Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This cycle is the first. They do not yet know.

Iona stands on top of a cupola, staring across the mists, trying to find the lines between the mountains and the clouds and the architecture. It all bleeds into curves and arches and she wishes she’d read Ikora’s book on the power of circles when she had the chance.

She pulls her helmet off, to see the vastness with her own eyes. Her peripherals absorb it all and she feels like she’s falling, swallowed by the grandeur.

Maybe this feeling will be enough to chase out the others, if she loses herself to it. She looks down, seeking vertigo.

There’s one familiar symbol, white painted arch of a hunter scout, down on an amethyst and marble wall. She feels a slight pang of jealousy, that Petra (whom she considers a friend) invited other Guardians in before her. This is the city of her people, she should have been the Guardian to discover it…

But she was not, that is just how it came to be. And she is not the only awoken guardian either, and probably not the only reefborn. She shouldn’t feel entitled.

Iona had not been available to help Petra, even if she had asked (but she had asked Cayde, which was fine). She was practicing formations again over the pacific, and running attacks on leftover Red Legion targets. Vengeance for her ankle, for her concussion.

For the lost…

Iona’s grief tightens her throat and clouds her thoughts. She leans over the edge, stares past the cliffside and into the abyss. She longs for the giddiness of a leap, but it would lead to a long slow death, a messy revive. Maybe from the top of one of the pinnacles in the distance. Take out some Scorn with the splat.

“Are you going to jump?” A voice calls from below. Iona starts and looks down, to the side this time. A corsair is peering up at her.

Iona pulls her helmet back down over her head, pivots and steps off the edge. Clicks the lift in her boots and settles gently in front of the corsair. “Can I be of assistance? I was just… taking it in.”

“It won’t lose its majesty tomorrow either,” She teases (surprising) with an intriguing gentleness. “Though it may not last for long.”

Yes, the Taken, the Scorn. “What can I do?” Iona straightens her posture.

The corsair looks her over. Notes the Vestian Dynasty in hand, the bow across her back, the sword at her hip. “You are a curious one. Your weapons are reef-made.”

“I was reef-born, in a life long before.” Iona admits. “I find my mind knows its way around them.”

“Curious.” She repeats.

“My name is Iona Asej.” She puts out a hand.

“Vaguely familiar. Lithia Talo.” Lithia takes the hand, shakes it. “Is it true guardians have no memories?”

“Not from Before, that is true.” She attests. “My name was on my tags when I woke. I was told who I am. But I don’t know what it means.”

Lithia hums. “Welcome anyway, old sister.”

Iona’s heart lifts a bit. She hadn’t expected to be so accepted, so quickly. The guards at Vestia were always a bit aloof, had made her feel like an outsider.

It is because of the Queen’s welcome, her invitation to all guardians to come to the Dreaming City to aid them, she’s sure, but it still feels nice.

Perhaps jumping can be pushed to later. There’s always the back of the tower hangar. Iona has the decency not to fall on or in front of civilians when she misses the open air.

“I could use an escort, if you like.” Lithia shrugs smoothly, gracefully. “Got an assignment down in the mists, heavy Scorn presence. It would be faster with assistance, but we are spread thin…”

Iona nods, unslings her bow, and falls in step. “Yes, of course. Lead on.”

Chapter Text

This cycle is the first.

Lithia had heard a lot about Guardians. She had sisters on Vestia who brought home tales.

Sylvia said all of them leap to their deaths for sport, making bets and competition of it, and that’s all they do for leisure. Lithia figured she was mistaken, Sylvia worked internal maintenance, probably hadn’t met many Guardians, and heard that word of mouth.

Also, in response, Oria claimed to have seduced a cute human for a few days. Reportedly they had not jumped to their death once and been plenty good with other leisure, which Lithia trusted a bit more. Oria at least is a guard and would have been in a position to speak to them. Her reports were always more on the ethos side. Guardians were a colorful sort, the one she’d fancied had green hair and a warm smile. They’d had a fun couple days, and parted.

Liean claimed to have met a young one. An earthborn child, who had friends who died long ago. Said they took armor of the fallen and forged them into weapons to remember them by. And she said Guardians were kind, that though many were rancorous and crude, they cared for one another.

Yelian was the most practical, whispered secrets to Lithia that felt dangerous, while the others carried on over something else. Heard Guardians can only come back to life so many times, that they run out. Heard that if you can trap a Ghost the Guardian loses all their power, but would be mad as the Prince on a bad day. Heard that they were built immensely strong even without their magic. Strong enough to break you over their knee, if they had enough height on you.

Oria misheard in an attempt to eavesdrop, and interrupted with something about bending rather than breaking, and the rest of the secrets were lost to Yelian’s unamused stare.

But now Lithia has a Guardian of her own to observe, and evidently be observed in return. Iona has stuck to her like a burr since they’d met. Gives her space when she retreats to corsair camps to rest, but always seems to be around when Lithia is striking out again.

Lithia isn’t afraid of her. Some corsairs revere these Guardians with fear more than respect. Lithia trusts sister Liean. She’d like to think Guardians are nice.

And after a few days, Lithia feels entitled to some questions.

“Do you sleep?” She begins, on the third morning since they have met. This is day eighteen of cycle one, though neither woman knows yet.

“Not really.” Iona shrugs, after a pause, realizing she’s being addressed.

“Eat?”

“On occasion.”

“Do Guardians not need to, or are you a weird one?” Lithia pries.

Iona tilts her head a bit to one side, judgmentally perhaps. Hard to tell since her visor covers her entire face.

“Some Guardians enjoy eating, sleeping. Most can go without if they prefer. The Light sustains. Even this far out, it reaches.” Iona explains, sagely, cryptically, then chuckles. “Curious.”

“Sorry?”

“You called me curious when we first met. I would counter that you are more curious than I.”

Lithia laughs. “And with a sense of humor! I was beginning to wonder if you were really one of those exos, not a sister of mine.”

“Exos have humor.” Iona’s amusement drops back to seriousness, rather suddenly. “Some do and do not. Same as any person.”

“Oh.” Lithia is at a loss, has a feeling like she accidentally dropped something and cracked it on the stone.

“I eat if I am with others who are eating, to be polite. Or if I am on patrols far from the Traveler, like this.” Iona reverts to her previous demeanor, patching up the conversation. “I take rations when you are sleeping.”

“Why do you not eat rations when I eat rations? They are best experienced together, in all their putrescence.” Lithia pulls the gentle humor back, and the discussion is mended, just as it was. But the hole in Iona’s facade is still detectable. She will be more careful.

“I keep watch while you eat. But you sleep among sisters, I know you keep each other safe. So I can let my guard falter a while.”

Iona does stand nearby, and look off into the distance when Lithia pauses for meals. She thought Iona was still just enthralled by the beauty of the city. But she was keeping an eye out for danger, working the whole time.

“You need rest yourself. It has been days.” Lithia protests.

“Strictly speaking, I do not.” Iona counters with an undertone to her voice that tells a tale of many times she’s had this discussion before.

“You are not…” She hesitates, the reference to “exo” still stuck in her mind. “...a machine. We are not expected to run for days on end as corsairs, you should not be either.”

Iona does seem to squirm a little bit but doesn’t immediately respond.

Lithia recognizes she’s close to a nerve, and decides privately to let it go, but Iona volunteers herself.

“My friend Delah three, she liked to rest her processors in a bed. I do not think it was sleeping, but she enjoyed it. She was always warm.”

Lithia tried, to her credit, not to think about Iona in a bed, curled up with a woman. But the fact it even crossed her mind was enough to startle her from the visual.

“She’s not with you?” Lithia rolls her head casually, gazing out into the distance.

“Died for good in the Red War.” Iona reports, quick and emotionless. There it was.

Lithia hums gentle apology and lets the thread drop.

But she learned something. Guardians can really die.

Chapter Text

This cycle is the first.

“Titans brought braziers into the Citadel today, the space that was allotted last week to your tower games.” Lithia mentions, offhanded. She has a neutral tone leaning into disdain, like she hasn’t decided if she should be upset yet.

“Ah, that is the Iron Banner.” Iona counts the weeks in her head. Yes, it was about time.

Lithia sniffs, noncommittally. “We are trying to keep our city in one piece…”

“Saladin is old.” Iona assures. “He respects tradition and honor, and attracts those who feel the same. I think these matches will be more respectful of the grounds than standard crucible. Those who prefer fooling about will find themselves swiftly devoured.”

