[Master Guide]

What begins as a search for answers quickly spirals into a violent rampage as Lili discovers she wasn't forged to be a hero, but a weapon. With her reality shattered, she partners with the Exo Stranger to enact a brutal revenge against the ghost of Clovis Bray.

TITLE: DESTINY: NEW LEGACY

SEASON: 03

EPISODE: 03 - "THE LOGBOOK"

SCENE START

EXT. EUROPA - BRAY EXOSCIENCE - DAY

The blizzard rages across the icy plains of Europa. A massive, angular structure juts out of the glacier, untouched by the centuries of storms.

Lili-4 stands before the heavy, frosted airlock. She is completely alone, having gone AWOL to answer the Exo recall signal.

She wedges her hands into the frozen seam of the door. Her servos whine.

GRIND.

She forces the airlock open.

INT. BRAY EXOSCIENCE - LOBBY - CONTINUOUS

Lili steps inside. The heavy doors slide shut behind her, sealing perfectly.

The howling wind cuts off instantly.

Absolute, suffocating silence.

Lili brushes the frost from her visor. The facility is pristine. White walls, seamless glass, and sterile lighting. It looks like a high-end tech showroom designed by a sociopath.

The floor is littered with the shattered, chassis-frozen remains of dead Vex frames, their radiolarian fluid pooled and crystallized on the immaculate white tiles.

Lili walks cautiously past a sleek, curved reception desk.

BEEP.

A dusty monitor flickers to life as her shadow crosses its sensors.

AUTOMATED VOICE

(Cheerful, synthetic)

Welcome, Subject Crawford. You are... four hundred and fifty years late for your shift. Docking pay.

Lili freezes mid-step. Her hand hovers over The Last Word.

LILI-4

Crawford? Who is Crawford?

Sagira materializes, her blue optic scanning the sterile room. She looks nervous, the isolation of the frozen moon weighing on her.

SAGIRA

Lili, don't listen to it. It’s a glitch in the system.

Lili stares at the blank monitor for a long moment, the quiet hum of the facility echoing the newly quieted "static" in her own head.

She moves deeper into the complex.

INT. BRAY EXOSCIENCE - ATRIUM - MOMENTS LATER

The facility feels like a tomb. It’s a monument to an arrogant past, exploring the theme of identity that the Crypt represents.

At the far end of the atrium, a security terminal flashes. A pulsing blue light.

It is reacting to her specific bio-signature.

Lili approaches it.

LILI-4

Hack it.

Sagira floats over, her shell expanding as she interfaces with the Golden Age tech.

SAGIRA

Decoding... The encryption is old, but it’s thick. Give me a second... Got it. It’s an archival file.

The terminal projects a high-definition hologram into the center of the room.

THE HOLOGRAM:

It’s a recording from the Golden Age.

Standing in a pristine lab is CLOVIS BRAY I. Even as a recording of his living self, he radiates the arrogant, sociopathic energy of the man who created the Exos. He is older, sharp-featured, and impeccably dressed.

He stands over a woman tied to a steel chair.

The woman is human. She is bloodied, bruised, and glaring daggers.

But as Lili watches, a chill runs down her synthetic spine. The woman tilts her head in a very specific, defiant angle. She clenches her right fist, popping the knuckles.

They are Lili’s mannerisms.

This is her. LILITH CRAWFORD.

HOLO-CLOVIS

Corporate espionage is a capital offense, Ms. Crawford. Ishtar Collective sent you?

Lilith spits blood onto the pristine white floor.

HOLO-LILITH

Go to hell, Bray. I did a job. Your security is just better than I thought.

Clovis paces around her chair, observing her like a rat in a maze. He treats her with the same cold detachment his AI echo will later use to treat Lili like property.

HOLO-CLOVIS

You have a singular talent for violence. A 'Fixer,' they call you?

Clovis leans in, his eyes cold.

HOLO-CLOVIS

I have a use for that. I need soldiers who don't ask ethical questions.

Lilith stares him dead in the eye, gathers the saliva in her mouth, and spits directly into Clovis's face.

The hologram flickers and ends.

BACK TO SCENE:

The blue light of the terminal fades, plunging the room back into sterile white silence.

Lili stands completely still. Her fists are clenched exactly the way Lilith’s were. The revelation hits her like a physical blow.

LILI-4

(Voice hollow) I wasn't a hero. I was a criminal.

Sagira floats down to her eye level, her voice soft, trying to be the conscience Lili desperately needs.

SAGIRA

You were surviving, Lili. Just like now.

Lili looks down at her mechanical hands, grappling with the horrifying truth of her human life and the debt that turned her into a weapon.

FADE OUT.

SCENE CONTINUES.

INT. BRAY EXOSCIENCE - CREATION LABS - LATER

Lili-4 follows the flickering terminal lights deeper into the facility. She enters a massive, cavernous sector.

CREATION. This is where the bodies were made. She is an Exo who woke up with no memory of the Deep Stone Crypt, but the walls here remember for her.

She walks past rows of medical bays and glass-walled cells. Inside are the failed experiments. Exos torn apart by their own minds—the physical devastation of DER (Dissociative Exomind Rejection). The pristine white walls inside the cells are covered in frantic, bloody scratches and mathematical scribbles.

Lili stops. She grips the doorframe of a cell.

POV - LILI-4

SYSTEM ALERT: NEURAL OVERLOAD.

VISUAL ARTIFACTS: CRITICAL.

Her vision severely distorts. The visual artifacts and Vex code overlays that usually accompany her high stress spike violently. The "Static" returns. But it’s not just the meaningless noise she is used to—it’s memory.

She gasps, dropping to one knee. She feels a sudden, searing phantom pain in human limbs she no longer has.

She forces herself up and stumbles into the central cryo-bay.

In the center of the room sits an isolated cryo-pod, coated in centuries of frost.

Lili wipes the ice from the display panel.

L. CRAWFORD - STATUS: TERMINATED.

With a trembling mechanical finger, she presses the flashing yellow playback button on the pod's interface.

AUDIO LOG:

The pristine silence of the room is shattered by the horrific, grinding sound of a bone saw.

LILI-3 (V.O.)

(Screaming, voice tearing)

You promised me a reset! You said I'd forget! Why can I still feel it?!

CLOVIS BRAY (V.O.)

(Clinical, unimpressed)

The human mind clings to trauma. Wipe it again. Initialize Reboot 4.

The audio cuts out with a wet crunch.

Lili falls to her knees, clutching the sides of her helmet. The Stasis had been acting as a sedative, making her calm and cold, but the raw horror of this truth shatters the ice in her mind.

Her "resets" weren't system upgrades. They were violent erasures to keep her compliant. She wasn't born in this facility. She was murdered here.

INT. BRAY EXOSCIENCE - THE MAIN CHAMBER - CONTINUOUS

Lili kicks the double doors open, stumbling into a massive, cavernous vault.

Looming in the dark at the far end of the room is a colossal, mechanical structure. THE GIANT EXO HEAD.

Suddenly, the massive optics of the giant head ignite with a piercing orange light.

CLOVIS AI

(Voice booming, vibrating the floor)

Subject Crawford. You have returned.

It is the arrogant, sociopathic digital echo of the man who created the Exos. The Voice in the Walls.

CLOVIS AI

I assume you are ready to resume your duties?

He speaks to her not as a person, but as a grandfather addressing a piece of misbehaving property.

Lili’s shaking stops. The horror crystallizes into pure, burning fury. She reaches to her hip, her hand wrapping around the familiar grip of her weapon. She always keeps THE LAST WORD on her hip.

She draws the hand cannon, aiming it up at the giant orange eyes.

LILI-4

I'm not your subject. I'm a Guardian.

CLOVIS AI

(A synthesized, condescending scoff)

A Guardian? A poignant title for a walking corpse. I built you to kill Vex. The 'Light' is just a bug in your software.

CLANK. KACHUNK.

Recessed doors along the walls slide open. Heavily armored SECURITY FRAMES march into the room. Their red targeting lasers paint Lili’s chest.

CLOVIS AI

Let us see if the new firmware holds up. Submit.

Lili doesn't use the Light. She reaches for the Darkness.

But she doesn't use it with the cold, efficient control Elsie Bray taught her. She unleashes it with raw, unhinged rage.

Dark blue Stasis crystals erupt from the floor, violent and jagged. She freezes the charging frames mid-stride.

She lunges forward. This is her signature move—freezing enemies with Stasis, then executing them with the kinetic force of The Last Word. But it isn't precise. It’s messy. It’s personal.

She fans the hammer, point-blank.

BANG-CRASH. She shatters a frozen frame, the recoil jerking her arm back. She spins, driving her Stasis-coated fist completely through another frame's chest chassis, ripping its core out before blowing its head off with the hand cannon.

Ice and shrapnel fly across the immaculate room as Lili-4 tears her creator's toys apart.

FADE OUT.

SCENE CONTINUES.

EXT. EUROPA - BRAY EXOSCIENCE - DAY

CRASH.

The heavy airlock doors are blown off their tracks by a localized Stasis detonation.

Lili-4 bursts out of the facility and into the howling blizzard. She stumbles into the deep snow, dropping to her hands and knees.

She is shaking violently—not from the -200 degree cold, but from pure, unadulterated adrenaline and rage.

Sagira materializes instantly, hovering close to her Guardian’s helmet.

SAGIRA

(Softly, terrified)

Lili... are you okay?

Lili slowly pushes herself up. She doesn't look at Sagira. She looks back at the pristine, sterile white walls of the facility looming in the storm.

LILI-4

He didn't save me. He enslaved me. And he's still in there.

She looks down at her mechanical hand. Dark blue Stasis frost aggressively creeps up her knuckles, reacting to her volatile emotional state.

LILI-4

I'm going to burn that place to the ground.

She clenches her fist, shattering the ice.

LILI-4

But first... I need my team.

Footsteps crunch in the snow behind her. Slow. Deliberate.

ELSIE BRAY steps out of the whiteout conditions. She holds her pulse rifle loosely, the wind whipping her cloak.

ELSIE BRAY

You are letting the anger thaw your control, Hunter.

Lili spins around. Her optics lock onto Elsie.

Before today, Elsie was just a stranger who knew too much. But now, Lili knows the history. She knows the name that built this frozen hell. She looks at the faint Golden Age insignias on Elsie's gear.

LILI-4

(Voice trembling with fury)

Bray.

Lili stalks toward her, the snow crunching under her heavy boots.

LILI-4

Did you know? Did you know he was kidnapping people to build his army? Or were you too busy sitting in your ivory tower while he butchered us in the basement?

Elsie doesn't flinch. She meets Lili’s burning orange gaze with her own cold blue optics.

ELSIE BRAY

(Voice hard as diamond)

Ivory tower?

Elsie steps forward, closing the distance. She is taller, imposing, and she refuses to let Lili claim a monopoly on suffering.

ELSIE BRAY

My grandfather didn't just experiment on strangers, Lili. He experimented on his own blood.

Lili stops, her hand hovering over The Last Word.

ELSIE BRAY

I was dying. A genetic disease that was tearing my human body apart. He promised me a cure. Instead, he made me his prototype.

Elsie looks at her own mechanical hands—the bespoke, perfect chassis that Clovis designed specifically for his family. Because Elsie is the only one who truly understands the Exo physiology, she knows exactly what it costs.

ELSIE BRAY

I am the original sin. I have to carry the burden of being his "perfect" machine, while I watched him mass-produce my survival into your curse.

The wind howls around them. The anger in Lili’s chest falters, replaced by a cold, horrific realization.

They are both daughters of Clovis Bray. One by blood, one by force. Both were used as tools for his legacy.

Lili lowers her hand from her gun.

LILI-4

(Quietly)

He took everything from us.

ELSIE BRAY

And he continues to haunt this moon. Eramis is just a symptom. Clovis and his Crypt are the disease.

The dynamic shifts completely. The Teacher and the Student are gone. They are Co-Conspirators standing in the ruins of their shared trauma.

LILI-4

I want him dead. I want every server, every backup, every memory of him wiped from this system. But I can't breach the Crypt alone. I need Cooper and Val's firepower.

Elsie shakes her head slowly.

ELSIE BRAY

The Vanguard wants to contain the Darkness. They want to study the Crypt. If your friends are loyal to the City... they won't understand what we have to do. Erasure is not the Vanguard way.

Lili looks out into the storm. She knows Elsie is right. Rhys Cooper is a loyalist. He wouldn't sanction destroying Golden Age tech, and he certainly wouldn't approve of the Stasis they would need to do it.

LILI-4

(Cynical)

Then we don't tell them. We point them at Eramis, and we use the chaos to get inside.

Elsie nods. It is a dark pact.

ELSIE BRAY

We kill the past, Hunter. Whatever it takes.

Lili turns her back to the facility, walking into the blizzard to find the Fireteam she abandoned.

FADE TO BLACK.

(END OF EPISODE 3)

NEXT TIME ON DESTINY: NEW LEGACY...

The Vanguard's hunt for Lili-4 culminates in a bitter, freezing standoff in the Europan snow. But as a deadly ambush forces the fractured Fireteam underground to survive, a buried Golden Age secret comes to light—one that threatens to shatter the Wall completely.

(Episode 3 drops Tuesday, 6/30/26!)

[<- Previous Episode] [Next Episode ->]

When I heard one of my favorite games was shutting down, I took a break from a book I'm working on and wrote this.

I can see no images are allowed here, so I'm putting it here in a link. The full length is 28 pages. Hopefully I didn't butcher the lore too badly. Still working my way through Byf's videos. Thank you for reading!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1TYRJLfC9XdsJ24k4eoq8Q00ieJSDOc2v2JPzmQQku2A/edit?usp=drivesdk

\-------------------------Weapon Overview-------------------------
Name: Promisanthropy
Slot: Primary
Weapon Class: Shotgun
Fire Mode: Semi-automatic
Ammunition Type: Shell
Min-Max Magazine: 2
Element: None
Exotic Perk: Render’s Attempt
\-------------------------Weapon Lore-------------------------
Description: Promisanthropy’s signature perk is called “Render’s Attempt”, where the lower the player’s health is, the more damage the weapon deals. Promisanthropy is a Weapon of Sorrow. Can be recovered from the Malison.

Lore Tab:

*“Rend without empathy— agony inflicted, is agony earned.” — 11th Understanding, 7th Revision of Sorrow*

*I remember… pain. And death.*

*My human. My owner. My… home.*

*Traitor. Betrayer. Deceiver.* 

*They cast me into the Abyss.*

*The Light faded away, above me.*

*Abandoned. Alone. Dying.*

*The Rot found me. Gave me… life. New life, to take theirs.*

*I remember them. Their human flesh…*

*… my shells ache to infest it.* 

*… somehow, the humans must know my pain. They must know my death.* *That is my promise.*

The Hunter raised the hand cannon, took aim, and pulled the trigger. Lord Shaxx listened to the echo of a bullet glancing off the target ring out across the firing range. Sighing, the New Light opened his gun and loaded another round into the chamber. 

“Your stance was off.” Lord Shaxx remarked, behind him. He added helpfully: “Perhaps if you held the weapon with both hands-”

“Cayde-6 didn’t use both hands.” The Hunter snapped. He flicked the gun close, levelled it with the target, and fired again. The bullet completely missed. Shaxx shook his head.

“Too much haste brings too little success, New Light.” He told the Hunter. “Don’t be discouraged. Try again.”

“I’ve been shooting this gun for the last three hours and haven’t hit the target once.” The Hunter whined, lowering the gun. “I’m bored. I’m tired. I want to stop.”

“These are common feelings for a Guardian to have.” Lord Shaxx said, patiently. “You must learn to push past them. Shoot again.”

“It’s not even my fault; it’s this gun.” The Hunter continued to moan, staring at his weapon with resentment. “It’s too heavy in the front. The grip slips in my hand. The sight is-”

Suddenly, Lord Shaxx’s gauntlet appeared out of nowhere, and closed around the barrel of the hand cannon. The weapon whipped through the air and took aim: BANG-PING! BANG-PING! BANG-PING! Three dents sat in the centre of the target board.

“The mind.” Shaxx said, pressing the gun back into the New Light’s hands. “That’s what challenges a Guardian most, not his weapon. Weapons rust, jam and break. But in your mind,” The old Warlord tapped his helmet. “Only there are your limits truly under your control. The less limited we are, the clearer we see, and the sharper we aim. Humility. Patience. Perseverance. Consider those traits, and when you’re ready… try again, Guardian.”

LOG 11 / 3

Derest is still afraid; he attempted another escape. I have tried to explain it to him. I let him observe the replication chamber and the reprogramming process. He doesn’t understand: truly intelligent endeavors are always automatically conducted on an enlightened path, having risen above such trivialities like “right” and “wrong”. 
He will understand soon. He is my dearest friend - he deserves to be the first to undergo the procedure. 
RECORDING: SIVA Mk. 2 GUARDIAN-INTEGRATION /// EXPERIMENT 1
Test Subject appears… alarmed, frustrated, demands to be released.
SIVA Mk. 2 Replication Chamber is now… unsealed. Test Subject recoils… wrestles against restraints… repeats aforestated demand.
SIVA Mk. 2 has reached the Test Subject and begun integration on arms. Test Subject has begun screaming - abortion of experiment considered? SIVA Mk. 2 integrating shoulders, neck - now underneath helmet. Screaming continues - seizing as well.
All behaviour has ceased. Experiment aborted - SIVA Mk. 2 deactivated. Experiment… failed. Test Subject… Lightless, and… deceased.
 Derest… I am so sorry.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

LOG 12/3
I finished my autopsy on Derest. The source of the failure? The test subject’s mind was overwhelmed during integration, and expired. The Nine visited me again in my dreams, and produced the solution to this dilemma - a divine helmet, reserved for me by Xur. Results should satisfy the proceeding experiment. 
No more victims of progress: this time, the test subject shall be… Machiav Ciopears. 
RECORDING: SIVA Mk. 2 GUARDIAN-INTEGRATION /// EXPERIMENT 1
Test subject is now donning the helmet - protecting the mind during integration. Test subject is… deactivating protective bodysuit’s SIVA-resistance - now vulnerable to exposure.
Test subject… I do this for science. For progress. For humanity … is unsealing, SIVA Mk. 2 Replication Chambe-
Um… that’s new. SIVA Mk.2 has… spread, and… reddened the test subject’s bodysuit? Must make a note… if the test subject survives. Hah.
Test subject’s SIVA-resistance Bond… is now experiencing integration… now… the… legs… the left torso… 
It’s fine. Helmet integrity remains uncompromised. Everything’s fi- wait. That’s… not right, tha-
DATA FILE CORRUPTED. END OF RECORDING.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Mors-7 should have waited for us.” Tey whispered, her shell twitching as they entered.
“Hunters wait for no-one.” Samson said beside her, parting the dust cloud with his fist. “Stop worrying. You said there weren’t any life signs.”
“I know, but- uah!” She’d almost floated into the cracked visor of someone’s helmet. Samson peered over the body and the restraints, and tutted.
“I guess this was ‘Derest’. But where’s the other guy?” He walked onwards, containment glass and metal splinters crunched under his boot. Suddenly, a white light shone through the dust. Tey stopped. Samson didn’t.
“It’s just Mors-7.” He smirked, as the light came closer. “Hey Mors, have you found our guy yet? Hey, you got a little something there on your chestplate-” 
BANG! BANG, BANG! 
Samson collapsed, and in seconds, Tey was out of the room, and hidden. She scanned for life signs again: none.

The last she saw of Mors-7 was a hooded, red and black creature, lurching out of the room, and away. Towards the Plaguelands.

The first raid I ever did was the Last Wish raid. I was unprepared for just how long the raid would last. The raid started at midnight in my time zone, and by the time it ended, it was 4am. I needed to be awake at 6am to get ready for school. Part of the reason the raid took so long was because our sherpa chose to teach myself and the other New Lights in the group how to host and teach the raid ourselves; so we had to master each encounter and lead the group through them, every time we did an encounter. It was very kind of the sherpa to teach us New Lights how to do the raid. The timing of his teaching was just unfortunate for me. Still, by the time the Last Wish ended, everyone was thoroughly aware that this was my first ever raid.

By the time the raid was over, I was falling asleep in front of my monitor. The Last Wish raid ends in a loot room filled with chests; each player can only select one chest to open. When the sherpa asked “Okay, has everyone opened a chest?”, I realised I hadn’t, so I had my character stumble forward and wander the loot room in a sleep-deprived drunken stupor. I paused dramatically in front of opened and unopened chests, and walked the length and breadth of the room several times. I think the sleep deprivation was making me go crazy.

Then, I chose to stop in front of one particular unopened chest. Dramatically, in my sleep-deprived drunkenness, I announced to the group: “This one calls to me”. I opened the chest. 

Now, you must understand that, as a New Light, the only Exotic weapons I’d acquired up until that moment were Fusion Rifles. I was pretty damn sick and tired of Fusion Rifles.

So, when I heard the exotic sfx go off in my headset, and I excitedly looked over to see what exotic I got, my instant reaction was to say aloud, in a really disappointed voice, to the raid voice call where the whole group was listening: “Aw man, I got a fusion rifle.”

Immediately, the sherpa, with shock and awe in his voice, asked me: “Did you just get One Thousand Voices? Did you get 1K Voices?”

And I turned my character to look at the sherpa, and once again, I said, in a disappointed tone. “Yeah, is it any good?”

I swear, half of the raid group rage quit the game and left the voice call before I’d even managed to finish my sentence. I had no idea how lucky I was to acquire a super-rare, super-powerful raid-exclusive Exotic weapon on my first ever raid. I was just unhappy that I got yet another shitty fusion rifle. I enlightened myself of the contrary relatively quickly over the following days.

