What Is Fate

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If storms are breaking over great escapes
Boy, we'll find how to make it with the rain
This rage will lead us through the burning plains
No matter what they say, we're heroes, boy we'll get to break out

Now we're finally standing up to the sky
Look at me, boy, what is fate to say
How things are gonna turn out now?

Great Escapes – Woodkid

-

May 21, 2950, 14:14; The Last City, Earth

The Tower hadn't changed much. There was shiny new tech everywhere, but the floorplan had remained relatively unaltered over the last half a century. There were still way too many meeting rooms and way too few windows.

Cayde's room (for all it was the pack's officially) was too... Cayde. Decks of cards, bullets, and spare datapads littered every available space. Azra needed somewhere to do gun maintenance. Wouldn't you know it, the block of conference rooms in the Tower North was still mostly empty.

Azra was not surprised when Shiro opened the door. She'd been expecting him, in reality. She'd already spoken with Cayde and Tevis in private. If anything, she was surprised he hadn't sought her out sooner.

The Bladedancer had some sense of finality in his Light. He practically stomped up to Azra's table and plonked several items down on it. A glass bottle full of dark liquid. A familiar knife. A strange vest with intricate fasteners.

"Consider my debts repaid," he announced. Azra couldn't make full sense of the mixture of anger, satisfaction, and regret he was projecting.

She carefully set down the rifle stock and looked at the items. "Debts? What debts?"

"You never kept track, but I did. All said and done, I think this covers everything. That armor wasn't easy to get, or cheap."

Azra sighed. It seemed the old regrets ran both ways. "Shiro, I didn't care-"

"I did," the Exo said, and that was the end of that conversation. Azra turned her attention to the armor piece. Her fingers tingled and hummed as they passed over the tubing.

"Raiden Flux," Shiro explained. "It's me to amplify, direct, and multiply Arc flow. It's a custom piece. Bladedancers are flashes of lightning, but you..."

"Does it work?" Azra interrupted.

Shiro shrugged. "For me? Doubt it. For you? Who knows? It's commissioned. I can take you to the guy who did it-"

"Nah," she said. Spark took the armor. Azra inspected the whiskey and passed it off to him as well. The knife went on her belt. "I... thank you." What else was there to say?

"You're not going to ask us to stop?" Spark questioned.

"I've had a while to come to terms with... this," Shiro said. "So I'm withholding my judgement. For now."

There was a moment of amicable silence. Shiro turned his optics downward. Azra caught the moment he recognized the gun on the table- his eyebrow plates went shooting up in surprise. "How... did you-"

"Shin Malphur himself paid me a visit. Just handed it over, easy as falling off a log. Don't particularly like him, but..."

Shiro chuckled. "Just... the way you said that. Thought you'd like our esteemed Gunslinger, seein' how close you were with Jaren."

Azra scowled. "One thing for certain, Shin is not Jaren Ward. Dunno. Maybe it was just a bad first impression. I... may have kind of got him on reflex with a throwing knife."

"Well, getting murdered does tend to ruffle peoples' feathers a bit. May I?" He gestured to the gun.

-

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