“Oh?” Lithia rolls her shoulders smoothly. Iona expects it’s to disguise how assuaged her worries are. “That is nice.”

“Do you want to watch a match? I can find the schedule.” Kestrel chirps in her helm, he found it already, and she begins scrolling the list for an arena that sounds like it would belong here.

“Would you be participating?” Lithia’s question catches her by surprise.

“Oh, no. I have not done banner in a long time.” Iona waves it off. “I am much more a sparrowracer.”

Lithia makes a thoughtful nod, pretending to know what that means. Iona resolves to explain the next time they settle for a meal.

“Perhaps though, we should be on over watch, in case any enemies attempt to disrupt the match.” Lithia suggests casually. Iona grins inside her helmet.

“It will be interesting, I promise.”

“Not too interesting, we have work to do.” Lithia grumbles, leading the way up the rocky outcropping. Iona chuckles, following.

They take up posts far away. Lithia wants to get closer, but Iona holds her back. “Cannot be too careful, they use sniper rifles too, sometimes, and are not watching out for us.”

Iona settles down on a comfortable rock, detaches her scope from a spare rifle, passes it to Lithia. She pulls her helm off and tips it upturned between them. Kestrel tunes the radio chatter to listen in as Saladin announces the teams.

Iona pulls her hair free of it’s band, sets about combing her fingers through it and pulling it back into it’s high ponytail. She glances sideways at Lithia, catches her eye as the corsair stares for a couple moments.

“What?” She snorts, bemused.

“I just… had not seen your face yet.” Lithia explains.

“And I have not seen all of yours.” Iona counters.

“Fair is fair.” Lithia pulls down her corsair’s chin mask and pops up her visor, showing off elegant black painted lips and ice blue eyes and the edges of bright purple hair. She keeps her gaze out on the arena, fiddles with the focus on the scope.

“Looks like zone A is closest to us, we should be able to see alpha’s spawn.” Iona points down to the distant courtyard.

“There is a brazier there. Is the point to light it?”

“There are three, they will light if you hold the territory. You want to control them to have an advantage.” Iona explains. “Points are double when you score kills in a team controlled zone.”

Lithia nods in understanding. Iona is surprised she takes the casual mention of death so well.

“Oh.” Lithia shifts forward in surprise, clutching the scope a bit tighter then tries to return to a neutral posture and tone. “Alpha is landing.”

Iona watches her with amusement. “Pick one to follow, perhaps?”

“That one has a bright blue cloak. Easy to pick out.” She breaks away from the lens to glance at Iona’s purple and gold. “None of you Guardians take a subtle approach, do you?”

“Some do. Delah’s boyfriend, Kamon. He wore black and… there was something about him. Tall as me but he could melt into any shadow.”

He hadn’t escapes the Red Legion, though. Lithia detects her mournful undertone, hums a breath of sympathy. Iona is silently grateful.

Lithia scans the battlefield, tracking her chosen champion with interest, until she flinches, almost drops the scope. “By the bones- she was just vaporized!”

“Probably a fusion rifle, yes.” Iona assesses. “There is no limit on what weapons may be used.

“But, she is atoms.” Lithia gasps. “This is sport?”

“Her ghost will bring her back, look, look, check alpha spawn.” Iona shifts in and points, guides her to take up the scope. “She is fine, is she not? What did you think killing for points meant?”

Lithia hesitantly looks again, lets out a deep sigh. “Yes, she is fine.” She looks to Iona, concerned. “I thought, perhaps paint? Or pellet guns? Is it not bad to waste lives here? What if you need them later?”

“We have no limit. A Ghost will bring us back again and again. So long as there is Light.” Memories of the Red War swim below the surface of her mind, but she does not dip into them even as they pool.

“Oh.” Lithia says. “I heard wrong.”

She shuffles a bit closer, unexpectedly and Iona lifts her arm up, away. Lithia turns to give her a sidelong stare of confusion.

“My gauntlets are dangerous.” Lithia snorts like it’s a joke. “No, honest. They trigger on sudden impact, cast out a pulse of Light. I am not sure if it would hurt you but I do not wish to test it.”

“I see. I will be wary.” Lithia nods, scooting a few inches away again.

“I can turn them off.” Iona gets the edge of one of the panels up, prys out a wire and disconnects it. She repeats it on the opposite side, and pats her wrist as the lights between the panels dim. “All set. No unwanted explosions.”

Lithia still eyes her suspiciously, so Iona shifts closer so their knees bump together, putting her helmet on her lap. Lithia, pacified, sinks into her side. She surveys the battlefield with a pinched brow of worry.

“So, you can die as much as you need.” Lithia notes. “And you need the Ghost to come back?”

“Right.”

“And do you… really leap to your deaths for fun?”

Iona sighs a long, drawn out sigh. Of course that is their reputation. She wasn't exactly absolved of adding to it herself. “Some do.” She grouses.

“So you were thinking about jumping.” Lithia presses. She means the day they met, Iona remembers.

“Not for fun, but yes. I like the feeling of falling, it swallows everything else.”

Lithia’s gaze is one of concern, Iona regrets speaking of it.

“I am feeling better, now.” She protests. “And I will not jump while you are around.” She doesn’t want her to have to see that.

“Well get ready to never jump again, I am not leaving. If you like falling that much get in a ship.”

“I am a pilot.” Iona admits. “It is what I usually do.”

“Oh? Me as well!” Lithia brightens, then lets it go with a sigh. “At least I was, before things got all complicated.” Oryx, Iona assumes. The Reef was shaken to its core.

“I see why you also like climbing these ridges, then, same as me.” Iona notes, hoping to keep things lighter, and Lithia nods.

“I was an inner Reef pilot, defended Four Vesta and others close by. Did not go hunting Wolves, or with the Saturn fleet.” She kicks her legs a bit. “Lucky, maybe. I was safe, but reading the lists of the dead while sitting in formation, knowing there was both something and nothing you could have done... Orders are orders.”

Iona nods, hoping her silent support is conveyed and read.

“I am glad to be here, in spite of the danger of this curse. I feel like I am making a difference for once.” Lithia adds.

Out on the battlefield, a deep bell tolls, and the flames in brazier A snap higher into the air than before.

“The hunt.” Iona explains. “Extra points for kills for the team controlling all of the zones. It is alpha.”

Lithia peers down the scope. “Looks like panic.”

“Somewhat. It is to harden the losing team, train them to face a hungry adversary strong.” One of Bravo’s titans takes cover, as two of Alpha’s warlocks close in. He waits for them to flank him, then ignites into an arc bomb and scatters the enemy to dust. Lithia flinches.

“The flames just died in brazier B.” She reports.

“All of them did.” Iona points. “Now this is a lesson for the winning team, the tide can turn at any moment.” She tilts her helm to check the scoreboard on the visor. “Though, I do not think your team is in any danger. The most Bravo can do now is make it difficult for them.”

Lithia hums acknowledgement, but seems less enthused in the match than before. She glances to Iona, appraising her somehow. “You said your name was Asej? I really do feel like I’ve heard that before.”

“I often visited the Vestian Outpost…” Iona offers, but trails off. That was before Mercury, before the Vex. Lithia would not recall, it was impossible.

“Yes, when it was opened to the Guardians.” Lithia nods, seems absorbed in her own thoughts. Glances over the crucible match at the sound of a trail of explosions, someone wielding a Two-Tailed Fox. “But I never met any Guardians in person, I just escorted ships.”

“I’m sorry I cannot be of help. Guardian memories…”

“Yes, empty right?”

“Mostly.” Iona admits. “Some people remember little things. Sometimes it takes experiences to unlock them. I have heard a city-born Guardian say sometimes she walks past someone on the street and a name just attaches to them, clear in her mind, though she’s never met them, not in this life.”

Lithia mulls over this, and looks up to meet Iona’s eyes, with a question she can’t quite seem to bring herself to ask. Iona appreciates her delicacy and graces it with an answer.

“I had a right wingman. I used to remember his name. His ship crashed at the same time as mine, on Mars. When I was reborn it was with the sound of him screaming my name, bouncing around in my skull. Sometimes…” Iona catches her words, realizes she’s never admitted to anyone what was on the tip of her tongue.

Lithia, quiet and solemn, puts a hand on Iona’s elbow, comically careful not to touch her gauntlets. Iona snorts in amusement.

“I used to search for his ship on Mars.” She says finally. “But mine has been buried fully by the sands now. His probably has as well.”

