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Chapter Text

Erra wasn’t a massive sentient, but he was still much bigger than Nitzan and Nitzan had no doubts that he could push past him and get to the Reservoir if he wanted to.

The last time he'd been face-to-face with Erra was blurry, dredged up to the surface through stress and terror. Once again he could barely remember what he’d done.

“Please— Erra, listen to me.”

His face was gaunt, almost insectoid, when Nitzan got another good look at him. “Don’t hurt them. You can— you can have me for sure, you can do whatever you want, just leave them be.”

“One Tenno life for a hundred— and you’re asking me to choose? You’re even more of a fool than I thought.”

“We’re not like the Orokin.” Then, again, “we’re not like the Orokin.” That made Erra pause, if not turn to him again. “We have honor. We’d do anything for our family.” That made him step back, a steady movement on crooked, stiltlike appendages, and turn to face Nitzan properly.

“What makes you think I’d show mercy to your family?”

A goad, yes, but still a genuine question. Nitzan knew by now that the Sentients liked loyalty, and he didn’t have to lie to demonstrate his.

“They can’t defend themselves, they can’t hurt you. Please, just let them sleep.”

“And you could hurt me?” Definitely a goad— Erra was turning back to the door that hid away a score of sleeping Tenno. Erra wasn’t a soldier. He would have struck Nitzan down by now if he was.

“I’ll have to, if you take another step.”

Nitzan dashed forward, the Void cool and humming against his skin and inside of himself, and put himself between Erra and the door. It did make him pause again.

This must be novel. It must be exciting. Erra had likely never considered that the Tenno— a Tenno— could negotiate.

“One awake Tenno is worth a thousand who are still asleep,” he argued. It was not necessarily correct, but with the wealth of experience he had compared with the coltish fumbling of newly-woken Tenno, it might just be correct for him.

“This could be a trap. How can I know you won’t betray me once I return with you?”

So he was planning on taking Nitzan’s suggestion, and now would change his mind only if Nitzan said something very stupid.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Erra took a step forward. Nitzan brandished his amp, a reminder that even though they were in the discussion stages now he was still very much willing to confront him. Erra paused, and returned. Nitzan lowered his amp.

Then, more quietly, running his finger along the scraps of Sentient-scaffolding that made up the ribs of his amp, “and I could never hurt her. I swear it.”

That seemed to satisfy him. He reached out as if to pick Nitzan up with the pincer-like appendage on his arm, but Nitzan raised his amp again.

“Tell me that you won’t hurt them.”

Erra let his hand hover a foot away. He knew that Nitzan would strike if he didn’t comply, even with the awkward position they were in now.

“They won’t come to harm.”

Erra’s sister was the soldier— not him. He didn’t have it in him for deceptive wordplay. Nitzan nodded curtly. “Give me your word.”

“I give you my word.”

Somehow, even though he knew he’d succeeded, Erra confirming that he actually had made his body weak with relief. He dropped his amp, nodding, sparing a last look to the closed-off Reservoir before Erra seized him around the middle.

Chapter Text

Ballas was there. He looked just as bad as Nitzan remembered, fumbling around on satyr-like struts. Whenever Erra or another Sentient wasn’t pulling him around like an untrained kubrow the leash was left to dangle and drag along the floor as Ballas paced the perimeter of their shared cell.

When Erra brought him back, he’d fastened the same kind of leash around his neck. It was heavy and cold against his skin, hurt when it was pulled. He didn’t try to fight it because he was trying to be cooperative, at least for now; he didn’t try to slip into the Void and free himself because he wasn’t sure it would work, and that certainly wouldn’t convince Erra that he was dedicated to being a good little prisoner.

Erra hadn’t tried to do anything else to him, hadn’t even pushed him around or roughed him up. He went down a long hallway, long legs making it so that Nitzan had to follow along behind him at nearly a sprint to keep from being dragged, and just shoved him into the same cell that Ballas was in and left them there.

He coiled the cable-like material in front of him and sat down, leaned against the wall and stared through the thin riblike bars. They could dilate to form a door, if someone came close enough, but neither he nor Ballas were appropriate someones.

He turned his attention to the ship and his strange cellmate.

Time passed. Nitzan felt no need to move and Erra didn’t want to speak to him or interrogate him— his attention was wholly on Ballas whenever he graced the cell with his presence, and even then only for long enough to haul Ballas out by the cable around his neck and return him some time later.