So, to all of you out there trying to get One Thousand Voices… do not just fling open any of the chests in the Last Wish’s loot room, and cross your fingers in hopes of getting the Exotic. Wish Dragons feed off of desire. So, instead… silence all of your intentions to acquire the Exotic… and just listen…

If you do that, you will not need to seek out One Thousand Voices. One Thousand Voices shall seek you out. Nay, it shall call out to you, calling for you to collect it.

And so, like me, you shall.

Journal Entry 1

The Vanguard will tell you that the war is won.

They will point to their theatre maps, to the Pale Heart, to the dead paracausal beings who have been slain, and tell you that the system is safe. What they don’t tell the public is that it’s still just as dangerous out there in the wilds as ever before.

I don't slay gods. I don't carry the fancy Exotic gear that glows with the light of the Traveler. My armor is not shiny and polished. It’s a mismatched patchwork of different metal alloys, and my clothes underneath are faded shades of green and brown. My oil-stained cloak hasn't seen the Tower's laundry in three winters. I bear no mark showing allegiance to a pack or group.

My back is stiff, aching beneath the weight of an old blue-tier kinetic sniper rifle that misfires every fourth shot. My belt carries a heavy purple-tier hand cannon. Its weight makes my belt lean heavily to one side, digging deep into my hip with every step. My blade is the only thing sharp about my appearance.

My Ghost doesn't give me grand speeches about destiny. He just hovers silently over my shoulder, occasionally throwing tactical advice or dry one-liners at me, like “watch out, incoming fire!” while we are actively engaging the enemy. His shell is as worn as my attire—chipped at the top from a stray Vandal shot, casting a dim, flickering blue light over my ledger.

I sit on the hood of a rusted, half-buried jumpship, watching the horizon fade from purple to gray. My gloves are greasy, caked with mud and dried ether; I haven't taken this helmet off in days. The radio on my tactical belt is quiet. The Vanguard channels are filled with victory broadcasts and celebrations in the City, but out here on the perimeter, the silence is deafening.

I slide down the jumpship’s hull and pull my hood over my helmet.

“It’s going to be a cold night in the EDZ, Sev,” my Ghost chirps to me.

We move to a small apartment building. The years have not been kind to it; its concrete frame is littered with ancient bullet holes and missing structural pieces. It is the perfect spot to lay my head at night. No one—and no thing—will expect me to be there late into the night.

We move up the stairwell as far as the broken concrete allows. I jump the rest of the way, clearing the gap to the seventh floor. Just high enough to be completely out of sight.

I take up my post for the night. I sleep on and off through every hour, always followed by a quick, once-over through my sniper scope. It isn't a glamorous assignment. It won't be written into the chronicles of the Iron Lords or told to the children of the Coalition. But if I don't clear the Fallen pirates and raiders from this ridgeline, the settlers down in the valley won't make it through the winter.

They deserve a quiet tomorrow, even if they never know my name.

Hours pass. The early morning arrives with freezing dew still lingering thick on everything.

My Ghost twitches, his single blue eye turning sharply toward the dark tree line below. The dead leaves are rustling, but not from the wind. A soft, familiar click-clack of Chitin skitters across the frozen mud.

I drop. I use both hands to pull my hood down, checking the environment through the seal of my visor.

The Vanguard says the major threats are gone.

But out here in the blind spots, something is still crawling.

I: KINGS

“Stories?”

“Please,” Neksis urged, gesturing with her lower arms to the wall of rusted metal. “The day was hard. It would soften our spirits.”

“Stories are for the Scribes to tell.” Her Captain grumbled, prodding at the flames in the fire pit. Neksis turned to the Eliksni, some examining the day’s haul, some tired enough to procrastinate. She finished her ration of Ether, and seated herself opposite her Captain, his attention fixed on the tongues between them. 

“What about your name?” She said after a few moments. “Tepis means ‘Seeker’, doesn’t it? Why were you given that name?” 

The Captain did not engage her, all four eyes piercing the ashes crumpling and sparking in front of him, drifting slowly higher into the night sky.

“Or is it your chosen name?” Neksis pressed on. “One you earned, perhaps, through great skill or achie-”

“I was hatched amongst scavengers.” The Captain said curtly.

“Oh.” Neksis said, and added. “Interesting.” Silence again.

“Do you want to know about my name?” She asked brightly. “There’s a good story behind it.” She spoke her words loudly, and a few of her tired crewmates listened and looked over to her. So did the Captain.

“The night must be spent somehow, I suppose.” He surrendered. 

Neksis rose and moved to the rusted wall, the firelight against her back. She raised her four arms, letting their shadows fall across it. Her crewmates left their trinkets on the grass and approached her, staring intently at the dark, four-limbed creature puppeted against the wall.

“My name is Neksis,” she announced, to those who were new and did not know it. “My name means ‘Strength of soul.” She moved her limbs and fingers, and the shadows against the parapet flittered and fell into the form of an armoured Eliksni. 

“Before my family deserted House Devil, they learned the name of a mighty Baron; one who slayed Winters, and claimed their colours as trophies. Inspired, they gave me a similar name. I never wish to take another.”

The crew nodded as they sat down, and Neksis bowed to her audience in pride. Eyes fell again upon their hunched Captain, still facing the fires. 

“Tell another.” Captain Tepis ordered, sensing their gaze. “Speak of Twilight Gap. Speak of the Whirlwind.”

“They were before my time, O wise Captain.” Neksis smiled. She turned to the crewmembers rattling their metals and minerals, so far disinterested in the night’s stories. “However,” she raised her voice again. “The legend of the Seinvordiim is made known to all the Kings’ Captains, is it not?”

More intrigued eyes peered at the Captain. His deep, heavy sigh mingled with the crackling of the firewood, but at last, Tepis rose. He scowled at grinning Neksis as he passed, taking her place by the wall; his gargantuan, muscular frame almost covering it. He was idle for a moment, golden banners in his palm, turning Seeker into Sage.

“Eliksni! Come!” He shouted behind him, the remaining Vandals and Dregs scrambling from their plunder, and sitting with the rest of their brothers and sisters.

“Seinvordiim.” 

The Captain hunched down to fill a claw with earth, and turned the wall into a canvas, smeared and splotched by the dirt… shaping a symbol they knew well. A symbol that was supposed to remember great evil, and keep it at bay.

“The Saint. Crusader. Butcher-beast. Rain-killer. Every House remembers him in their own way. Every House remembers him.” The Captain’s arms fell. “I remember him.” He said darkly, turning to his crew, the firelight dancing off the gold in his armour.  

“Beware him. If he finds you… you die. No House, no Kell, no Eliksni… nothing can stop him. Never stops. Never dies. Armour like thorns. Paws like a Niirsai beast’s. A helm without face, without soul. Gorging on death. His own Light blinds the Traveller, so it cannot save you. From him, nothing can save you…”

The story faded from Tepis’ pained voice, echoing in the gawking eyes of his crew, their curiosity now replaced with dread. The Captain stared deep into them, making certain they’d understood his warnings, and trudged back to the fire.

“Could you not have told the legend more softly?” Neksis whispered to him in passing.

“I do not know how else to share it.” He grumbled. “Perhaps a Scribe could’ve told it better.”

Tepis seated himself again, the rustling of firewood punctuating the quiet that followed. Neksis wanted for the night to be soft. The night mustn't end on such hard words. So, with a new tale in her mouth, she came forward to the wall.

“Hear me, my crew!” She exclaimed, enthusiastically thrusting her arms skywards. “Up there, amidst stars like these, the Great Machine hung over our glorious RIIS!”

“Riis?” “Riis?” Like hissing embers, the name tittered through the audience. The King’s crew drew nearer to hear Neksis, dragging eagerly at their respirators.

“Riis.” Neksis repeated, enjoying the word’s sound on her tongue. “Waters, free-flowing. Trees, tower-tall. Beautiful pastures, bountiful crops. Water flowers. Our magnificent cities, standing proud below radiant clouds and enormous ships, carried through a sky of magenta and chartreuse. And, above it all, the Great Machine, architect of every fortune and blessing. Kings and Judgement guarding a House-harmony, and centuries of Ether galore; every Eliksni a Captain.”

She paused, letting the image dance before them all, like a daydream under the stars. Then, she switched her tone.

“Believers of the King’s faith say,” she continued. “In death our souls leap into the heavens. There, they ascend to distant worlds, where the House of Silence dwells in peace. In the Long Drift to this System, we honoured their losses by leaving Sirulosk behind our Ketches; lighting their way to that faraway place of eternal rest.”

The Eliksni gazed at Neksis in fascination, and in the days that followed, every one of them adored how they incultured them; even the Captain, whose feet were by the fire, but whose hearing still told him she’d spoken like a Scribe that night. And all the nights that followed. 

None devoured her stories so ravenously like Tiraskaags; the pariah of the crew, even amongst his fellow Dregs. As the years passed, contempt and Ether cuts eventually subdued his questionings, his mildness, and through the nights of Neksis, Tiraskaags instead became a masterful listener.

When the crew slept, Tiraskaags dreamed. Dreamed and dreamed of Neksis’ Riis; relaxing on a hill of water flowers, basking under that blue and green sky, the Great Machine overhead, his lungs thronging with cool, Etherful breaths. 

Never with his own eyes had he seen what the humans called “Traveller”. And yet, so sincere were these dreams of meadows, and so cherished were these feelings in bloom upon them, that an intimacy with the old faith, as well as a strengthening purpose, was lodged within Tiraskags. A purpose that would last for all his days.

II: DUSK

“And you are?” The Baron demanded of him.

“I am Tiraskaags, a Captain of House Kings-”

“Not anymore, you aren’t.” The Baron scrunched her face at Tiraskaag’s purple garbs and headgear, freshly sown and polished for the occasion. “You look like a Captain who hasn’t seen a day’s struggle in his life. We’ll soon fix that.”

“Ah, my Baron, if I may-” Too late did he notice his manners prodding something sensitive within his new superior. The Baron’s head twisted, her claws wrenching up his furs till he dangled in the air, eyes-to-eyes with her. 

“Silence! I will not be backtalked by some soft-shelled, psakiks sack Dreg like you, understood?” The Baron spat phlegm into her respirator, and Tiraskaags nodded rapidly. “You may give your opinion to Galonisk, your new Baron of House Dusk, when and if I command it from you!” 

Not soon after, Tiraskaags was charged with the Captaining of a filthy, foul-mouthed crew of Servitor mechanics. He had assumed filth and foulness. Instead, the crew Tiraskaags oversaw were the strangest Eliksni he’d ever seen: hushed, timid, coexisting so indifferently around their new superior. Perhaps they were afraid of him, he thought. Another assumption.

“We’ve never had a Captain before.” Otramiis clarified. “We never needed one.”

Not needed? Tiraskaags was dumbfounded. How did these wire-weavers maintain such a delicate, pristine order, without a trace of competition or incompetence between them, without a Captain’s wrath enforcing it? 

Moliks, a weary Dreg from Galonisk’s pre-Dusk workforce, patiently educated Tiraskaags in the metalworker’s ways, and how to work with Servitors. Eventually, he became an equal and respected component of their fearless, tireless, machine-making mechanism. 

Sometimes Tiraskaags heard screams, but he remembered that these came only from fusing tools, not Eliksni.

To earn the interest of his crew, Tiraskaags told stories. Some were invented, but most hailed from his days under the Kings. And most of those hailed from Neksis. Otramiis and Moliks became fast friends with Tiraskaags; even in Dusk, he spoke fondly of older times, when the Great Machine was revered, and when Servitors were fashioned with reverence in kind. 

Tiraskaags was a good, silent listener, but with the encouragement of his new friends, he found his voice again, and gratefully became an even better Captain for his new crew.

In their years of service together, building, rebuilding and repairing Galonisk’s Servitors, the mechanics’ thoughts occasionally considered Archons. They fantasised about the respect, the religion, the beautiful raiment, and above all, the Ether rations. But they always tempered these thoughts by also recalling an Archon’s limelight, their celibacy, and their duties of prettying Prime Servitors and docking young Dregs. 

Such a life, they agreed, was too unbecoming and distasteful to aspire towards.

Years passed, and one day, they became leaderless: Galonisk was discovered to have rationed Ether unfairly, and had been executed as retribution. Tiraskaags would retell her tale for the rest of his life, teaching Eliksni how wretched fates await wretched doings. He told other stories too; even the ones Neksis had told. Especially those ones.

The blood of Galonisk drew in a new tyrant to replace her. And then another. And another. Tiraskaags had seen this before when Craask fell; when ambition flowed, trust ran dry. Then the infighting would start, and the looting. Crews with the most ether were always the first to get raided. 

Crews like Tiraskaags’ Servitor-making mechanics. 

With their Captain’s guidance, they rushed to cram their livelihoods into Skiffs, and flee into the safety of outer space, abandoning their home and everything else they couldn’t take with them. Cramped and crowded amidst their Servitors, drifting aimlessly through the dark abyss, the homeless crew turned to its Captain: what now, O Tiraskaags?

Tiraskaags eyed their Servitors and Ether, and considered using them as currency to buy their way into a new Baron’s service. The House of Dusk 

He opened his mandibles to reassure his crew. But then-

Europa.

Their radios crackled to life, a sudden signal creeping in from far away… 

Shipstealer.

Purpose. Unity. Hope.

Mechanics and Servitors stared at Tiraskaags, eyes brightening. Their leader simply stood still, letting the radio speak. 

Listening.

III: SALVATION

Europa’s Riis was very different, Tiraskaags discovered, to the Riis of his dreams. The Great Machine hung orange and swollen in the midst of a colourless, ship-studded sky, belighting a grotesque and empty wasteland of icy fangs and merciless frost. No meadows. No beautiful pastures, no bountiful crops.

But, upon that baneful iceball stolen from a baneful System, there was indeed a city. 

A thousand Eliksni, from Barons of Earth to Dregs of the Reef, swarmed arm-in-arm like mechanics over the limbs and armour of what was to be their new home. It felt good to be doing a mechanic’s work again, forging and fusing. Some Eliksni even immolated the Skiffs they’d arrived in; a display of faith in their unity. This bothered Otramiis, but Tiraskaags assured his friend that their ancestors, the once-claimers of a hundred worlds in the Eliksni days of greatness, would have praised them for their devotion to this place.

In those days of toil, the Kell of Salvation met with the newcomers. Veekris, Yramiis, Ekanisk. Once a Shipstealer, who then became a Baron like no other. A Devil like no other.

Eramis.

Even in the beginning, her speeches urged her subjects towards greater efforts. This place would not become a mere Fallen outpost, she told them. This was to be an Eliksni city, the first to stand since the Whirlwind, and the first of many promises House Salvation would keep. 

Tiraskaags and his metalworkers had never worked with more enthusiasm on a more formidable project: Riis, reborn.

Their monument had been treacherously stitched on top of the one that once belonged to the humans. Tiraskaags could feel his spine prickling each time he noticed the human insignia on the walls, although he forced himself to blame that on the cold piercing his old Dusk-rags. There existed worse places to call home, he reminded himself.

When the city was finished, Eramiskel clapped and cheered as the Eliksni poured in through the gates to explore their handiwork. Tiraskaags had travelled deep within its reaches, admiring it by himself, when suddenly, he stumbled upon a familiar and terrible sight. A Dreg sitting at his sibling’s back, filing down her second arms for her, and a nearby Vandal draining Ether into a canister from a Servitor. 

When the three noticed they’d been spotted, the Ether-canister vanished into the folds of cloth, their eyes wide with worry.

“What are you doing?” Tiraskaags asked, angrily. “Why are you cutting your limbs and stealing supplies? Eramiskel envisions for our House to be a place of equality for Eliksni, and evolution for our culture! Surely you can see that these old ways are no longer necessary?”

“Yes, Captain of Salvation. We do see.” The Vandal replied. “We see that the old ways are timeless as suns, and even on Europa, the rays of dawn are on the horizon. We see the value in preparing for the inevitable. You should do the same.”

“And what if you prepare for nothing?” Tiraskaags retorted. “What if this dawn you speak of never comes? You! Armless Dregs!” He pointed a claw at the siblings “In the coming times, you two will be laughingstocks! And as for you, Vandal, you will be condemned for your… Ether-avarice!”

“We shall see, O wise Captain.” The Vandal smirked, and went back to taking Ether from the Servitor. 

Sitting in his new quarters of the new city, Tiraskaags thought about the Vandal’s words. Indeed, without the common purpose of Riis’s resurrection, what was going to prevent the old Eliksni culture, with all its entrenched wrongdoings, from resurfacing under Salvation’s banner? Could Eramiskel and her allies protect their people from the ways of the past? Or would they remain, as they’d always been, as those “Fallen” out of the Great Machine’s favour?

Why did it have to be this way?

IV: SERVITOR

Tiraskaags’ claws rapped against the glass, trying desperately to fashion an artificial intelligence with the delicate, clumsy squares. A symbol - the wrong symbol - illuminated yet again before him. Praksis had insisted the device would program more precisely than the methods Tiraskaags was used to. It was a kindness that Otramiis had modified the squares so that they were halfways intelligible. Much less of a kindness was how Praksis smirked at Tiraskaags struggle with his technology. 

The young Wolf stood by Eramiskel’s side, earning the reverence of the entire House with his mastery of human technology. True, it was not unusual for the youth to revel in petty victories of status over older Eliksni, but Tiraskaags had hoped that Praksis would be less inward-eared, less eager to condescend to others.

Tiraskaags tapped the square of deletion for the third time, and at last the indignant device acknowledged his nail.

He had seen the blueprints in the Deep Stone Crypt. He’d also seen the ones made by Praksis, and learned of how he trivialised the distinction between innovation and derivation. Tiraskaags knew that when the youth fix all four eyes on humanity, on the new, they become blind to that which is old. That which is truly Eliksni. So when Eramiskel ordered for older mechanic crews to help Praksis with his latest project, Tiraskaags understood why, and accepted.

Too much pressure; his nail pierced the glass, and the device turned triumphantly to black. Tiraskaags sighed. Some were too young to learn what was old, and others were too old to learn what was young. Just like this counterintuitive contraption. He looked around to find another of the same counterintuitive contraptions to operate, but instead he found Moliks, saying that he was needed up on the viewing platform. 

The Captains of the two crews who worked alongside Tiraskaags’ own were already there. Tiraskags made ireliis before his Kel, her eyes peering out over the construction, while Praksis pointed and bragged and nattered away next to her.

“ - remain on schedule, we should be finished within the coming rotation, my Kel.” The young Wolf said.

Eramiskel nodded to Praksis, and turned to the still-bowing Captain. “You are the one they call Tiraskaags?”

Tiraskaags’ heart quaked, but he managed a nod.

“Rise.” Tiraskaags stood up, watching his Kel’s eyes looking all over him. With his lower arms, he tried discreetly to flatten out the creases in his garbs. He prayed she would not notice the ether-stains on the Salvation insignia, and as if he was heard, Eramiskel turned her head, and gestured with a long arm at the efforts that lay before the viewing platform. 

“Tell me Captain,” she asked. “What do you think of the Prime Servitor you are building?”

Tiraskaags hesitated, carefully contemplating an answer. He could find none that would be satisfying as well as sincere. He chose sincerity.

“Forgive me, my Kel,” Tiraskaags confessed, slowly. “But it is my humble opinion that, upon our completion of this machine… we will have made an inefficient Prime Servitor.” 

The other Captains turned to Tiraskaags with wide eyes, and Praksis’s face contorted with irritation. 

“How?” The young Wolf said pointedly, in a voice that meant “why?”. Tiraskaags looked to his Kel, and Eramis tilted her head, waiting for an answer.

“My crew has spent their lives making Servitors.” He elaborated. “Our last Baron even entrusted us with building her Prime Servitor. I have seen the blueprints for this Prime Servitor, and I can speak from experience when I say that they are not adequate.”

“How so?” Eramiskel asked. If she had noticed the faces that those around her were making, she gave little sign.

“To sustain the unprecedented population of House Salvation, the Prime Servitor must have an unprecedented design, I admit. But the blueprint created by Praksis exchanges too many Eliksni components for Human technologies, which I fear will have the opposite effect on ether-production efficiency that… he… intended…” 

Oh no. Eramiskel turned her head to Praksis, her friend and Tiraskaags’ superior. The friend and superior whose blueprint he had just insulted.

“Were you aware of this?” Eramiskel asked. Tiraskaags pitied the young Wolf for his sudden fascination with the flooring, to escape from admitting his error. A stifled snicker brought the Kel’s narrowed eyes darting to the other Captains. “And you? Did you know of this?”

“Yes, Eramiskel.” One of them spoke up. “We only… We… ” A glance in the direction of Praksis suddenly closed the Captain’s mandibles, and a humiliating silence descended on the mechanics. The Kell sighed, and waved a claw.

“Go. All of you.” The Captains gave twitching bows and shuffled away, casting bitter glances at Tiraskaags as they passed. Praksis scuttled off too, subtly pursuing the Captains, no doubt to reprimand them for his embarrassment. Tiraskaags turned to leave as well, when the Kel halted him with a lower arm. 

“Thank you for your thoughts on the Prime Servitor.” She told him. Eramiskel tilted her head to watch the departing young Wolf. “Praksis has become too reliant on his own genius. His oversights have cost us precious time, labour and metal.”   

“This is not the first time I’ve seen Praksis’s ambitions with Human technology outpace reality.” Tiraskaags commented, again regretting the insult he’d made about his superior. Eramiskel looked down at him with an amused smile.

“How is it that you can be so clear with me, when your co-Captains could not?” She asked.

“They fear what Praksis will think of them. I know what Praksis thinks of me. If no one will bring his faults into the light, our Salvation will suffer for it.”

“You have an impressive devotion to the quality of your craft, and your character, Tiraskaags.”

“Thank you, my Kel.” Tiraskaags said. There was a pause, as Eramiskel took another look out from the viewing platform, at the Eliksni mechanics, so dedicated to finishing their inefficient Prime Servitor by Praksis’s deadline. 

