe he’d have met his Chosen, returned at a later date, and told her all about its history and habits. Fortunately though, that didn’t happen. Fortunate, because Risen were usually better off not learning about their past lives. The Traveler’s Light removed certain memories from its Risen for a reason. Usually the majority of memories, sure, but it had to be for a good cause for it to do that. There really wasn’t any way for him to explain the amnesia Risen experience otherwise.

The Darkness was manipulative. It didn’t need force to make Risen do its bidding. He’d seen Warlords in the Dark Ages, taking power for themselves and distributing chaos and furthering unrest with strange contempt. Whether or not the Darkness had them, it was hard to tell, and that’s what made it suspicious. Suspicious and likely.

He didn’t like thoughts of the Darkness poisoning the newfound time with his Chosen, so he trained his optic onto the fire and followed his Chosen wherever she decided to wander as it started to die down. Zadie could climb trees nicely. Not in the sense that she couldn’t do it without falling - she could, she really, really could - but she didn’t look clunky or slowed down. It took a few tries to get to that point, but just as with the bow that he’d learned had taken multiple failed attempts that ended up joining the fire, she became smooth and increasingly capable, like she was reviving old memories.

Like riding a bike, he remembered again. Like riding a bike.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Prologue - Zadie

Day Three

“Are you… sure, Zadie?”

Once he had her attention, Ghost, before she could try to nibble the pinched red circles, quickly added, “It’s just that- well, those look poison, that’s all. I remember reading on berries and I don’t think you’ll want to eat those ones.”

He could be wrong, though. We both might be. I think I’ll try them.

“These should be fine,” Zadie shrugged. She settled the bunched up, tiny group of red between her teeth and bit it in half, swishing the bitter-sweetness around to get a good memory for the taste in the event she needed to remember they had to be avoided but had a similar looking cousin berry.

Trying berries one isn’t familiar with is, advisably, not good health practice, but she had this intuitive acquaintance with a lot of berries, so maybe the ones that she wasn’t quite familiar with would be fine too. Ghost had seemed appalled at her for eating some wild celery stems of the angelica plant on their third day together, and whatever kind of beam of light he’d seemed to poke her with only let up when he realized and became amazed at the fact that she wasn’t poisoned. That amazement turned to noticeable embarrassment when she’d told him the similarities of the good celery and the poison, but they were quite different plants, and the poison kind, while not necessarily as toxic as another type of celery-like plant, would have spawned burns on her fingers after a few days if she’d touched it. He’s gotten embarrassed or flustered a multitude of times already, both from himself and from something he’d forget or be corrected on. His knowledge on other species he’d warned her about was valuable, but here in Alaska, she was the one with the smarts. She liked the little floating ball, and he was clearly very, very fond of her and anything she thought, said or did. For instance, Zadie could speak English, so it hadn’t been that difficult to understand Ghost when he first woke her up, but she preferred Ashurit. When she’d told Ghost this the other day, although he admitted he did not have any idea of which language she was referring to, he’d called her ‘the smartest Chosen I could ever ask for’. Sure, she didn’t know the names of the plants or berries she usually went for, regardless of how familiar or unfamiliar she was with them, but the celery had been fine. Who’s to say that if she successfully distinguished a bad plant and a good plant without even knowing the names that she couldn’t try ones she didn’t have the sense of familiarity for?

At the least, she’ll get it out of her way and develop a sense of rejecting familiarity for these ones. At the most, something to add to the fish of which she finds much easier than anything else in the future. After all, it wasn’t too hard to find what tended to jump out into the open. It was the catching or grabbing part that was the problem.

Ghost eyed her nervously. “Uh… huh… Just, let me know if you feel sick at least,” came his pleading, questioning squeak. He looked her over as she said how she might as well.

“Why are you so iffy on me eating these?” Zadie asked. At his ‘Huh?’, she gestured lightly to herself. “You told me that as long as you were by my side, for as long as you and I lived, that you would keep me alive. You’ve demonstrated enough for me to believe you. If I can’t die then I’ll be okay, just a little sick.”

He readjusted his shell. Zadie was already starting to notice how she associated it with someone licking their lips. “Well… I just don’t like the thought of you hurt. Or dying.”

“I thought you’d keep me alive,” Zadie frowned. She suddenly remembered what exactly he’d told her, and she raised a hand before he could reply. “I was wrong. You said that I can die. Just not forever.”

“Right,” Ghost said. His voice lightened, a similar excitement lightly carrying in the tone as if he’d noticed she’d been listening, and had realized she wasn’t calling him a liar. Whenever he thought she was doing that, and she made it clear she wasn’t, he always seemed pretty relieved. “Right! No matter what, you’ll be okay. Even if you’re shredded down to your last atom!” Ghost paused and adjusted his shell in a way that looked like he felt suddenly more uncomfortable, as if bugged. “It’ll be more difficult if you do, though. Please, don’t.” He raised his voice and heavied the emphasis as she started walking again before abruptly appearing at her side. “Please.”

Rubbing her forearm at the light itch that started tingling atop its surface, Zadi, at the thought of not existing for any amount of time, even if it was just a few minutes, bluntly replied, “I don’t plan to.”

Even though she’d come to accept her waking as a resurrection, she didn’t quite think it to be as it was. It wasn’t denial, just an association of sorts.

