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“What do you see when you leave?”
The question catches Osiris off-guard. He’s made a point to send a Reflection back to the Lighthouse every weekend (to ensure that the trials run in his name haven’t devolved into brutish chaos, he tells himself, and not for any other reason), and usually his conversations with Saint remain rather frivolous and trivial. As they should.
Now though...now Saint-14’s iconic helmet is turned out towards the shimmering mercurial sands, as if his attention has been drawn elsewhere. It’s only the familiarity of years of camaraderie and Osiris’ keen eye that give away the restlessness in the Titan’s form. Normally so stalwart, even when at ease, there’s something stiff, distracted in Saint’s posture as he continues on, “in all your books, all the writings squirreled away by those followers of yours-”
There’s a touch of rueful amusement that clings to Saint’s statement, “they all say ‘what-ifs’. So many terrible ends for us all, doom, gloom...”
He trails off, and Osiris finds himself curious, perplexed, and a trifle bit annoyed. Titans were always so forward, so to-the-point- the fact that Saint is mincing his words is both troublesome and, if he were to admit it to himself, worrying.
It would behoove him to let any concern show, however, and so he takes a step forward in order to survey the horizon before him, as if he can pinpoint by sheer will alone what seems to have caught Saint’s eye. There’s nothing, though, no temporal fluxes, no Vex hordes on the move- Mercury is as calm and peaceful as it is ever wont to be.
“I see many things,” he finally responds, his gaze flicking over to take in Saint’s broad form as it shines in the sun’s unforgiving rays, “there are thousands of variables, endless timelines that would take a thousand lifetimes more to decipher.”
His Reflections are the culmination of the heady desire to try and make sense of the infinite anything and everything; the human consciousness split and splintered in order to learn more and more. “It would take far too much to detail every single thing.”
“Do you see the future?” Saint is looking over at him now, and Osiris can feel the weight of his gaze behind his visor. “It can not be awful every time.”
Something about that raises Osiris’ hackles and he narrows his eyes in return, torn between suspicion and trying to parse out what exactly Saint is trying to get at. “Forgive me, but with the Vex involved there’s rarely room for sunshine and rainbows.”
The sarcasm feels acrid rolling off his tongue, but Osiris finds himself truly unnerved by the serious direction their conversation has taken. Eloquent though he may be, he’d always resorted back to sharp and scathing responses when unsure of himself- Saint, as one of his oldest friends, was sure to recognize this. Depending on the Titan’s mood, either a dry response or a fist flying should come next, if history were to be any indicator.
But there’s no annoyed huff of fans, certainly no punch thrown- instead Saint is still, still watching Osiris as if the Warlock is likely to bolt and disappear at any moment. After what feels like an eternity, he moves to take place at Osiris’ side, hands clasped behind his back like some sort of sentinel standing watch.
“I think,” Saint begins, looking out towards the horizon, “I think that sometimes I see the future too.”
That’s preposterous, and Osiris is keyed up to dismiss the nonsense with a scoff and a biting remark, but the slightest, softest nudge against his hand suddenly captures every scrap of his attention. It takes everything in him to not flinch and looks sharply down to see what’s touched him. It’s nothing more than Saint’s gauntlet, and a spark of confusion crackles to life in the back of Osiris’ mind.
“I see a future,” Saint continues on and Osiris can only watch as the Titan’s pinky entwines with his own. Even through the filter of the Reflection, it feels solid, warm. “With Osiris and Saint-14 in it. Together.”
It’s as if time itself has slowed to a halt and a million miles away Osiris is frozen. The thought to banish the Reflection trips through his head, innumerable questions, fears, affections rushing through him in an almost unholy mess. It’s as if the entire culmination of everything that he’d poured into the Sundial, every regret, every silent prayer, every wild hope, has come home to roost all at once, and it’s overwhelming. It takes a handful of moments before he realizes that Saint is saying something else, and he wrenches his attention back to the moment to try to catch it.
“I can only hope it is one you have seen on your journeys as well.”
It’s a question without a question, something that feels as though it cleaves straight through to Osiris’ core to expose the whole of him, bleeding and raw. But…
It bolsters him, rather than cutting him down.
When he doesn’t respond right away, Saint begins to pull his hand away, makes to give Osiris space once again. But that’s the last thing that Osiris wants, and he finds himself floundering, trying to keep his head above the rip current of emotion that’s tightened his chest and stolen his voice. “It-”
He’s acutely aware of how hoarse he sounds; it should be impossible, the body he’s inhabiting is nothing more than a projection. Still, he swallows hard, sets his mouth in a firm line, and reaches out. Finds Saint’s hand with his own. Winds their fingers together.
“It may have come to the forefront at least once.” To his relief, Saint doesn’t urge him to continue. Instead, Osiris feels a gentle squeeze- affirmation. Understanding. “But I should think-”
Saint is looking over at him now, and Osiris swears that he can feel a gentle brush of Void Light against his own. It reassures him, gives him the courage to continue on, “I should think that it may be a path that bears further study.”
The bright ring of Saint-14’s laugh seems to echo all around them, even though Osiris is certain that that should be impossible. When Saint speaks again, it’s with a fondness so keen that Osiris aches to hear it. “Perhaps study closer to home, no?”
Osiris thinks. Feels his body, prostrate in meditation, out in the cold reaches of space. Feels the warmth of Mercury, so eclipsed by the warmth of Saint’s hand in his own.
“I suppose I could be convinced.”