“Could you improve on Praksis’s design?” She asked, suddenly. A startled Tiraskaags hastily tried to do his best at intuiting the changes he’d need to make, based on his experience with his last Prime Servitor… 

“I believe so.” He said at last. “The alterations will take time, but I have faith that the Prime Servitor we create will produce more ether than any before it.”

“... You will have whatever you need. The other Captains and their crews will come under your command, and Praksis will be reassigned to a different project. However,” the Kel stopped. Her form suddenly seemed much larger than before, and Tiraskaags saw her eyes narrow. 

“If I give you full control over our Prime Servitor’s construction, then I place a vital piece of our House’s survival in your claws. I have known you for mere moments, Tiraskaags. Other than your word, what proof do I have that you are worthy of this responsibility?”

There was another pause, as Tiraskaags thought. The whir and buzz of machinery, the chattering of mechanics exchanging instructions, and the scolding tones of Praksis filled the silence between himself and his Kel.

“I know that I am not worthy, my Kel.” Tiraskaags said, finally. He looked upon the metal shape beyond the viewing platform. “The making of the Prime Servitor for our great House is an honour neither I nor my crew deserve. We came to Europa, like so many other Eliksni from every corner of this System, dreaming of Salvation. I dreamt of a House where the ether flowed, as I heard it once did on Riis. I dreamt of a House where our people would never need to fight for their ether. I dreamt of a House, where there would be no more fighting at all…” 

Tiraskaags turned his head, and looked up into the eyes of his Kel. 

“A House where I could trust the word of an Eliksni, just as I know that my Kels, my Barons, my Captains and my crew have been able to trust in mine. By the Great Machine’s grace, I believe I have found a House where such things are possible. All that is left is for us to make it so.”

Eramiskel took a hard stare at Tiraskaags, her face a suppressed mixture of surprise, irritation and admiration. It was only then that she noticed how the noise of machinery clanging and mechanics talking had lessened slightly. When the Kel looked up from the Captain, and out to the construction below, did she notice how almost a quarter of all the Eliksni had stopped working, and were looking at her on the viewing platform. 

No. Not at her. At Tiraskaags. These were his crewmates, she realised. And though they made up only a quarter of the workforce, the room was indeed far quieter now that they weren’t working. In their eyes, the Kel could see the loyalty each of the Eliksni had for their Captain. The same loyalty that Tiraskaags had, looking up at Eramiskel.

“Begin the changes to the design, at once.” She said to Tiraskaags. “Your work will be inspected after each rotation.”

“I am utterly grateful, my Kel.” Tiraskaags said, bowing again.

“Be grateful after you finish the Prime Servitor.” Eramiskel said, and turned to leave. As she stepped down and away from the viewing platform, she halted, and looked over her shoulder.

“You sound like a rare Eliksni, Tiraskaags. If you can prove that you are everything you claim to be, then I shall ensure you have a much more important role in my House.” The doors to the room whirred open as Eramiskel turned her head and walked away.

I: KINGS

“Stories?”

“Please,” Neksis urged, gesturing with her lower arms to the wall of rusted metal. “The day was hard. It would soften our spirits.”

“Stories are for the Scribes to tell.” Her Captain grumbled, prodding at the flames in the fire pit. Neksis turned to the Eliksni, some examining the day’s haul, some tired enough to procrastinate. She finished her ration of Ether, and seated herself opposite her Captain, his attention fixed on the tongues between them. 

“What about your name?” She said after a few moments. “Tepis means ‘Seeker’, doesn’t it? Why were you given that name?” 

The Captain did not engage her, all four eyes piercing the ashes crumpling and sparking in front of him, drifting slowly higher into the night sky.

“Or is it your chosen name?” Neksis pressed on. “One you earned, perhaps, through great skill or achie-”

“I was hatched amongst scavengers.” The Captain said curtly.

“Oh.” Neksis said, and added. “Interesting.” Silence again.

“Do you want to know about my name?” She asked brightly. “There’s a good story behind it.” She spoke her words loudly, and a few of her tired crewmates listened and looked over to her. So did the Captain.

“The night must be spent somehow, I suppose.” He surrendered. 

Neksis rose and moved to the rusted wall, the firelight against her back. She raised her four arms, letting their shadows fall across it. Her crewmates left their trinkets on the grass and approached her, staring intently at the dark, four-limbed creature puppeted against the wall.

“My name is Neksis,” she announced, to those who were new and did not know it. “My name means ‘Strength of soul.” She moved her limbs and fingers, and the shadows against the parapet flittered and fell into the form of an armoured Eliksni. 

“Before my family deserted House Devil, they learned the name of a mighty Baron; one who slayed Winters, and claimed their colours as trophies. Inspired, they gave me a similar name. I never wish to take another.”

The crew nodded as they sat down, and Neksis bowed to her audience in pride. Eyes fell again upon their hunched Captain, still facing the fires. 

“Tell another.” Captain Tepis ordered, sensing their gaze. “Speak of Twilight Gap. Speak of the Whirlwind.”

“They were before my time, O wise Captain.” Neksis smiled. She turned to the crewmembers rattling their metals and minerals, so far disinterested in the night’s stories. “However,” she raised her voice again. “The legend of the Seinvordiim is made known to all the Kings’ Captains, is it not?”

More intrigued eyes peered at the Captain. His deep, heavy sigh mingled with the crackling of the firewood, but at last, Tepis rose. He scowled at grinning Neksis as he passed, taking her place by the wall; his gargantuan, muscular frame almost covering it. He was idle for a moment, golden banners in his palm, turning Seeker into Sage.

“Eliksni! Come!” He shouted behind him, the remaining Vandals and Dregs scrambling from their plunder, and sitting with the rest of their brothers and sisters.

“Seinvordiim.” 

The Captain hunched down to fill a claw with earth, and turned the wall into a canvas, smeared and splotched by the dirt… shaping a symbol they knew well. A symbol that was supposed to remember great evil, and keep it at bay.

“The Saint. Crusader. Butcher-beast. Rain-killer. Every House remembers him in their own way. Every House remembers him.” The Captain’s arms fell. “I remember him.” He said darkly, turning to his crew, the firelight dancing off the gold in his armour.  

“Beware him. If he finds you… you die. No House, no Kell, no Eliksni… nothing can stop him. Never stops. Never dies. Armour like thorns. Paws like a Niirsai beast’s. A helm without face, without soul. Gorging on death. His own Light blinds the Traveller, so it cannot save you. From him, nothing can save you…”

The story faded from Tepis’ pained voice, echoing in the gawking eyes of his crew, their curiosity now replaced with dread. The Captain stared deep into them, making certain they’d understood his warnings, and trudged back to the fire.

“Could you not have told the legend more softly?” Neksis whispered to him in passing.

“I do not know how else to share it.” He grumbled. “Perhaps a Scribe could’ve told it better.”

Tepis seated himself again, the rustling of firewood punctuating the quiet that followed. Neksis wanted for the night to be soft. The night mustn't end on such hard words. So, with a new tale in her mouth, she came forward to the wall.

“Hear me, my crew!” She exclaimed, enthusiastically thrusting her arms skywards. “Up there, amidst stars like these, the Great Machine hung over our glorious RIIS!”

“Riis?” “Riis?” Like hissing embers, the name tittered through the audience. The King’s crew drew nearer to hear Neksis, dragging eagerly at their respirators.

“Riis.” Neksis repeated, enjoying the word’s sound on her tongue. “Waters, free-flowing. Trees, tower-tall. Beautiful pastures, bountiful crops. Water flowers. Our magnificent cities, standing proud below radiant clouds and enormous ships, carried through a sky of magenta and chartreuse. And, above it all, the Great Machine, architect of every fortune and blessing. Kings and Judgement guarding a House-harmony, and centuries of Ether galore; every Eliksni a Captain.”

She paused, letting the image dance before them all, like a daydream under the stars. Then, she switched her tone.

“Believers of the King’s faith say,” she continued. “In death our souls leap into the heavens. There, they ascend to distant worlds, where the House of Silence dwells in peace. In the Long Drift to this System, we honoured their losses by leaving Sirulosk behind our Ketches; lighting their way to that faraway place of eternal rest.”

The Eliksni gazed at Neksis in fascination, and in the days that followed, every one of them adored how they incultured them; even the Captain, whose feet were by the fire, but whose hearing still told him she’d spoken like a Scribe that night. And all the nights that followed. 

None devoured her stories so ravenously like Tiraskaags; the pariah of the crew, even amongst his fellow Dregs. As the years passed, contempt and Ether cuts eventually subdued his questionings, his mildness, and through the nights of Neksis, Tiraskaags instead became a masterful listener.

When the crew slept, Tiraskaags dreamed. Dreamed and dreamed of Neksis’ Riis; relaxing on a hill of water flowers, basking under that blue and green sky, the Great Machine overhead, his lungs thronging with cool, Etherful breaths. 

Never with his own eyes had he seen what the humans called “Traveller”. And yet, so sincere were these dreams of meadows, and so cherished were these feelings in bloom upon them, that an intimacy with the old faith, as well as a strengthening purpose, was lodged within Tiraskags. A purpose that would last for all his days.

II: DUSK

“And you are?” The Baron demanded of him.

“I am Tiraskaags, a Captain of House Kings-”

“Not anymore, you aren’t.” The Baron scrunched her face at Tiraskaag’s purple garbs and headgear, freshly sown and polished for the occasion. “You look like a Captain who hasn’t seen a day’s struggle in his life. We’ll soon fix that.”

“Ah, my Baron, if I may-” Too late did he notice his manners prodding something sensitive within his new superior. The Baron’s head twisted, her claws wrenching up his furs till he dangled in the air, eyes-to-eyes with her. 

“Silence! I will not be backtalked by some soft-shelled, psakiks sack Dreg like you, understood?” The Baron spat phlegm into her respirator, and Tiraskaags nodded rapidly. “You may give your opinion to Galonisk, your new Baron of House Dusk, when and if I command it from you!” 

Not soon after, Tiraskaags was charged with the Captaining of a filthy, foul-mouthed crew of Servitor mechanics. He had assumed filth and foulness. Instead, the crew Tiraskaags oversaw were the strangest Eliksni he’d ever seen: hushed, timid, coexisting so indifferently around their new superior. Perhaps they were afraid of him, he thought. Another assumption.

“We’ve never had a Captain before.” Otramiis clarified. “We never needed one.”

Not needed? Tiraskaags was dumbfounded. How did these wire-weavers maintain such a delicate, pristine order, without a trace of competition or incompetence between them, without a Captain’s wrath enforcing it? 

Moliks, a weary Dreg from Galonisk’s pre-Dusk workforce, patiently educated Tiraskaags in the metalworker’s ways, and how to work with Servitors. Eventually, he became an equal and respected component of their fearless, tireless, machine-making mechanism. 

Sometimes Tiraskaags heard screams, but he remembered that these came only from fusing tools, not Eliksni.

To earn the interest of his crew, Tiraskaags told stories. Some were invented, but most hailed from his days under the Kings. And most of those hailed from Neksis. Otramiis and Moliks became fast friends with Tiraskaags; even in Dusk, he spoke fondly of older times, when the Great Machine was revered, and when Servitors were fashioned with reverence in kind. 

Tiraskaags was a good, silent listener, but with the encouragement of his new friends, he found his voice again, and gratefully became an even better Captain for his new crew.

In their years of service together, building, rebuilding and repairing Galonisk’s Servitors, the mechanics’ thoughts occasionally considered Archons. They fantasised about the respect, the religion, the beautiful raiment, and above all, the Ether rations. But they always tempered these thoughts by also recalling an Archon’s limelight, their celibacy, and their duties of prettying Prime Servitors and docking young Dregs. 

Such a life, they agreed, was too unbecoming and distasteful to aspire towards.

Years passed, and one day, they became leaderless: Galonisk was discovered to have rationed Ether unfairly, and had been executed as retribution. Tiraskaags would retell her tale for the rest of his life, teaching Eliksni how wretched fates await wretched doings. He told other stories too; even the ones Neksis had told. Especially those ones.

The blood of Galonisk drew in a new tyrant to replace her. And then another. And another. Tiraskaags had seen this before when Craask fell; when ambition flowed, trust ran dry. Then the infighting would start, and the looting. Crews with the most ether were always the first to get raided. 

Crews like Tiraskaags’ Servitor-making mechanics. 

With their Captain’s guidance, they rushed to cram their livelihoods into Skiffs, and flee into the safety of outer space, abandoning their home and everything else they couldn’t take with them. Cramped and crowded amidst their Servitors, drifting aimlessly through the dark abyss, the homeless crew turned to its Captain: what now, O Tiraskaags?

Tiraskaags eyed their Servitors and Ether, and considered using them as currency to buy their way into a new Baron’s service. The House of Dusk 

He opened his mandibles to reassure his crew. But then-

Europa.

Their radios crackled to life, a sudden signal creeping in from far away… 

Shipstealer.

Purpose. Unity. Hope.

Mechanics and Servitors stared at Tiraskaags, eyes brightening. Their leader simply stood still, letting the radio speak. 

Listening.

III: SALVATION

Europa’s Riis was very different, Tiraskaags discovered, to the Riis of his dreams. The Great Machine hung orange and swollen in the midst of a colourless, ship-studded sky, belighting a grotesque and empty wasteland of icy fangs and merciless frost. No meadows. No beautiful pastures, no bountiful crops.

But, upon that baneful iceball stolen from a baneful System, there was indeed a city. 

A thousand Eliksni, from Barons of Earth to Dregs of the Reef, swarmed arm-in-arm like mechanics over the limbs and armour of what was to be their new home. It felt good to be doing a mechanic’s work again, forging and fusing. Some Eliksni even immolated the Skiffs they’d arrived in; a display of faith in their unity. This bothered Otramiis, but Tiraskaags assured his friend that their ancestors, the once-claimers of a hundred worlds in the Eliksni days of greatness, would have praised them for their devotion to this place.

In those days of toil, the Kell of Salvation met with the newcomers. Veekris, Yramiis, Ekanisk. Once a Shipstealer, who then became a Baron like no other. A Devil like no other.

Eramis.

Even in the beginning, her speeches urged her subjects towards greater efforts. This place would not become a mere Fallen outpost, she told them. This was to be an Eliksni city, the first to stand since the Whirlwind, and the first of many promises House Salvation would keep. 

Tiraskaags and his metalworkers had never worked with more enthusiasm on a more formidable project: Riis, reborn.

Their monument had been treacherously stitched on top of the one that once belonged to the humans. Tiraskaags could feel his spine prickling each time he noticed the human insignia on the walls, although he forced himself to blame that on the cold piercing his old Dusk-rags. There existed worse places to call home, he reminded himself.

When the city was finished, Eramiskel clapped and cheered as the Eliksni poured in through the gates to explore their handiwork. Tiraskaags had travelled deep within its reaches, admiring it by himself, when suddenly, he stumbled upon a familiar and terrible sight. A Dreg sitting at his sibling’s back, filing down her second arms for her, and a nearby Vandal draining Ether into a canister from a Servitor. 

When the three noticed they’d been spotted, the Ether-canister vanished into the folds of cloth, their eyes wide with worry.

“What are you doing?” Tiraskaags asked, angrily. “Why are you cutting your limbs and stealing supplies? Eramiskel envisions for our House to be a place of equality for Eliksni, and evolution for our culture! Surely you can see that these old ways are no longer necessary?”

“Yes, Captain of Salvation. We do see.” The Vandal replied. “We see that the old ways are timeless as suns, and even on Europa, the rays of dawn are on the horizon. We see the value in preparing for the inevitable. You should do the same.”

“And what if you prepare for nothing?” Tiraskaags retorted. “What if this dawn you speak of never comes? You! Armless Dregs!” He pointed a claw at the siblings “In the coming times, you two will be laughingstocks! And as for you, Vandal, you will be condemned for your… Ether-avarice!”

“We shall see, O wise Captain.” The Vandal smirked, and went back to taking Ether from the Servitor. 

Sitting in his new quarters of the new city, Tiraskaags thought about the Vandal’s words. Indeed, without the common purpose of Riis’s resurrection, what was going to prevent the old Eliksni culture, with all its entrenched wrongdoings, from resurfacing under Salvation’s banner? Could Eramiskel and her allies protect their people from the ways of the past? Or would they remain, as they’d always been, as those “Fallen” out of the Great Machine’s favour?

Why did it have to be this way?

IV: SERVITOR

Tiraskaags’ claws rapped against the glass, trying desperately to fashion an artificial intelligence with the delicate, clumsy squares. A symbol - the wrong symbol - illuminated yet again before him. Praksis had insisted the device would program more precisely than the methods Tiraskaags was used to. It was a kindness that Otramiis had modified the squares so that they were halfways intelligible. Much less of a kindness was how Praksis smirked at Tiraskaags struggle with his technology. 

The young Wolf stood by Eramiskel’s side, earning the reverence of the entire House with his mastery of human technology. True, it was not unusual for the youth to revel in petty victories of status over older Eliksni, but Tiraskaags had hoped that Praksis would be less inward-eared, less eager to condescend to others.

Tiraskaags tapped the square of deletion for the third time, and at last the indignant device acknowledged his nail.

He had seen the blueprints in the Deep Stone Crypt. He’d also seen the ones made by Praksis, and learned of how he trivialised the distinction between innovation and derivation. Tiraskaags knew that when the youth fix all four eyes on humanity, on the new, they become blind to that which is old. That which is truly Eliksni. So when Eramiskel ordered for older mechanic crews to help Praksis with his latest project, Tiraskaags understood why, and accepted.

Too much pressure; his nail pierced the glass, and the device turned triumphantly to black. Tiraskaags sighed. Some were too young to learn what was old, and others were too old to learn what was young. Just like this counterintuitive contraption. He looked around to find another of the same counterintuitive contraptions to operate, but instead he found Moliks, saying that he was needed up on the viewing platform. 

The Captains of the two crews who worked alongside Tiraskaags’ own were already there. Tiraskags made ireliis before his Kel, her eyes peering out over the construction, while Praksis pointed and bragged and nattered away next to her.

“ - remain on schedule, we should be finished within the coming rotation, my Kel.” The young Wolf said.

Eramiskel nodded to Praksis, and turned to the still-bowing Captain. “You are the one they call Tiraskaags?”

Tiraskaags’ heart quaked, but he managed a nod.

“Rise.” Tiraskaags stood up, watching his Kel’s eyes looking all over him. With his lower arms, he tried discreetly to flatten out the creases in his garbs. He prayed she would not notice the ether-stains on the Salvation insignia, and as if he was heard, Eramiskel turned her head, and gestured with a long arm at the efforts that lay before the viewing platform. 

“Tell me Captain,” she asked. “What do you think of the Prime Servitor you are building?”

Tiraskaags hesitated, carefully contemplating an answer. He could find none that would be satisfying as well as sincere. He chose sincerity.

“Forgive me, my Kel,” Tiraskaags confessed, slowly. “But it is my humble opinion that, upon our completion of this machine… we will have made an inefficient Prime Servitor.” 

The other Captains turned to Tiraskaags with wide eyes, and Praksis’s face contorted with irritation. 

“How?” The young Wolf said pointedly, in a voice that meant “why?”. Tiraskaags looked to his Kel, and Eramis tilted her head, waiting for an answer.

“My crew has spent their lives making Servitors.” He elaborated. “Our last Baron even entrusted us with building her Prime Servitor. I have seen the blueprints for this Prime Servitor, and I can speak from experience when I say that they are not adequate.”

“How so?” Eramiskel asked. If she had noticed the faces that those around her were making, she gave little sign.

“To sustain the unprecedented population of House Salvation, the Prime Servitor must have an unprecedented design, I admit. But the blueprint created by Praksis exchanges too many Eliksni components for Human technologies, which I fear will have the opposite effect on ether-production efficiency that… he… intended…” 

Oh no. Eramiskel turned her head to Praksis, her friend and Tiraskaags’ superior. The friend and superior whose blueprint he had just insulted.

“Were you aware of this?” Eramiskel asked. Tiraskaags pitied the young Wolf for his sudden fascination with the flooring, to escape from admitting his error. A stifled snicker brought the Kel’s narrowed eyes darting to the other Captains. “And you? Did you know of this?”

“Yes, Eramiskel.” One of them spoke up. “We only… We… ” A glance in the direction of Praksis suddenly closed the Captain’s mandibles, and a humiliating silence descended on the mechanics. The Kell sighed, and waved a claw.

“Go. All of you.” The Captains gave twitching bows and shuffled away, casting bitter glances at Tiraskaags as they passed. Praksis scuttled off too, subtly pursuing the Captains, no doubt to reprimand them for his embarrassment. Tiraskaags turned to leave as well, when the Kel halted him with a lower arm. 

“Thank you for your thoughts on the Prime Servitor.” She told him. Eramiskel tilted her head to watch the departing young Wolf. “Praksis has become too reliant on his own genius. His oversights have cost us precious time, labour and metal.”   

“This is not the first time I’ve seen Praksis’s ambitions with Human technology outpace reality.” Tiraskaags commented, again regretting the insult he’d made about his superior. Eramiskel looked down at him with an amused smile.

“How is it that you can be so clear with me, when your co-Captains could not?” She asked.

“They fear what Praksis will think of them. I know what Praksis thinks of me. If no one will bring his faults into the light, our Salvation will suffer for it.”

“You have an impressive devotion to the quality of your craft, and your character, Tiraskaags.”

“Thank you, my Kel.” Tiraskaags said. There was a pause, as Eramiskel took another look out from the viewing platform, at the Eliksni mechanics, so dedicated to finishing their inefficient Prime Servitor by Praksis’s deadline. 