Chewing celery for an hour hadn’t really been necessary aside from filler for her stomach and something sweet to sniff between stops, but it was a nice enough find and entertainment to spit big, spit infused chunks of moist glob at the wolves that liked to harass her sometimes, and that was enough for her to yank a stem of the celery plant as she passed. It wasn’t as fun to watch the wolf that got spat on stop to lick it off, but she can’t have everything. There was only so much she could carry at a time, and the furs she had wrapped around herself, tied through slits made with her machete and with strong grass like that of her bow’s keeping it together, allowed for some room to store things, but she didn’t like to. Besides, Zadie wasn’t exactly a fan of any crunching or smushing pressing against her stomach or back and dampening the clothes she wanted to keep as dry as possible so they wouldn’t be like the ankles of her pants or insides of her boots when she’d step into the river. Even if the feeling would be miniscule and small in comparison to the freezing nature of the streams and ponds and rivers and dirt and everything else, it would still be enough of a reminder of squeaking boots and toes rubbing against each other for warmth to be unwelcomed. Her arrows were different in how they could be wrapped up in the surplus fur she had left over after covering her torso, and long grass kept them from falling out while also supplying her with a means of keeping the pouch of sorts on her back, tying the little makeshift quiver to her body with the tied strips that wrapped under her chest, creating a sense of fitting.

The celery wouldn’t taste good crumpled and destroyed, either, or at least she wouldn’t have as much to work with after they’d inevitably end up crushed, so she kept the dewy, cold stems in her hand.

A hand that she noticed was a bit numb. Zadie was no fool, and acknowledged that she should’ve listened to Ghost. The berries must be the culprit for why her heart was starting to feel heavy, and her face warmer than what simply being cold made it like. “Ghost.”

He quickly snapped his eye on her. “Yes, Chosen?”

If she only mentioned part of her affliction, would he find the entirety? “My arm is tingling and numb. The berries were poison.”

Just like that, Ghost was prodding at her with the string of pale light, and all of the oddities that didn’t belong vanished. As a bonus, she felt rejuvenated - even if from what she’d noticed, there’d only been a few things that felt off. Zadie took a nice, clear breath, the crispness spreading to her lungs. “... Wow.”

He seemed to like her sudden awe. “I told you those were poison,” Ghost gently tsk’d. It was obvious that he wasn’t being serious, just a nervously playful jab at an ‘I told you so’ that he didn’t want to come across as rude or like he was putting her down.

Zadie wondered if he’d always been like that, or if he was just like this around those he loves. “That you did. Thank you.”

Her steady, small smile and complementative gaze leveled with his, and he paused. His shell pressed close to his circular body, and he seemed a bit surprised at the complete sincerity no matter how many times it was shown as his eye flicked from one place to the next, remaining on her regardless. Instead of nervously adjusting it, the stillness of his shell seemed to convey something she’d yet to catch onto, and he made a nod of sorts to her.

A ‘You’re welcome’, it seemed. He quickly looked away, but briefly glanced back as if trying to convey it wasn’t out of disgust or annoyance.
Ghost really was a nervous little thing, wasn’t he?

YIP YIP

Zadie promptly bit down on the celery stems to free her hands and pressed her chest to a tree. Getting a hold onto it, she pushed herself up with her boots until she found a nice branch that supported her weight. It shifted down as she plopped down, the leaves bouncing with the branch and some falling, but it all settled eventually. It didn’t matter if the wolves were simply near or right on her. She didn’t want to get close.

“We’re doing this again?” Ghost groaned. Zadie didn’t have to answer for him to know that yes, they would be. It wasn’t like they were going anywhere, anyway. “You’re an excellent shot. You can take them!”

Wolves weren’t really that much of an issue for Zadie, despite their constant presence in her first few days. While not always following throughout her nearly nonstop wandering, it hadn’t been unexpected to encounter them after she’d cooked some fish the first time. The five have since made it a habit to follow her around often after she’d taken the life of one of their own, prompting her steadily growing and consistent habit of loitering up in trees when the wariness of getting pounced on or surrounded got too much. Some hours ago, she’d left a little bit of fish in the hood and dangled it upside down as she napped in the trees, encouraging the wolves as tall as men to investigate while she’d been safe and sound. While not always trailing or nearby, their return and leaving was like clockwork. At times like these, Ghost would remind her sometimes of her bow whenever she’d retreat into the trees, or press again at her using the machete she’d quickly grown fond of over the last few days. Having already skinned one for its pelt and more warmth, she didn’t think it really necessary to waste the rest of their lives when she wouldn’t even make a tent for herself just yet. It’d be a pain to haul all of that around. Sometimes, the wolves were covered in the blood of other animals, which made her even more discouraged to eat or kill them. She didn’t want to risk missing some of their filthy blood and getting it on her future hunts after cleaning the stone ends off a valuable arrow. Zadie already had what she needed to help with the cold bite of Alaskan air, crude as it was.

Ghost didn’t seem to understand that she found it satisfying and encouraging whenever she’d climb up places such as this. Keeping the wolves interested wasn’t that hard. Convincing Ghost that she wasn’t planning on killing them anytime soon? Zadie might as well keep repeating herself until the day she dies. It gave her an excuse to be high up, dangling in a branch with her legs kicking back and forth either together or separate depending on the moment. It was also done out of spite. If they want her so bad, they can learn to climb.

They were up there for a while, with the white wolves occasionally trotting beneath her or wagging their tails and wrestling rough with one another. Ghost had told her snow wasn’t expected for another few days. She’d already known, given the bite in the air burning her uncovered arms with its chilly presence, but it was nice watching him feel good about himself. It hadn’t taken long to catch onto how he seemed to like supplying her with useful information that he thought she didn’t know or expect. She’d noticed it before, it just became more obvious right now. He was a little ball of awkward sweetness, and she wouldn’t tell him that to avoid embarrassing him.

Four legs, all on the ground. Four legs on the same part of the body. Four armed creatures came to mind, familiar in a sense of fondness and haunting that only vaguely reminded her of the familiarity belonging to berries and everything else she seemed to somehow know. Fallen, Ghost had described over the fire of the first day, were four armed people of alien origin belonging to a ruined society, belonging to Houses like that of clans. Some fought, some were allies. Most pillaged and scavenged off of those around them in attempts to survive and further their standing in the solar system.