Ballas was clearly trying to be clever— to play along in Erra’s presence, cower and fawn when ordered— but his mind was fragmented, both by torment and solitude. Nitzan watched him stumble around occasionally, muttering to himself, but it made his belly twist with unease and he always looked away before long.

Nitzan was surprised and disgusted with himself that he felt any degree of sympathy or pity for the man that had caused Umbra such pain. They weren’t allies. Ballas had created the Warframes and engineered the pain they were in. By all accounts he deserved this. Even after trying to help. Even after giving Nitzan hints as to how to end the war before it began. He’d still had most of himself, then. He was still conniving even like this but it was broken, shaky, more like he was doing it by rote than anything else. He paced around the cell like a caged animal and barely seemed to know that Nitzan was there, barely managed to step over or around him and usually ended up dragging the cable right over Nitzan’s lap in the process. He hadn’t even tried to speak to Nitzan.

Even if he did, Nitzan wasn’t sure what he would say back.

Chapter Text

Whatever he’d expected his captivity at the hands of a vengeful Sentient to be, this wasn’t it. What was Erra trying to do, bore him into submission? To death? Ballas was still staggering around muttering to himself. It had been surreal and pathetic for only so long; Nitzan let it fade into the ambience of the ship. It creaked every now and then, made a low discordant humming noise almost too quiet to hear. He could feel the walls shift occasionally and eventually realized that the cell was getting larger— the entire ship must be expanding.

Erra finally came for him after what seemed like an eternity. Logically, Nitzan knew it couldn’t have been that long. He had nothing to do besides count the seconds and listen to Ballas stagger around garbling on stardust, so it felt very long indeed.

“Hello, Erra,” Nitzan said as cooly as possible. He knew how he must look; sitting off in the far corner, in the dark, his eyes reflected out the luminosity of the Void and the Void scars on his face made him look unsettling, to say the least. He used to wear a mask to cover them up; then, he realized that it would be easier to just get used to them, and most people didn’t care anyways, and those who did didn’t matter.

“That’s Master Erra to you. Come over here.”

Erra’s voice may have been steady and confident, but Nitzan recognized what he was really feeling in his pose— whether he knew it or not, this was to prove that he wasn’t scared of Nitzan. He’d followed along with Nitzan’s plan because it made sense in the moment, and now he had to deal with a Tenno on his ship and some other Tenno he’d sworn to leave be. By all accounts, he’d gotten the short end of the bargain. Ballas was easy to drag around and had no fight left in him. Nitzan was by far the most unknown quantity in this whole situation, and so Erra must be trying to tackle that while not looking like he was confused or afraid, both of which Nitzan was completely convinced he was.

Nitzan could sympathize with power plays and wanted to stretch his legs, though, so he slipped the coil of cable onto his arm and stood, avoiding where Ballas was cowering in a corner to pass through the straining rib-struts of the entrance of the cell.

Erra reached for the coil of cable around his arm. Nitzan turned, smoothly rotating it away from him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He kept his tone light, on the slightest edge of warning.

“Why not?” Erra challenged. Nitzan almost laughed; he was too easy to lead. He was curious, and hesitant to put himself in danger now that it seemed like Nitzan could pose it.

“A leash can be pulled from both ends, you know.” He started down the hallway, the same direction that Erra had arrived from. Erra pulled ahead of him easily with three steps, hovering over him. He wasn’t going for the cable yet.

“What do you mean by that?”

“And that.” Nitzan was now behind him, facing him in the next moment as he turned to stare down at Nitzan. “You walk too fast. I don’t want to be dragged.”

Erra stepped back as Nitzan continued forward. If he wanted to play the part of a merciless captor, he should have stopped him by now.

“How can I know you won’t run away?”

Nitzan threw his free arm to the side. “Run to where? I’m entirely in your territory, if you haven’t noticed, and I don’t have my frame.”

Erra thought for a moment, then decided Nitzan was making sense.

“You will obey me,” he ground out, “or I will leave you in that cell until the war’s over.”

Nitzan knew a victory when he saw one. He trotted along slightly behind Erra to avoid being kicked by accident— or on purpose— and tucked his arms close to his sides, keeping the cable from swinging too much. “Of course, Master Erra.”