“He might have become a Guardian too, yes?”

“Maybe. But I have let go. Neither of us would be the same person, even if we kept the same names. I have become a different person many times over.”

“Well. I think this Iona is a rather nice one.” Lithia removes her hand and goes back to spectating. Iona lets herself relax and observe as well, warmed by the kindness.

“Match will end soon, bravo does not have the time to come back.” She straightens from her slouch, stretches her back and pulls on her helm. “We can prepare to go back to work.”

“How did that hunter with the blue cloak do? I lost track of her.”

Iona checks the scores, alpha had two hunters, one was a gunslinger in purple Iona had seen earlier. The other was curiously still listed as a bladedancer. “She was a sniper, that is why. Seventeen kills, not bad for someone avoiding the thick of it.”

Lithia hums, looks back out over the Citadel, before pulling her visor down and her mask up once more, handing the scope back to Iona.

“I think I am glad we let you Guardians in.” She decides, nodding her approval.

Iona agrees. “I am glad you let us in too.”

Chapter Text

This cycle is the first. They have known each other for five days.

Today, Iona dies. And then she returns.

They report to Petra. The Queen’s Wrath nods and gives Iona her attention, datapad ready to take notes. Something about Iona hesitates, soft and lost, before she snaps to attention and begins to rattle off statistics. Lithia can’t fathom how she remembers them all. But in the middle of the report, Petra stops typing, holds up a hand.

“I have lost someone. Damnit, that signal has been so spotty.”

“Where?” Iona asks immediately. “I will go check.”

“Rheasilvia, here, I am sending your Ghost her code.”

“I know the way.” Lithia speaks up, mostly to ensure she won't be left out of the venture, and Petra nods to her as well.

“Stay safe, sisters. Bring ours home, if you can.”

Lithia bows in salute, and turns to lead, but turns back at a strange noise, to see a hovering vehicle appear beside Iona, with a humming engine.

“It will be faster if we ride. I have a spare, but not quite time to teach you, I am sorry.” Iona apologizes, straddling the bike. It’s a sleek metallic orange, looks in pristine condition. She had mentioned racing before.

Lithia mounts behind her, tries to figure out how to hold on. Iona leans forward, so far it’s like she’s laying down. “Hang on with your knees. Put your arms around me. Don’t let your feet go too much further back than mine.” She commands.

Her heart skips just once, leaning this close to Iona, but she forces the feeling down, this is strictly for business. She clamps her legs to the sides of the bike, finds a hand hold in Iona’s collar.

A ping pops up in her helm, and a channel brute forces its way through her comms suite. “It will get loud. Direct me.” Iona’s voice echos. “Are you holding on?”

“Yes.” Lithia tightens her grip as the engine revs louder, and they start forward. Iona accelerates gently, but the speed picks up to the point where Lithia can’t hear her own voice over engine and wind as she calls to Iona. Still, Iona can evidently hear her, steering the bike in line with her directions. Lithia works to calm herself and catch sight of landmarks as they rush past. She discovers she has no fear of falling off or being hurt, Iona drives smooth, and she trusts her. Instead, she worries about missing their turns.

They reach the tunnel to the Chamber of Starlight in under a minute, Iona takes them into the cave as far as she can, before the rocks disrupt their path. She halts the bike and twists under Lithia, wraps an arm around her.

She is still unsteady from the whirlwind ride, is confused by this turn of position and then gasps as the bike vanishes below them. It’s Iona’s firm grip that catches her, guides her to land on her feet. She closes the comms channel, as Lithia shakes her head to get the ringing out of her ears, the strange absence of engine overwhelmingly quiet.

“Down the rest of the tunnel?” Iona asks, and Lithia nods. “You alright?”

“Yes, yes I am fine.” Lithia waves, wilts a bit as Iona lets her go. “Onward.”

Iona takes point, Vestian Dynasty in one hand and sword hilt in the other, bracing the base of the sidearm. A good combination for the tight quarters. Lithia makes sure her own Vestian is close at her hip, brings her rifle to bear.

They proceed down the tunnel as quiet as they can. While Iona is not silent, it is apparent that her armor was made with at least an effort to muffle the clacking of plates, and heavy footfall of boots.

The rock soon gives way to arched ceiling, carved amethyst. Noises much more prominent than Iona can be heard, the chattering of deranged fallen. The women stack on either side of a path, behind columns, and look out over the horde.

On the floor, there is a body, the Scorn swarming over it. A pair are squabbling over something shiny.

Iona snarls across from her, low and forceful. Lithia had not yet heard her angry. She holsters her sidearm and swings her sword with a bitter ferocity. The metal sings as a strip of void energy hurls itself at the nearby captain. It also attracts the attention of the room, of course, but Iona is already moving. Lithia keeps her position behind the pillar and does her best to lay down covering fire, but Iona is a rage filled blur.

She goes after the largest first, an arc charged behemoth. She cuts it apart limb by limb, ignoring the lesser enemies around her. One of the dregs swings a blade that connects with her gauntlet and she doesn’t even flinch. There is a rapid set of beeps and a click, then a heartbeat later a small shockwave of light. The dreg, and a couple next to it are vaporized, and the behemoth stumbles. So those are her deadly gauntlets, Lithia notes, amid the chaos.

Lithia reloads, scans the room, and feels budding fear. There are more Scorn than she’d expected, they keep crawling out of the marblework. She switches gears, focuses on picking off snipers.

Iona’s blade flings void, and though Lithia’s adrenaline never subsides, the enemies dwindle, things became okay. Until there’s a sickening crack, and from her peripheral Lithia sees one of the fire-slingers bombs connect with Iona’s head. Her armor saves her as she skids away, but disarmed and dazed, she can’t move out of the way of the last sniper.

Lithia is too slow to stop it, cries out one strangled noise as Iona convulses. She fires on the sniper, takes it down. Shifts her aim to address the half dozen others on the ground around Iona, starting with the fire-slinger. Moments after he falls, her rifle clicks empty and the scorn howl and rush her. She drops it and pulls her own Vestian, is grateful anything else with a gun is dead as she unloads a clip into the onslaught, slides another home, and empties that one too.

She’s left standing, panting, as the last enemy gurgles it’s death. Hesitates only a heartbeat or two before rushing to Iona. She kneels, trying to relax enough to think, first aid racing through her brain, but nothing useful arises for a shot through the throat.

And Iona isn't dead, not yet. She is unconcious, fading, but her lungs still shudder against her armor and her hands twitch. There is a soft glow about her where her shield has returned. Too little too late. Chest heaves one more heavy breath and goes still.

“Excuse me.” Comes the unfamiliar voice, before Lithia can try to find another Guardian for help. Not Iona’s voice, faintly masculine, maybe? Hard to place, but crystal clear. “Pardon me, I’m sorry, can you please step back? And shield your eyes, it’s going to be a bright flash.”

Lithia scrambles back, half because the voice said so, and half to detect the source.

Then the Ghost appears. It must be a Ghost, Lithia has never seen one, but what else can it be? Bronze geometric cube, tines angled aerodynamically like an odd bird-drone. It blinks it’s single eye at her, acknowledging, then turns down to Iona, almost seems to sink in pity, before expanding into pieces.

It is a bright flash, Lithia makes an indignant noise and rubs her eyes.

“I told you so.” The voice rings, singsong, and she grunts in return.

When the stars stop dancing in her eyes, Iona is standing with a hand at her throat, checking for the wound. Lithia can see from here it’s gone.

Iona looks back down to her, and it's the most surreal thing to see a dead woman nod to you and extend an arm.

“Are you alright?”

Lithia sputters. “Am I-? You, do you feel well?”

Iona looks to her shoulder, where the Ghost floats. It looks back. Lithia is struck by the hindsight of all the times Iona averted her gaze to her right, and how each time she must have been speaking to her Ghost.

Honestly, privately, Lithia is suddenly jealous. Iona was becoming special, and knowing she already had a deeper connection to someone, something else? It’s difficult to grapple with.

“I am fine.” She relents, standing on her own, and dusting herself off. “You do not… still hurt after that?”

“It stings.” Iona admits. “It will fade soon. Just a bit tingly.”

Lithia must have been looking at her Ghost a bit too long, because the drone looks back, and vanishes. Iona tuts in it’s direction.

“It is very open here.” She says. “Let us gather our sister’s badge and body and get moving. I am well, Lithia, I am sorry for scaring you.”