Leaning a bit to the side and cocking her head back as much as it’d allow without throwing her off balance, she became entranced by the movement of legs. Four legs. Four. The sense of betrayal grew, conflicting strange and deep with the fondness of an unseen face. Zadie started to feel cold. A different cold, like a chilling realization of which she didn’t know its belonging.

Zadie promptly mushed her back against the tree, eyes shut and heart thumping in her ears at a steady decline in weight and strength. A calm, smooth breath eases through her throat and lungs, forcing a scattering mind back into relative focus. Fallen… “Is there another name for them?”

Silence, and Zadie opened her eyes to peer half lidded at where she’d expected him to be. When he wasn’t there, she became more alert, head quickly swiveling around until she found him peeking around the same side as she had been earlier. “Ghost?”

His shell readjusted in that nervous way of his, and he spared her one of his usual quick glances to let her he’d only been thinking, not ignoring her. “I don’t know. Coyotes aren’t the same, and they’re not dogs, so-“

“I mean the Fallen,” Zadie corrected. His shell stopped in movements, but his active stare let her know he was just taking in what she was saying. More sure she had him thinking of the right thing this time, she slowly asked, “Do the Fallen have another name?”

Surprise was an understatement given his baffled voice. “Yes. Yes, they do,” he murmured. His shell started moving all nervous like again, and he bobbed upward, closer to her face. “How did you know that?”

She didn’t know. Her face fell with her head, chin resting against her chest as her shoulders slouched, slow and without purpose. “I don’t know. I just… What are they called?”

He considered her for a moment. The concern was evident, and she almost missed the brief flash of pale light popping in and out of existence. “Eliksni… They’re called Eliksni.”

“No,” Zadie shook her head. She was searching for another name. “No, that’s not it.”

“Please don’t call me a liar!” Ghost cried. “I wouldn’t lie to you, I love you, I’m not a liar! Please, please don’t call me a-“

It startled her, and he’d already started rambling all quick and emotional before she managed to cut him off, shushing loud and raising her hands in a ‘stop’ sort of way. “That’s not what I meant. You’re not a liar, I know you’re not. I’m not calling you one.”

Stiff and deathly silent, it was almost scary. The lights that made up his optic eye were thin in every manner of the word, small and alarmed and pleading in raw emotion that was sudden in its burst and pure. It was pitiful and sad, and Zadie knew she wanted these cruelly pulling feelings of his to end and settle. Wanted to hold him, and let him find his own calming moment. While she hadn’t seen it the first day, when he’d first panicked at what he’d thought was her calling him a liar, it was fast learning and picking up on the nature of his person with what little she had to work with that made the look hurt. Not a kicked puppy, not necessarily betrayal. More of a ‘how could you think I’d hurt you?’ Heart broken look, being fought off by what she’d quickly tried to explain to him.

She had to make him feel better. That’s what he needed.

Locking her feet beneath the branch in an act of nerves, Zadie extended her palms out for him to touch. There was a flash of white and blue dancing across his shell, and then he was pressing against her palms, sitting light.

The unmistakable sense of vulnerability shook her. She could practically feel it herself, and her heart started racing a bit. He was silent still, peering up at her, the shapes of his optic slowly expanding in size and width and reverting back to the sharply tiny lines and dot like that of a flinch. Just as he had when she’d first woken, Zadie pursed her lips in a manner she hoped to be a coo. “Shhh… I didn’t mean that,” she gently murmured. His pupils went from still and locked to flickering, like they normally do. “And I’m sorry if I made you think that,” she added. “I’ve been thinking a lot, and I suppose I should mind my tongue when I do that, because I said something that made you feel cruelly horrid. I will never call you a liar. You’ve been nothing but honest, helpful,” his little body twitched to look up at her more, “and a valued friend for the short time I’ve known you. I know that’s not enough to make you feel better, but believe me. I don’t think you’re a liar. Why would you think I thought you a liar?”

Almost raspy, a sort of sound accompanied by clicks toned with him. “You… I thought you were thinking I was a liar. I was being honest. I was being honest, they’re called Eliksni. I would never lie to you. I love you.”

“And I don’t doubt that,” Zadie gently cooed. A few flicks of possibilities as to what would’ve made him so sensitive about it sparked a tiny bit of malcontent toward something unknown. “But I wasn’t calling you one, okay? I promise, I believe you. They’re called Eliksni, right?”

“Yes,” Ghost whispered. “The Fallen are the Eliksni. It’s just that most Risen call them Fallen, and I didn’t want you to be confused. I’m sorry if you think I’m a liar.”

“I don’t,” Zadie insistently cooed, “if anything, that was really thoughtful of you. You didn’t want me inconvenienced or embarrassed for not knowing something that was common knowledge, right?”

“Right,” Ghost said.

“So, you’re thoughtful,” She hummed.

“Yes! I don’t- I can’t lie to you,” he whimpered.

Shhhh. “I know,” Zadie murmured. He almost seemed to wiggle in her palm, and she gently rubbed her thumb down his metallic form. “I wasn’t calling you a liar… I was… thinking.”

“Thinking?” Ghost squeaked.

“Thinking,” Zadie nodded. “You were reminding me of something I’m trying to figure out, and I said something that made you think I was calling you a liar on accident.”

“Oh,” Ghost whimpered. “Oh.”

“Yeah, silly,” Zadie cooed. She offered him a little smile, tapping above his optic. “You’re my partner. I know you wouldn’t lie to me.”

A funny warm feeling spread in her chest, faint. Embarrassment, but not hers. His eye, still facing her, glanced away. “Sorry,” Ghost muttered.

“Sorry for what? You did nothing wrong,” Zadie breathed. His spherical body rolled in her palms, hovering up a bit. The feeling of embarrassment left with his touch.

“For calling you a liar,” Ghost finally squeaked out. Zadie laughed, and it seemed to startle him. “What?”