Erra didn’t stumble, but Nitzan thought he saw him flinch.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, the cable did go into the Void with him. Erra was trying to go a little slower so Nitzan could keep up but he wasn’t very good at remembering, so Nitzan cheated where he could by dashing close whenever he fell far enough behind.

Now that he was paying attention to the ship, it really was a work of art— living, eternally growing, with high arched ceilings and roiling pits of black fluid. Sentient fighters floated through the halls and ignored both Erra and Nitzan.

Nitzan was trying to be cooperative. He knew that was likely the only thing keeping him from being brutalized in some fashion, and also the only thing keeping the helpless sleeping Tenno safe from a Sentient ambush.

He saw something strange on a pillar, though, and had already gone to investigate it before he realized he probably shouldn’t; he was too used to being left to his own devices so long as he got the job done. The pillar was tall, with ribbed and pitted sides. It had symbols carved into it, or that had grown with it, grooves in the shape of a text that Nitzan could not decipher. He had to let the cable drop to secure himself against the column, press his hands into the grooves, and maneuver himself up.

He was all the way on top of it before Erra realized he was gone. In Erra’s defense, it couldn’t have been more than five seconds. Nitzan didn’t care to defend Erra all that much.

“Get down from there,” he commanded at the bottom of the pillar. It felt good to look down on him for once, so Nitzan did. He rolled the small marble-like thing that had caught his attention between his palms and returned it to the top of the pillar where more like it were growing. They left little indentations in the structure when he rolled them out.

“Or?” He was pushing it, definitely, but Erra certainly asked a lot of questions so Nitzan figured he wouldn’t condemn Nitzan for asking a few of his own.

Erra rocked back a little bit, then reached for something— the cable, Nitzan realized a second too late. With a swift tug, he unbalanced Nitzan and pulled him right off the pillar.

Nitzan yelped as he fell. It was a long fall. Not a very long fall, certainly survivable, unlikely to even hurt him besides hurting terribly at the initial impact, but not a short, harmless fall either.

His limbs flung out in the air in a useless attempt to— catch air, slow his fall, something— and then the air was knocked out of him.

He hadn’t hit the ground, though. Erra had caught him with a pincer around his shirt.

Then, he lowered him to the ground; not gently, but he didn’t fling him and dropped him on his feet. He picked up the cable and set back off down the hall.

Nitzan sighed, resigning himself to a small loss of dignity, and followed along.

Chapter Text

Nitzan knew better than to slip into the Void and free himself, so he merely tried to stay as close to Erra as possible without sprinting. Erra did seem to notice, and did try to go slowly enough that Nitzan wasn’t being dragged along, but overall Nitzan wished he would just drop the cable.

He’d brought it on himself by climbing the pillar, he supposed.

They came to a stop in a wide-open area; Nitzan felt suddenly chill as he placed the pillars, the Sentient-scaffolding throne, the pavilion-like space in front of it, as the same place he’d been transported to by the Lotus’ glitching helm.

She wasn’t here. His heart soared and ached in turn. Instead, there were neat lines of fighters, some the uniform shapes of fragments but others gangly and irregular forms that had to be other Sentients.

Erra sat. Nitzan tried to perch on the arm of the throne, but Erra nudged him off.

“Sit on the floor,” he commanded. Nitzan knew better than to try and challenge him with all the other Sentients present; evidently, Erra’s patience and willingness to let Nitzan be a bit of a bother were far less here.

It made sense. He didn’t want to look weak; didn’t want to let a Tenno show him up or disrespect him in front of his allies; and really didn’t want to look like he was afraid. Nitzan had to play along if he wanted to be let out of the cell at all. Had to play along to keep the sleeping Tenno safe. Even if he was being dragged out like a trophy, it was nothing compared to what he’d feel if they were hurt because he couldn’t hold his tongue for a while.

He knelt at the side of the throne and stared at the black length of the cable, suddenly sobered.

It was a strategy meeting. Erra had brought him out here to make a point, Nitzan realized; they were making plans to attack locations, yes, and certainly it would be awful and he should be there to help, but none of the areas that Nitzan knew hid sleeping Tenno were named. I’m keeping my side of the bargain, Erra was saying, though in far more words and not directly to him, so you keep yours.

It was terribly unsubtle and Nitzan should have seen it coming a mile off.

The meeting concluded without anything that Nitzan wanted to comment on, not that he’d be allowed to, and Erra returned him to the cell where Ballas was still pacing around and muttering. He fell silent when Erra opened the door, glanced at him and dragged his shoulder against the wall, and immediately resumed once the rib-door closed.