“I was not afraid. I just did not know what to do.” Lithia spies the badge, walks over and retrieves it, wipes the blood off on her pant leg. “The poor thing. She was so outnumbered.”

Iona goes to the body, places the corsair’s gun on her chest and folds her arms over it. She picks up the body with ease, and with a gentleness Lithia would almost call tenderness. Looks up and nods. “Let us get her home.” She murmurs.

Lithia nods back and leads the way out, down the hall and back to the tunnel. It closes in to the point where they must walk single file, and suddenly Iona speaks up. “It is much more enclosed here.”

She turns back, confused, to agree, sees Iona’s head turned to the right. Her Ghost appears again, drifting and looking between them.

Iona continues with a patient tone. “Lithia, this is Kestrel, my Ghost. He piggybacks off my systems, sees all, hears all, but he is a good partner.” The Ghost bobs side to side, and blinks at Lithia.

“I do apologize for snapping earlier.” He acquiesces. “I get a bit tense when I need to revive, timing is crucial.”

Lithia would not have called his tone snapping, but she nods anyway. “No, it is alright, I understand. Good to meet you. Thank you for… bringing her back.” She responds lamely.

He chuckles. “I always will. Thank you.”

He vanishes in transmat sparks before she can ask what he means.

Iona snorts through her nose. “Well. He is on the shyer side, for Ghosts, but it is good for them to be careful. I would be in much more danger without him.”

“Would you just… die?” Lithia asks quietly, trying not to sound threatening. She hopes it doesn’t come across as anything but concern.

She shakes her head. “No. He was dormant in the Red War when we all lost our Light, and I was alright. It was rough, but I was alright.”

Lithia nods and clambors up an embankment, turns to help Iona with the body, but the Titan just engages her boots and lifts up the distance. Lithia turns to continue, but Iona fidgets behind her.

“You must think me rather selfish for calling a time without Light difficult. I had a concussion as well, fractured ribs, a broken ankle and… lost a few people. Dear ones.”

Lithia halts as well. “Not at all… Iona that is terrible.”

“I try not to act like the Light makes me better than anyone else, that is not fair…”

Lithia doubles back, goes to clap Iona on the shoulder, but pauses at the sight of the gauntlets, and the height difference between them. She takes her elbow instead. “Iona I do not feel like you act like that at all. You are kind and fair and respectful, do not fret.”

“Thank you.” Iona blurts, still seems overall concerned. There is much more Lithia wants to ask, and understand. But it would be too much, right now. She can tell.

“Let us get our sister laid to rest, then we will sit, and you can talk to me, alright? Camp with me tonight.”

Iona looks at her for a while, and Lithia wishes desperately she could see her face beneath that helmet.

Kestrel appears, startles Iona, shoulder checks his tiny body into her helm, and vanishes. She barely rolls her shoulder in response, but shakes her head after huffing in his direction.

“Alright. That sounds nice.”

Lithia decides she loves this Ghost as much as his Guardian.

Chapter Text

This cycle is the second.

Iona wakes up on her ship, in orbit, systems humming gently. She… last she remembered she was sitting in the grass, absently stripping leaves and bark off a baryon twig, while Lithia slept beside her.

She listens to her own hitched breathing in the silence. “Kestrel.” She murmurs. “Report?”

Her Ghost pauses before responding over ships comms. “I’m… confused. We have an entry vector to the Dreaming City. Awaiting your command.”

Iona groans and grabs her head. “What? I remember landing. We were there for weeks.”

“I know.” He says lowly. “I feel glitched, Iona.”

“Vex.” She whispers.

“Yes. Probably. I assume, I mean.”

She shuffles in her pilot’s chair, sits up straighter and takes the controls. Furrows her brow at the sensors. “That is… a lot of friendly ships. Is the whole tower here?”

“I think we are going to have to take turns landing again.” Kestrel grouses. “No one is on top of each other…. exactly. Technically speaking.”

She peers out the cockpit window at the pair of engines just off her starboard and takes manual controls, veering them a bit away. Kestrel connects their vector with the eight ships closest to theirs, and the nine of them drop in like a triple strike. Iona finds comfort in the formation, takes second point.

She opens a public channel and listens to the chatter. No one knows whats going on, only that all of them were scattered across the Dreaming City doing one thing or another and suddenly were not. Fireteams start setting rendezvous points and checking in. No one seemed to be missing.

Some also blame Vex manipulation. Everyone’s ship status has been reset. Though Ghosts concur, date and time are not affected, strangely. One fireteam of four keeps interjecting into discussion with the name Savathun, evidently a hive goddess from out-system.

Iona keeps out of conversation, listens, and absorbs, and tries to think of where to find Lithia. She thinks she remembers how to get to their camp from the mists. She refrains from calling Petra, as it seems her comms will be busy with many confused Guardians.

She fights the despair that rides on the uncertainty.

Years ago, Iona went to Mercury and the Vex nearly devoured her timeline. When she escaped, and returned to the tower, no one remembered who she was. She rebuilt her life after that. The Red War took that life away. Now, it is almost too much to think she might lose this budding life as well. That she might lose Lithia.

---

When they land in the mists, the corruption is gone, but already the sounds of battle are beginning, Guardians move to intercept Scorn.

Iona avoids the conflict, makes haste to the last place she saw Lithia. The climb up the bluffs takes twenty minutes, and at the top she is rewarded with nothing.

It takes a full minute of shaky breathing for her to quell the welling panic. She turns away, and heads for the cupola, where they met.

She climbs it and stands, carefully plants her feet where they were. Looks down, looks up, looks around. Waits. The sky above reflects on the still water like the open void against a mirror, and Iona has to work to not imagine it’s empty space below that surface.

It’s silly, she knows, to expect to be the epicenter of whatever has happened. But if it is Vex- and it feels like Vex- then maybe… maybe they have come for her again.

Better here than the Tower, she thinks. Then: No, no it is not. If the Vex wanted her they should have taken her on her long walks alone on Mars. They had plenty of time to pluck her from the universe and not cause issues for anyone else.

She’s worrying too much, she’s thinking too hard. This is not about her.

Iona squeezes her eyes shut and leaps down to the marsh, boots splashing in the water. When she opens them there are ripples warping infinity, and she drags her thoughts from the stars and focuses on the way the pebbles sift under her boots.

She goes to Petra. Petra directs her to the tunnel between the Mists and Rheasilvia.

On the way there, she catches sight of a Corsair kneeling behind a rock, tracking the movements of a pack of Scorn. Something about her shape is right, familiar. Iona stares for a long few minutes, checking, waiting for a sign to the positive or negative. She is dreadfully uncertain.

So she leaps, metaphorically. Walks forward to come within earshot.

“Lithia?” She tries. The name registers, the Corsair turns.

“Iona.” Her own name is magical, releases the pent up knot of fear. She remembers me.

They stride to meet one another. Lithia steps to the side, circles her completely, looking disbelieving.

“You remember me, right?” Iona asks.

“Remember you? How could I forget you? And you came back.” Lithia breathes. She reaches out a hand to grab Iona’s arm, trace along the geometric gauntlets to settle at her elbow, between the panels. “And you are real.”

“I am.” She confirms, bemused, relieved. Iona draws her into a careful embrace. Lithia squirms in her grip, sinks closer, folds arms around her back.

“I thought I had dreamt you, when it all went back in time.” Lithia laughs. ”A Guardian following me for days, just for company? Preposterous.”

“Do not sell yourself short, you are pleasant company.” She fixates next on the first sentence again. “Back in time? It was a temporal fluctuation? We are certain?”

Lithia pulls back, to business. “We presume. Things have returned to as they were three week ago. Objects and people have been moved, and sources about the city say that this is three weeks ago.”

“Sources? Can I speak with them?”

Lithia hesitates. “Unlikely. Do not tell Petra I said anything.”

Iona nods respectfully, allows the city it’s secrets. “I will inform her I have experience with the Vex, and with heavy time dilation. We need to document everything, in a way that is safe.”

“My files are gone. If this happens again…”

“I will keep copies for you, anything you want, my ship and Kestrel have storage. The Vex cannot touch us Guardians. We will help you.” She holds Lithia’s shoulders at arm’s length, earnest. “I will not let them hurt you.”

Lithia blinks at the proclamation, searches her face intently. “Iona… are you alright?”

It’s a disarming look. Iona is forced to pause and consider. “I am worried. But I do not want to worry you.” She admits, finally.