She shook her head. “You didn’t, sweet thing. You’re just worried, that’s all. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

Smiles were shared. There was no face to get this from for him, but it seemed naturally noticeable. Glittering blue and white appeared around him, the black and orange shell protecting his body retaking its place. “Right,” Ghost said. He looked to her hands as she moved them against bark, a longing of sorts filling his eye. “Right… thank you.”

“For believing you?”

“For understanding,” Ghost said. His shell squeezed himself. A sure, strong mannerism that spoke volumes she’d yet to grasp. “It’s just… most find me annoying.”

She wanted to grimace at whoever she had to blame for the mounted stress that hung hidden until triggered by selective pieces of wording. He was clearly hurting in a way that sensitized him to the thought of being called a liar. Being his Chosen may be the weight of it, sure, which would be tilting if simply being his Chosen was what caused such stress for such a sweet little being, but if there was another source or cause for it all, she hoped she could get rid of it. Help him feel better.

That was a promise. She wanted him to be proud and strong, and if she had to be with him for eternity, it seemed worth any and all trouble. Whatever it took to create security for him.

Zadie leaned forward and pressed her palms to the branch, remembering the celery she’d absentmindedly dropped into the fur around her torso. The strands of hair moved with a breeze she’d just now taken notice. Pressing against the breast of her shirt, it was easy to reach in and grasp the stalks, the leaves she’d yet to yank off in several separate rips rustling. She took to the task, dropping each leaf like forsaken petals. It didn’t take much of a glance to know the wolves and their deadly teeth still wandered near. Fallen. They’d been talking about Eliksni, the Fallen as Ghost referred to them.

Speaking of Fallen, Ghost had said earlier that he didn’t expect to come across any nearby, but to at least be cautious. He said that Fallen liked to torment Risen like her, either out of hate or envy for their connection to the Traveler, what the Fallen referred to as ‘the great machine’. ‘Newborns’ was what he’d initially said in place of Risen, a term that Zadie had tried to argue until he’d told her it was just his way of referring to the newly resurrected Risen, which had ceased her objection. They were usually around a few months of rebirth before he’d think of them otherwise.

Peckish, Zadie started on chewing one of the stalks, twisting it, creating a crunch. Uneven teeth marks made their place on the stalks, and she shifted the chunk she’d bit off into her cheek to allow room for clear speech. “So,” Zadie hummed, peaking back down to the unoccupied space beneath. The wolves may not be in sight, but they’d yet to leave if her previous experience with them meant anything. She’d have to wait some hours more to be sure. “Your shell… Why do you call it that? Do you and all the other eh, Ghosts, call it that or just you? Is there anything to influence how it looks when you’re made?”

Ghost flexed the piece of him in question differently than his usual way. He was still more quiet than usual, but if she could get him talking, maybe he’d feel better. “Well… we didn’t have these at first, actually.”

“Oh?”

Seeing she was interested, he flexed his shell close to his body in another squeeze. Good, he was feeling more ‘sure’. “When the Traveler shed parts of itself, all of us were bare. Uncovered. The only thing we had was each other, and the sense that we had someone we needed to find and raise up. Once it was discovered what we could do, humans made them as gifts for those of us who hadn’t already made our own shells. It offers protection from danger, and the bold who like to show it off during dangerous encounters their Risen often boast colorfully exotic shells that grant themselves and their Risen clearly powerful abilities with the Light infused in the shell. I’ve met some with exotic shells who kept hidden, though, so it’s not every Ghost that boldly boasts their cosmetics.”

Exotic shells. Would he like one? “Do they not trust their Chosen to keep them safe?”

“It’s not that,” Ghost said, spinning in a ‘look around’ sort of way. She did. “It’s just that if we die because of something we didn’t see in time to hide, our Risen, our Chosen is vulnerable, and the Darkness may take them, or they may die horribly. The torture of the Hive to ourselves is enough of an influencer for Ghosts who are smart to hide, but… Zadie, I wouldn’t want you to experience even a moment of defenselessness. Risen who lose their Ghost aren’t the same after, and it isn’t just the loss of their Light. PTSD, suicide, survivor’s guilt, self harm, self exile, addiction… Risen and Ghost alike have seen the effects first hand. I know I have.” He readjusted his shelI, flicking his eye away. “I once knew a Titan built like an ox, with huge muscles and veins that were as obvious as a Psion amongst Legionnaires. Such a strong, proud man who went by Bear, with nothing but love and trust for his Ghost and friends. I was one of those friends. He understood I was still searching for you, and he was the bestest friend an unbounded Ghost could ever have. He was jolly, always kind. When his Ghost was crushed by Cabal before she could dematerialize to safety... For three years, he did nothing but drink, and he barely ate. He eventually shot himself. He had pushed all his friends and Fireteam away, lost along with his dignity and fitness to his addictions and newly found harsh manner of speaking, and it’d been weeks before the remains of a man who once boasted pique physical health and the thickest of glorious armor and furs had been found. I learned sometime after that the mess of his brain matter alone had taken a month to completely get rid of. I’d tried to help him. I’d tried to be the friend he needed in his time of need, like he once had been for me, even if it meant postponing finding you for eleven months of each year. He’d never believe me when I told him it’d be okay, would call me a liar if I told him there were ways to help when there really had been. I don’t… I don’t want you to ever have to feel that, Zadie. No Ghost wants their Chosen to suffer alone, a victim to themselves. As a pair, even facing Gods is less daunting than alone. The God Slayer’s Ghost keeps up the practice himself, and he’s still alive, so I’d say staying hidden is quite smart no matter how strong or exotic the shell.”

He doesn’t want me to think he’s a liar because it scares him. He loves me, and wants to help me in any way that he can, and he’s scared that if I think he’s a liar he won’t be able to help me at my lowest point. I need to trust him, and he needs to know that I do.