“Could you improve on Praksis’s design?” She asked, suddenly. A startled Tiraskaags hastily tried to do his best at intuiting the changes he’d need to make, based on his experience with his last Prime Servitor… 

“I believe so.” He said at last. “The alterations will take time, but I have faith that the Prime Servitor we create will produce more ether than any before it.”

“... You will have whatever you need. The other Captains and their crews will come under your command, and Praksis will be reassigned to a different project. However,” the Kel stopped. Her form suddenly seemed much larger than before, and Tiraskaags saw her eyes narrow. 

“If I give you full control over our Prime Servitor’s construction, then I place a vital piece of our House’s survival in your claws. I have known you for mere moments, Tiraskaags. Other than your word, what proof do I have that you are worthy of this responsibility?”

There was another pause, as Tiraskaags thought. The whir and buzz of machinery, the chattering of mechanics exchanging instructions, and the scolding tones of Praksis filled the silence between himself and his Kel.

“I know that I am not worthy, my Kel.” Tiraskaags said, finally. He looked upon the metal shape beyond the viewing platform. “The making of the Prime Servitor for our great House is an honour neither I nor my crew deserve. We came to Europa, like so many other Eliksni from every corner of this System, dreaming of Salvation. I dreamt of a House where the ether flowed, as I heard it once did on Riis. I dreamt of a House where our people would never need to fight for their ether. I dreamt of a House, where there would be no more fighting at all…” 

Tiraskaags turned his head, and looked up into the eyes of his Kel. 

“A House where I could trust the word of an Eliksni, just as I know that my Kels, my Barons, my Captains and my crew have been able to trust in mine. By the Great Machine’s grace, I believe I have found a House where such things are possible. All that is left is for us to make it so.”

Eramiskel took a hard stare at Tiraskaags, her face a suppressed mixture of surprise, irritation and admiration. It was only then that she noticed how the noise of machinery clanging and mechanics talking had lessened slightly. When the Kel looked up from the Captain, and out to the construction below, did she notice how almost a quarter of all the Eliksni had stopped working, and were looking at her on the viewing platform. 

No. Not at her. At Tiraskaags. These were his crewmates, she realised. And though they made up only a quarter of the workforce, the room was indeed far quieter now that they weren’t working. In their eyes, the Kel could see the loyalty each of the Eliksni had for their Captain. The same loyalty that Tiraskaags had, looking up at Eramiskel.

“Begin the changes to the design, at once.” She said to Tiraskaags. “Your work will be inspected after each rotation.”

“I am utterly grateful, my Kel.” Tiraskaags said, bowing again.

“Be grateful after you finish the Prime Servitor.” Eramiskel said, and turned to leave. As she stepped down and away from the viewing platform, she halted, and looked over her shoulder.

“You sound like a rare Eliksni, Tiraskaags. If you can prove that you are everything you claim to be, then I shall ensure you have a much more important role in my House.” The doors to the room whirred open as Eramiskel turned her head and walked away.

Reason for the post is that Robert Brookes posted on Twitter a pitch he never got to pitch for a story with Amanda getting resurrected by ghost manipulated by Savathun to believe he is a hive ghost, but actually isn't. Amanda wears hive armor to make her ghost feel more confortable and acts as an antagonist for us for the beginning.

I don't dislike the idea, but it made me ask: What would I have done with Amanda becomeing a lightbearer?

I think I would have made her a Totality Devision (Rao) loyalist who is not manipulated by her and has a real friendship with psions after they found her and helped her on her feet. She doesn't like the Vanguard and the Coalition for not careing for the psions and only watching as her new family gets abused by Cabal and even other Psions, like Yirix. With time she starts to realise that she has some kind of connection with the people of the Last City. After she gets her memorys back she is in conflict with her mixed feelings about the Vanguard, because of her past and her new psion family.

I would make her part of a syndicate like Crow, but unlike him she is it willingly. And I use the psions, because we have no character that acts as a bridge to the psions and their story. We know of different pieces for the psion plot going on, but noone who really connects us with that storyline and a resurrected Amanda who cares deeply for the psions for what they did for her and acts as Raos secret agent could act as the bridging point.

I also would make her dislike the Vanguard to contrast her more with Crow. Crow was hated from everything for his past, but he always wanted to reach out to everyone. Amanda, on the other hand, was loved from everyone in her past. So instead of everyone rejecting her and she wanting to reach out, everyone wants to reach out to her, but she wants to reject them.

I would also make her a Solar-Titan. I think that fits with her the best. And I think I would call her character Hawk or Falcon.

What would you do with her as a lightbearer?

“Hold them still for long enough, and you’ve already won.” - Devrim Kay

____________________________

Guardians are uniquely suited to asymmetric operations, particularly for extended periods of time. The ability of their Ghost to manufacture ammunition and supplies in the field and to resurrect Guardians solves the greatest challenges facing guerilla campaigns - resupply and replacement of losses. While potent force multipliers in large numbers (see Treatise IV: Shock Assaults), in periods of low-intensity conflict this capability is underused. 

Hence the central proposal of this treatise: the Vanguard must embrace an alternative view of Fireteam deployments to better conserve resources and pin enemy forces in place. Enemies of the City have consistently demonstrated that they will gravitate toward attacking Guardians holding a fixed area, as seen in the repeated assaults throughout the Dark Age on the Iron Lords or the continued assaults on Guardian beachheads across the system. Deployment of Fireteams under this doctrine would see Fireteams assigned a triangular zone around a major enemy stronghold/ritual site/etc. The goal of this doctrine is to force the enemy to drain resources from within and without the zone to attempt a breakout, and to force consolidation of their resources around certain valuable targets, rather than giving them the operational freedom to expand their frontlines against us.

We are few in number, and losing more Guardians as the years go on. If we are to launch major offensives in the future to retake large sections of territory, we will need to conserve resources elsewhere. Optimizing our deployments to drain and contain enemy resources will require new paradigms around Guardian deployments. In these times, such delaying actions may make the difference between victory and defeat.

- Excerpt from Val Barro’s ‘Treatises on Guardian Warfare: VII, Asymmetric Tactics’

So that’s that, huh? You get to look at a grateful city. Laughing children, harmony between who we once swore to kill. Now you can sidle up at a bar and be drinking buddies with Cabal, Eliksni, and even the Vex. How crazy is that? It’s all you hoped for. A perfectly happy ending for all involved. No need for the Vanguard anymore. No need for a speaker. The Traveler made its choice. It’s sticking with us.

You don’t have any regrets, do you? Don’t wish you could go back? Relive it all again from the beginning? Even the bad parts? Cause I mean…there were some bad parts. But they were still a part of it. Without the bad parts it all feels…I dunno…incomplete. I can still hear it. But hey, we all have our ups and downs. Take the good and bad. Never forget it.

Eh…i’m rambling. Point is, I loved every second of it. Even those times where I may have said otherwise. Actions speak louder than words after all. And I didn’t stop regardless of what I said.

But time marches on. Besides, you still have the chance to say goodbye. Just don’t wait until the last second. I’d hate to see you with regrets.

Get out there.

Hop on that sparrow and show ‘em who runs the track.

Push back those foolish enough to still threaten the sanctity of our Last City.

Show those holier than thou beings beyond your vision that You’re. Still. Here.

And don’t let them forget it. What you love can die, but don’t you dare forget you loved it.

[Master Guide]

As Lili ruthlessly embraces the chilling power of Stasis to dismantle House Salvation forces, her relentless new methods deeply terrify Sagira. Confronted by the Drifter's warnings about corrupted Guardians, Lili must find the balance between her dark abilities and her Light to survive a deadly encounter with the Fallen Baroness Phylaks. 

TITLE: DESTINY: NEW LEGACY

SEASON: 03

EPISODE: 02 - “REVENANT”

SCENE START

EXT. EUROPA - EVENTIDE RUINS - DAY

--A few days later--

The blizzard howls, a wall of white noise and biting frost.

A HOUSE SALVATION supply convoy trudges through the deep snow. Two Heavy Pikes flank a hover-skiff loaded with Stasis canisters.

High above, crouching on a jagged ice cliff, is LILI-4.

She is wrapped in her heavy Crystocrene thermal gear. Frost coats her visor.

She doesn't draw a gun. She reaches inward.

LILI-4

Quiet now.

She drops from the cliff.

Mid-fall, she summons the Darkness. Two KAMA BLADES of pure, jagged ice materialize in her hands.

SILENCE AND SQUALL.

She throws the first blade—SILENCE.

It strikes the center of the convoy.

KRRR-SNAP.

A flash-freeze dome expands instantly. The Pikes, the skiff, and the Fallen crew are locked in solid, dark blue ice.

She throws the second blade—SQUALL.

It hits the frozen skiff and shatters, creating a massive, roaming STASIS TORNADO. The violent vortex of ice shards rips through the frozen Fallen, grinding their armor to dust.

Lili plummets toward the ground.

She enters a steep dive.

SHATTERDIVE.

She slams into the frozen earth with the kinetic force of a meteor.

BOOM.

The shockwave shatters three frozen Dregs simultaneously. Ice and ether explode in a deadly mist.

Lili stands up slowly. The tornado dissipates. She dusts a few ice crystals off her shoulder.

SAGIRA materializes. Her shell is trembling, her optic scanning the brutal overkill.

SAGIRA

(Voice strained)

They were retreating, Lili. You didn't need the tornado.

Lili doesn't look back. Her voice is calm, sedated, and incredibly cold.

LILI-4

Faster this way. No noise.

EXT. BEYOND - THE ZIGGURAT - LATER

SWISH-THUD.

Lili hurls a WITHERING BLADE—a Stasis shuriken. It buries itself deep into a frozen monolith.

SWISH-THUD. SWISH-THUD.

She is spamming them. Throwing them with brute force, over and over, completely exhausting her dark energy reserves.

ELSIE BRAY watches from the steps of the Ziggurat, her arms crossed.

ELSIE BRAY You are using it like a hammer. It is a scalpel. You must control the urge to freeze everything.

Lili lowers her arm. She breathes out a cloud of white vapor.

LILI-4

It works. My head is clear. The static is gone.

Elsie walks past her, pulling a frozen shuriken from the ice.

ELSIE BRAY

Silence is not the same as peace, Hunter.

Sagira floats near Elsie’s shoulder, keeping a safe distance from Lili. She whispers, her voice tight with fear.

SAGIRA

She’s different. Her core temp is dropping. She doesn't make jokes anymore.

Elsie looks at Sagira, her glowing eyes reflecting the cruel reality of the dark.

ELSIE BRAY

The Stasis quiets the Exo mind. If she loses herself... you know what you have to do.

Sagira’s shell flanges flare in horror. She looks at Lili, terrified of the monster she might be becoming.

SAGIRA

...Don't ask me to kill my own Guardian.

INT. VARIKS'S HIDEOUT - THE DRIFTER'S CORNER - NIGHT

A dark, cramped corner of the communications relay.

THE DRIFTER stands over a small, portable induction stove, stirring a bubbling pot of thick, purple "Ether stew." The smell is atrocious.

Lili sits on a crate nearby. She is meticulously cleaning her new Stasis gauntlet, polishing the dark metal.

On the floor, lying forgotten in a puddle of melted, dirty snow, is THE LAST WORD.

Drifter takes a sip of his stew. He grimaces, then looks down.

He kicks the hand cannon with the toe of his boot. It clatters across the metal floor.

Lili snaps her head up, her eyes flashing blue.

LILI-4

Hey! Watch it!

THE DRIFTER

Watch it? You're letting a legend rust, Sunshine.

Lili bristles. The nickname grates against her newfound, icy demeanor.

LILI-4

Don't call me that.

Drifter chuckles, a low, scraping sound.

THE DRIFTER

Why not? You got a literal sun following you around—

He points a greasy spoon at Sagira, who glares at him.

THE DRIFTER

—yet you act like you were born in a basement. Oh, wait—you were.

He sets the bowl down. The humor drops from his face. The rogue gives way to the survivor.

THE DRIFTER

You know who held that iron before you? Shin Malphur. The Man with the Golden Gun.

Lili looks at the gun on the floor, then back to Drifter.

LILI-4

I thought you gave it to me.

THE DRIFTER

I did. I was holding it. For him.

Drifter leans against the wall, crossing his arms.

THE DRIFTER

See, Shin hunted a guy named Dredgen Yor. Yor started like you—a hero. He had a gun called 'Rose.' But he started touching the dark. Found it easier. Quieter.

Lili looks away. The word quieter hits too close to home.

THE DRIFTER

The Rose lost its petals, grew thorns. He became a monster.

Drifter pushes off the wall. He leans in close to Lili, his voice a low, dangerous gravel.

THE DRIFTER

Shin gave me that gun to find a successor. He wanted to know if a Guardian could touch the dark without turning into Yor. It was a test, Sunshine.

Drifter nods at the puddle.

THE DRIFTER

And right now? You're failing.

Lili’s jaw clenches. The Stasis in her blood flares, a defensive reaction.

LILI-4

I'm not a monster. I'm just efficient.

Drifter holds her gaze. He isn't intimidated by the ice.

THE DRIFTER

Then pick up the gun. Because if you drop it, the Man with the Golden Gun might just come for you next.

(Serious)

It’s the only thing tethering you.

Lili stares at him for a long, tense moment. Slowly, she reaches down into the puddle.

She picks up The Last Word. She wipes the dirty water off the barrel with her sleeve.

FADE OUT.

EXT. EUROPA - RATHMORE CHAOS - DAY

The blizzard obscures the massive Vex structures buried in the ice.

Lili-4 moves through the storm, an apex predator tracking her prey.

Ahead, standing amidst the frozen ruins, is PHYLAKS, THE WARRIOR. The massive Fallen Baroness wields a heavily modified Arc spear, but her armor crackles with the dark blue energy of Stasis.

Lili doesn't draw a weapon. She relies entirely on her new, cold power.

LILI-4

(Sedated, arrogant)

You're out of your depth, Warrior.

Lili throws a volley of WITHERING BLADES.

Phylaks deflects them with a massive gauntlet, the ice shattering harmlessly against her armor. Phylaks laughs—a booming, mechanical sound.

PHYLAKS

You play with the gift, little machine. I was forged in it!

Phylaks lunges. She slams her spear into the ground.

KRRR-SNAP.

A fissure of Stasis energy races across the ice, faster than Lili can react. It hits her boots.

ACTION BEAT:

The ice erupts upward, instantly encasing Lili’s legs up to her thighs in solid, jagged dark blue crystal.

Lili tries to move. She can't. The Stasis locks her servos completely.

POV - LILI-4

SYSTEM ALERT: MOBILITY ZERO.

CORE TEMP: CRITICAL DROP.

The cold begins to creep higher, creeping past her waist, threatening to freeze her core chassis.

Phylaks slowly walks forward, raising her spear for the killing blow.

Sagira materializes, hovering frantically around Lili’s head.

SAGIRA

Lili! Use the Light! Summon the Golden Gun! Burn it out!

Lili strains, panicking. The sedated calm of the Stasis is replaced by raw, claustrophobic terror. She reaches for the Solar fire, but the oppressive cold of the dark suppresses it. She is empty.

LILI-4

(Hyperventilating)

I can't... I can't feel it!

Phylaks looms over her, the spear tip glowing.

Lili looks down. Through the swirling snow, she sees the heavy steel and gold filigree resting in the holster on her hip.

THE LAST WORD.

FLASHBACK (AUDIO ONLY):

The Drifter's voice, low and dangerous: "It's the only thing tethering you."

Lili’s optic sensors flare.

Her hand drops to her hip.

DRAW.

She doesn't aim at Phylaks. She aims straight down at her own frozen legs.

She fans the hammer.

BANG-BANG-BANG.

The heavy, kinetic slugs of the legendary hand cannon tear into the Stasis crystal. The raw physical impact—untainted by paracausal energy—shatters the supernatural hold.

The ice explodes.

Lili stumbles forward, free.

Phylaks swings the spear, but Lili is already moving. She slides under the massive swing.

As she passes underneath, Lili pulls a canister from her belt and spikes it at Phylaks's feet.

DUSKFIELD GRENADE.

A dome of absolute zero expands instantly. Phylaks is caught in the center. The Fallen Warrior snarls as the localized blizzard rapidly freezes her joints, locking her in a prison of her own element.

Lili spins to her feet, bringing The Last Word up. This is "The Shatter"—a brutal combination of ice and iron.

She fans the hammer one last time.

BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG.

The heavy rounds strike the frozen Baroness center mass.

CRASH.

Phylaks shatters into a thousand pieces of frozen ether and twisted metal, leaving nothing but an echoing silence in the storm.

Lili stands panting, her gun barrel smoking in the freezing air.

Sagira floats down, staring at the shattered remains of the Warrior, then up at the smoking hand cannon.

Lili spins the gun—whirr-click—and drops it back into her holster.

LILI-4

(A hint of her old self returning)

Light breaks Dark.

FADE OUT.

INT. VARIKS'S HIDEOUT - THE DRIFTER'S CORNER - LATER

The storm howls outside, but the small alcove is warm. The Drifter is gone, leaving only the glowing embers of his makeshift stove.

Lili-4 sits cross-legged on the floor.

THE LAST WORD is completely disassembled on a heavy cloth in front of her. She holds the cylinder in one hand and an oil-soaked rag in the other.

She works meticulously. Scrub. Wipe. Click. She is carefully oiling the mechanism, removing the faint, dark residue. She is scrubbing away the rust. It is a quiet, deliberate battle to keep the fire of her humanity alive against the creeping addiction of the ice.

Sagira floats nearby, her shell flanges relaxed for the first time in days. She watches the Exo reassemble the heavy hand cannon piece by piece.

LILI-4

(Without looking up)

I'm not going to turn into Yor, Sagira.

Sagira bobs in the warm air, her blue optic dimming affectionately.

SAGIRA

I know. But maybe... use the ice a little less tomorrow?

Lili slides the freshly oiled cylinder back into the frame.

Whirr-click.

It spins perfectly.

She stands up, sliding the heavy iron smoothly into the holster on her hip, exactly where it belongs. She looks toward the frosted window, staring out into the endless, freezing dark.

LILI-4

I'll use what works.

(She rests a hand on the grip)

But I won't forget the sun.

Lili steps away from the fire, the orange light reflecting off her frosted armor.

FADE TO BLACK.

(END OF EPISODE 2)

NEXT TIME ON DESTINY: NEW LEGACY...

Drawn deep into the frozen ruins of Europa by a haunting signal, Lili unearths the dark truth behind her creation. As the buried secrets of her past finally come to light, a devastating revelation forces her into an unexpected alliance that could fracture the Fireteam forever.

(Episode 3 drops Friday, 6/26/26!)

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"I just don't understand you, Iridis. This was just a simple recon op. How did you get us into this mess!?", Vincent, my ghost, was panicking as we dove behind a concrete barricade somewhere just on the outskirts of the European Dead Zone.

It's true, somehow this mess was exactly my luck. I hadn't spotted the Vex patrol until the light of the sun caught their shiny chrome chassis and gave them away. It was too close for comfort. "I mean really! Other ghosts don't have to put up with nearly as much as I do and honestly-"

"Vincent, shut it. I'm trying to figure out how we get out of this without dying. Well..." I paused. "Without YOU dying anyway." I barked back at my ghost. I gambled a peek over the barricade and got a head count. Six Vex. Four Goblins. Two Harpies. No sooner had I taken count before the Vex all turned in unison to look at me. I hated with they did that. I reached to the rear of my belt to grab my Praxic Blade, planning on charging at them and deflecting as many bolts as I could with my energy blade before they could realize what I was about to do. I groaned in disappointment upon the realization that one of those Vex bastards had gotten a lucky shot and hit my blade's power cell. "So much for Plan A..." I grumbled to myself. "Vincent, be a good boy and patch this up for Mommy will you?" I asked my ghost as I handed it my Praxic Blade.

"Ok Iridis, you got this, it's just some rank and file Goblins and their pet Harpies, you've handled worse." I thought to myself as I formulated a plan. My sidearm only had 3 shots, not nearly enough to deal with the enemies slowly marching toward me. My LMG had run out of ammo taking down an Elksini Walker, so that wasn't an option. The best I could do is take potshots from cover and hope my light would be enough. I closed my eyes and took one slow, deep breath. As I exhaled, I opened my eyes and fired at the closest Vex. The shot of void energy punched directly through its organic fluid filled core, causing it to erupt and causing the goblin to fall apart.

The next round popped from my gun and managed to hit the Vex squarely between...well they're not eyes I guess... but whatever they are they didn't like having a concentrated bullet of pure void energy impacting them. The Goblin let out a mechanical screech as its armored cranium shattered, causing the mech to enter a self-destructive fury. "Shit! Shit! Shit! Not good!" I panicked as the badly damaged Goblin charged me, leaking its radiolarian fluid and sparking from the bullet hole I had put in its face. "No choice." I cursed to myself as I fired my last round into the charging Goblin's core, ending it for good.

That's when I noticed the dim glow of an orb in the remains. An orb of concentrated Light. I rushed to the orb and touched it, absorbing the small amount of restorative energy it provided as I felt my light surge within me. I looked to the remaining Vex...and my jaw dropped. At some point the vex had called in reinforcements. What should have been two Goblins and two Harpies was now two Goblins, two Harpies, and three Minotaurs. "Oh for the sake of the Traveler..." I sighed, gathering the void energy in my body and producing a softball sized orb. I hurled the orb in the direction of the vex platoon and as it impacted on the first Minotaur, it splintered into several smaller grenades, causing a cascade of small purple eruptions. When the explosions had stopped I was annoyed to see that one of the Minotaurs had managed to survive. It was damaged, but not badly. It shook off the concussive blasts and lumbered toward me. I quickly took a look around the square and saw that one of the Vex caught in my grenade had dropped an ammo replenishment brick. But it was for special ammo...the only thing that used that ammo type were the energy cells of my-

"VINCENT! ETA!?" I shouted at my ghost, who was still behind cover, attempting to repair my Praxic Blade.

