Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time, they are crushed by a Tusk Thumper.

The Plains of Eidolon was new to them. A newly awakened Tenno, out in a world affected by the rise and fall of the Orokin Empire, lost and unknowing to their role in the Origin System's future.

They are caught by surprise when fishing on the bank of Gara Toht lake. Peram spear in hand, lugging a bag of charceels, and weapons unarmed and aside. The freshly toned Mag knew Grineer roamed the plains but they didn't take into account of other lurkers wandering nearby.

They were down with a splat on the earth. A splattering of paint on a dirt-covered canvas. It gave them no time to react, to muster the energy to activate an ability—Mag was beyond mangled and torn to no return.

The last thing the Tenno felt was a tear-jerking crack that ran through their whole body, and their sides exploding and spurting and—

And they weren't alive anymore.

...Until they weren't.

The four-legged beast was gone, scurrying its legs elsewhere. Their fishing supplies were laid out next to them, and their weapons a few meters away. The MK-1 Kunai, forgotten in the depths of the lake.

As if it never happened.

They had graduated from the worn and torn Mag to a newly fresh Valkyr decorated in lightly toned blues and purple.

It'd made the Tenno strangely happy while coloring the frame and adorning it in garments that even Ordis himself dared not to comment. The Cephalon was also strangely happy, happy that they were happy. Oddly enough, Ordis started interjecting right in the middle of their missions, every now and then.

"Just checking in on the Operator, Operator!" was one instance.

"Your vital signs are calm and upbeat. Are you waiting for something, Operator?" was another.

"Ordis had quite the scare the last time—yoU dIED—and I didn't even know Cephalons had a fear precept!" was an answer to their question, on his recent interference in the middle of collecting data.

Worry. Distress. The feel to check if they were okay. The Tenno that had only two months of experience felt flattered, at ease.

Valkyr reached out and patted the interior of the Orbiter, thankful.

"What does it mean, to die?"

They see Death in arm's reach, ghostly tendrils reaching out for them. Grab on, they motioned, curling inward and latching onto their arms. They recoiled, heart in their throat.

Thick, blackened gunk spilled out of their esophagus the moment the Stalker tore his dagger from them. It gurgles out.

They tried to swallow down air instinctually but harsh choked breaths escaped them, making them gag. A hand gripped the side of their head, pulling. The Valkyr warily eyed their Hek a few ways behind their foe, a plan trying to conjure itself.

In the distance, a despairing voice wailed, "Please don't abandon me again!"

(Ordis?)

Like an honorable executioner, the Stalker doesn't kill them outright. He roughly grabbed them, tilted their head, and readied his scythe under their chin.

If they had eyes, they would've been bulging out of their sockets. The rush of a heartbeat roared through their ears. The inner depths of their mind opened and from there, blurred visions flood their mind.

(Oh. This isn't the first time—)

The Stalker brought down his weapon in one fell swoop.

And—

REVIVE?

YES//NO

.

.

.

>YES

The Orbiter Cephalon tutted after them like a concerned mother as they struggled to get out of their cryopod to the navigation room. When asked with the question of how the Tenno got into the pod, Ordis simply answered along the lines of: "You went there after the mission."

What mission, they had asked themselves, scratching their chin in thought while standing over the cryopod.

They didn't recall going on any mission, much less coming back from it. The lightly toned Valkyr attempted to resurface any of their memories from days before, thinking of previous missions.

They asked Ordis what their previous mission was.

Ordis sputtered, his voice glitching and crackling like Nightwave's questionable radio station. Did they say something wrong? Quietly, he responded, none too cheerfully.

"Ananke. It was a capture target assignment."

The conversation ended at that.

They checked the navigation to confirm that, yes, Ananke was cleared on their star chart.

Something didn't feel right, like they were about to say something but forgot what it was. They shrugged it off, letting themselves be pulled back into their tasks.

All the while, unnoticed by all, a smiling ghost trailed after them.

"Dream… of not what you are, but of what you want to be."

An Octavia of myriad colors crouched down, hands low to the ground, swiftly dodging an incoming beam from the Security Eye. Octavia's shoulders slump, tension leaving for only a millisecond before Lotus's voice blared through their communications.

"We can use the Security Eye to our advantage, Tenno. Use its beams to destroy the Pendula." She cut off from there, watching Octavia from wherever the Tenno mother resided at.

A whirl of hums rumbled behind them. Octavia threw a head back, watching the Eye charge itself in a hazing burst of flames. The Tenno positioned themselves in front of the pendula, their eyes never leaving the Security Eye. In a blink of an eye, it was gone.

Suddenly, Octavia's body was being pulled from their hiding place. The Security Eye aggressively spins, debris being sucked in its wake. This included the Octavia of a colored masterpiece. If the Tenno had a voice, they would be cursing profanities that even the Lotus wouldn't want to hear.