Aside from that anxiety, she was his partner he’d searched centuries for. He’d told her more than once. Near a millennia of searching, alone, and he loved her to pieces before he’d even met her. She’d be hurt too, she supposed, if someone she loved so dearly didn’t have trust in her or thought belittling things of her.

Her eye searched for a target. No sight of wolves. The glob of sweet, watery celery met the ground lonesomely.

A question she’d had for the few days they’d been together became realized, and her brown orbs aimed up at him. “If your model or race is called Ghost, then why do you keep it as a name?”

Ghost paused, flexing his shell. Always nervous. “What?”

“Ghost,” Zadie repeated. She’d feel bad if she’d forgotten if he’d told her, as she doesn’t want him to think she’s ignoring him, but she really couldn’t recall. Maybe it was the nervous outburst that made her forget. “That’s what your ‘type’ is called. Your race, your machine type. Why is it that you haven’t given yourself a name again?”

“Oh,” Ghost blurted. Just ‘oh’, like that was the only thought he knew to answer with. 'Oh,' a single, vague word. “It’s just… oh.”

He seemed surprised she’d asked. Zadie gave a single nod to him, trying to get him to speak. To share his thoughts, his reasons. Was it just not something Ghosts did? It felt odd, now, calling him Ghost. It was like having a brother named ‘Human’. Truthfully, she still wasn’t sure if ‘Ghost’ was a race or machine or what, just that it was a sort of… well, from what she gathered from Ghost, species. Drones. The more she thought about it, the more weird it was. Sure, Ghost and ‘Ghosts’ were differently associated. She knew who she was thinking of when she thought of ‘Ghost’. But, taking another chunk out of the stalks in her grip, she couldn’t help the ‘this is odd’ vibes that refused to leave. “Are you okay?”

“It’s just-“ Ghost went quiet before starting up again. “It’s just- just that- just-“

“Take your time,” Zadie prodded. She was obviously curious, and her mannerisms went against what she said, but she was trying to at least give him a sense of pacing.

Ghost made a sort of… sound. Clicks and whirs carried with it. “It’s… it’s just… for so long….” The sound was made again, and Zadie recognized it as emotional. “I don’t have one. I don’t have a name. By the Light, I’ve been waiting for you to give me one for so long that when I finally found you, I forgot to ask. I forgot to ask. I thought you’d just- just give me one, I never thought how you’d have to be explained about everything once you were rezzed. I’m sorry, I’m ruining this. It- this- I don’t know if you’re naming me. I don’t know if you’re naming me right now, and I’m making it awkward, I’m sorry.”

He wants me to give him a name.

“I’ve always wanted a name, honest,” Ghost continued. His pupils did another thing with how they dilated, but not quite the same as they had when he’d been distraught over his misconceived interpretation of her insinuating he’d been lying. “A special, true, unique name. Something just for me. It doesn’t matter if other Ghosts or humans or awoken or exo shared my name, it would be my name, and that’s what would matter. And I’d have a name. I’d have a name to be called, I’d have an identity, I’d have an- an- oh, oh I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Zadie gently cooed. Her cheeks burned at another breeze, and she once again took notice of it.

“Sorry,” Ghost quickly murmured. The embarrassment was obvious. Another ramble, another emotional outburst, however small in compared to his earlier one, where he’d been slightly shaky in her palm.

She’ll let him have that.

Spitting the half chewed celery off to the side, Zadie untwined her ankles, freeing her legs to swing slow and gentle. “So… you want a name.”

“Yes,” Ghost said, “yes, I do. Sorry.”

“And you’ve been waiting for me to give you one?” Zadie continued.

He was a bit quiet, his eye flicking a bit off to the side and onto her. “Yes. It’d be a special name. Any name you’d give me would be special. I’d love my name. Even if it was Shitface.”

Shitface?

Zadie broke out laughing, loud and full, a red filling her cheeks and a warmth separate from the cold filling her face and chest. “Shitface? You’d take that for a name? Really?”

“Well,” Ghost looked to the side as if he were simply looking around, but it was obvious it was just his nerves. “It’d be a name, would it not?”

He really DOES want a name! “Have you even met a Ghost with that name?”

“Yeah,” Ghost grumbled, distaste filling his features. At the surprised pause and raised brows imploring him for details, he added, “He really was a Shitface, that’s for sure.”

“Aw, what’d he do to get that name?” Zadie chuckled, the irresistible smile finally letting up its firmness. “Did his Chosen hate him or something?”

Thinking, Ghost went quiet. “He was just a shit face,” he said. “A really, really shitty shit face. So was his Risen.”

Hearing him cuss so much was pretty new. Not surprising, just new. “So they were just shitty? They didn’t do anything?”

Ghost squeezed his shell, letting her know he was sure of this. “No. No, they didn’t do anything.”

A slow nod. “They were just shit faces,” Zadie echoed.

“Yeah,” Ghost muttered. “I don’t know where in life they’re at now, but I bet they’re still jerks.”

Laughter dying down, the chuckles racking her body and warming her face brought a heavy sigh of finality, relaxing her and opening her up to more topics and thoughts. A small smile lingered on her lips. Names. She’d been subconsciously thinking of names. “I don’t think a name I know someone else has would be good for you,” Zadie hummed.

“You don’t have to pick that,” he quickly said. “It’s up to you. Whatever you want. A name is a name, and if it’s from you it’s perfect. No matter what the name is. I’ll wear it with pride, joy, and eagerness. Anything you want, anything. It’s up to you.”

“It’s up to me,” Zadie fondly echoed.

“It’s up to you,” Ghost repeated. A statement of finality.