Nitzan went back to his wall and sat down. He didn’t have to sleep and wasn’t even sure if he could anymore, but he’d found meditation a suitable substitute, and so drifted into contemplation with a backdrop of the ship’s humming and Ballas’ muttering.

Chapter Text

“Hello again, my little Adversary,” he called out as the door to the cargo bay slid open.

He noticed the screaming first. Then he noticed the wanton destruction scattered all over the bay. There was something in there that wasn’t his Adversary, but was a Warframe for sure, flinging itself about and slicing into boxes and containers with a glowing sword nearly as long as it was tall. A black, tattered scarf fluttered in its wake.

The guards were a loss. Makto could see some red stains, but no bodies.

His Adversary didn’t do that. This was not his Adversary, even if it had the familiar sigil of the Tal defector’s little charity group on its chest. In its rampage it had torn a support strut from the wall at the welding point, but hadn’t been able to do much damage to the strut itself even though Makto could see charred black lines of incredible heat intermittently along the length of it.

It was about four feet of metal; he picked it up, slinging his Karak over his shoulder. It wouldn’t do much, he knew already.

“You’re asking for it!”

He clanged the strut against the wall once, twice, and that made the Warframe pause for a slightest moment; it looked over its shoulder, then turned, the construct of its sword crackling and hissing and making a noise almost like a hum in the sudden dead silence, and then it launched itself at him with such ferocity that Makto barely raised the strut in time to block a scything swipe of the blade.

“Makto!”

That was his lieutenant, calling out to him; behind him had to be more soldiers. That a Warframe in Nitzan’s colors and regalia on the galleon had stopped raising such alarm— Makto didn’t know how to feel about that— meant that when something like this did happen, response was slower than it had any right to be.

“Shoot it!”

He shouldn’t have said that; the Warframe’s attention was dragged from him to the wall of lancers and it leapt at them, scattering them like bowling pins and slicing a fair amount of them clean in half.

So clean that there wasn’t even the scent of blood, just burning, cloned flesh, and they died before the burning blade passed through their entirety.

So that plan didn’t work. Makto had been wrong before.

“No, no, me! Pay attention to me, you great big bastard!”

He brought the strut down on the Warframe’s back. It staggered forward, rolled, and twisted on itself in an inhumanly fluid motion to fling itself back at Makto.

There was skill, but it was drowned. Makto knew that Nitzan had a very special Warframe in his possession, one that could think and feel beyond what a normal Warframe could, and Nitzan’s descriptions of playing Komi and Shawzin with the old thing had given him an image of a once-proud, now-gentled warrior as withdrawn and cautious as he was.

Not this.

He felt hot, and then very cold. Something must have happened to Nitzan— to his Adversary— and the Warframe must think he did it. It came looking, and when Nitzan was nowhere to be found it went berserk.

If this was the frame Nitzan spoke so highly of— with reverent, pained sympathy in his voice— it wouldn’t do to destroy it. Makto still couldn’t let it run around and destroy his ship and kill his crew.

He pointed at the piles of cable nets used to hold cargo. In a pinch, they’d do. His lieutenant caught what he was thinking; bless that man, and bless the tube that had grown him; and started barking orders to the remaining living lancers.

It sliced through the first net without issue. Makto drove it back, meeting each frenzied slice of its blade with the strut, and did his best to get it to turn. It was screaming, howling loudly enough to shake the air.

It had been a master swordsman, once. He was barely holding up.

Eventually he managed to get it to turn. With its back to the crewmen, Makto could watch the net come flying over; a few lancers sprinted with it, grabbing the ends as they came down again, and Makto jumped back out of the way as they snapped the net to the ground and stretched it flat, taking the Warframe with it.

He stood over the netted, howling Warframe and drove the end of the strut into its wrist. The exalted blade wisped away into nothing and the Warframe howled again, pitching and thrashing, but its strength failed against twenty lancers. There was a mind underneath the wrath— perhaps being uncovered as the Warframe realized that it was trapped. The howling took on a different pitch.

Despair, Makto recognized. The Warframe had come here because it had thought Nitzan was here. It was enraged, and now it was defeated.

Something had happened to his Adversary, he thought again.

“I didn’t do anything to him,” he assured the Warframe; despair had never sounded so baleful before, and then; “I’ll find him.”