Lithia snorts. “My entire world was just turned backwards by three weeks. You cannot stop me from worrying.”

“No.” She agrees with a sigh. “I suppose I cannot.”

Hands come up to encase hers on Lithia’s shoulders. She can detect the soft smile.

“Tell me about it, let us duck somewhere safe.”

Iona follows, led by the wrist, to an alcove in the amethyst cliffs. She tells her story of Mercury and Vex and fear. Lithia sits with legs across Iona’s lap, a grip on her breastplate holding her close as she listens. Iona finds her weight is a welcome comfort, grounds her to the present.

---

When she told Ikora Rey of the dream, Iona was high on something medicinal mixed into a tea to calm her nerves and ease her mind. For the first week since she returned to the Tower she would have episodes. Always in the evening, when work had died down, when people went to sleep. When there was less to distract her from her thoughts. She would freeze up, something striking a chord and everything in her mind racing, spiraling. She would pluck apart everything she could see, hear, smell, and try to claim it as real, only to reason with another part of her mind why it was not. And her negative side always won.

Ikora would find her, oftentimes. Drawn by the bleeding solar, not dangerous, safely contained, but loud and warm. She would pull Iona somewhere dim and quiet and cool and talk to her slow until she calmed.

After the first week, she would drag her to the gym and push her face first into a punching bag. The exercise brought some kind of clarity, or perhaps a release of care.

Iona tells Lithia all of this, calm and collected and slow, pressed uncomfortably against a beautiful crystal wall. She recounts the vision of bright sun, deep void, ominous red Vex eyes, the flower that was her ghost that was her hammer. Tells her how her Titan Commander did not recognize her, how no one recognized her, how her wingmen and women of the City did not know her. She did not break a single tear.

“I am real, and you are too.” Lithia says with quiet certainty.

“I do not know.” Iona replies.

“I do.” And she leaves no room for argument. Iona falls silent and dips her head in so her visor clicks gently into Lithia’s helm. Lithia pats the plane where her cheek would be, beneath plasteel and the thin strip of polarized glass.

“I thought you were a dream.” Lithia admits, carries on in and comically earnest voice. “I have terribly vivid dreams of beautiful women. I think I am silly and lonesome.”

Iona manages a light chuckle.

“I am sorry for spilling all my pain onto you. Thank you for listening.” She says softly. Lithia wraps her arms around her middle and hugs.

“I am your wingman now.” She promises, and Iona’s blood chills.

“I have lost too many of those. Let us be something different.” She whispers. Lithia shifts slightly, looks up at her, expression masked.

“Alright. Whatever you want.”

Chapter Text

Iona is the softest-spoken woman Lithia Talo has ever met, and yet when she is around everything gets so terribly loud.

Day eleven, cycle one, Lithia is alone. She has been assigned an anomaly, she tracks it to its source, beyond the Oracle Engine. Something big arrives, what was once a Hive knight, but is no longer. It levels a massive cannon and Lithia feels the deepest fear, and runs. She reports what she sees and Petra sends a strike team. They eliminate the Taken, but are too late to stop the spreading curse.

---

Day eleven, cycle two. Lithia is determined to take the gift of the time loop to do better, so Iona comes with her. She is filled with apprehension, knowing what is to come. Iona walks a ways aside, looking up in awe at the architecture. She does not appear afraid, has her bow nocked and drawn, scanning for blights while admiring the scenery.

“Petra speaks to the Queen, in there.” Lithia says, gesturing to the building, with the tendrils of corruption creeping up from it’s base. It’s an ominous sign. It’s growing all over again. She tries to ignore it.

Iona halts in her steps, asks in an even softer voice than usual. “She lives?”

“You did not know? Yes, we found out the day Petra brought the first guardian here. Our Queen lives, though she is trapped in a place not-here.”

Iona looks up at the marble tower, bowstring slackening. “We felt the death all the way at the tower. My teammates… we took an entire week off to grieve.”

Lithia tilts her head, pauses at the end of the bridge, the entrance to the courtyard, which seems quiet for now. “Your teammates were awoken as well?”

“No, both exos. Just good people, who did anything for me.”

Lithia wants to say something, but her thoughts are interrupted when the knight arrives, where it did before.

She swears and ducks behind a column, aiming from the cover. The knight roars, monstrous eyes bearing down on her as it levels it’s canon. She wants to run, run, run.

Iona’s sparrow has an engine louder than a jumpship’s drive when it hovers overhead. Lithia learns this when the Titan drives it directly into the knight’s abdomen.

It explodes, of course, but the knight only stumbles, and Iona falls away, battered and smoking. Alive, but surrounded. The howling blights spit thralls that scream and rush her.

“Iona!” Lithia calls. “Move!”

“Hold position.” Iona commands over comms, clipped and firm. Lithia longs to rush forward and yank her away, for both of them to sprint off and be safe, but there’s something silent and powerful in her posture, an electricity in the air. It resolves to a reverberation and a reality breaking clang as a massive flaming hammer forms in Iona’s hands. She hefts it’s weight and lunges at the enemy. Every atom around her seems to ignite itself as she swings it, caving in the knight’s semi-material carapace.

Lithia watches agape as flames dance in the courtyard, and the smell of burning ozone slips through her filters to her nose. When it ends, the Light reveals Iona standing before the battered enemy forces. She draws a sidearm and extinguishes the rest of the creatures. One final thrall rushes her and raises arms to strike, but Iona merely lifts a gauntlet to block it. The claws strike her arm, and there is the beep-click, the blast of Light. She is a mountain.

Iona dusts her mark off and strides back over to meet Lithia.

“That is the Light, then?” Lithia murmurs, pulls herself up from cover. She’s struck by how much shorter she is than this Titan, who just set herself aflame.

“It is my Light. Many wield it differently. They call me a Sunbreaker.”

Lithia feels like there is something personal there, and wants suddenly to understand. Yet another unending layer to Iona.

“I should report.” She admits. “Can you tell me about the Light tonight? I want to hear what it is like.”

“I will.” Iona agrees.

“And about your friends, maybe?”

Iona pauses, but nods. “We will see.”

---

Day eleven, cycle three, they go again, because they have done it before, they know what they are facing, and someone must. Lithia looks around her as they narrow in on the site, checking for anything different. Their mission is to observe, now, see how close each encounter is to the last cycle. It sounds like giving up. No longer calling their struggling “fighting.” Simply observing, turning all hope to the Guardians.

Iona has only grown in confidence each cycle where Lithia has withered further. She strides down the center of the path, in front, with a hefty machine gun in her hands. She has kept the barrel level most of her walk, and should be feeling it’s weight by now, but she appears strong as ever. She walks with pride and purpose, and Lithia finds it comforting.

They reach the place where the blights come. It feels like it's taking them an eternity to do so. Lithia checks her time against the time from last cycle. They’re late, but it could be she was off…

Her thoughts are interrupted by the wind, picking up and beginning the familiar howl. The blights appear in what she thinks are the right places. Lithia scans the courtyard, taking stock of where enemies have spawned, and how many. She thinks it’s identical, but how to record…

“Get your head down.” Iona says, striding up beside her. She sounds nearly cheerful in her quiet way. This time the taken knight roars and spits alchemical fire, and while Lithia’s pilliar may not be enough to stop it, her Titan gestures firmly and a glowing wall of light springs forth, blocks the flames.

Iona steps forward through the barricade, and is warped by the partial translucency and heat of the fire. Lithia waits for the clang of her hammer, now familiar, but is instead graced by a terrible mechanical cacophony.

She recalls what she’s seen of the Scorn, and is for a moment terrified they’ve come as well, with some horrible weapon. But she peers through the flames to look for Iona and finds her in a power stance, machine gun chattering louder than a mortar. The bullets tear into the knight and anything foolish enough to step into the path of destruction. She is unmoving and unmovable.

Her clip is empty and she shuffles aside, reloading. Lithia fires lesser covering fire for the interim, but Iona is certainly the biggest threat, the Taken merely glance at Lithia before returning to their prime target. And as Iona’s weapon chatters to life once more she decimates them with a sweeping arc, before focusing finally on the knight and bringing him down.

Lithia concentrates on stilling her breathing as Iona comes to meet her.

“I will not let them get you, you know that right?” She has concern in her quiet voice. Lithia takes a moment to form words.

“That gun is louder than expected.” She manages to get out, with half a chuckle.