A name. A unique, loving name. That’s what he wanted, and he wanted it for her. No matter how many times it was said, or repeated, the little mix of disbelief and various names intermingling amongst each other sweetly. Ghost was quiet, like he normally was when emotional and keeping himself from rambling. Sweet, caring, anxious, all for her. Not all of his projections and behaviors were caused or born through her, but they were still there, freely expressed and great in nature. Genuine, sincere, unrelenting even in his silence. He wanted her to be educated on whatever he thought may help her in the days yet to come, wanted her to be happy with him, adored her, wanted nothing but the best for her. He hid nothing from her that wasn’t unnecessary, and shared eccentric or random things in a manner that grew their increasingly clear bond. Whenever he’d have an outburst, as few as they were, it was all from his nerves, his worries, his traumas, and even then it wasn’t hate or anger. Sadness, anxiousness. Hope that she was okay, that she wasn’t unhappy, even when he himself was practically pleading for her not to think bad of him. He loved her. He’d removed poison from her veins.

He’d given her life.

In those quiet seconds, Zadie thought of what was important to her. He wanted a name from her, a special name. He’d get one.

“Adiv,” Zadie murmured.

He seemed to have zoned out, or at least didn’t seem to process his new name, because the stillness and silent forward staring lingered for some time. Then… “What?”
“Adiv,” Zadie repeated. Her smile grew a bit at the dilating pupils. “Your name is Adiv.”

Silence. It felt so, so long, and the dilating of his now tiny pupils were the only thing showing how he felt. Zadie, without thought or care of how it’d feel, dropped the celery in the fur and extended her palms to him. His shell disappeared again, and he placed himself into her palms.

Strength. It was the only thing that was processed. Strength.

Emotion. Harsh, raw, beautiful. Waves and waves of silent, pure feeling. So strong and pure that it took a minute for her to even notice the shaking in her palms. Random, clearly unintended clicks, whirs and mechanical groans spontaneously taking the place of any words that could possibly even be considered. It knocked the breath out of her.
Thoughts were difficult. The sheer, complete, absolute… it was pureness in every sense of the word, so extreme that there were no words she could find to explain it.
Time passed. Little to nothing processed.

“T...t… t-thank…. You….”

Gratitude, adoration, purpose, glee, love. Zadie gasped harshly as contact with him ended and he popped up, spinning, cheering, boisterous, infectious in his complete and utter joy. “THANK YOU! THANK YOU SO MUCH! ADIV, ADIV, ADIV! IT’S PERFECT, ADIV! MY NAME IS ADIV, I AM ADIV, I’M ADIIIIIIIV! WOOOOOOOOOO-HOOOOO!”

Adiv’s laughter was equally infectious, rackling her body with more joy than she’d ever thought to ever experience. Pure, pure, pure! He circled Zadie, he circled the branch, he circled himself, he spun, he cheered, and cried, he laughed, all at once. Zadie couldn’t help following wherever he went with her stare, not wanting to miss a single moment of such a great and wonderful moment. The feeling of, of a weight, of perfect greatness, it was obvious, it was shared, it was unspeakable. Zadie fished the stalks out of her furs, breaking them apart and throwing piece by piece at random omnidirectional in celebration.

Adiv. Adiv. Adiv.

Adiv.

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Day Seven

Hungry.

Visions of meat, of fish, of salmon strips. The taste and fullness filling her up, smoked or burnt or perfectly existing. Zadie was hungry. Four days of wandering, seven days of life, of being chased up trees by irritating wolves, four days of hunger, four days of interrupted opportunities for food she’d eat.

She wanted a rabbit to eat and butcher with the machete wrapped to her calf. She wanted to avoid rabbits, so she didn’t do that to them.

Rabbits.

Zadie bit absentmindedly at the sharp end of a stone as she snapped a branch, expression fixed. Advi. She liked to think about Advi. It was a good way to take her mind off food.
Animals, off animals.

“Are you… okay?”

Long grass and bendy twigs pressed tight, connecting the stick and stone. It lacked a feather, like the rest of her arrows, but it was what she had and she needed it to work. She needed it to work so she could eat. “Yes.”

“I know you’re hungry,” Advi said quietly. Zadie didn’t look at him. “But… I think I can help.”

“Eating grass won’t help,” Zadie grumbled. She tightened the tie, pinching the stone to test its integrity. It was loose, incorrectly placed and tied. Her lips dragged down, hidden by her hood. “I need to be hungry. I won’t be trying my hardest if I’m not hungry. When I find something, I’ll hunt it.”

Zadie cussed, breaking the already useless stick. Her knuckles, pale with her light headed face, squeezed. She breathed harshly, irritated, full of desire. Want. Need. Hunger pangs weren’t nearly as strong each day that passed without eating, but their after effects lingered as strong as ever. Zadie was a mover. She walked, she ran, she climbed, she searched for hunts. She didn’t like feeling dizzy and weak. She needed energy.

She needed to eat. Never mind the snowfall, light as it was right now. It was still an issue. The night before, the wolves tormented her, loud and waiting, keeping her from making even the smallest of fires up in the trees, exhausting her into gripping the trunk when no branch was found. She’d almost killed one, but for whatever reason she’d decided against it last second and slackened on the draw, returning the arrow to her makeshift quiver. It was cold, a cold that far surpassed what she’d gotten used to. Her arms burned, her breath was thickly visible and white. She seldom managed sleep, and that’s how she learned of Advi’s habit of staring at her when he thought she wasn’t awake. He’d disappear whenever she’d stir, nervous she’d think he was weird if caught. Not something she wanted to learn regarding her companion’s habits, though the harmlessness of it all kept her quiet about her discoveries. She hadn’t been this tired since the day she’d given him his name.

Advi had kept her awake with murmurs, distant cheers he’d moved further away so as not to be too loud, and constant repeats of his newfound identity, keeping to himself, sometimes focusing on her and sometimes not. The wolves hadn’t wanted to leave with the source of sound so loud and close to them.

This was different.

Rabbits.