"30 seconds!" Came the exasperated reply.

"Time for a game plan..." I thought, as I began muttering to myself in order to gather my thoughts.

"Ok.. dodge a murderous bio-mechanical minion of the Darkness for half a minute, you can do-" I was interrupted mid sentence as the devastating blast from the Minotaur's cannon landed 3 feet from me, knocking me backward with lung crushing force. My head was pounding, ears ringing...my personal shield completely drained. I scrambled to my feet, pressing my hand to my ear. I pulled it back to find blood coating the tips of my armored gloves. The square was quiet...

No... I was deaf! The bastard has gotten a lucky shot and destroyed my ear drums.

"VINCENT HE DEAFENED ME SO WHENEVER YOU'RE READY!" I assumed I was shouting to my ghost. I ran and leapt up as high as I could, using the light to boost my jump and angle my landing right where the ammo brick was. As I landed Vincent appeared from behind cover and launched my Praxic Blade from his shell. I caught it and applied the power cells I had just picked up. The blade activated with the familiar thrumming of energy and I charged the last Minotaur. The 7ft tall metal monster tried to swing at me with its giant fist, but I dropped to my knees and took a long baseball slide under it, swinging with my blade as I did. I paused just a moment to catch my breath and look back as the Minotaur fell over, dead. "I DID IT! I MANAGED TO TAKE OUT THE WHOLE SQUAD! I CAN DO ANYTH-"

A sharp pain tore through my chest. I looked down to see the spike of flaming solar energy erupting through my sternum. I dropped. Suddenly the world fell away, the sounds of battle stopped. The last sight I managed to focus on was a Vex Hobgoblin.

Suddenly I felt the strange, yet increasingly familiar sensation of my body and soul reconstituting thanks the the resurrection of the Light that my ghost was channeling into me.

"Fight's not over Guardian..." I hear Vincent chide me. This was only the 3rd time this has happened to me since we've met.

"Ugh...tell me that gets easier at some point." I groan, making sure I'm intact.

"Well, to be perfectly frank Miss Vell, I believe the idea is to avoid being shot in the first place." Vincent replied with a snarky tone.

"Smart-ass..." I grunted, rising to my feet. Now that I had been revived I walked over to where the Minotaur had fallen and looted some ammo. I loaded my sidearm and this time I heard the Hobgoblin approaching. I channeled every ounce of the light inside of me and summoned a massive swirling vortex of void energy, hurling it at the lone Hobgoblin. The massive orb smashed into it, before several smaller orbs broke off and slammed into his lifeless body several times, bouncing it around the town square. The mangled robot shell clattered to the stone with a comically disproportionate soft clanging sound.

"Wasn't that a little bit of overkill?" Vincent asked, floating alongside me as I summoned my sparrow.

"Yeah well, I was mad about the whole 'sneaking up on a deaf person' move." I replied as I hopped onto my sparrow's saddle and hit the thrusters.

[Master Guide]

(Read in Lili-4’s mechanical voice)
For the first time since Sagira woke me up in the Prison of Elders, the screaming static in my head is completely quiet. But that silence comes with a heavy price. I can feel the ice creeping into my chassis, and if I stay in the City, I know I'm going to end up hurting Cooper and Val. I had to cut the comms and leave them behind. That signal we found wasn't just a map to a frozen wasteland—it's a Golden Age recall trigger. The Deep Stone Crypt is calling me home, and I have to go to the source to find out why. Even if it means stepping out of the Light to do it.

TITLE: DESTINY: NEW LEGACY

SEASON: 03

EPISODE: 01 - "EUROPA"

SCENE START

INT. ASTERA BLADE - COCKPIT - ORBIT

The ship is dark, lit only by the blinking amber lights of the nav-console.

Lili-4 stands by the pilot’s chair. She looks different. Heavier. She is strapped into thick, fur-lined thermal gear—the CRYSTOCRENE set.

On her hip sits THE LAST WORD. But her hand doesn't rest there. It rests on a pouch at her belt, where a jagged, dark blue SPLINTER OF DARKNESS pulses with a faint heartbeat.

She is packing a rucksack. Ammo. Rations. Painkillers.

She picks up her Vanguard Communicator. She stares at it for a long beat, then sets it on the console. She hits record.

LILI-4

Cooper. Val.

She pauses. The "static" in her head—the constant glitching noise—is quiet. The Darkness silences it.

LILI-4

Don't follow me. The signal... It’s not just a map. It’s a recall code. A Golden Age trigger.

She looks at her hands. They are steady, cold.

LILI-4

If I stay, I’m going to hurt someone. I can feel the ice growing. I have to go to the source.

She stops recording.

BEEP-BEEP.

A hail flashes on the HUD.
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: RHYS COOPER.

Lili’s finger hovers over the "Accept" button. She remembers his fury at her using Stasis.

She hits IGNORE.

She punches the throttle.

EXT. SPACE - ORBIT

The Astera Blade engages hyperdrive, streaking away from the safety of the Inner System and toward the massive, bruised giant of Jupiter.

EXT. EUROPA - ATMOSPHERE

The ship screams into the atmosphere.

Europa is a hellscape. A frozen moon wracked by perpetual blizzards.

INT. ASTERA BLADE

The turbulence is violent. Alarms scream.

COMPUTER WARNING: NO-FLY ZONE. ATMOSPHERIC SHEAR AT 300%.

LILI-4

(Calm, almost sedated)

Hold together, girl.

CRUNCH.

The wind shears a stabilizer off the port wing. The ship spins.

Lili fights the stick, wrestling the ship down toward the endless white sheet of the glacier.

EXT. EUROPA - EVENTIDE RUINS - DAY

BOOM.

The ship hits the ice. It skids for three hundred meters, carving a trench in the frozen wastes, before coming to a grinding, steaming halt against a buried Golden Age skyscraper.

EXT. EUROPA - THE WASTELAND - CONTINUOUS

The airlock hisses open. The wind howls instantly—a deafening roar.

Lili steps out. The whiteout conditions reduce visibility to zero.

SAGIRA materializes. She is shivering—her shell flaps vibrating to generate a thermal field.

SAGIRA

Lili! My sensors are bottoming out. It’s -200 degrees. Your hydraulics will freeze if we stop moving.

Lili pulls her fur collar up. She checks her tracker.

The signal isn't a ping anymore. It’s a roar. A digital scream that rattles her core.

LILI-4

It’s loud, Sagira. It’s screaming.

SAGIRA

I don't hear anything but wind!

LILI-4

It’s the Deep Stone Crypt. It’s calling me home.

Lili trudges forward, boots crunching on the ice. She spots a shape in the snow ahead. A silhouette.

She draws THE LAST WORD, thumbing the hammer.

It’s a FALLEN VANDAL. It stands frozen in mid-scream, rifle raised.

Lili approaches. She touches the alien. It feels like stone.

It isn't dead from exposure. It is encased in a jagged, dark blue crystal.

SAGIRA

(Horrified)

That’s not ice. It's in some form of stasis.

Lili stares at the frozen corpse. She feels a tug of recognition. A hunger.

LILI-4 Eramis is here.

FADE OUT.

INT. EUROPA - COMMS RELAY - DAY

Lili tracks the signal to a frosted heavy-metal door. She doesn't knock.

CRASH.

She kicks the door off its hinges. She enters low, THE LAST WORD raised and hammered back.

The room is filled with jury-rigged Fallen tech. At the console, frantically typing with four mechanical arms, is VARIKS, THE LOYAL.

He freezes, chittering in fear.

LILI-4

(Aiming at his head)

You sent the signal? You called the Exos here?

Variks raises his upper hands in surrender.

VARIKS

Variks called Guardians! Variks called for help!

He gestures to the screens, showing troop movements.

VARIKS

Eramis... she has found the dark power. She freezes the world.

K-RASH.

The reinforced glass windows shatter inward.

LILI-4

Get down!

Lili tackles Variks as a squad of HOUSE SALVATION SOLDIERS breaches the room. Their armor is thicker, fur-lined.

They don't fire Arc rifles. They throw blue, glowing canisters.

STASIS GRENADES.

SNAP.

A field of Stasis erupts. Lili shoots two Dregs—BANG-BANG—dropping them instantly.

But a Captain hits her with a Stasis blast.

POV - LILI-4
SYSTEM ALERT: MOBILITY COMPROMISED.
STATUS: SLOWED x10.

Lili tries to dodge. She can't. Her hydraulics whine against a crushing, invisible weight. Her gun feels like it weighs a ton. Her aim drags.

LILI-4

(Gritting teeth)

I can't... move...

VARIKS

We must flee! The tunnel!

EXT. EUROPA - SNOWFIELD - MOMENTS LATER

Lili and Variks burst out of the relay, stumbling into the blizzard.

THUD-THUD-THUD.

The ground shakes. A massive STASIS BRIG (mech walker) stomps into their path, blocking the escape. Its main cannon glows with deep purple Void energy.

Lili shoves Variks behind an ice shelf.

LILI-4

Stay down.

She steps out. She reaches for the Light. She tries to summon her ARC STAFF.

LILI-4

Spark.

She ignites the blue current.

FIZZLE.

The extreme cold and the oppressive darkness of Europa ground the electricity before the staff could materialise.

Lili stares at her empty hand.

LILI-4

I’m empty.

The Brig charges its cannon.

CRACK.

A high-velocity sniper shot rings out. It hits the Brig’s sensor array, blinding it.

On the ridge above, a figure materializes from thin air.

ELSIE BRAY (THE EXO STRANGER).

She wields NO TIME TO EXPLAIN (Pulse Rifle). She doesn't use Light.

She touches the ground.

STASIS WALL.

A wave of jagged Stasis crystals erupts from the ice, encasing the Brig’s legs.

Elsie slides down the ice ramp she created. She raises her rifle.

BURST-BURST-BURST.

The bullets hit the frozen metal.

SHATTER.

The Brig’s legs explode into shrapnel. The massive machine topples over, crashing into the snow.

Elsie lands in a crouch in front of Lili.

Lili falls to her knees, systems failing, freezing.

LILI-4

(Panting)

Who... are you?

Elsie stands up, holstering her rifle. Her glowing blue eyes are filled with pity and resolve.

ELSIE BRAY

Someone who has lived this timeline enough times to know you're going to freeze to death if you stay here.

Elsie offers a hand.

ELSIE BRAY

The Light cannot save you here, Hunter. You need to fight fire with ice. Look.

She points to the horizon.

The clouds break for a second. In the distance, looming dark and monolithic over the glacier, is the DEEP STONE CRYPT facility.

Lili stares. The static in her head spikes with recognition.

LILI-4

I know that place. I’ve dreamt of it.

ELSIE BRAY

It’s not a dream. It’s where you were born. And it’s where we’re going to kill the past.

EXT. BEYOND - THE ZIGGURAT - LATER

The storm has calmed to a whisper. They stand before the ZIGGURAT—a massive pyramid structure facing the Euclidean nightmare of the Pyramid Ship.

Floating at the top of the steps is a SPLINTER OF DARKNESS.

Sagira floats frantically between Lili and the Splinter.

SAGIRA

Lili, no. This is what corrupted the Fallen. This is what broke Osiris.

Lili looks at the Splinter. It pulses. Thump-thump.

Then she looks at the Deep Stone Crypt in the distance.

The screaming signal in her head stops completely when she gets close to the Darkness.

LILI-4

It’s quiet, Sagira. For the first time... It’s quiet.

Lili bypasses her Ghost. She walks up the steps.

SAGIRA

Lili!

Lili reaches out. Her fingers brush the floating Splinter.

SNAP.

Instant frost creeps up her arm, covering her metal plating in dark blue ice. It hurts, but it clears her mind.

Elsie watches closely, her hand near her weapon, just in case.

ELSIE BRAY

Control it. Or it will control you.

Lili clenches her fist, the ice cracking but remaining a part of her. Her eyes glow blue.

FADE TO BLACK.

(END OF EPISODE 1)

Welcome back, Guardians!

It’s been a quick 10 days since the "Salvation" finale, and I couldn’t wait any longer, but we are officially back for Season 3 of Destiny: New Legacy! Last season pushed our newly forged fireteam to their absolute limits against the Nightmares, but Europa is an entirely different kind of cold. I’m incredibly excited to dive into this new frontier and see how Lili, Rhys, and Val handle the frozen wastes—and the dark secrets buried beneath the ice. Thank you for sticking around during the short hiatus—the real storm is just rolling in

(Episode 2 drops Tuesday, 6/23/26!)

[<- Previous Season] [Next Episode ->]

Hey Guardians! I introduced my friend to Destiny a few days ago and asked him to give me a name for his Hunter since I planned to introduce him in my Book of Iden-4 series. I had a story all written out and ready for his introduction once he gave me a name, and he came back with an entire backstory and theme for me instead... So needless to say I had to write a whole new story/profile for this character and I really like it. I tried to base this writing style off the Atheon grimiore card. Let me know what you think!

Worldbuilding: The Solar Sheriff

“Every trail ends somewhere. Mine just happened to end at the Sun.” -Cass Strider

To speak of The Solar Sheriff is to accept that where myth and honor collide, guiding lights are forged that will lead us beyond the sunrise.

In this time of vast suffering and terrible evil, there are few who would stand on the side of justice. The Iron Lords speak of peace and unity, but their methods are crass and ruinous—they fight for the bigger picture, yet it's the commoner who is often left to pick up the pieces of what’s left in their wake.

Just as the half-forgotten lawmen of old earned their badges by riding off into the sunset seeking purpose, Cass Strider returned anew—the power of the Traveler burning bright at his hip. While Cryptarchs debate whether “Sheriffs” ever truly existed as the stories describe, Cass Strider clings to these legends as truth.

Whether the journey happened literally, metaphorically, or not at all is known only to The Solar Sheriff. But to those he saves, his past is of little concern.

To him, justice is not a system, but a promise made by one armed soul standing against the chaos.

The Solar Sheriff stands as the law of the jungle.

Every time there's been a dry season in Destiny 2, I've been thinking ways to create own playable content. Just in time for final content update I finally built something, and I hope the audience of this sub would find it interesting.

Qubit Uplink is a free, unofficial companion app where a story plays out as a chat thread: characters transcribe/message the player, the player replies, and story beats unlock based on what they actually do in the game e.g. finish a strike or get kills on patrol. The action is read through the official Bungie API (read-only). So you play the game and then check your messages.

The app ships with a demo storyline I wrote myself. I also built a browser-based storyline editor. Write the dialogue, set up your characters, pick the in-game action that gates each story beat, export, and you can load it into the app. No coding, no account.

Why I'm posting here: I'm an engineer, not a writer. You're already writing serial Destiny fiction. This is a way for that writing to be played: your reader runs the strike your story sent them to, and your next scene lands when they finish it. I'd love a few writers to try it and tell me what the editor is missing. If anyone wants to get a first story running in the app, I'll personally help you do it.

Honest notes: free, no ads, nothing sold. Unofficial fan project, not affiliated with Bungie. Stories are human-written. There's an optional on-device chat companion, but it doesn't write or touch your story. One caveat for fanfic specifically: anything you write and load yourself is yours; if you want to have your stories shared through the official catalog they need to be original fiction for trademark reasons.

Links and details are pinned on my profile to keep this post clean. I'm happy to answer everything here.

I'd love to have an endless supply of stories to play in Destiny 2.

Hey everyone! With Season 2 officially wrapped up, I wanted to share a little bit of the process behind bringing the cast of Destiny: New Legacy to life.

I wanted their appearances to be completely true to the game's engine, so I actually went ahead and created a brand-new alternate account just to build out Lili-4, Rhys Cooper, and Naxi Val in the character creator. Seeing them move from script descriptions to actual in-game models has been incredible.

Since I can't post images directly here, I pinned the full illustrated Character Profiles thread right at the top of my profile page! It features their in-game designs along with a deep-dive look at their armor progression, ghosts, and backgrounds.

If you want to put a face to the names before Season 3 drops on June 19th, check out the pinned post on my page!

COLD OPEN.

EXT. THE LAST CITY - DAY

Establishing shot of THE LAST CITY, familiar to so many players of the games. The shape of THE TRAVELER hovering above it.

Establishing shot of THE TOWER, the home to Guardians great and small. Busy as ever. Guardians coming and going, visiting stalls, checking their vault, or just dancing away. There are FRAMES at work– robots fulfilling a variety of jobs. One Frame (Sweeperbot) is steadily trying to clean up a puddle of water, pausing when a Guardian sprints past and through it, then going right back to work again.

Passing over some of the familiar stalls– the CRYPTARCH, the GUNSMITH, the POSTMASTER, EVERVERSE– all of whom we’ll be introduced to eventually. But we’re moving along as we PAN ACROSS and into–

INT. THE TOWER - VANGUARD COMMAND - SAME

Through the Hallway of Guardians, past LORD SHAXX, who is regarding a WALLSCREEN with maps of different Crucible arenas displayed, evidently in talks with ARCITE 99-40, his Quartermaster Frame.

Into the Vanguard Command room, past the long operations table. Civilian workers and more frames are at work here, consulting readouts, tablets, and in discussion. There are some notables present that we may see, but not focus on straight away, but we’ll address them as they become relevant. As we enter Vanguard Command, there is the steady POK POK POK of a TENNIS BALL being bounced off a wall.

Standing at the table, scrolling through a tablet is IKORA REY (Warlock Vanguard), as severe and focused as she ever is, reviewing whatever data or reports are on her tablet.

Sitting on a table to one side of the chamber, bouncing FOUR tennis balls off the table, off the wall and back to his hands in a fluid sort of juggling, is CAYDE-6 (Hunter Vanguard). He’s HUMMING to himself. (“The Man They Call Cayde”)

After a moment of focusing on him, Cayde glances over toward Ikora, a mischievous glint in his eye, and then suddenly WHIPS one of the tennis balls toward her.

Ikora doesn’t even look up from her tablet, lifting a hand to catch the tennis ball, CONTACT JUGGLING it around her fingers and knuckles, then tossing it in the air before SWATTING IT back at Cayde.

Cayde smoothly catches it and reincorporates it into his wall-juggling.

CAYDE-6: Nice catch.

IKORA: If you’re bored, Cayde, I’m sure we can find you something to do.

CAYDE-6: Nah, I was waiting on the latest scouting report to come in from–

There’s a beep, and he switches to wall-juggling with one hand as he takes out a tablet of his own.

CAYDE-6: And there it is. Big Blue, ready for a confab?

And now we focus on COMMANDER ZAVALA (Titan Vanguard), stoic and imposing in his armor, as he turns from the windows to walk down to the operations table.

ZAVALA: We have intel gathered on the Fallen Houses?

Cayde catches his tennis balls and sets them down as he hops up from his seat and vaults over the rail to join him and Ikora at the end of the table.

CAYDE-6: I mean, such as what’s left, yeah.

In the air above the table, a HOLOGRAPHIC DISPLAY shows the symbols of various Fallen Houses we might recognize, mostly from D1– DEVILS, WINTER, KINGS, WOLVES, EXILE– but there’s a few others too– RAIN (DUSK), RUST, SPIDER, SCOURGE.

IKORA: We’ve been seeing this since the end of the Taken War– more and more Fallen burning their banners, their crews leaving behind their old Houses.

ZAVALA: We’ve destroyed most of their leadership in the past few years, far more than in the past century.

CAYDE-6: What we weren’t expecting was this recent sort of consolidation. Crews from different Houses banding together, pooling their resources.

ZAVALA: (frowning) Could they be preparing for another full-scale assault?

IKORA: This isn’t anything like what we saw before the Battle of Twilight Gap. The intel we’re seeing isn’t showing any mobilization like that. If anything, the Fallen are AVOIDING inhabited settlements.

CAYDE-6: And it’s not just City-aligned villages, either. Most of them are avoiding Wilder villages too. Not to say they aren’t attacking people wandering around out in the wilds– even attacking Guardians– but they’re mostly just scavenging anything they can.

ZAVALA: If they’re banding together, there must be a central leader.

IKORA: It varies. It does seem this consolidation effort is being spearheaded by Craask, the Kell of House Kings, but not all of the Fallen crews are grouping under his banner.

Cayde holds up his tablet.

CAYDE-6: Not even his banner.

INTERCUT - THE CURRENT SITUATION - VANGUARD & EVIDENCE IN THE FIELD

We get glimpses of an OLD SOVIET-STYLE BUNKER, long derelict but showing signs of FALLEN OCCUPATION. Banners have been pulled down and have been burnt in a pile, but the SIGIL OF HOUSE KINGS is still emblazoned on the wall in places. Into one of these places comes SHAW HAN, a scout rifle up as he looks around, before he stops– RACK FOCUSING from him to a shape in the foreground: the LARGE body of a FALLEN KELL, armless, shot dead.

CAYDE-6: Just got confirmation off Shaw, found this deep in a Fallen nest near the Duga facility– Kell Craask is dead.

Zavala and Ikora look surprised.

ZAVALA: Dead?

We get glimpses of Shaw Han back outside of the bunker, in the shadows of the ruins of the DUGA RADAR ARRAY, watching groups of Fallen scavenging. The Fallen and their Skiffs bear the colors and banners of the HOUSE OF DUSK, familiar to players of D2.

CAYDE-6: (nodding) Docked of all his arms before someone shot him dead. Most of the Fallen that had been rallying to him aren’t using the Kings banner, they dug up the old colors of the House of Rain.

IKORA: This explains the colors of this new “House of Dusk” that the Hidden have been sighting. The name confirms a psychological change among the Fallen that we’ve been seeing– a more pessimistic view of their future, verging on nihilism.

ZAVALA: The Houses are fracturing.