Iona flinches. “I can find something else-”

“No!” Lithia cuts her off. “You saved my life, yet again. That was most effective. I will be prepared next cycle.”

On autopilot, she reloads her rifle and leads the way to the Observatory building. Iona trails at her shoulder, a tall comforting presence.

Lithia ducks into her alcove and gives her report. Iona sits beside her, very close. She pretends Iona is the wall and when the comms channel closes, sinks into her like a sack against stone. Iona lifts an arm to let her lean against her chest.

“I am alright.” Lithia promises, and Iona hums agreement, a little too fast.

“Do you want to talk about something?” She murmurs, voice quiet as the soft chimes of amethyst clinking around them.

“Not really.” Lithia sighs.

“I just feel like…” Iona hesitates, obviously trying to tiptoe in the conversation. “I have told you much about me, I think I really should ask about you. But if this is a bad time?”

“It is not… it is nothing. I am just a bit of a coward.” She pulls her elbows in close, squishing herself up small. The intent was to pull away from Iona a little, but it merely provides an avenue for the Titan to lean in and envelop her more completely. Iona takes the opportunity, wrapping strong arms around Lithia.

“This is the third time you have faced this beast. That is not cowardly. You return again and again because you must. That is quite brave.” Iona’s voice is just at her ear, soothing. Lithia relaxes at the sound.

It is a release of emotions to hear those words, like something melting away from her mind. It reaches her eyes and tears pool and spill, quiet and gentle. “It feels nice to hear that from you.” She admits.

Iona hums into the back of her helm, holding her fast. Lithia curls her arms up around Iona’s. The tension falls away from her shoulders, her spine. It's calmer than she's felt in a long time, makes her want to curl up and sleep.

“We should get to camp.” Lithia murmurs.

“In a little.” Iona replies. “Just rest a moment.” And Lithia’s eyes drift closed in the stillness of the hall and the undisturbed safety of Iona’s embrace.

Chapter Text

This is day eighteen, cycle three. They are lounging at camp before rest.

“I found you!” Lithia proclaims, jolting up from where she was curled with her datapad. It’s enough to startle Iona, gripping Vestian Dynasty for a moment.

“Pardon?” She manages, relaxing her hand, one finger at a time.

“You are here. Iona Asej, I knew it!” Lithia crawls over to sit beside her, shows off the datapad. “You saved my life.”

“You mean before last week.” Iona tries to inject a bit of teasing into her tone, to lighten the mood. “And the one before that, and before that?” She thinks she’s calculated it properly, as it draws a pointed raised eyebrow from Lithia.

“Uncalled for.” She pouts playfully for a brief moment, but is more intent on what she is trying to show. “I mean before we met here, I mean before you died.”

Iona can’t hide the sag of her posture or the way she flinches. Too busy trying to parse what that means. Which death? There have been too many to keep track of. She looks down at the datapad and-

A squadron title, ship class, a list of names. Unfamiliar, Unfamiliar, Iona Asej, Sonj Eran-

She can’t help the choked gasp, putting one hand on the ground to steady herself as she hunches over. “Sonj, that was his name… he was.”

“Your wingman.” Lithia say softly, knowingly, with extreme care and sympathy.

Iona holds out a hand for the datapad, and Lithia surrenders it willingly, sits back on her heels, watching her thumbing over the names with trembling fingers.

Minutes pass, and Iona feels the need to speak, like silence will carry on eternally if she doesn’t. “I cannot remember. I am trying very hard.”

“That is okay.” Lithia promises, delicately. “I did not mean for it to be so difficult for you, I just knew. I knew you, somewhere, somehow.”

The blood pounds in Iona’s head, the thoughts of what this could mean. An after-action report, a record of what happened. Context, at long last, after nearly fifty years, for the tiny little memory that sometimes bounced in her brain. It had been a long time since this one plagued her, she had put it to rest, made peace with never knowing.

Now she knew.

“We crashed on Mars.” She says aloud. She should be able to read the words on the screen but her eyes keep bouncing around it, taking in different ones in the wrong order, jumbling them in her mind. “We were… why were we there?”

“We were hunting Wolves.” Lithia supplies. “My squadron. We had a trail. We found them. You were a standard patrol in the sector. We were attacked, you intervened. Sacrificed yourselves for us.”

Iona holds her breath, replays the words in her head, tries to sync them to the distant yell she can remember. “No one made it?”

“None from yours.”

Iona lets her breath out through her nose. She had always known, really. She hadn’t put all her effort into searching for other wreckages on Mars to keep up some futile hope. No, it was denial, all along. If there was no body, she could pretend whoever she’d cared for had survived. As long as she kept looking, but never found it...

“I am glad to know, for certain.” She musters a rueful smile. “Now I will not have to waste months pretending to sift through the sand.”

Lithia looks pained, puts a hand to Iona’s cheek. “I am truly sorry to bring it up.”

Iona shakes her head gently, to assure her it is alright, but also being careful not to discourage the delicate touch.

“What surprises me most, is that you looked through the records to find who we were. You worked so hard to remember us.”

“It was months later.” Lithia admits, drops her hand to Iona’s collar, snakes the arm around to lounge across her shoulders. “You all dove straight between their formation, drew all their fire. We were able to escape, because of you.” Lithia looks down at the pad. “I looked up all of you after, because I wanted to know who had sacrificed themselves for us. I was -am- eternally grateful.”

“I am very glad you made it as well.” Iona says earnestly. “Of all the people I have tried to save. At least I succeeded somewhere.”

Lithia rests her cheek against Iona’s chestplate. “I wanted to commit your names all to memory, but I did not feel worthy.”

“Worthy? Death does not bring more worth to a life.” Iona says softly, hoping Lithia does not believe that. It would put her, a Guardian with hundreds of deaths beneath her, on a pedestal she was not comfortable with. And part of what made her feel so content with Lithia was the absence of that worship.

But Lithia just shrinks against her some, shamefully. She relaxes her breathing, looks up to meet Iona’s eyes, open and vulnerable. “It is not that. It is because I asked to be transferred. I was afraid. I almost died, and then… someone else died for me? It terrified me.”

Iona holds her gaze steady, non-judgemental. She will not give Lithia any reason to feel ashamed.

“You must think less of me.” Lithia says hollowly, averting her gaze. Iona takes hold of her chin and gently pulls it back.

“No.” She whispers sincerely. “I just understand you a little better. We can take less combat patrols, if you would like. More distant reconnaissance.”

“You are a fighter…”

“I am whatever I must be. And if I must be a scout for you, I will be.”

Gratitude seeps into Lithia’s gaze, her shoulders fall in contentment, and Iona lets her go with a tilt of her lips, just edging towards a smile.

“I am very afraid to lose you.” Lithia admits. “Every time I grew close to someone… they would go to war. Volunteer for other units, closer to action. They all wanted vengeance but I was too afraid to follow them. Many died, some did not, most were changed when they came back on leave. And I know they did not do it to hurt me. They did it because they needed to, and I respect that, but. I was very lonely without them. But not lonely enough to follow.”

“You follow me.” Iona offers. Maybe they follow each other, but she is trying to encourage.

“That is not because of bravery.” LIthia slithers down Iona’s side, stretching out to lay on her back in the grass, her head resting on Iona’s crossed ankles. “ I must apologize, I have been rather selfish. I have clung to you because I am afraid you will go too, someday.”

“I do not mind when you cling.” Iona promises. “Delah was very clingy, I am used to it.”

She does not add how different it feels from the way Delah was. Delah was a partner, a teammate, a roommate, a friend. Many many things, but Iona knew from the day they met she did not love Delah, not like that. The flirts fell empty, the charm was amusing but nothing more. And Delah found Kamon to love, and it was all okay.

But the way Lithia watches her -stretched on her back, gazing up, comfortable but vulnerable at the same time- that is something different. She is beautiful, did Iona never realize? She feels like she has, over and over. The best form of deja vu she’s ever had, and there has been a lot amidst the cycles.

“I am not going anywhere.” She vows. “I will see this curse lifted, I will see you freed. And then, I would like to take you to my City. It has not the majesty of this one, but it has orchards and markets, and many colorful people. I would love for you to see them, and see the Traveler. And see whatever you want.”

“Sightseeing tour? We can try to get me time off, or would you smuggle me away in your ship?” Lithia teases, her dancing smile gracing eyes and lips again.