Earlier, Zadie could’ve killed one. It was right in her hands, kicking and terrified, releasing little shrieks and shaking under the fingers that pinched the nape of its neck, the other hand squeezing its lower body to keep it from scratching or biting back. “I can’t,” she’d said. “It’s so small. It’s so small, and so soft. It’s not right to eat it.” And she’d pushed it back into the little hole she’d ripped it out of, causing the snow that’d filled the space between the fur pelt and her shirt and the flakes melting against the bare minimum heat of her face, hands and arms only to lightly frost over again to all be for nothing.

Did the stress of encountering a bipedal giant kill it?

Probably not.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day Eight

Snow was her enemy, cold and harsh. Snow was her friend, giving her a clear trail for a hunt. The wolves had left alone for much longer than normal. That didn’t mean they were gone, just that she had more opportunity to find something to eat.

Advi had been helping her best he could, the pale light prodding at her during futile attempts for sleep. The decency of her first few days ironically snowballed further down into something bad.

Returning where she’d first been awakened wasn’t an option. She was stubborn, and she was far.

A hunt was near. Zadie will find it. Given the tracks in the snow, she already had.

It’d taken a lot of freezing water, shivering limbs and previously dried up dirt, but Zadie eventually had her pits and other smelly areas lathered in a nice coat of mud to make herself less noticeable scent wise. She wasn’t quite sure if it would work, but it was something, and the wolves should be another few hours until they’d be on her again, so she might as well try.

No bait, only tracks to find normal food. Normal, as in Zadie still refused to touch rabbits for nutrition unless she was full on starving. Rabbits were off limits, but a growing interest for squirrels had her eyeing holes in the trees on occasion. These naturally occurring little rules for herself were unnecessary from a survival standpoint, sure, but it didn’t mean she’d give them up. As Advi had once mentioned, she had a lot of muscle memory and inclination for usually relearned skills from her past life before she’d woken up.
Many of the tracks were scuffed and all over the place some ways forward, as if there’d been something else tracking the deer that’d encountered and spooked it off. Zadie didn’t really hold that much resentment for whatever chased it off. She just hoped there was surplus meat to make a fire for.

Smoked, plain deer. A meal fit for a hungry, irritable Hunter.

Continuing after the tracks and the uneven snow around them, Zadie recalled the berries she’d eaten. Eager and tired, she’d foolishly tried more berries she’d been unfamiliar with as she’d passed them. The result, unlike the red berries, had been more rejective for her system than harmful. Advi quickly took care of the vomiting, but she’d been discouraged to try any berry sense. Exhaustion played with the mind in many ways. The risk of finding and eating more harmful berries while under the impression they were good ones was something she was aware enough to actively avoid eating any. It was a foolish policy regarding berries she’d already tried, like grapes, but… it was fair. In her tired, hungry state, though logic and other thoughts clash, it was fair. It didn’t feel fair, but it was fair, and that was that.

It was an argument that repeated in her mind.

It was fair. That was fair. It was fair. That was-

As quiet as she could manage, Zadie nearly threw herself into the brush once she’d gotten visual of a reddish brown coat covered by white flakes, calm as could be with its head aimed downward, drinking from a little stream. Large, proud antlers adorned the buck’s head, announcing his status as a male. If he moved when she was trying to get a shot…
Automatically, Zadie drew back the string, slow and careful.

To get its attention, she made a short, sharp whistle. A now alert, stiff buck lifted its head straight at her.

Whistling through the air right and sure, the arrow implanted itself into the buck’s body. He screeched, jumping forward, then skidding to the side and running back toward her, then repeating the process with sprinting, uncoordinated legs another direction, blood dripping and blotching beneath him all the while. He eventually took to the stream, leaping through the shallows in a futile attempt to make distance from the creature that had harmed him.

With fast, focused strides, Zadie had her bow aimed down and another arrow notched as she rushed across. Water, cold and chilling, barely went up past the flat of her boots, but the movement was enough to splash her pants and create a silent promise for tiny icy flakes.

Advi was, at least, enthusiastic in her place. “Great shot!”

Warm pride filled her chest. An almost smug smirk briefly interjected the constant expression she’d worn for the last few days.
Indeed it was.

The smell of iron became suddenly thick and heavy in the freezing air. Shivering and ready for something to rip out, Zadie took to looking around for the expected corpse or crying deer. If the buck still lived, she’d kill it first. Then she’d gore it. Torture was unecessary, and while a sloppy or clean shot with an arrow - as decent as it was - still harmed the animal, hunting was actually necessary. The need for food was necessary.

Blood started to become heavy, thick, lined pools strangely huge for a puncture wound with the cause of the injury still in the body trailed into a small clearing. She hurried.

Not even stopping to consider that tracks were no longer just that of deer. Blood ironed the smell of the air, inciting sniffs. It worried her, even if she did like the smell.

…. She came across the still, silent buck and its severed, ripped off leg, a bloody, lethal deed evidently done barely even minutes before. Piled beside it, five pink wolves lay dead, white and grey furs lathered in blood nearby from their skinnings. Supplies, Zadie realized. Pelts for warmth, from the very harassers she’d come to hate over the course of a week and more.

Four armed humanoids in furs and purple cloths, despite their hidden faces and turned back, were clearly irritated and speaking in a language that Zadie couldn’t understand. Insect like chittering suddenly ceased any words, and the two lifted their heads, taking sniffs.

“Fallen!” Advi quietly gasped. With their four eyes snapping to the new voice, the growl of the taller one and his thick, furry hood became deep and loud the moment he laid eyes on Advi. Wisely, Advi dematerialized, albeit at the cost of leaving her silent and alone.

Alone, at least visually.

Stalking forward, the long rod boasted two ends dancing with painful electricity. Even at the distance she had on it, the hairs of her arms still stood, tingling. The growling became more evident as speech, hateful as it may clearly be.