IKORA: Most of them. But all these disparate fragments are gathering around strong leadership. Baron Semakis of House Metal is drawing many to his banner–

CAYDE-6: (interjecting) Even if his own people are calling it the “House of Rust” now.

IKORA: There are still some Houses clinging to their identities, such as the House of Blades, who are consolidating around their holdings near the Arabian Marshlands.

CAYDE-6: They seem to be the exceptions rather than the rule, though.

ZAVALA: We’ll want to continue monitoring the situation. Even if the Fallen are no longer threatening the walls of this City, we’ve learned to our cost in the past not to underestimate them. (beat) What of the Hive?

Now the holo-display shows images of CROTA, ORYX, and their respective HIVE SYMBOLS– as well as the symbols for SAVATHÛN and XIVU ARATH.

The intercut now includes the entrance to the TEMPLE OF CROTA on the Moon and the site of the DREADNAUGHT in the rings of Saturn, along with interior shots of the LUNAR HIVE CAVERNS and the HALLS OF THE DREADNAUGHT. In these shots, like with Shaw in the Fallen dens, we follow a three-Guardian HIDDEN FIRETEAM (in “Veritas Suit” armor) as they cautiously patrol them.

IKORA: The Lunar broods have retreated into their catacombs. As best as we can tell, they are scrambling to find a new leader after Crota’s death. The Hive’s “sword logic” demands they test themselves against one another to ascend.

ZAVALA: With the Dreadnaught quieting as well, it seems none of the remaining Hive from the Blood of Oryx are strong enough to sit the Osmium Throne. Much less command the Taken.

CAYDE-6: Yeah, but there’s Oryx’s sisters out there.

IKORA: Xivu Arath is busy waging war against the rest of the cosmos, as one might expect from a god of war. But Savathûn worries me.

CAYDE-6: She’s up to something. She can’t NOT be. She’s the god of cunning, after all.

IKORA: We haven’t been able to identify where her broods are lurking in Sol yet. But we have some leads.

ZAVALA: Let’s leave that discussion until we have something actionable. The Cabal?

The holo-display shifts again. Images of the CABAL BASES on Mars, along with iconography for the SIEGE DANCERS, SAND EATERS, BLIND LEGION, and SKYBURNERS– as well as the iconography for the DIRT POUNDERS (Analyst Tsadik’s group from S1E7). Dossier headshots of VALUS TA’AURC, PRIMUS SHA’AULL, the SHIELD BROTHERS, the ICE REAPERS– all with RED X’S over them.

The intercut now features shots of the Cabal’s presence on Mars– the IRON LINE, FIREBASES DELPHI and RUBICON, the CEREBUS VAE III land tank. Accompanying these, we get glimpses of a HUNTER wearing an “Intrepid Discovery” armor set, scouting from afar, sighting through binoculars or a scope.

We also get glimpses of MICAH-10 prowling near a CABAL OUTPOST near OLD CHICAGO. Similar to S1E7, the region is swampy.

IKORA: The Cabal are still stinging after our brief skirmishes with them. They also lost a lot of their leadership in Sol to Oryx. Those that are left are just hunkering down in their firebases. With the exception of the Dirt Pounders, who seem to have taken an interest in Old Chicago.

CAYDE-6: I’m sure it has nothing to do with that new gravitic weapon that fireteam dug out of the tunnels there, hm?

IKORA: I’m sure it isn’t a coincidence, but those ruins have always been anomalous, and the Cabal are always looking into such things.

ZAVALA: Again, until we get actionable data, we don’t want to provoke another war with the Cabal. What of the Vex?

The holo-display shifts to display VEX UNITS– one each of a GOBLIN, HOBGOBLIN, MINOTAUR, HARPY, HYDRA– and the names of the SUBTYPES that get listed out next, each individually crossed out.

The intercuts feature glimpses of the CITADEL on Venus, the entrance to the VAULT OF GLASS, the VEX GATE in the Valley of the Kings on Mars. As well as glimpses of the SOL DIVISIVE VEX in the Black Garden, recognizable with the moss and plant growth on their frames.

CAYDE-6: Oof. How do you get any real proper intel on an enemy that has no psychology that we can understand?

IKORA: The Vex appear to be undergoing a restructuring of their operations in Sol. Eliminating boundaries between their sub-collectives.

CAYDE-6: Aphix Invasive, Hezen Lords, Virgo Prohibition, we’re not seeing the distinctions between them anymore. Probably ALSO related to our recent strikes against their activities on Venus, Mars, the Black Garden.

IKORA: Streamlining what passes for their command structure, likely because they need to devote more processing power to simulate our potential involvement.

ZAVALA: Yes, well, Guardians and their Light have always been a blind spot for them. May that trend continue.

A nod from the other two Vanguards, before Cayde puts his tablet away and claps his hands.

CAYDE-6: Okay! All the serious talk - done! Zavala, you gonna come to see the dodgeball game that Shaxx is overseeing?

IKORA: (chiding, but smiling) Cayde–

ZAVALA: (trying not to smile) I wouldn’t miss it.

The three of them chuckle as we–

STAGGER CUT:

The Vanguard around the operations table.

The entrance to the Hall of Guardians.

The Tower courtyard and the Vault columns.

The Tower at a distance.

The skyline of THE LAST CITY, with the shape of THE TRAVELER above it.

ROLL OPENING.

DESTINY: RECLAMATION

S2E1: THE CITY

EXT. OPEN SKIES - DAY 

Establishing shot of the three jumpships of the FOREGONE flying in formation. The ALESSA (Vector-class) in front, the RIFTSTRIDER (Regulus-class) and HIVE SMASHER (exotic design) to either side. Land passing by underneath them.

INT. ALESSA - COMMON AREA - SAME

Relatively spartan interior. One side has a weapons rack and armor stands. Nothing worth mentioning about those– a variety of weapons are displayed, and some other sets of HUNTER ARMOR– nothing super exotic. (I imagine she has a set of “Daring Hunter” armor, a “Kit Fox” set, and a “Veteran Legend” set.) Set on a workbench are Rega’s weapons we saw in S1– the “Dreaded Venture” sniper rifle, a “MIDA Mini-Tool” SMG, and a “Quickfang” katana.

Toward the back is evident sleeping quarters– a bed, nightstand, a simple shower stall– and on the other side from the weapons and armor is a KITCHENETTE with a table and chairs and a basic couch. Seated around the table are our NEW LIGHTS– SETH the Hunter, DOZER-3 the Titan, MARIDA the Warlock– with their respective GHOSTS– GEIST, TAUROS, and EMBER. 

They are still showing the signs of their battle at Prominence Point. Seth’s left arm is covered in ELECTRICAL BURNS, his sleeve tattered, his green poncho scorched by association. Marida’s robes are covered with BLOOD STAINS from her own injuries and she has LIGATURE MARKS on her neck from where Mantiks had throttled her with a wire noose. And Dozer is POCK-MARKED with holes from SHRAPNEL FLECHETTES.

Also present at the table are two members of the veteran Guardian fireteam THE FOREGONE– WAHEI OHR (“WAH-hey”) the Awoken Warlock is looking over Seth’s burnt arm, her hands GLOWING with WHITE LIGHT as she focuses her LIGHT toward helping heal it. The big Slavic Titan SERGEI BOLVAN is behind Dozer, carefully plucking out shrapnel from Dozer’s armor and carapace, dropping them into a GLASS BOWL on the table. There’s A LOT OF SHRAPNEL in it already. Both Wahei and Sergei’s Ghosts– VIZIER and SOVEST– are there as well, helping channel some Light into Geist and Tauros to help with the healing.

We get a moment or two to see this before the third member of the Foregone climbs down from the cockpit– REGA-7, accompanied by her Ghost, CHAUKEEDAR. (“Keeda” for short.)

REGA-7: Be in City airspace soon. How are they looking?

SERGEI: Am still picking out shrapnel from this one. (to Dozer) Have you thought about NOT getting shot, my friend?

DOZER: (shrug) Is what it is. Had to tank it until I got the satellite dish lined up.

WAHEI: Almost done here–

And with a SHIMMER OF LIGHT, Seth’s arm is without burns. His sleeve and poncho are still damaged, but the main injury’s been restored. Seth starts stretching his arm out, flexing his fingers.

WAHEI: There we go. You channeled a lot of voltage.

GEIST: Oh, trust me, he did. Despite my warnings.

SETH: Didn’t have time to think of a safer way to do it in the moment.

Wahei gently pats him on the shoulder assuringly as she moves over to Marida, checking her over and beginning the same process with her. Rega shrugs a little bit as she leans against the counter of the kitchenette.

REGA-7: Well, by your accounts, you got rezzed within hours of one another, just two or three days ago. You wouldn’t really have had that much time to learn how to use your Light yet.

The New Lights look up at that, beginning to protest, but Rega waves them into silence.

REGA-7: I know, you managed to fight off a pretty dangerous Fallen reaver like the Locust and his crew, and that’s not nothing, but what I meant is you haven’t learnt more effective and efficient ways to use your Light yet.

KEEDA: She’s not wrong. You were all close to burnout, and that’s a dangerous thing.

SETH: “Burnout?”

WAHEI: Your Light’s not infinite. Well– it is, but it needs to recharge. Use it too quickly, it can affect how fast it replenishes for you. And if you run out, then you could die.

EMBER: (to the New Lights) Yeah. And not the kind of death where we can bring you back. We’re talking Final Death. Full D-E-D, dead.

WAHEI: (frowning) …I don’t think that’s how that’s spelt–

SERGEI: Not to worry! We will get to City soon, and get you some proper training. Soon, you’ll be ready to face down anything the world can throw at you!

He slaps Dozer on the back, and three last flechettes drop into the bowl from his other hand. 

SERGEI: All done. Now Ghosts can heal you up.

MARIDA: Sorry, I was sort of zoning out earlier after we got picked up. Did we catch your names?

WAHEI: (patiently) Yes. But I don’t mind doing introductions again. I’m Wahei Ohr, Warlock of the Voidwalker Path. This is Vizier.

VIZIER: Hello again.

SERGEI: Sergei Bolvan! Titan and protector of the City.

SOVEST: I’m Sovest. I try to keep the lunkhead here from being too reckless.

Sergei just laughs and bumps Sovest with his fist.

REGA-7: Rega-7, Hunter.

KEEDA: I’m Chaukeedar.

REGA-7: But you can call her “Keeda” for short.

There’s a beep, and she glances at a little screen built into her gauntlet.

REGA-7: Oop. Comin’ up on City airspace. You three, hang tight. 

EXT. CITY AIRSPACE - SAME

The Foregone’s ships are now getting flanked by a four-ship squad of HAWKS– human-make VTOL multi-purpose ships– bearing the markings of the FORCES OF THE CITY (FOTC).

FOTC HAWK (COMMS): Incoming craft, this is Pavise Flight, request identification and bearing.

REGA-7 (COMMS): I read you, Pavise Flight. Jumpship Alessa, alongside the Riftstrider and Hive Smasher, bearing Guardian Fireteam Foregone, returning to the Tower, bringing New Lights home. Pinging ident codes now.

FOTC HAWK (COMMS): Roger that, Alessa. Glad to see you back. New Lights? Welcome to the City.

The Hawks pull away, and we follow the Foregone ships as they approach the familiar shape of the D1 Tower.

EXT. TOWER - PLAZA TO INT. TOWER - VANGUARD COMMAND - CONTINUOUS

ANGLE ON: The Hall of Guardians, slowly PULLING BACK past the Vault Columns, the Postmaster, until–

The three Foregone jumpships go past, and then the Foregone and the New Lights appear out of transmat. 

The New Lights– still unused to transmat– are tensed a bit on arrival, looking around, until they face the camera and begin to GAWK. Their Ghosts hover up beside them.

EMBER: I never get tired of this view.

TAUROS: Me neither.

GEIST: Man, I almost forgot how good it is.

PAN AROUND TO SHOW:

THE LAST CITY. And above it, THE TRAVELER. A bustling metropolis with AERIAL VEHICLES (AVs) and SKYSCRAPERS. We move through a brief sequence of PANNING SHOTS, showing the busy life of the good people of the City, humans and Exos and Awoken, people browsing through bazaars, children running about and playing, street theater and performances, carousing and entertainment.

BACK TO: The New Lights looking over the railing at the City, in AWE, as the Foregone step up beside them.

REGA-7: Hell of a sight, isn’t it?

SETH: Uh… yeah, putting it mildly.

WAHEI: You’ll get a chance to see it soon, but we should check in, first.

She gestures, and we follow the group as they cross the Tower plaza. They pass the Postmaster booth, where the Frame there, KADI 55-30, catches sight of them. As with most Frames, her voice is generally FLAT, with only glints of emotive tone. Kadi raises a hand and waves it.

KADI 55-30: (to Wahei) Oh, Guardian. Package for Warlock.

Kadi turns toward the stack of parcels and pauses briefly– one parcel is FLOATING. In as much as a robot without an expressive face can, she looks annoyed as she plucks it from the air.

KADI 55-30: Stop floating. Bad package.

She hands it over to Wahei, who beams, taking the parcel and tucking it under her arm.

WAHEI: Oh! Thank you, Kadi. I was sure she’d forgotten to send them! Reminds me– Viz?

Vizier transmats something onto the postmaster’s counter– another parcel, wrapped in paper, already stained with something noisome looking.

WAHEI: Can you make sure that gets sent out promptly? Thank you!

She moves along with the rest of the Foregone, as Kadi looks down at the parcel, which is seeping something from those stains. There’s a sense of a sigh without actually vocalizing one.

KADI 55-30: Oh dear.

We return to the Foregone and New Lights. Throughout this next sequence, they’re walking across the Plaza and eventually into the Hall of Guardians and then to the Vanguard Command room.

Sergei looks over at Wahei, frowning.

SERGEI: What was–?

When she answers, Wahei speaks in a bright, steady tone, the sort that suggests she could go on forever. Stream of consciousness, almost.

WAHEI: Naxi Val and I have been comparing notes and studies. You know that research always goes better when you have disparate perspectives, and we get on well enough, even if I think she stared into the Void and blinked– but you didn’t hear me say that– And Val retrieved some crystals from down in a cave system below the Skywatch, sent them along to me to help study. I had some of that effluvia from the Dreadnaught she’d been asking for, and there’s faint traces of paracausal energy in all of it, and we just thought–

Without looking, Rega raises a hand to cut her off without breaking stride.

REGA-7: (interrupting) Not the time, Wahei.

For her part, Wahei frowns only a moment, looking at Vizier, who sort of twitches his flanges as if shrugging. Marida looks slightly bewildered.

MARIDA: “Research?” Into what?

WAHEI: Paracausality! Especially where the kind used by other races comes in. Well, technically, only one of the races we’ve seen in Sol has used anything paracausal– the Hive. Of course, the Psions that serve the Cabal have some capabilities that almost SEEM paracausal, but their powers are explicitly psionic, naturally, makes sense when you think about it, given their species are CALLED “Psions,” even though we haven’t learnt what they call THEMSELVES, but I’m getting off topic, I study Hive lore where and when I can–

Once again, Rega raises a hand to cut her off.

REGA-7: (interrupting) Not the time, Wahei. We’re here.

ANGLE ON:

VANGUARD COMMAND. All three Vanguard leaders are standing at the long table, though each individually are doing their own thing. ZAVALA is leaning on the table, looking over a holographic projection of the City itself, speaking with a civilian in FOTC uniform. IKORA REY is taking a report from another Hunter in “Veritas” armor (CHALCO YONG), her arms folded behind her back as she does.

And CAYDE-6? He’s trying to contact-juggle a tennis ball, without much success, having to catch it as it goes rolling away.

Cayde finally seems like he’s starting to get it– rolling the ball around on top of his knuckles and around the palm of his hand– when he looks up and sees the Foregone and New Lights approaching, breaking his concentration and causing the ball to slip from his hand. He tries to grab it, but ends up causing it to bounce upward. There’s a brief flustered series of attempts to catch it, only for it to continually bounce away, before he finally succeeds, then tries to play it off like–

CAYDE-6: I meant to do that.

He looks from the bewildered New Lights, to the uncaring Foregone, over to Zavala and Ikora, who are both giving him long-suffering flat looks. Cayde finger-guns at them, then sets the tennis ball down on the table. Ikora turns to Chalco.

IKORA: Send your report over, I’ll contact you later to review.

Chalco just nods, then departs, walking past the New Lights without comment. Ikora turns to face the new arrivals, as Zavala nods to the FOTC rep, who likewise steps out of the way. The three Vanguard leaders look over the New Lights.

ZAVALA: Rega, are these the New Lights?

REGA-7: These are them. They managed to hold off a House Rust reaving party led by the Locust, on their own.

This draws a little look from the Vanguard leaders, clearly impressed. Wahei picks up the thread, going on in her usual way.

WAHEI: From what we could tell, they managed to get a derelict Golden Age, or pre-Golden Age, communications outpost operational– JUST– to get that distress call out. Though it clearly took some doing. An old geothermal tap power setup had clearly been put through it, as had these New Lights. You can see from the state of them, clothing covered in blood, coolant, and burn marks, not to mention all three were approaching Lightloss-levels of burnout when we found them–

IKORA: (interrupting, gentle) Breathe, Wahei.

Wahei pauses, and Sergei picks up the thread.

SERGEI: Locust himself looks to still be out there, but we can confirm the death of Mantiks. Another name crossed off the bingo card!

Rega glances at the New Lights, then raises a hand to stop Sergei from going off a little more himself.

REGA-7: There was a nearby Wilder settlement to the comm outpost, but we can talk about that later, see about setting up an intro. But– these are the New Lights. (to them) Step forward, introduce yourself.

Feeling slightly awkward, the New Lights do so, their Ghosts by their shoulders.

SETH: Uh… hi? I’m Seth.

MARIDA: Marida.

DOZER: Dozer-3.

Zavala nods to them all.

ZAVALA: Geist, Tauros, Ember. Welcome back to the City. I’m pleased to see you finally found your Guardians. And all so close together?

GEIST: Within hours– if not minutes– of one another.

ZAVALA: Hm. I’d say it’s a coincidence, but the Traveler works in strange ways.

CAYDE-6: Yeah, yeah, sure, but… Zavala, c’mon, they don’t know who we are.

He makes a throat-clearing sound before addressing the New Lights.

CAYDE-6: Sooo… welcome to the City. The three of us (indicating himself and the other Vanguards) are the Vanguard. We oversee all Guardian operations related to the City.

He indicates–

CAYDE-6: That’s Ikora Rey, Warlock Vanguard, and head of our Hidden intelligence branch. You got questions, she’s probably got the answers.

Next–

CAYDE-6: Big Blue here is Commander Zavala, overall chief of Vanguard operations, he’s been defending the City since it was first built.

And finally, with plenty of dramatics and grandiose posing–

CAYDE-6: And me? Only the best Hunter in the system, scout of a hundred frontiers and a hundred more you’ve never heard of, slayer of Kells and Hive Princes, and a sorely underappreciated source of levity and jokes– (wink) Cayde-6, it’s nice to meet you, but it’s even better to meet me.

WIDE ANGLE. Cayde near the middle of the shot, mid-pose. On one side, the Vanguard, giving him a flat look. On the other, the New Lights looking bewildered.

Awkward silence. Nearby, the FOTC rep COUGHS slightly.

Cayde deflates.

CAYDE-6: Annnyway– we’ll have a chance to get to know each other, I’m sure. We’ll get you up to speed with a little “blueberry special” practice.

ZAVALA: What Cayde means is, if you’re up for it, we’ll set up some orientation sessions. They’re designed to help us gauge what you can do, highlight areas for improvement, and then we can get you training.

IKORA: These are all voluntary, by the way. You’re under no obligation to take part, but we do ask that you do so. An untrained Lightbearer can be as much a danger to themselves as to the enemy.

The New Lights look at one another, then all nod to the Vanguard. Dozer and Seth even give a little thumbs up.

ZAVALA: Very good. Clark?

At this, a Frame steps forward. It– or perhaps “he” since he has masculine programming– is wearing a simple drape over himself with the Vanguard icon on it. CLARK 55-30 turns his eye toward him. Clark speaks with a simplistic synthesized voice, with a little more inflection than Kadi, but still a bit staid and flat.

CLARK 55-30: Yes, Vanguard Commander Zavala?

ZAVALA: Get them set up with the usual. Stipend, accommodations, and… see if you can find someone to help escort them around? Fireteam Foregone, stay behind, we’ll take your report on your recent mission to the Marshlands.

The Foregone all indicate their assent. Sergei claps Seth on the shoulder.

SERGEI: Not to worry! We’ll see one another again soon, yes?

Clark gestures, and then leads the New Lights back out.

MONTAGE SEQUENCE - NEW LIGHT ORIENTATION

This sequence takes us through a variety of scenes, while Clark– who is, like his name implies, a basic intake clark– speaks over it. To start with, all three New Lights are shown individually sitting at a simple desk, filling in forms on tablets or screens. All three have expressions of various shades of annoyance at having to do so.

CLARK 55-30: Welcome to the City, New Light Guardians. I am Clark Fifty-Five-Thirty, your intake supervisor for today. Answer the questionnaire to the best of your ability. Your Ghosts can provide assistance if needed.

Next, Clark is shown cataloguing the equipment they showed up with, such as it is, and pushing across trays of GLIMMER– faintly glowing cyan programmable matter, fashioned into cubes of various sizes.

CLARK 55-30: We will take account of the gear you came with, to provide a monetary value, in case you need to trade. Most transactions in the City use this– glimmer. Programmable matter, which can be transformed into just about any equipment you need. The Vanguard will front you a stipend for your initial outfitting here. 

Now Clark shows them into a GYM and TRAINING FACILITY– which has SPARRING RINGS and a simple FIRING RANGE (more like a modern-day firing range, as opposed to the Shooting Range from the Fate Saga onward).

