Chapter Text
(Tucked into a ragged journal containing notes on the Traveler’s energy readings compared to readings from the Shard, are a few loose leaf pages. The pages are covered in ink and water spots, one of them even looks taped back together. Closer inspection reveals it appears to be more of a personal journal…)
Despite all the notes I've taken, observations I've logged, reports I've filed....this is the first time it's ever felt strange bringing pen to paper. Leshya asked me why I'm doing this, but I wasn't able to give him an answer. For a researcher, I'm able to give very few answers these days. I keep telling myself that this is just to keep a record, add to recorded history should tragedy strike again. Part of me just thinks that hiding in the distant past will distract from the pain of the recent past.
I've always wondered why Guardians are Chosen. It's been one of those pressing questions for almost as long as I could remember. What made me so special, or perhaps cursed? Why is it that I got to wake in the midst of a waterlogged city with the Void singing in my bones, all while looking at the scattered bones of others that were singing only with the water lapping against them.
(The last part appears to be scribbled out and rewritten a couple times.)
Leshya found me in Old Chicago. The first thing I saw when I woke was a crumbling skyscraper. The first thing I felt was the slimy puddle I was sitting in. Leshya claims there was nowhere better to rez me, and I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. But only just. From what I understand, many Guardians feel a sense of something that drives them to make the journey to the Tower. To the City. To the Traveler. I vaguely remember Leshya, who was known only as Ghost then, trying to find some means for us to get there. More strongly, however, I remember not understanding why.
It was easy enough to understand the importance. I was a newly shambling dead thing with powers beyond my comprehension. The smartest course of action of course would be to find those who could teach me. But instead, all I felt was boundless curiosity. There was no telling how long I'd been dead, but I did know that there were secrets to be found all around me. Golden Age knowledge was almost always worth its weight in glimmer, after all. Looking back, I honestly can't remember if Leshya didn't try to push me to the Tower, or if I just didn't understand where he was trying to herd me. Or if I even recognised he was trying to herd me at all.
It almost certainly would have been smarter for me to go to the Tower, learn to shoot, learn to use this Void Light, before I set to exploring a derelict city. But the pursuit of knowledge often leads to less than intelligent decisions. Something I'm sure other Warlocks are at least slightly familiar with. Needless to say, I died my second death in Old Chicago. Waking up in the mud and water was even worse the second time. I often wonder if Guardians, as a whole, really remember to appreciate their Ghosts. Light be damned, we'd be nothing without them.
The thought of having to live without Leshya fills me with terror. A terror so bone deep I've only felt a comparable level one other time.
(The previous two sentences are crossed out. Only halfheartedly struck from the record.)
It was a month before I felt the pull to the Traveler. Now I wonder why that was. A question of the same curiosity as to why we're Chosen in the first place. I had been growing used to the quiet hum of the Void in my bones and Leshya's gentle presence in my mind when I felt it. More than the Void, more than my bond to Leshya, there was a tug at my entire existence. Leshya felt it too, of course. I think he was mostly excited to go home. To show me his home. To help me make it my home.
I didn't think about Old Chicago again until the Red Legion attacked. Most Guardians, as I understand it, got that peculiar dream in the aftermath. We all assume that it came from the Traveler, and I see no reason to question that. What made me think of Chicago though, was making a trek through the Dark Forest with two others. Upon reaching the Shard, the other Warlock with us gained her Light back. I thought back to Chicago, and the month I spent exploring before feeling the Pull. What if there is some sort of scale to how us Guardians are Chosen? Something we would never notice, if not for the fact that we were faced with a second chance to be Chosen.
I'm not sure it really matters, either way. In the end, the Traveler either Chose you or not. And if you were Chosen, well, at the risk of sounding like a Titan, then perhaps you have a duty to do something with the gift you were given.
I'd like to go back to Old Chicago, maybe sometime soon. I doubt I'll find more answers to my questions there, as opposed to what I could find here with the Shard. But maybe I'll find answers about me. I don't remember there being much to go off of when Leshya first found me, but I'll admit I didn't think to look much. The shock of being brought back to life was a bit much to worry about anything else. It's been at least 15 years, I think, so I doubt I'll find anything. But what's a Warlock but someone who does stupid things in the name of chasing knowledge?
(The entry is signed, but like the rest of the page, speckled with stray drops of ink. It's just possible to make out the name, Avin Xurihl, though.)