The sense of betrayal, of haunting, returned. Fear.

Zadie snapped up her bow, releasing the unsteady arrow and scurrying away, not sticking around to see if the arrow hit its mark. Unsteady ripples of a cloaking mechanism disengaged at the firm implant of her boot against the Eliksni’s stomach made contact, knocking the female with her head wrapped off balance. Just as the female reached for her blaster, Zadie arched the machete above her head and brought it down diagonal, the machete crashing into the female’s throat halfway up the width of the blade with the force of its airtime. A screech was cut off halfway, misty-blue gas spilling out from the wound.

Crackling, something popped. Then… Pain in her stomach, a large cloud and burst of bloody mist in the air. Burning, singing, dancing in her body. A similar, more spurting reaction came from her throat, the unseen-but-felt arc stretching into her skull.

Zadie gasped, sharp and sudden, as she reappeared not far off from where she’d originally been shot. She’d - they’d killed her. She just died, and she’s alive! Her hand gripped her stomach, the source of agony just moments before. Her stomach was still there. It hadn’t been before, but it was now.

A grimace dragged her features and lightly wrinkled her forehead. She didn’t want to feel that ever again.

Advi reappeared suddenly with a fidgety shell, voice quick. “We have to get you out of here. They won't stop until we’re both dead, and you don’t have much to fight with. I’m so sorry, I should’ve kept an eye out, I thought they wouldn't have still been around after- after the village!”

Zadie ducked down as a chunk of wood burst off the side of the tree with a loud crackle and boom. Electricity danced across the tree, burning dark marks in before disappearing. She let out a breath, eyeing the distance between her and some trees a bit further off, uninterrupted by open space.

I can make it.

Irrational. But fearful.

She made a full spri-

Another gasp, heavy breathing. Zadie was rezzed another short distance away. She brought a few fingers to her head, a silent thanks to the shooter for the immediate nature of her second demise. They’re accurate.

They wanted her dead.

Squeezing shut her lids, she tugged out an arrow, pulled the bowstring back, and waited. The hissing and growls in a strange tongue made at least a few of their locations obvious. Dragging sounds weren’t too far off, presumably the skins, and the Eliksni didn’t seem to be getting any closer than they had been previously. On the defensive, enraged by the killing of one of their own but wise enough to test the waters of this lonesome Risen’s experience with fighting them, or at all, before trying anything. But how ready were they, how ready was she, how fast would they shoot, how fast would she shoot? Zadie cut the string some slack, no longer in a position of security and readiness to let an arrow lose. Adrenaline, she realized, was keeping her awake and alert. That’d be a rough crash when it came down. Despite the five dead, matching wolves, she couldn’t help the quiet moan of distaste at the reminder that they’d ‘follow her’ again.

Exhaustion really was a weird thing.

Hopefully, this wouldn’t lose her a hand. Even in the back of her mind where she was reminded that Advi could not only resurrect her, but also heal any injuries, pain in large amounts was completely unwelcome.

Slowly extending her hand out past the tree, she held it there for a few moments and snapped her balled up fist to her chest the moment she heard the charging of one of their blasters. The crackling remained, eerily awaiting a single misstep from her left, but the holder didn’t move for a better visual on her.

“Help me get out of here,” Zadie quietly pleaded. Advi, briefly appearing, snapped his fleeting, jittered gaze to her. He went silent, disappearing. Zadie’s heart dropped, expecting him to be gone for good no matter how deeply she knew he’d return. For a good thirty seconds, Zadie became more sweaty and stressed by the second, it was just her and the lingering sense of dread they’d sneak up and harm her. The threat of cold death meeting with her once again, splattering any bit of her into more red snow, created a deep want to avoid the Eliksni more than anything else in the world. It shook her quite a bit, ripping her from a steady confidence she didn’t even realize she could lack.

Unspeakable relief expanded in her chest and she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when Advi suddenly reappeared, hushed and speedy in every way. “Follow me.”

She wasn’t about to complain. Only a few minutes ago, she’d been hunting, ready to eat for the first time in a day. A few hours extra, she’d been toying with wolves that had wanted to eat her for a week.

Now she was running for her life, and it was entirely jarring.

No matter how quick she dragged her feet or lifted them high in more efficient sprints, the Eliksni kept up, cautious of the Risen they hunted but still enraged. Chunks of trees would splinter and pop in front of her, imbedding tiny toothpicks of wood into her skin in the occasional blast of screeching wood. It didn’t matter how much she huffed, or ran, or let loose an arrow at random against them. They were persistent, running atop and amongst the trees amongst their equally vengeful brethren, and Zadie was just another inexperienced Risen for them to hunt down and torment. Like a toy.

Zadie threw her weight down to the side as a marauder threw herself at Zadie, using her momentum to keep herself going steady after the overshot pounce and briefly sparing the marauder wielding twin blades a turned head to let loose one of three arrows left. Zadie didn’t waste time to see where she’d hit the female. The consistent, loudly pained screeches were enough to let her know she’d hit some part of the female’s body.

THUMP

The ground came rushing forward, and she was met with unsteady blackness and light. That didn’t mean she stopped, scrambling to postpone the meeting of her face and the dirt. It didn’t mean she could stop. Maybe Advi was taking the risk to help her, maybe she just got lucky and whatever smacked into the back of her head had just disoriented her.

A fall. Fallen. They wouldn’t want to fall. So, if SHE falls…. She can get away!

Half lidded and rushed, her boots, squeaking and squelching, exponentially increased their volumes. Fall. Fall. Fall. She had to fall. A fall was undesirable to the Fallen.
In her delirium and exhaustion, it made sense. Like the berry rule, it made sense.

“NononoNONONONONO DON’T-”

Not even sure when she’d met with the edge, Zadie jumped, abandoning the enraged shrieks of vengeful Eliksni.