He turned away and maneuvered off the net.

“Secure the Warframe. Just leave it here.”

His lieutenant barked acknowledgement. Makto trusted him to deal with it.

He threw the strut to the corner and left the cargo bay, already reaching for his comm..

Chapter Text

“Explain. Now.” Erra ducked into the room, seizing Nitzan by the end of the attached cable and tugging him out. Nitzan grunted and scrambled to his hands and knees, then his feet, wondering just what it was that had set Erra off.

He’d gotten better at fighting a predisposition to frown. Erra had taken him to several other war meetings, never with Natah in attendance, and he’d quickly rediscovered how to hide whatever he may be feeling under a veneer of blank neutrality. The Sentients were making progress. It scared him, and it made his heart hurt. He missed the freedom of invisibility or the distance of Transference.

“What is it?” Void, he even sounded like he did back then. It made his skin crawl. He reflected mild curiosity and nothing more.

“A ship has docked.”

Well, of all the things he was anticipating, it wasn’t that. He finally looked up at Erra.

“What kind of ship?”

“A Grineer galleon. The A’hb Bune.”

“Oh, it’s Makto,” Nitzan sighed, feeling both relieved and irritated.

“Who is Makto?”

“My nemesis,” Nitzan replied just as quickly. “Let me go talk to him. I will resolve this.”

He didn’t want to deal with Makto right now. Whatever their relationship was, he didn’t want Erra to see it, and he didn’t want Makto to see him as he was now.

He didn’t think Makto would do something dumb if he didn’t find what he was looking for, but then again Makto was Makto.

Erra set off down the hallway, Nitzan hurrying behind him. He hoped it wouldn’t be too bad— that it wasn’t about him.

He had a sinking feeling that it was. Without Nitzan there to steadily, insidiously cull his ranks and prevent his influence from spreading, he could definitely outfit his galleon to travel within the Veil.

The cavernous pavilion leading to an open outside area opened up. Erra led him through and the door snapped shut behind them.

Sure enough, there was Makto, looking as self-assured as he could— more than he should— while outside his ship on a Sentient outpost. The A’hb Bune sat behind him, a behemoth in green and matte steel.

Nitzan wasted no time in striding forwards— Erra dropped the cable and it trailed behind him. Makto was looking at it. He felt sick to his stomach, in an acidic and helplessly angry way, and pushed it down.

“What are you doing here, Makto?”

Chapter Text

“I could ask you the same thing, Adversary.” Makto squared his shoulders and took in the whole... sight. Nitzan looked a mess. He was flanked by a Sentient, and he was on a Sentient ship. Around his neck was a loop of a black cable secured with Orokin scrap-gold rings that the Sentient had been using to pull him around.

“It’s important,” Nitzan replied. Makto could hear the beginnings of a snap in his tone. There were a great many things Makto might never truly understand about his Adversary; the way his emotions worked was one of them. Makto didn’t know whether he was genuinely upset, faking it, putting on a show for Makto or the Sentient, or just doing it because it was the appropriate thing to do.

“You’ve been nonexistent.”

“I’ve been here.”

Makto resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose or rub his temples. Triangulating Nitzan’s position and hunting him down was, for once, more trouble than worth.

“I’ve had to deal with your Warframe thinking it was me who stole you.”

Both of them bristled at that, Nitzan and the Sentient behind him.

“My Warframe?” There, undisguised worry— hope, and fear.

“The loud one,” Makto helpfully clarified. “It went on a rampage through my ship, so I restrained it under some cargo netting in the port side cargo bay.”

“I have to go to him,” Nitzan said abruptly. He broke from the Sentient, who had thus far wordlessly watched them but not much else, and crossed the space separating them with an expert Void dash.

“Wait, there’s—” Nitzan was already maneuvering past him with characteristic grace. Makto caught the cable as it went past him. To stop him? To tease, and see what of his Adversary the Sentients has left? Perhaps both.

“Don’t touch that!” It was his voice. It was him. Underneath it was a heavy, distant reverberation. Makto wouldn’t have had time to drop the cable even if he’d intended to; Nitzan wheeled around the second he felt a tug at his throat and luminous, pulsing energy gathered in his cupped palms before he thrust it into Makto’s chest and sent him sailing back a good five feet. Nitzan himself had disappeared into the Void, into the galleon, a faint haze of the empty space where Nitzan used to be the only evidence that he’d been there at all.