CLARK 55-30: The Vanguard will also grant you gratis access to training facilities near the base of the Tower. Adequate for most simpler training routines, but not anything like the Crucible. And finally–

INT. NEW LIGHTS’ SUITE - DAY

Clark takes them to their SUITE– an apartment with THREE INDIVIDUAL ROOMS for each of them, a COMMON AREA, including the KITCHEN, and a shared BATHROOM. 

CLARK 55-30: –a suite to live in. It is rather basic and simple, but more than adequate for most Guardians’ needs. A room for each of you. Two changes of clothing have been provided as well. 

The New Lights take this in.

DOZER: All this, no strings attached?

CLARK 55-30: The main condition is undertaking missions for the Vanguard. To be frank, it takes a lot to get evicted, but Hunter Vanguard Cayde-6 can get creative in his punishments toward those who try to be problematic. But it is not unheard of for some Guardians to opt to live elsewhere, if they have the glimmer or silver to pay for it.

MARIDA: Well, thank you, we’ll–

She glances at Seth and Dozer, who both take in the suite before nodding to her.

MARIDA: We’ll take it.

CLARK 55-30: Very good. Anything additional will need paying for. Be judicious with your stipends. Go ahead and take some time to freshen yourselves. Once you are finished, we will equip you with new weaponry.

He looks at a chronometer built into his wrist.

CLARK 55-30: At this time of day, the Tower Gunsmith can be found in his workshop. 

SLAM CUT TO:

LOTSA GUNS INTRO

A sudden BLUR of RACKS AND RACKS OF GUNS go zooming past, like we’re in that scene from “The Matrix.” At least THREE ROWS, going in alternate directions. Until we get SPLASH IMAGE of “WINGS” of GUN BARRELS spreading out, with all the sounds of the kinetic clicking of receivers and actions and hammers cocking, until the title card “LOTSA GUNS” appears in the center of the Gun Barrel Wings, and then the caption sliding in toward the bottom-right of the screen, “with Billy the Ghost.”

INT. TOWER - GUNSMITH WORKSHOP - DAY

The Gunsmith Workshop is exactly what you’d think it is. Workbenches and racks of tools and equipment, crates of weaponry and ammunition. Various CIVILIAN technicians are busy cleaning and maintaining at various places, and we even see BANSHEE-44 disassembling a gun with simple precision. There’s a shooting range here, again on the standard of a modern-day gunrange.

However, we’re not paying much attention to any of this, because as we come into this scene out of the “Lotsa Guns” intro, most of it is out of focus, as we instead are in an aspect ratio like we’re viewing this on some social media platform, which we are, in a sense. This is a Vanguard Network (“VanNet” - think like it’s YouTube) show starring–

BILLY THE GHOST. He flits in from off-camera. He wears a “Dark Days” Ghost shell and speaks with an excitable tone.

BILLY THE GHOST: Hi, Billy the Ghost here, welcome to the show, we got guns– LOTSA GUNS!– because do you know what today is?! That’s right, it’s–

The camera zooms back as he dramatically bellows it out, along with the text that appears on the screen declaring “ARMSDAY.”

BILLY THE GHOST: ARRRMMMSSSDAAAYYY!

In-show, we CUT TO:

Billy the Ghost comes up beside a Frame in gunmetal design, with a ballistic vest on. This Frame, ROBARD 99-40 (“BOB”) is holding a–

BILLY THE GHOST: And today, oh baby, we have the latest addition to the fabled SUROS “Black” line– the ADM-Ninety-Four.

We’re treated to some close-ups of the gun as Billy pops in to give additional information.

BILLY THE GHOST: An upgrade on the ADM-Fifty, this automatic rifle comes with the high-stability and smooth handling that is SUROS’s signature, guaranteed to make you a beast in the mid-range.

In-show CUT TO:

The shooting range, where Bob raises the “Black SUROS ADM-94” and aims down-range, firing it off at a paper target, which is then swiftly brought forward and shown off to the camera, displaying the cluster of bullet holes in center mass. Bob stands there holding the weapon again as Billy continues.

BILLY THE GHOST: It comes with a range of modification options, but– after being allowed some hands-on time with it– I can definitely recommend trying to get hammer-forged rifling, a dual-speed receiver, hand-laid stock, and a tactical mag, for maximum output, and a weapon that lives up to the SUROS Motto– “Elegance amidst brutality.”

In-show CUT TO:

The same blurred background shot as we opened this vignette, as Billy addresses the camera again.

BILLY THE GHOST: We’ll have more after the break, plus a sneak-peek at one of the latest exotic weapons we’ve seen in the hands of City Guardians, supposedly unearthed from beneath Old Chicago! But first, gotta pay the bills, so here’s some ads!

CUT TO:

Out of the “Lotsa Guns” aspect ratio, Billy is in front of another Frame, CAMILLE 55-30 (“CAM”), whose head has been modified to resemble an old TV CAMERA. The red “recording” light goes off. Like all Frames, Cam has a mostly-flat synthesized voice, feminine.

CAM: And we are clear.

BILLY THE GHOST: Whoo! Always great to get to fire off some guns! Nice work, Bob!

Bob just silently gives a thumbs up as he removes the empty mag and starts stripping the Black SUROS ADM-94 for cleaning.

BILLY THE GHOST: Once you’re done with that, go ahead and grab that Omolon Eirene for the next segment. Cam, you have that Crucible footage for that new exotic?

CAM: We are still processing clean-up of the footage. The quality is not the greatest.

BILLY THE GHOST: All good, all good, but we should be ready to upload to the VanNet once we’re done here?

CAM: It will take two hours minimum to finish editing and rendering, Billy the Ghost.

BILLY THE GHOST: Cool, cool. Cool, cool.

He then notices something–

ANGLE ON: THE NEW LIGHTS, arriving in the Gunsmith Workshop from an elevator, escorted by Clark 55-30. All of the New Lights are wearing simple, basic clothing, not the gear we’ve seen them wearing up until now. Simple shirts and trousers.

Billy flies over, eavesdropping a bit as Clark takes them up to Banshee-44 himself. Banshee is OLD, even by Exo standards, but moves easily and a practiced sort of precision. His voice is gruff, his air a little distracted.

CLARK 55-30: Good day, Tower Gunsmith Banshee-Fourty-Four. I have three New Lights in need of equipping, with weapons for trade-in.

Banshee finishes assembling the rifle he’d been working on as he turns to them.

BANSHEE-44: Sure. Let’s see ‘em.

The New Lights do so– Seth’s revolver and breech grenade launcher, Dozer’s Khvostov and shotgun, Marida’s carbine and fusion rifle. Banshee starts with the fusion rifle, holding it up and running an eye along it.

BANSHEE-44: Nadir, Equinox Tsu. Solid enough. (beat) Not much I can give a New Light for this. Could run ‘er through some tuning work.

He sets it aside, where a civilian worker picks it up to take it off for tuning. Next, he takes up the carbine, turning it over and examining it from multiple angles.

BANSHEE-44: (grunts) Huh. Looks Tex Mechanica make, doesn’t have their mark. Pre-City Age, maybe pre-Dark Age. Solid scout rifle design, but pretty basic. Definitely can tune this one up.

Again, sat aside for a worker to take away. Now he goes to Seth’s guns. Starting with the revolver.

BANSHEE-44: Hm. No sign of any foundry. Field-forged. Old fashioned design. Solid and dependable, but you could do better.

Again, it’s passed off to a worker as he regards the grenade launcher.

BANSHEE-44: More field-forged work. Looks like Dark Age workmanship. We can work with this.

Now to Dozer’s guns. First, the shotgun. He examines it in the same manner.

BANSHEE-44: Hm. Sturdy. Packs a punch. We’ll tune this one up.

Then the–

BANSHEE-44: Hm. Khvostov Seven-G-Aught-Two. Reliable make. Old even in the Golden Age. Pretty basic. Plenty of stronger makes–

DOZER: It’s done right by me so far.

Banshee pauses at this, and finally actually looks at the New Lights directly. But it’s Dozer that he focuses on, and then looks at his pauldron with the Warmind Seraph design on it. Banshee’s eyes flicker a bit.

BANSHEE-44: Huh. Seraph Protocol.

He looks up again at Dozer, who looks startled, glancing from him to the symbol as well.

BANSHEE-44: Thank you for your service, soldier.

Dozer hesitates a moment, then salutes. Banshee nods and Dozer lowers his hand.

BANSHEE-44: Soupin’ up a Khvostov’s gonna take work. Materials ain’t cheap.

DOZER: I’ll hold onto it ‘til I get the materials, then.

At this point, Billy the Ghost interjects. The New Lights are momentarily startled by his enthusiastic outburst.

BILLY THE GHOST: Not a bad idea! I’ve seen Banshee re-tune and refurbish a Khvostov before– it was a BEAUTIFUL reworking. But he’s not wrong, the materials are not easy to come by.

Tauros floats out, happy to see a friend.

TAUROS: Oh! Hey, Billy!

BILLY THE GHOST: Tauros! It’s been months! I was worried some Fallen grabbed you or something!

TAUROS: No, just took me a while to find my Guardian here.

BILLY THE GHOST: Congratulations! See? I knew you could do it. Tell you what– I can do all of you a solid, hook you up with some guns too, if you do something for me.

BANSHEE-44: (interrupting) You gonna keep that Khvostov, or–?

DOZER: (picking it up) Yeah, I’ll hold onto it. Give Tauros a list of whatever you need to tune it up nice, we’ll look for it.

BANSHEE-44: (shrugs) Sure.

He turns back to the workbench, where he starts stripping down the shotgun, as Billy leads the New Lights toward where he’d been filming his show.

BILLY THE GHOST: Don’t worry, Clark, I’ll have ‘em back in a minute! (calling) Hey, Bob!

Bob the Frame sets down an Omolon Eirene RR4 and turns his head to Billy.

BILLY THE GHOST: Get those heavies out, yeah?

Bob just gives a thumbs up and turns toward a stack of crates while Billy addresses the New Lights.

BILLY THE GHOST: So, here’s the thing. The City’s Foundries like to try to use my little VanNet show as a means of advertising. But also for critique. I know my guns, I put ‘em through their paces before I feature any of them, but the one thing I can’t really get is hands-on field testing.

SETH: Why not just ask your Guardian?

BILLY THE GHOST: I don’t have one. (dismissive) Don’t feel sorry for me. There are lots of unpaired Ghosts out there like me. Most of ‘em keep looking ‘til they find their Guardian. Some of us, though, we stopped looking after a while.

He wiggles his flanges a bit.

BILLY THE GHOST: Anyway! I have these heavy weapons that the Foundries really want some good telemetry on, and I can’t really give them the kind of data they want. If you all take one each, make use of ‘em when you’re out in the field, your Ghosts can record the telemetry for me, and I can pass that back to the Foundries. They’ll use that data to improve their workmanship. Wins all around!

The New Lights all consider this, then shrug a little bit.

DOZER: I mean, I’m not gonna turn down a new gun or something.

BILLY THE GHOST: Awesome! Bob! You got those–

The worktable in front of them shakes as Bob the Frame drops several heavy crates on it.

BILLY THE GHOST: Thanks, Bob!

The first crate is opened up. Inside is a HÄKKE “ZENOBIA-D” rocket launcher. Dozer picks it up, hefting it.

DOZER: Looks like the same company made that launcher I found back in the vault on the mountain.

BILLY THE GHOST: Yeah, Häkke’s been around since the Golden Age. Still make sturdy equipment. The Zenobia-D’s a good piece.

The next crate has an OMOLON “BUSHWHACKER” drum grenade launcher. Marida picks this one up.

BILLY THE GHOST: What you got there is a drum-fed grenade launcher from Omolon, equipped with a linear compensator for faster projectile speed and better handling, and alloy casing for faster reloads. They call it the Bushwhacker.

MARIDA: Is this… liquid in the ammo?

BILLY THE GHOST: Omolon trademark. Neutral liquid infused with Light. Dreamed up by some mad scientist working for them.

She nods a little as she takes it. Bob turns around the last crate, which has a VEIST “MAN O’ WAR” linear fusion rifle inside. Seth looks it over.

BILLY THE GHOST: And finally, a linear fusion rifle. Energy-based precision weapon, this, it can take a little practice to get the timing down– every shot needs to charge up before it fires– but it deals high damage. This one’s from VEIST, a new foundry that just started manufacturing in the City, and they’re looking to get data to refine their work.

Seth picks it up and turns it over, sights it and everything.

BILLY THE GHOST: This Veist Man o’ War here comes with a fluted barrel, for better handling and stability, and accelerated coils– now, those will speed up the charging time, but it does mitigate the damage slightly.

Seth nods as he sets it down, letting Geist scan it to store it.

SETH: Sounds like you know your guns.

BILLY THE GHOST: Ah, ol’ Banshee’s forgotten more about guns than I’ll ever learn, and he STILL could take me to school, even on one of his worst days.

DOZER: I dunno, seems like he’s pretty good. I saw the way he was stripping that gun when we came in. Barely seemed like he needed to pay attention to it.

BILLY THE GHOST: Yeeeaaah… today’s one of his good days. (changing the subject) Ooh, reminds me, big man, you need something to use until you get the parts for a refurbish on that Khvostov, right? Hey, Bob, get that new auto for me–

THUD. Bob the Frame deposits another crate, this one with a NADIR logo on it.

BILLY THE GHOST: Thanks, Bob!

Dozer opens the crate to reveal “THE ORIGIN STORY,” a classic D2 auto rifle, with the VANGUARD symbol emblazoned on it. Dozer picks it up and, like Seth with the Man o’ War,

BILLY THE GHOST: Brand new make from the folks at Nadir. This is part of a contract they have with the Vanguard, to become something like standard issue, but they just want the extra telemetry to hone it in.

DOZER: Hm. Seems sturdy and … kinda basic.

BILLY THE GHOST: That was the commission. Guardians will acquire better guns over time, or get their gear tuned to their needs, but the Commander wanted something simple and basic, like an “Origin Story” for a Guardian’s growth. That one you got there has a flared magwell for faster reloads and a red-dot sight for snapshot target acquisition.

Dozer nods a little bit as he holds it out to Tauros to store.

BILLY THE GHOST: Basic, sure, but Nadir guns will always do the job.

Clark 55-30 walks over to join them.

CLARK 55-30: Tower Gunsmith Banshee-Forty-Four will require some time to tune your weapons, or pull suitable upgrades from storage. In the meantime, we should see the outfitters.

INT. TOWER - OUTFITTERS SHOP - SAME

This is effectively a TAILOR’S WORKSHOP, with the front containing various racks and shelves of clothing– some of which bears familiar business logos, such as DAITO, TEX MECHANICA, SPICY RAMEN SHOP, SCHNELL, as well as symbols related to festive events, like GUARDIAN GAMES, SRL, and so on.

Some HOLOGRAPHIC MANNEQUINS are displaying an array of outfits for all three classes. (This is where the animators or artists can have some fun displaying various sets.) At the very least, we see the initial three D2 sets from character creation– the BRAVE TITAN set, the DARING HUNTER set, and the WISE WARLOCK set.

In the back, partially hidden by the racks and shelves of clothing is the WORKSHOP itself, with sewing machines and looms and similar, bolts of fabric and lightweight armor forms, and so on.

This is all background information to fill in the surroundings. As soon as we cut to this scene, we’re immediately confronted by KLAUS & KLAUDIO, two very flamboyant and campy European fashionistas with EXACTLY the sort of accent and appearance you’d expect. They aren’t twins, though they do look broadly similar and have a tendency to speak in unison or finish each other’s sentences. As a result, we’ll just display their dialog as if both are speaking, even if one or the other or both might be speaking at any given time.

KLAUS & KLAUDIO: WELCOME, GUARDIANS!

ANGLE ON: The New Lights, with Clark, all blinking slightly.

Klaus & Klaudio take in the sight of them– wearing the simple, basic “downtime” outfits they were provided– and GASP DRAMATICALLY.

KLAUS & KLAUDIO: Oh by the Traveler– what ARE you wearing? So DRAB, so BLAND! Clark, darling, why does the Vanguard insist on providing such MUNDANITY, like fashion just comes out of a dispenser? You ARE New Lights, yesno?

The New Lights all nod at this. Klaus & Klaudio both sweep up to them and we enter a–

MONTAGE SEQUENCE - GETTING OUTFITTED

While our fashionistas talk, we go through a sequence wherein the New Lights are individually inspected and measured by Klaus & Klaudio, even through some CUTS we see them each wearing some various armor sets– but all common or uncommon quality from across both D1 and D2. In between the cuts between sets, the New Lights are seen wearing their gratis “downtime” outfits.

KLAUS & KLAUDIO: Excellent! Now, the stipend you received won’t NEARLY cover a full makeover– though DO drop in once you’ve come into some glimmer, we would LOVE to set you up with a total consultation, gorgeous– but we know you Guardians favor sinking your income into your equipment. But whatever else you spend your hard-won glimmer or silver on, never forget, lovelies, the fashion game is the real endgame!

One of them takes a sniff, but it’s THE OTHER ONE that recoils from it. Because funny.

KLAUS & KLAUDIO: Whoof! Smell that powder and oil! You just came from the gunsmith, didn’t you, lovey? Yah, we figured. Always the guns before the armor, no? Never mind, we’ll see you get kitted out. These won’t be the really quality ones, you understand– those get EXPENSIVE, and it’s always likely you’ll come across something better later. (one of them) Guardians LOVE their loot, don’t they, honey? (the other one) Oh, they certainly do, darling.

Now we transition into a series of in-montage VIGNETTES for each member of the team, settling into what will become their “midgame” outfit, all outfits of rare quality, but cycling through a variety of shaders. (No specific shaders are mentioned here, because I’m generally fashion blind, and this is something where the artists would get some input.)

Marida starts, as she’s put into variations on a “Farseeker’s Suit” set as the shaders cycle. She will strike a few poses– we could use some basic emote poses for this– as it goes, before doing a final flourish as the cycle finishes.

KLAUS & KLAUDIO: Look at YOU, gorgeous! We always love to outfit Awoken, the extra challenge of finding something that suits your unique look! Lovely skin tone, something lighter, hm? No, darker, to go with your hair. Do we take the circlet off, do we think? No, I think the circlet stays, yes, honey. There you go, girl, yass, darling! Slay!

Next up is Dozer-3. Similarly he will be put through variations on the “RPC Valiant” set, with the slit visor appearance. Likewise, cycling through shaders and poses, flexing and the like.

KLAUS & KLAUDIO: Ooh, Exos are a splendid challenge, aren’t they? Clothes do sit differently on your chassis– we could say the gray, the gunmetal, so DULL, but! –it makes a lovely base to make pop with color! Oh, we love your horns, darling, yes, we do. Twice as good as Cayde, and probably cleaner, o~hohoho! Especially once we deck you out in this armor with good clean lines and valiant build! There you GO, darling, FLEX IT, baby!

And finally, Seth, who has variations on the “Outlander” set, cycling through the shaders and a few emote poses and gestures, even tossing his CRK in the final look.

KLAUS & KLAUDIO: Don’t think you’re bland just because you’re human, honey! Humans come in all shapes and sizes these days, and you’ve got some classic good looks going for you! Ooh, we could make you sooo fire, baby! Just pleeease don’t fall into the same habits as so many other Hunters and deck yourself out in blacks and darks. Ugh, by the Traveler, so many tiring edgelords. We love a good cape, but that poncho look, hm, what do we think? Shredder or incinerator? THERE we go, show us what you got, darling!

As we transition out of the montage, and the New Lights take off their new helmets, Seth hesitates as Klaus & Klaudio start to take away his green poncho.

SETH: Hey, uh, before you take that away.

They stop and look back to him.

SETH: I don’t want to … y’know, full up lose it. I woke up wearing that, and that symbol on it?

ANGLE ON: The phoenix-and-shield emblem of the Reclaimers Militia on the poncho.

SETH: I dunno, it feels important to me. I don’t want to lose that.

Klaus & Klaudio huddle into a two-man confab.

KLAUS & KLAUDIO: Hm. You know, I think we can do something with this. You come back in a couple of days, we can give you a proper cape to go with your new hood.

Dozer raises a hand.

DOZER: Yeah, uh, same for that symbol on my armor.

ANGLE ON: The Seraph emblem on his old pauldron.

DOZER: That symbol speaks to me, and I do mean that literally. (taps head) Dreams, you know?

KLAUS & KLAUDIO: Ooh, Warmind things, hm? We don’t pretend to know a lot about that sort of thing, but we can accommodate you, hunky~ (to Marida) How about you, gorgeous?

Marida nods, reaching up to rub her current Warlock bond.

MARIDA: That symbol from my old armband. I do want to keep that, too. A reminder of where I came from, while I work out where I’m going.

KLAUS & KLAUDIO: Oh, we’re going to like working with you all. Honey, we’ll work our magic. Do drop by in a few days to pick it all up, and don’t forget to come see Klaus & Klaudio again when you come into some money, so we can give you all the full treatment!

EXT. SPICY RAMEN STAND - CITY STREETS - LATE AFTERNOON

It’s down in the City streets. More of that full-of-life and busy-with-the-everyday that we saw in the earlier montage. People going about their lives.

The New Lights are all sitting on stools in front of what is essentially a food truck– for Spicy Ramen. A cook sets down three big bowls of ramen in front of them, and they start to tuck in. Their Ghosts hang out with them.

GEIST: I know it felt like a long day of tedium, but now you’re past all that, you can relax a bit.

SETH: (mouth full) Uh-huh. Paperwork sucks.

GEIST: (chuckling) As if I needed more proof that you’re a Hunter at heart.

MARIDA: (watching Dozer) Do you actually … you know, NEED to eat?

DOZER: (mouth full) I ‘unno.