Internally, Iona winces. It would not be unlike the way she left the Reef the first time. Steal a ship, run... “I should like to do it officially, if possible.” She keeps her expression neutral. Now is not the time to dip into sorrows again, nor risk Lithia’s opinion of her.

“You know Petra well enough to pull those strings, do you not?” Lithia stifles a yawn.

Iona sighs. “No longer, she does not remember me. And I have not had the energy nor heart to try to rekindle that particular relationship.”

“You were close, once?”

“Good friends, before Mercury. She treated me as a person when all others treated me as a curiosity. I always loved visiting the Vestian Outpost, for her.”

Lithia quirked a lip, found that an odd thing to say, evidently, but kept her peace. Her drooping eyelids betray a need to sleep. “She was lucky to have known you when she did. And would be lucky to know you again.”

“Perhaps.” Iona nods, but has other interests than Petra now. She moves a hand to brush some of Lithia’s hair from her face, and instead keeps it there, weaving through strands.

“Maybe that is all one can hope for, with you, to know you while they can. I have been happy to know you, Iona, and I will be happy to keep knowing you.” Lithia muses.

“And I am honored to keep knowing you.” She replies, and loves the light that comes to Lithia’s face as she closes her eyes and surrenders to sleep.

Chapter Text

Lithia paces the hall until the sounds of battle end, and the faint mist and smell of rosewater fade. She falls into lazy attention in the nearest alcove as Guardians pass, crystals clutched in hand, murmuring to one another with hushed anticipation.

Iona is among the last to leave the Well, deep purple crystal tucked into her belt. She pauses by Lithia to watch the rest pass.

“Seven was more than plenty, no casualties we could not handle.”

“Seven emerged, were there any casualties at all?” Lithia challenges.

“We revived them.” Iona explains, and Lithia frowns, still wrapping her head around exactly how that works. And why it still counts as casualties, if it isn’t really.

Iona cranes her neck to look down the hall, watching the other Guardians summon sparrows and speed off towards the Spine. “You are not in a hurry.” Lithia notes.

“I would like to walk. They will all be clustered about the oracle. I would prefer a private meeting, if possible. If She wills it so, of course.”

“Would you like me to meet you-” Lithia ventures, but Iona puts a hand up, to interrupt.

“I would like you to come, if you are able.”

Lithia rocks on her heels, sucks in a breath. “I have never met with the Queen personally…” She admits. The prospect is nerve wracking. She’s had none of the proper training of a court guard or emissary, and doesn’t feel naturally gifted with social graces.

Iona catches her by the arm, something surprisingly gentle. “Well, she is about to have her attention assailed by a slew of Guardians who know nothing of your culture, I am sure if you simply show up respectful, you will be enough, after that.”

It makes sense. Lithia nods, accepting. Iona straightens back, she can almost see her smile beneath the faceted helmet.

The walk to the spine is uneventful. A few of the Guardians speed by in the opposite direction. The others must have found other ways off, because when the women reach the Oracle Engine, the structure is empty. Iona leads the way up marble stairs to the platform before the orbiting rings. She releases the crystal won from the Well, and there is a heavy noise of shuffling geometry as the Engine aligns.

The eye rotates and emits a glow, Iona immediately takes a knee. Lithia, a few paces behind her, follows suit, chest to bent leg in the deepest bow she can manage.

Iona’s voice wavers with emotion Lithia cannot place. “Your Grace…?” After a long silent pause, she carries on, more formally. “Guardian Iona Asej, reporting. I arrived recently, and I have been doing everything I can.”

The Queen’s sonorous voice rings out, filling the space wholly and completely. “I know. You have returned.”

The reverberating tenor of the sound shakes her core. Lithia keeps her head down but her eyes look up as far as they can, and lock on Iona’s back. She sees the same shudder move down her spine, and Iona breaks her bow to look up at the engine, searching. “You remember…?” Iona breathes.

“There are protections against the casualties of Vex manipulation. Ones that did not protect our Dreaming City wholly, it seems.”

“I… Thank you for allowing me back. I hate to see the city suffering.”

“Yes, a City in peril is difficult to ignore, when the rewards for it’s aid align with your own goals.” There is something amusing the Queen. “You would have been welcome sooner. Though I see what granted you boldness to approach our shores at last. My brother’s demise.”

“I meant nothing of the sort, it was coincidence. There was a war.” Iona pleads. “I was only making sure we had driven the Red Legion off before committing to a new cause.”

The Queen shushes her, Lithia swallows to keep from gawking. Her heart bleeds for Iona, cannot imagine upsetting Her Grace. But at the same time, the Titan speaks with a candidacy beyond what she must have had in her Corsair life.

“What matters is you are here now.” Her Grace decides. “And you brought a sister with you here today.”

Lithia closes her eyes as she feels the gaze of her Queen fall over her bowed head. Like a warm touch drifting over her shoulders. The focus drifts back to Iona, and she lets herself relax a little, tries to quell the thrill of being acknowledged by Her Grace. Losing composure would be unbecoming of a Corsair.

The Queen’s voice grows distant. “You have made the right choice, Iona. And you are forgiven for taking so long to arrive. We understand the primal, complicated loyalties of humanity, even if we do not practice them. You will become Awoken again, loyal to only one.” With what sounds like a withdrawal of breath, the presence ebbs away, and the engine begins to gently turn once more.

Iona remains bowed a minute longer. Litha begins to carefully stand once more, uncertain. Eventually, her Titan does as well.

“Wow.” Lithia whispers, her voice sounding smaller than she even expected after that. Iona nods, numbly.

“Walk back with me?” Iona offers, uneasily. A silly question, there is no reason for them to part. Lithia feels a tug of concern rim the curiosity that she was harboring, after witnessing that discussion.

Iona is quiet on their walk, leads Lithia up winding trails to their usual camp, tucked atop a high precipice, with its pair of knotted trees and the hollow in the rock that has the space to cradle two. Iona removes her helmet and curls beneath the overhang. Lithia pulls her whole helmet off as well, nestles uncomfortably but insistently against stone and plasteel.

Iona breathes, shuffles a bit to provide a better plane for Lithia to rest against, and explains.

“I was reborn a Guardian in the cockpit of my Ceres Gallot, crashed on Mars.” She explains. “Crows found me, I was picked up by a corsair patrol. The late prince-” No reverence to her voice. She sighs deeply. “He brought me before The Queen, presented me as a prize, discovery, weapon. But I was also a woman.”

“She accepted me, She welcomed me back. She did not have to. But he… told me I would be forgotten, that I would be nothing but a tool. And it shook me to my core, felt so intrinsically wrong. What was once home became like a prison. I hated him for it.”

She shakes her head once, heavily. “I stole an old fighter and ran away to the Last City after that. I spurned our Queen, insulted the prince, and abandoned my people for a City I never knew. You must think much less of me.”

Lithia ponders long in their shaded hollow, listens to breathing and wind.

“I think less of the late Prince, may he rest peacefully among the stars.” She says at last carefully. Iona snorts.

“You are a corsair.” She says dryly. “And I know by Petra’s tells that the general opinion within the ranks has not changed in a few decades. I am a Guardian. You need not pretend when we are alone.”

Lithia lets out an exasperated sigh. “I know, but I try to keep up the habit? It would be uncouth to let disdain slip in improper company.” She shivers, today she met The Queen, and it feels almost like Her gaze is still present in the last vertebrae of Lithia’s spine.

“You have better control than I.”

“I do not believe it.” Lithia chuckles. “Yes, I expect that would be the sort of thing Uldren may do. I do not think… you were the first. There are rumors of Guardians raised among us. Enough to make open air crypts commonplace. But only that, rumors. I suppose you are one of them.”

“I am real.” Iona muses, almost like she’s reminding herself. Lithia reaches up and pats her cheek.

“Is this your last mystery? You seem to be an unending stream of discovery.” Lithia teases, hoping her voice is warm. Iona rumbles, amused, and she revels in the small victory of cheering her.

“I believe it is. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, you are everything but disappointing. You are the least disappointing person I have ever met. Easily the most interesting.”

“Today, you met your Queen.” Iona points out, cheeky.

“Then you are second least.” Lithia responds, automatically, but inside, she suspects that is a lie.

Chapter Text

There are a pair of Guardians standing in front of Petra on day twenty of cycle five. Iona, to her credit, does not see Kamon and Delah, her beloved lost fireteam. The hunter is too short and neat, the warlock too tall and elegant. Both are dressed in light colors with gold trims. Kamon wore black, Delah pink.