And Makto, sprawled on his back. “...a nullifier device.”

He looked up to see the Sentient staring at him, head cocked. Even without a real facial expression Makto could understand what it must be feeling well enough; shock, a bit of surprise, maybe a waxing tide of horror.

“Forgot he could do that,” Makto finally coughed. He had Kuva in his veins; he’d be fine. It still hurt. “Haven’t seen him that angry since I nicked a bunch of gene codes.”

“You will return him to me,” the Sentient commanded as if it hadn’t just seen Nitzan throw Makto with little more than a movement of his hands. Makto knew better than to roll his eyes, directing his energy to sitting up instead.

“He’ll come back if he wants to come back. Why’ve you got him all the way out here anyway?”

The stone of the Sentient ship shed a fine black particulate that stuck to his clothes and armor; he dusted himself off and looked at the Sentient through the corner of his eye.

“An exchange.”

This was strangely cordial— surreal in equal measure. Nobody wanted to be the one to shoot second, considering that Nitzan had already shot first. Makto shrugged. “You’re gonna have to give me more detail than that.”

Surprisingly, the Sentient did. “He traded himself to me in place of a number of Tenno that have not yet awoken.”

Makto laughed. “You mind telling me where these Tenno are? I could do us all a favor and deal with them.”

The Sentient did not seem as amused. “I have given my word.”

“Your loss.” He judged that enough time had passed to go retrieve the Warframe and Nitzan from the cargo hold and didn’t want to spend too much time in the Sentient’s presence besides. The nullifier device would have drained them both by now, and if Nitzan was still angry letting him free while equipped with an equally-angry war machine could mean nothing good. “You stick out here. Time to go see what trouble he’s gotten himself into.”

Chapter Text

As Nitzan sank into the welcoming channel of transference, he reached out to Umbra— normally, Umbra would reach back. No matter. The next moment he felt skin and strength that was not his own— then despair so acute it may as well have been physical pain. The cable netting over Umbra held him down and prevented him from lifting even a hand. A nullifier device sat next to him, preventing him from summoning his exalted blade or otherwise freeing himself.

And Nitzan had walked right into this mess.

Makto would come get him; he didn’t doubt that. He turned his focus instead to Umbra, widening the channels for grief and pain to flow freely between them.

Umbra had waited days before searching, and had been here for days. That set the time Nitzan had been in the Sentient outpost upwards of a month, possibly more, definitely more if the amount of meetings he’d been dragged to counted for anything.

I’m here, he sent down the line, more directed than a normal thought would be. Umbra was barely communicating with him; he was holding on tightly to the transference link but Nitzan couldn’t quite get through to what he was thinking, only what he was feeling.

He felt out the edges of transference, then the roiling abyss of emotion radiating from Umbra, and surrendered to it.

Isaah. Nitzan remembered this. He’d— Umbra— they had killed Isaah— seen his face in a split-second of terror that gave way to solemn understanding. Umbra’s memories fixated on that moment of terror, the closest non-Operators could get to transference. It was the same emotion mirrored across two people— Why won’t he stop! And Why can’t I stop!— and Isaah had always accepted it before Umbra’s blade found his heart. He hadn’t even moved away.

Nitzan made the motions of biting his lip, accomplishing nothing in the hold of transference. The scene reset itself and he wanted to fight it. They’d broken out of the cycle before, why couldn’t they do it now?

His hand tightened around the blade and he leveled his gaze at Isaah, calm and politely worried in his bedside chair.

He looked smaller.

His mouth was covered in Void scars, seared down his cheek from his right eye.

The helmet was gone, as if it had never been there, and Nitzan couldn’t stop the course of the memory even as he desperately tried to recoil away from what the memory had made of Isaah.

He felt Umbra’s strength behind the blow and watched his own body slump backwards.

I’m here, he sent again, desperately. I’m here I’m here I’m here I’m here I’m

It was something, to watch himself die from the perspective of the killing hand. He was sure he would not go with such dignity. The blade struck him precisely every time, driving from underneath his ribs directly through his heart. Within a second, the pain would fade; within two, he would die. Isaah had been brave, even knowing there was no chance— knowing that he’d lost his father forever, and Umbra knowing that he’d lost his son.

