Destiny | The Blackened Heart | Discontinued

3: Through Mountains and Storms

Finally safe aboard the rusty old jumpship, I have a moment to catch my breath.  The full weight of my weariness hits me like a brick, and since the ghost is no where to be seen and ship is flying upright, I let myself drift off.  My body feels alive and strong, despite being shot over a dozen times, but my mind is dazed and confused.  I do not understand anything happening to me.  

I discover another thing about myself; I despise not knowing, not understanding, making this circumstance a trying one.  I still don't remember anything past being awoken by the ghost.

Tired of it all, I squirm down in the torn, frozen seat and let myself sleep.  

When I awaken again, the sun is blinding to my sleep softened eyes. I sit up straighter in the seat, which is damp from thawing, and peer out the windshield.  

The world outside is painfully bright.  The western sun creates such a glare on the cloudy surface we skim over I have to retreat back into the semidarkness of the cockpit before my eyes burn out.  I slump down in my seat again, wincing at a crick in my neck.  I had completely forgotten to remove my helmet before sleeping and now I'd pay for it.  

I pat around the back of my neck searching for a release that will allow it to detach from my collar, but wearing gloves, my fingers are not sensitive enough to find the button or switch or whatever it is that is keeping the darn thing on.  I slip a glove of my right hand, feeling around until I find a clasp at the throat.  I pinch down on it and it releases, allowing me to slip the helmet off over my head.  

As I hold it up to get a look at it, there is a soft hiss and it disappears in my hands.  The ghost appears out of the control board in front of me, shell clicking in an almost nervous or excited manner.  

"Are you hurt, Guardian?" he asks, peering at me.

I shake my head in answer, wary of this thing now that we are alone.  

"No injuries?"

Again, I shake my head.

"You're not a very talkative one, are you, Guardian?"  

"Why do you call me that?" I blurt out.

"It is what you are," he replies.

Not helpful, I decide.  "Why were you looking for me?"  I ask another question, hoping for a more direct answer. 

"You were the one I was meant to find.  I am your Ghost, and you are my Guardian." 

"But what is a Guardian?"

He pauses, regarding me with curious air, as if puzzled by my barrage of questions.  "Guardians are defenders of Earth and the Traveler.  You fight the Darkness, and keep the world safe." 

The Traveler?  The Darkness?  Guardians?  Questions bounce around in my head like popcorn, but I slow myself down for his sake, and sit up a little straighter, sliding my glove back over my delicate fingers.  "The Fallen I fought, are they the Darkness?"

The little sphere inside the shell turns back and forth like the ghost is shaking his head.  "No.  The Fallen are here to take the Traveler from us.  They do not serve the Darkness." 

"You've mentioned the Traveler.  What is it?" 

The ghost's eye brightens.  "The Traveler is my creator.  The bringer of Light, and protector of humanity."  He pauses a moment, looking down.  Though he is only metal, he is an expressive thing, and I can see worry or maybe sorrow in his bearing.  "Or it used to be."

Light.  There is a flicker of power inside me.  I can feel it whisper, quiet compared to the surge of strength and healing that had touched me while fighting the Fallen.  

"So the Darkness..." I start, trying to fit the few pieces I have together, "Is an enemy of this... Traveler?  The Light?"  

"The Darkness is the enemy of all who do not serve it," the ghost says, a hint of a growl in his robotic voice. 

I sit back, processing, staring out the window.  The thick clouds below are still bright, but not nearly as painful to look at.  Snow blanketed mountains jut up through the cloud cover, massive spires of rock, unmoving and strong.  A defender of the Earth...  

We clear the mountains after no more than an hour and move down into the clouds.  A vast span of evergreen forest spreads below us, and rain falls beneath the clouds.  

Up ahead I watch as lightening crackles, lighting up the fog with bursts of light as the thunder pursues it across the sky.  The ghost flies right into it, into the storm and into the rain.  I grip the armrests until my knuckles burn, but the ship never wavers.  The ground begins to slope up and the ghost follows it, then draws away rising higher and higher until we break the clouds.  

The clear sky is dusted a faint dusky pink.  The soft light touches the walled city below us and the tower build up on the mountain ridge we are approaching.  But all of it fades as I take in the orbicular object in the sky ahead.  The Traveler.  Its sides are marred and broken in places, but it still maintains a gentle white color, stained a glowing, delicate rose by the sinking sun.  But the light is not its own.  The Traveler is dead and still and silent.  Wisps of cloud drift across its surface as we shoot down toward the tower, turning away from the Traveler in the sky, but I cannot forget what I've seen.  

There is something welcoming about it.  But sad.  It feels like I'm coming... home.