Or maybe she’s been healing. It’s been a year now. And for the past few months Lithia has been… a distraction to say the least.

“Titan!” Calls the warlock. They noticed her gaze. “Are you free? We need a third, quickly.”

Lithia shifts weight beside her. Iona stays with her and says, “Not exactly.”

The hunter crosses his arms, no-nonsense and crass. “We found Dûl Incaru, the wizard causing all this blight. We’re going to kill her.”

Iona stiffens, catches immediately what it might mean. “I am listening.”

“Portal’s down by the Confluence. We scouted but it’s too dangerous for just two. Needs a strike, but we need to be swift, it looks like our path could change at any moment in there. The orb-voice was taunting us. And tomorrow is the last day of the cycle.”

Petra nods as well, adding to the discussion even as she scrolls other reports on two screens of a field console. “One of our techeuns is down there, and confirmed it. It is her, it is Dûl Incaru.”

“Do not leave.” Lithia whispers beside her. Iona looks down to see her gaze averted.

“I could save you.” She pleads. “You would all be free of this curse.”

“You better.” Lithia tells her with an odd bitterness. “Do not die.”

Iona understands. They haven’t been separated since they met, save for the hour between resets it takes to find Lithia again. Two lonely souls, both afraid to part.

And she spoke of her fears of being abandoned. She hopes Lithia can forgive this, knows that she will be back.

Iona squeezes her shoulder and marches to meet the fireteam. “Fill me in on the way.” She requests, and they fold around her, the warlock chattering on and the hunter quietly filling in needed details of what lies beyond the portal.

Lithia is compelled to move on, but stands still a moment longer. She deserves that.

They kill Dûl Incaru, and nothing changes immediately. Iona’s fireteam whoops in a rush of victory as the wizard screams and dissolves into aether. But in the silence after nothing shifts. The ascendant plane remains. They make their way out.

They re-emerge from the portal before the Confluence. The blight remains, the Techeun has not moved from her spot.

“That was her, right?” The warlock asks. Even though she was the one to confirm it in the first place.

Iona is silent, marches herself to Petra to report. The others fall in step, somewhat numbly. She feels maybe they don’t know what else to do, left in the wake of crushed assurance.

She gives her report, bids the fireteam farewell. Leaves them with her frequency to notify her if anything changes, or news arises. She makes for a rendevouz with Lithia. It’s been only a matter of hours, but it’s about time to camp and rest.

Lithia is not there.

Her heart stops for a moment, mind racing. She looks around for signs of life. But the embers are cold, the bedroll is not laid, her rifle isn’t there, in pieces, being cleaned. Her helmet isn’t hanging from the branch where she hangs it. Lithia has not yet arrived.

The apathy gives way to dread.

Iona backtracks from the camp down the path they always take to get there and finds no sign. She spreads out across the Strand, searching every spot she can recall that they frequent.

It’s hours later she finds the body.

Lithia is sprawled on an outcropping, fatal shot through her head, rifle beside her. This is where they sat with sniper rifles tomorrow, in the tomorrows past, enjoying the last day before reset, the survival of another cycle. They would pick off taken and scorn in the mists and laugh, because Lithia is always too relaxed, and misses many shots. They rarely attracted much attention, and whatever they did Iona would quickly dispatch-

She kneels reverently, cradles Lithia in her lap. She closes her eyes so as not to see the wound and gently leans down and kisses her nose. But the skin is still colder than even an Awoken should be, and Iona can smell the iron of her blood.

“I am so sorry, Lithia.” She whispers hollowly. “I should never have left you. Did it feel like betreyal? It was a waste, perhaps we did something, but it did not end the suffering our people endure, and it did not free you. It took me away from you, and look what happened? I left you, and now you are so far away, in a place where -if I am careful and clever- I will never go. And I am too loyal to too many to follow you. No, maybe I am too afraid...”

It’s almost more words in a line than she’s ever spoken to Lithia, and that is a crushing realization of its own. One more weight like a chain on her shoulders.

She carries Lithia’s body to their camp, tucks her into the hollow where she lets out her bedroll. Covers her gently in stones, to not crush her but to enclose and protect. Light enough to be easily moved, should a guardian rise. An open air burial.

She tells herself she will send a message to Petra informing her, but not yet. Iona sits vigil for the sunlit evening, as she does when Lithia merely sleeps. To pretend nothing has changed.

In the morning she goes to the Observatory and scales it. It’s hard, very hard. She has to leap for places to catch with her hands. She falls a few times. But soon she reaches a pinnacle, not the highest point, but it will do.

She throws herself from the precipice into the void. It takes her what feels like hours to fall from the gravity well, lose oxygen, and suffocate. One of the most pleasant falls she’s ever had. She rushes past the tower and stained glass, past amethyst and regolith, into the deep fog with streaks of stone from the bases of islands. She has never seen an iceberg but she’d heard tales of them, and understands. The mist is like a sea, she seems to fall slower through it, more like sinking down, down.

The Dreaming City falls away and now from below it does look like a dream. Adrift in purple and blue mist, speckled with stars. It’s a slow fall, or perhaps not, perhaps it's simply the city’s scale and majesty that slows time to a crawl. She drifts afloat, growing dizzy and tired, but enjoying the dancing lights as they add to her vision. The tightness in her chest and head is a welcome difference from what it was when she could breathe and mourn.

Kestrel catches her revive with their ship, once she’s drifted far enough away.

He keeps quiet but she can sense he is displeased, and croaks an apology, sipping water on the floor of the cockpit.

“You don’t have to hurt yourself because others were hurt.” He murmurs, buzzes down to sit on her knee. “None of this was your fault, any of it. Not the Red War, not Kamon or Delah or Lithia.”

“I like falling.”

“You aren’t often a liar, Iona.”

She sits in numb silence after that.

Cycle six, day one. Iona flies her ship in with the rest of the Guardians kicked out as the Dreaming City resets.

She lands where she always does and begins walking, realizes after a couple minutes she’s automatically walking the path she always takes, to meet Lithia.

Traveler’s Light, Lithia never wanted to be alone, she looked so relieved to see Iona on the second cycle, the third, the fourth, the fifth...

And she looks so relieved now, on the sixth. A mirage against the opal sky.

“Iona.” She calls, uncertainly. “I feel strange. Something is different.”

Iona’s chest tightens as she walks the path forward on blind steps, tunnel vision blurring the world around her. She climbs the hill and stands over Lithia. The corsair shrinks some, frown lines shown on what little of her face is visible. “Iona?”

She has never been so grateful for the half helms and fieldweave masks the corsairs wear, leaving lips accessible quickly. She yanks her own helmet off, tosses it aside and catches Lithia by her shoulder, pulls her mask away. Lithia is stiff at first but when their lips meet she melts, and Iona shifts her grip to an embrace, to hold her.

“Hello there…” Lithia whispers breathlessly when Iona breaks to breathe, leaning back in her grasp to meet her eyes. “Someone missed me?”

“I am so sorry.” Iona mumbles. “I should never have left you. Nothing was freed, it was useless hoping-”

Lithia scoffs. “Kiss me more, stupid.” And leans in to meet her again.

Iona does, and Lithia hums her pleasure.

“I forgot.” Iona says, amazed that she could. “I do have one more secret to show.”

They are curled up on the cot in the belly of Iona’s ship, as it rests silently on a cliff’s edge beneath the Gardens of Esila. Both free of armor and down to bodysuits, relishing a closer embrace than they’d ever had, and one carved out moment of solitude before they must return to work.

Lithia arches sultry eyebrows, and Iona snorts at the gaze. She pulls at her collar, peeling back ballistic layers to show her neck, shoulders, and the bright, colorful tattoo that adorns them. Wings unfurled out from either side of the breastbone to drape over the clavicles and around her neck, painted in the brilliant colors of sunset.

Lithia’s awestruck sigh paints a chill across Iona’s skin. She reaches out and caresses it, traces the flow of the feathers.

“Only a handful have seen it. Kamon, Delah, a few old sparring partners. All lost.” Iona tells her. “Now -save the artist, if they survived the Red War- you’re the only one in the universe who has seen it.”

“Thank you.” Lithia breathes.

She leans into Iona and delicately kisses the place between the wings, the middle of her sternum. Iona rests her lips in Lithia’s hair and wraps arms around her back, holding them close together as this beautiful woman rests her head on her chest.

She forgets all passing of time. And for once, does not dread if it has stopped.