Umbra was hurting, and this was the root of the hurt. Abruptly, he tucked away his panic and misery as the nullifier field crackled on their armor. He heard footsteps in the distance and disregarded them.

You won’t lose me. There, a response, like a weak and fearful hearth sparking to light. I won’t let you.

He couldn’t save the facsimile of him that had inhabited Isaah. The memory didn’t work that way, but at the same time it was a memory and it could only haunt him if he let it.

It’s just a memory. This is real.

Umbra was surfacing, the transference bond returning to close to what it usually felt like. The hold of the memory faded into the background, then away more fully. There was still the issue of the nullifier device, but he had Umbra back, and that was more than he could ask for.

Something must be looking out for him. The nullifier device clicked off. Nitzan stretched and looked up— it was Makto. Nitzan amended his previous thought. Makto had finally gotten his lazy ass down to the cargo bay after presumably grandstanding at Erra like a true Grineer meathead.

The cargo net was tied down and secured at multiple points, but as soon as Makto gave Nitzan the slightest slack he twisted himself and carved an opening with Umbra’s exalted blade.

Makto stepped back to allow him room to move out.

At once, his heart warmed and ached. In his own fucked-up way, Makto was trying to help. In his own fucked-up way, Nitzan had screwed that up. He should be glad— he shouldn’t allow Makto to think, even for a second, that he could take advantage. The part that hurt was that Nitzan knew that he wouldn’t.

Chapter Text

Nitzan transferred out as soon as he was properly standing and out of the heap of netting. He transferred out of Umbra and signaled for him to remain calm.

“I did try to warn you,” Makto said, not sounding apologetic at all— if anything, Nitzan thought he heard some measure of amusement. He looked over his shoulder to glare, then continued on. Umbra stalked along at his shoulder. That, at least, was familiar. Nitzan wasn’t sure how much use he would be, but he was grateful nonetheless. He let the cable drag behind him. There was no point in coiling and carrying it when he’d have to relinquish it shortly and he didn’t want to hand it off.

“I know you think you can insert yourself into my business whenever you please, but this does not involve you.”

Umbra could not go on the Sentient ship. He definitely could not see Ballas. Nitzan wasn’t sure what he’d do, but was confident that it would be bad. Makto had already made a mess of Erra’s peace of mind-- the Sentient was standing, stiltlike and statuesque, in the same spot that Nitzan and Makto had left him.

“It’s over. I’m coming back, Makto’s leaving.”

“Tell him not to come back.” Erra jerked his head towards Umbra. Nitzan shook his own head.

“I can ask him. He’s my partner, not my servant.”

Still. What choice did he have? It was him or the sleeping Tenno. He would always choose them over himself. Owed them that much.

I’ll be alright, he sent over the Transference-bond. You will look after them, won’t you?

“Take him to the Plains. He’s agreed not to hurt you or your crew until he’s reached Cetus.”

That was easy. Makto also knew better than to disagree-- seemed confused by all this. Didn’t like it. Didn’t like how Nitzan was acting.

He turned away from the both of them and walked back over to Erra, not even asking before returning to the interior of the Sentient ship. From behind him, he could hear the Ah’b Bune taking off. Erra drew in front of him.

He hadn’t picked up the cable. Nitzan comforted himself with that.

“Is this going to… happen again? With another of your allies?” Erra asked him delicately, looking back as if to make sure that Nitzan was still following him. For as stressed and unhappy as he’d been previously-- still was-- he managed to see a slight bit of humor in this whole situation. Otherwise he’d probably go mad.

“Most likely. I imagine my clanmates might wonder where I’ve gone off to eventually.”

“You didn’t tell me they were so persistent.” He didn’t sound upset, rather a milder sort of put-off.

“You never asked.” Nitzan shrugged. Erra wasn’t looking.

“Did you know this was going to happen?”

Nitzan sighed. If he said no he’d sound pathetic-- if he said yes he’d sound like he was purposefully trying to undermine Erra in some way. There wasn’t any way to answer that question diplomatically. “I didn’t know I wouldn’t have access to my comm..”

“Having you here is an unnecessary danger.”

“Not by any effort of my own,” Nitzan reminded him. Another, sharper jibe, that Erra had been the one to bring him here in the first place, remained caged inside of himself. They didn’t speak to each other when Erra indicated he should return to the cell.