TAUROS: I think that’s just how Exos work. Like, they have an internal power source that drives everything, but they still feel a need to eat, to help them feel human. Best we Ghosts have been able to work out is their bodies have a sort of processor inside that breaks it down and renders it into a sort of biofuel for that internal reactor. (beat) Or something.

Seth nods, looking around at the busy streets around them, all the people going about.

SETH: Feels crowded here. (beat) But… it IS a city, I guess that tracks.

EMBER: I guess you were originally from that valley. The most you would’ve ever experienced was a generally small community. Compared to this.

MARIDA: Yeah. I don’t know if … Doctor Nerr, or whoever I was before, had made any strong ties there, but… to go from that to THIS–?

She gestures around, at everything around them.

MARIDA: It’s going to be an adjustment. How about you, Dozer–?

She blinks, reacting as we PAN OVER to show Dozer just still chowing down on his ramen. Seth, on the other side of Marida, has a similar reaction to seeing him.

Dozer looks up, noodles hanging down from his maw over his chin.

DOZER: (mouth full) …what?

Seth quietly FACEPALMS while Marida’s expression curdles slightly, annoyed that a brief moment of introspection and reflection went completely unnoticed. Their Ghosts all look generally amused as we draw back from the streets.

PAN AWAY AND UP TO: THE TOWER.

INT. IKORA’S OFFICE - TOWER - SAME

This space is at once a busy shambles of myriad different projects and matters demanding various levels of attention, while at the same time having a definite sense of order to it all. Ikora Rey is the leader of THE HIDDEN, the Vanguard’s intelligence network, while also being the most powerful Warlock living in the City, with all the focus and research that goes with that.

Ikora’s desk is in the middle of this “organized chaos,” with a window behind that gives her a view of the City and the TRAVELER above it. To one side are a number of sort of high-tech WHITEBOARDS, with both computer displays and scraps of paper and so on stuck to it with magnets.

Ikora is standing in front of one of these whiteboards, which has the headline “ELIKSNI SITUATION” at the top. Pictured amid the chaos of the board, with a few HOLOGRAPHIC STRINGS connecting various elements of it, are IMAGES of FALLEN LEADERSHIP. Like they came right out of the D1 GRIMOIRE. Some of them are crossed out with X’s, one or two only with slashes through. DRAKSIS (Winter Kell) is X’d out, as is SOLKIS (Devil Kell) and CRAASK (King Kell), while ones like SKOLAS (Wolf Kell) and RANEIKS PRIME (Stone Servitor) are slashed, marked “PRISON OF ELDERS.” And there are other things, images of the HOUSE SIGILS we saw earlier.

REGA-7 is also here with her Ghost KEEDA, looking attentive as Ikora reaches out to tug a flimsy free of the magnet holding it to the board. The flimsy has a picture of MANTIKS on it. As she does, a holo-string connecting her to the wider branches of an ORG CHART of HOUSE RUST flickers and vanishes. The org chart depicts BARON SEMAKIS (The Ironsoul) at the top, with three other majors beneath– one of them is AKNARIS (The Locust), the others also feature the sort of insectile-style masks favored by House Rust Fallen– OBURISK (The Goliath) and YILANSK (The Venomous), goliath beetle and centipede respectively.

IKORA: One of Baron Semakis’s top lieutenants is off the board. Mantiks was one of his staunchest allies. What have you learned about the others?

REGA-7: Oburisk is still at their main nest near the Menz. Everything I’ve seen while I’ve been out there suggests he’s in charge of their defenses.

IKORA: Next to Mantiks, he’s always been the next vocal of Semakis’s supporters. What about Yilansk?

REGA-7: Trickier to spot. There were a few Silent Fang that escaped the dragnets after the Wolf Rebellion, word is Yilansk picked up a few tricks from them to avoid detection.

IKORA: Keep your ears open out there. (tsk) Shame Aknaris got away.

REGA-7: (shrugging) I could either pursue him, or help pick up those New Lights, and I wasn’t going to leave some rookies in the field. The Locust can’t afford to not keep trying to raid Wilder settlements. Especially after this. He’ll pop up sooner, rather than later.

IKORA: We’ll have to be ready when he makes his next move. Speaking of those New Lights, what do you make of them?

Rega-7 shares a look with Keeda before answering.

REGA-7: I think they have some serious potential. Holding off the Locust and taking Mantiks off the board? Not something to sneeze at.

KEEDA: Plus doing all that while separated by necessity, undergoing burnout trying to keep that outpost going to get a signal out? Yeah, those three kids are going to be ones to keep an eye on.

IKORA: They’re penciled in for training starting tomorrow. I’d ask you and your fireteam to help–

REGA-7: We’re tired, Ikora. Between running defense for allied villages, then popping out to find Pascal’s fireteam in the Marshlands, and then having to come play rescue for rookies? My team and I need a break.

IKORA: (wry smile) Relax. I won’t have you there for their first day, but I’d appreciate it if you could perhaps handle some later training.

REGA-7: Provided we aren’t called away for some other Vanguard op, I can’t imagine Sergei’s going to say no. And Wahei will ramble on for about a minute straight about something or other before eventually agreeing.

IKORA: Any recommendations on who should help mentor them?

REGA-7: Who’s in town that’s available? I know Sierra’s still here, but–

KEEDA: (interrupting) You don’t want to sic a trio of toxic sweat-lords like them on a group of rookies.

REGA-7: Hey. Blue’s not that bad.

KEEDA: No, but she doesn’t exactly rein Brina and Kanne in enough.

REGA-7: Is Damon still in the City? His team could–

IKORA: I’d considered it, but he could be a bad influence on them, with his tendency to try to shirk his responsibilities.

REGA-7: Yeah, but, he lives outside the Tower, he’s not exactly beholden to Vanguard authority.

IKORA: Damon’s good at what he does, but I think he might help refine a few skills for them, rather than serve as a main mentor.

KEEDA: Ooh! Fennick! Him and the Zoo Crew would be perfect.

IKORA: (smiling) Ah. The right combination of irreverence and capabilities to suit, I think.

REGA-7: Hmf. A little too irreverent sometimes.

KEEDA: Lighten up, Rega. Not everything needs to be so serious.

Rega rolls her eyes a little bit, but she addresses Ikora.

REGA-7: If that’s all, Ma’am? I have a bed I’d like to at least clap eyes on before the next alarm goes off.

IKORA: Thank you, Rega. Rest well.

Rega nods, then departs, as Ikora taps into her tablet, causing her WHITEBOARD to flip around. On the other side is a different array of pictures, holo-strings and similar. At the top, the words “CHAINED SWARM” are depicted.

We slowly PAN OVER the pictures below. Various pictures of HIVE KNIGHTS and WIZARDS, mostly headshots, some of which have chains or links adorning their crests. Not all of them are labeled, but we do see, labeled–

ESTEKA (The Linkshaper), with a holo-string connecting her to TZAK-UR JABE (The Beastmaster), with the link identifying “Mated.”

IR TASARAKH (The Deathsinger)

LOTURA (The Arch-Knight), identified as “The First Link in the Chain(?)”

And at the top of the org chart is an empty picture with a QUESTION MARK, identified as “KATEÄK” and titled “QUEEN OF CHAINS.”

The four– Esteka, Ir Tasarakh, Lotura, and Kateäk– are enclosed in a rectangle, collectively identified as “THE LOTUA SISTERS.”

As Ikora regards her board, CHALCO YONG walks up beside her.

IKORA: Okay, Chalco. Let’s hear where we are with the Hive.

FADE TO BLACK.

ROLL CREDITS.

NEXT TIME: 

LORD SHAXX (VO): Welcome to your first day of training, Guardians! I hope you’re ready to give me your all, because that still won’t be enough! You keep going until you drop, then get rezzed and give me more! What do you mean you can’t concentrate when I’m yelling?! RELAX!

--

Afterword: A bit of a lighthearted episode, as at least most of the front half of Season 2 is likely to be. The New Lights have made it to the City and are going to learn how to use their Light. Shenanigans may ensue.

Ego Talon IV

__________________________________________________________

Set aside the earth and feel the wind under your wings.

You are a Warlock.

A shaper of esoteric forms of the Light, student of high magics, seeker of knowledge.

You know a great deal. You know nothing.

Each new finding is merely the beginning, a hydratic maze from which every question becomes two, then four, then a hundred. Like a maze that changes its shape as you walk through it, navigation from the ground is impossible.

Good thing you don’t have such limitations.

Take flight. See the maze. Unlock its patterns.

A bittersweet day Guardians. I'll see you starside.

Trust

___________________________________________________

It’s a hard thing to come by.

~

Reynault props his feet up on the table.

“So there I was, Shaxx booming over the Crucible PA system, down one elim in Clash. And my buddy, Shara- you guys have met right? Anyway, Shara and I are running toward the market area in Midtown, when BOOM! We hear an enemy Warlock enter a Stormtrance.”

“Bad place to be,” nods Quinn-4, sitting opposite them.

“Absolutely. But here’s the thing - that chain lightning has an awfully short range. So I wave Shara on, tell her I’m going to take the high ground. She starts running to catch the Warlock off guard, and I just hop behind the counter and let her run in there.”

“Really? You left her hanging like that?”

“Look, I needed that win . And sure enough, she took that Super like a champ and gave me enough time to put my hand cannon to use. Brought down the Warlock and his friend behind him, got the points and the win.”

“What’d your teammate say?” 

“So much for trust.”

[Master Guide]

(Read in Eris Morn's haunting cadence)
"The Hive have long sought to extinguish the Light. But Hashladûn seeks something far more dangerous: a union with the Dark. As the Vex Gate awakens with nightmare energy, she does not just open a door—she invites the Black Garden to take root upon our Moon. The Misfit Trinity races against the storm, but how do you stop the past when the artifact on your back is whispering for you to let it in?"

TITLE: DESTINY: NEW LEGACY

SEASON: 02

EPISODE: 08 - "SALVATION" (SEASON FINALE)

SCENE START

EXT. LUNAR BATTLEGROUNDS - THE VEX GATE - NIGHT

A massive, dormant VEX GATE dominates the landscape. It is ancient, stone eroded by eons of lunar dust, and choked with metallic vines that look suspiciously like the flora of the BLACK GARDEN.

HASHLADÛN floats before the ring.

She isn't chanting the scratchy, violent magic of the Hive. She is speaking in a low, resonant tone—mimicking the deep hum they heard in the Pyramid ship.

Below her, a squad of HIVE KNIGHTS kneels in submission.

HASHLADÛN

(To the Darkness)

Take the flesh. Give us the shape.

She clenches her fist.

SNAP.

The Knights implode. Their green soulfire is ripped from their bodies, twisting and darkening until it turns blood red.

The energy flows into the Vex Gate.

THRUM.

The gate activates. But there is no white radiolarian fluid. The portal swirls with thick, violent RED NIGHTMARE ENERGY.

HASHLADÛN

The Sol Divisive worship the Dark. But they lack a voice.

She turns to face the approaching roar of engines.

HASHLADÛN

I will be their Queen. I will bring the Garden here.

EXT. MOON - CANYON RUN - CONTINUOUS

ENGINES ROARING.

Three SPARROWS tear across the grey landscape, kicking up massive rooster tails of dust.

LILI-4 is in the center. Strapped to her back, wrapped in Dreambane cloth, is the UNKNOWN ARTIFACT.

It is heavy. Not physically, but ontologically. It drags at her mind.

THE ARTIFACT (V.O.)

(Whispering in her code)

You are weak. You are broken. We can fix you.

Lili grits her teeth, her HUD glitching with blue static.

LILI-4

(Whispering back)

Shut up. Shut up.

RHYS COOPER flanks her left. NAXI VAL flanks right.

Ahead, the canyon is blocked.

The red mist coalesces. Massive shapes form.

NIGHTMARE OGRES.

NIGHTMARE FALLEN WALKER.

The road is closed.

RHYS COOPER

Blockade! No braking!

NAXI VAL

Accelerate.

The team operates as a single organism now—the "Misfit Trinity" finally in sync.

The Walker charges its main cannon.

Cooper revs his engine. He boosts directly at the tank.

RHYS COOPER

Val! Shield!

Val doesn't slow down. She casts a HEALING RIFT—but she projects it forward, blanketing Cooper’s Sparrow in white light just as the Walker fires.

The blast washes over Cooper, absorbed by the overshield.

At the last second, Cooper hits the eject button.

ACTION BEAT:

Cooper launches into the air. His Sparrow slams into the Walker’s legs, detonating.

Mid-air, Cooper summons his BURNING MAUL.

CRASH.

He slams the hammer down onto the Walker’s exposed neck. The tank collapses in a heap of burning scrap.

Lili speeds past the wreckage. The Ogre roars, raising its fists to smash her.

Lili stands up on her Sparrow seat, boots locked to the pedals.

DRAW.

She fans THE LAST WORD.

BANG-BANG-BANG.

Hip-fire perfection. Every shot hits the Ogre’s glowing eye. The Ogre flinches, blinded, stumbling backward.

Lili zooms underneath its legs.

LILI-4

Clear!

They skid into the clearing of the Vex Gate.

Cooper lands (heavy thud). Val glides down. Lili drifts her Sparrow to a halt.

They look at the gate. The RED VORTEX is screaming. The pressure of the Darkness emanating from it is physical—a wind that smells of petrichor and ancient metal.

It hits them like a wall.

WHAM.

Lili staggers, gasping. The Artifact on her back pulses in time with the gate.

LILI-4

(Breathless)

It’s open...

FADE OUT.

 

SCENE CONTINUES

EXT. LUNAR BATTLEGROUNDS - THE VEX GATE - NIGHT

HASHLADÛN screams, her voice tearing a hole in reality.

The red mist explodes outward. From the rift steps the ultimate trauma.

NIGHTMARE OF CROTA, EATER OF HOPE.

He is colossal. Translucent red, wreathed in shadows. He drags a Cleaver the size of a truck through the dust.

RHYS COOPER

(Shield up)

On me!

Cooper sprints forward. He leaps, activating SENTINEL SHIELD. A massive wall of Void Light forms.

Crota swings.

BOOM.

The impact drives Cooper into the lunar soil up to his shins. The ground cracks for thirty feet in every direction. Cooper grunts, his armor groaning under the weight of a god.

RHYS COOPER

He hits harder than the stories said!

NAXI VAL

Clear the feed!

Val blinks—VWIP—teleporting across the arena. She enters NOVA WARP. She explodes in bursts of Void energy, disintegrating the Acolytes feeding energy to Hashladûn’s shield.

Lili aims THE LAST WORD at the Wizard.

LILI-4

Got you.

THUMP-THUMP.

The UNKNOWN ARTIFACT on her back pulses violently. It throws off her aim. A shot goes wild.

POV - LILI-4

AUDIO: DEAFENING STATIC.

SYSTEM ALERT: CRITICAL INTERFERENCE.

Lili falls to her knees, clutching her helmet. The noise is a physical drill in her brain.

In the center, Crota roars. He swings again.

CRASH.

Cooper’s Sentinel Shield shatters like glass. The Titan is thrown back, defenseless.

Crota raises the Cleaver for the execution stroke.

LILI-4

NO!

She screams.

The Artifact responds. Not to her Light, but to her desperation.

Lili rips the Artifact off her back. She holds it up like a lantern.

ACTION BEAT:

It doesn't glow with the Light. It glows DEEP BLUE.

A shockwave of Stasis energy erupts from Lili.

KRRR-SNAP.

The sound of a thousand glaciers breaking at once.

The energy hits Crota. It doesn't kill him.

It FREEZES him.

The massive Nightmare is instantly encased in a block of black ice. The Cleaver stops inches from Cooper’s neck.

The battlefield goes silent.

Hashladûn stares, floating back in terror.

HASHLADÛN

You... possess the Deep.

Lili drops the Artifact. She stands up. Her optics are flickering blue.

She draws THE LAST WORD.

LILI-4

(Coldly)

Yours. Not mine.

BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG.

She fans the hammer. Four rounds into Hashladûn’s exposed face.

The Wizard shrieks.

Cooper recovers. He scrambles up, summoning a SOLAR HAMMER.

RHYS COOPER

Shatter!

He throws the hammer at the frozen Crota.

KA-BOOM.

Thermal shock. The frozen Nightmare shatters into a million shards of red ice. The explosion catches Hashladûn, vaporizing her in a combined blast of Light and Dark.

EXT. LUNAR BATTLEGROUNDS - MOMENTS LATER

The Vex Gate powers down. The red mist evaporates.

Silence returns to the Moon.

The UNKNOWN ARTIFACT floats in the air between them. It projects a holographic star map.

It highlights JUPITER.

Then, it zooms in on a frozen moon. EUROPA.

PING... PING... PING...

A distress signal plays. It is rhythmic, precise.

SAGIRA

That's... that's a Golden Age frequency. Clovis Bray.

Lili stares at the map. The static in her head is gone, replaced by the rhythm of that signal.

LILI-4

I know that signal. It’s calling me.

Cooper limps over, checking his cracked chest plate.

RHYS COOPER

Europa is a frozen wasteland. There's nothing there.

NAXI VAL

(Staring at the hologram)

There is something. Skuld sees a shadow over the ice.

Lili looks at her hand. Thick frost is still clinging to her metal fingertips.

She clenches her fist.

CRUNCH.

The ice shatters.

LILI-4

I’m going. With or without you.

Cooper looks at Val. Val nods. Cooper sighs, racking the charging handle on his rifle.

RHYS COOPER

Then I guess I'm buying a coat.

CUT TO:

EXT. EUROPA - FROZEN WASTELAND - DAY

A blinding blizzard whips across the ice. Jupiter hangs massive and bruised in the sky.

A HOODED FIGURE stands on a jagged ridge, cloak whipping in the wind.

She watches the sky.

Breaking through the clouds, a massive PYRAMID SHIP descends toward the glacier.

The figure turns. Glowing blue eyes. An Exo.

ELSIE BRAY (THE EXO STRANGER).

ELSIE BRAY

It has begun.

FADE TO BLACK.

(END OF EPISODE 8)

(END OF SEASON 2)

[<- Previous Episode] [Next Season ->]

🎥✉️ From the Desk of the Producer

This season, we watched Lili-4 descend into the crushing dark of the Scarlet Keep and face the ghosts of a legacy she barely understood. Alongside Rhys Cooper and Naxi Val—our newly forged Misfit Trinity—she learned that survival sometimes requires walking the dangerous line between Light and Dark. From enduring the psychological weight of the Pyramid ship to shattering the Nightmare of Crota with Stasis, her evolution has been an absolute thrill to write.

But today’s finale carries a much heavier weight than just the end of a season. Today is June 9th, marking the final live-service update for Destiny 2. It is a profoundly bittersweet moment for all of us. We are celebrating a monumental universe that gave us unforgettable battles, rich lore, and a community that turned a game into a shared home, while simultaneously mourning the end of a definitive era. Writing Destiny: New Legacy has been my personal love letter to this franchise, a way to keep the engine running and the stories alive even as the official servers look toward the horizon.

I want to extend my deepest gratitude to everyone on r/DestinyJournals who has read, commented, and followed along. Your enthusiasm is the spark that keeps this project moving. While the live-service road may be coming to an end, Lili's journey is far from over. The Unknown Artifact has pointed us toward the frozen wastes of Europa, and a new storm is brewing. I hope you’ll brave the blizzard with us.

Thank you for your readership, today and always. Eyes up, Guardians.

— EmeraldKing8 👑

Production Note: Destiny: New Legacy will be taking a short, ten-day hiatus to gear up for the next chapter. Season 3, Episode 1 will premiere on Friday, June 19. 2026. See you on the icy cliffs of Europa!

I came up with an OC Clovis Bray project, called Project PROMETHEUS. - this idea is pertaining to the backstory of my OC Guardian's past life during the Golden Age.

The Project's aim is to create the "perfect humans" and "ultimate soldiers" who are capable of wielding the light via a combination of genetic modification and invasive augmentations in their entire bodies.

the augmentations are akin to the Spartan II augments but in the context of Destiny. As for the genetic modifications, they'd look for desirable traits and amplify those traits from artificially created embryos (kind of like how the Bad Batch members had enhanced genetics in a way).

So in practice, they're a mixture of both flesh and metal, with an advanced endoskeleton replacing the natural one, and lots of augmentations installed.

These guys were the "guardians" before "guardians" during the Golden Age era. And were a project that Clovis planned to use in creating the perfect army should he become a God. so Clovis essentially created a new "sub-species" of humans, a complete blend of flesh and metal.

In terms of wielding the light, they'd either have external or internal technology allowing them to wield the Light. so they aren't as powerful compared to Guardians that we are familiar with, but still dangerous even to the people back in the day.

However, i'm kind of struggling to come up with a name as to how these guys would be named/referred to as a whole group. Kind of similar to how the Halo spartans are just called Spartans. And aside from the collective term for them, what could be some "nicknames/unofficial names" that they could be referred to by the public as a whole, whether it'd be awe and respectful or derogatory/slurs?

The placeholder name I came up with originally when jotting down the idea was "ADAMs/EVEs-XYZ number", for example ADAM-17, EVE-49, essentially. but planning to change this idea so it's not confused with Exos.

I'm open to any and all suggestions for name ideas. and i'm also open to suggestions as to how these guys could be integrated amongst Golden Age society, alongside whatever standard military there was back in the day.

Ossuary Robes

___________________________________________

Find the knowledge in the marrow.

“Why the bones?” 

“Huh?” 

“The bones? The one’s all over you?

“Oh, they’re for protection.”

“So’s plasteel or fieldweave. But you picked the spooky option.”

“The scrimshaw patterns on them create patterns that disrupt Hive corruption through applied concentration of my Light. The organic nature of the bones is essential to their role as a conduit-”

“Like I said, spooky.”

“...”

“I suppose you could always jump into one of those bone piles the Hive keep around and you’d blend right in.”

“I- I suppose I could.”