Ballas stared at him, wide-eyed. He was growing more twisted by the day; Sentient-scaffolding had entirely claimed his legs and was growing up his torso. Nitzan didn’t want to know what would happen when it took him entirely.

He sat down against the wall. Erra was still looking at him from the open door.

He didn’t look up, and Erra eventually left.

Chapter Text

It took a few days for Erra to come get him again. Ballas was staggering around and mumbling, and Umbra had reminded him just how much he hated the man. It was an ugly emotion, hate. He’d counseled Umbra to let go of the hatred and with it, the pain; had chosen to take it into himself instead. He didn’t know whether he wanted to continue ignoring Ballas or pin him down and choke him to death, real death this time, with that stupid collar.

He stopped just short of a yard to the cell and crossed his arms, suddenly convinced that if he went back in there he was going to do something he’d regret.

If not for his own wellbeing, then for wellbeing of the sleeping Tenno.

“Don’t put me back in there with him.”

Erra turned to look at him, head tilting. “Why?”

It wasn’t cruel; he genuinely wanted to know. Erra was a curious being. Despite his claims of the latter, a caring being, too. In some other world, at some other time, maybe they could have been friends.

“I don’t think I could forgive him after what he did to Umbra.”

“Umbra?”

“The… frame who came with Makto. Ballas made him into that.” His voice felt dry and weak, miserable and underneath that enraged. He took care so Erra didn’t hear the rage. “Tortured him. Broke his mind. Forced him to kill his own son for the crime of trying to stand up to the Orokin Empire, and then made it so that memory was all he had. Forever.”

Hiding his rage? Failed. Stupid boy. His voice had circled from tense to shaking.

Erra was still staring at him, letting him talk himself quiet. He still didn’t know all that much about Nitzan-- Nitzan had been careful to keep it that way. Anything Erra knew was something that would be used against him, one day.

He was in turns timid, and confident, obiescent and bold, and none of that was him. He’d seen a glimpse of what Nitzan really was when Makto had come.

That had been too much. That was ugly; that was frightening. That was a Void Devil, not a Tenno.

He reminded himself of the stakes and took a deep, unnecessary breath.

“I’m no friend of the Orokin, and seeing Umbra reminded me of that.”

Erra nodded, finally.

“You may… walk with me for now.”

Maybe he felt sympathy for Nitzan; maybe he just wanted to protect his chimeric asset. The rib-door closed with Nitzan on the same side, and Erra turned without waiting to see if Nitzan would follow.

Ballas was staring at him. Empty, again, brief moment of clarity gone; at the same time, Nitzan’s anger subsided and was replaced with a similar aching emptiness. He turned away and followed after Erra, the cable trailing behind him.

He had the feeling he was about to see a regular day on the Sentient ship-- that thought managed to perk him up. Maybe he was just bored?

Chapter Text

“Who were you talking to?” The rib-door opened, admitting the spindly bulk of Erra to the entryway. Nitzan set his comm down on his thigh.

“Rosebud.”

“Who is that? Another Tenno?”

Erra’s ceaseless curiosity had grown on Nitzan. Ever since being removed from the cell with Ballas, he’d felt better-- less angry, less scared, less hollow and heavy once everything else had been exhausted. The addition of a comm so he could stay in contact with his clanmates was only a bonus.

“Yeah. She found me when I came out of cryostasis. She was awake before me.” He smiled, softly, to himself. “She looked out for me.”

“What was it like?”

“Hm?” He tilted his head. Erra mimicked the gesture.

“Waking up.”

Oh. “Agony.” How else could he describe it? “I felt… so small and helpless. And tired. It hurt to do anything and I couldn’t get back into my Warframe, and I was alone…” He didn’t mention the Sentient assault, since Erra undoubtedly already knew about that.

“Do you wish you hadn’t woken up? Remained in the state of thinking you were… your Warframe?”

That was a hard question, and even thinking about it made his head hurt.

“I don’t know,” Nitzan admitted finally. He sighed. “But it’s not about what I want.” Was he being dramatic? Yes, possibly, but he wasn’t wrong, and saying it felt good. Necessary, like he was reminding himself. “It never has been.”

“What do you want, Tenno?” Erra continued to block the exit of the cell. He didn’t really get that Nitzan didn’t like walking under him to get out of the cell, and Nitzan wasn’t about to come out and tell him that. It felt childish. He tucked the comm back into his belt, shrugging, and stood.

“I kind of want to go for a walk.”