Octavia grabbed to a nearby rail and hung for dear life, wondering when it'll be over.

It breaks with a pathetic sound, overpowering the disastrous typhoon the Eye was showing.

Something pelts their suit. Their eyeless face warily glances at the source, eying the Lancer not so subtly looking over a hill of stone. The two stare at each for a few seconds before the Tenno throws a mallet combined with a resonator.

The Eye announced its return. Octavia makes no move to look behind them, not wanting to make the same mistake the last time. It charges itself, immolating in flames. It fired, and a few seconds at that moment the Tenno thought whether jumping or rolling out of the way would be safe.

They do the former. It destroys the pendula and a chunk of Octavia's leg.

Stunned, they stare at it in morbid curiosity. Octavia's hand goes to touch it, but Lotus interrupts them.

"What's wrong? Your communications have gone dark. I can't see anything." They pat the device on their neck, flicking and thumbing it. Their head is turned away from their sweltering and flaming lack of calf pointedly looking at the destroyed pillar for the Lotus.

"That's it, the eye is taking out the Pendula. Keep it up. Three more."

Fuck.

"The truth hurts, whether you like it or not."

Octavia—the Tenno—the child wondered how other Tenno had fared when they found out that the warframe wasn't who they truly are. The reactions could've varied: Shock, contempt, ashamed. Most Tenno take up the mantle of protector and an almighty savior, but when they see themselves, right in front of them, vulnerable, who's to say they would be the same?

The child only shrugged. They already understood the mechanics behind them and the warframe, but who said it'd be anything like this? They were stunned at first but accepted it like any other situation.

Other Tenno, however, cannot be said like them.

Be it when they first awakened from stasis or at the end of whatever journey they've committed themselves to, the Sleep had taken dozens of Tenno and it wouldn't be them.

Did they give up simply because the universe had changed? Did they not like it to the point they went back into stasis to sleep it away, never to return?

The Tenno knew several who chose to go back into the Sleep. One claimed it difficult to understand. Another was frustrated, and envious of veteran warframes and their extravagant decorations, deciding that stasis was the best option. One recent encounter was an inexperienced Tenno who wanted help on a quest and got the help they needed. They declared that they'd pay the other back with the same help.

That certain Tenno, a technicolored Excalibur, according to their clan member, had grown too tired of doing missions that proved too difficult and that they went to sleep without a word.

If Tenno can be affected by the most trivial of obstacles in their journey, then what of the truth being led right to them—a truth that either may break or dig a larger pit.

Not everyone wanted to know the truth, but it wasn't good to stay naive either.

The Tenno of tomorrow acknowledged the truth of their past. However, they didn't know how much it'd affect their life.

("Hey, kiddo.")

"Uh,"

The Founder of the clan they applied to looks expressively dumbfounded, even out of the warframe. Octavia wondered how it was possible to transfer out from the warframe without feeling extremely lethargic.

Was it the myriad of colors the Octavia wore? Was it the out of placing neon pinks on the face, or was it the black that coated their legs? The Syandana, perhaps? It did look a bit too expensive-looking on a Tenno of their rank so it did look odd on them.

The Founder transfers back to her Garuda, pointing at a pair of doors. "I'll be showing you around, okay?" She says weakly, her voice fading a bit.

"Is it the Syandana? The coloring?" The Tenno asks hesitantly, pointing at their face. They also grabbed the hem of their syandana too, to further emphasize. "I can change it if you'd like—"

(Why are you looking away?)

"No, it's—not that. Your syandana looks fine and Octavia is as bright as one of the Tribunals. It's good." Garuda waves her arms, her voice reaching a much higher pitch. It quiets, reaching an unsure whisper. "Your leg, however… it's a bit—" She pauses as if she was struggling to say the right thing.

"Wrong?" They offer, bringing their leg up to their hip. After the event with the Security Eye and the Pendula, Octavia couldn't stand as properly without one of her feet chunks to help her straighten, so the Tenno thought it'd be a good idea to dismember one of their warframe's lower legs to stick it on Octavia.

It looked fine to them.

"Helminth helped me," They protest, patting Valkyr's limb. "It's fine."

The gray-scaled Garuda looked a bit pale.

"Uh, you're gonna show me around right?"

"Oh, yeah." Garuda shakes her head. "C'mon, I'll take ya to the Great Hall—What's your alias again?"

Octavia seemed to forget about their leg and bounded off to meet with their new boss. There, they enthusiastically chirped, "Flyest!"

Chapter Text

In the Leonov Relay, a sparse number of civilians populated the station. Syndicate operatives were amongst themselves, in little spare groups of their own. There were few Tenno as well, entering in and out of Syndicate rooms and leaving out the hangar.

And then Baro Ki'teer arrived, announcing his arrival. In only a few minutes, Leonov Relay was now a busy, popular hub.

One of the Leonov marshallers signaled one of their own, nodding. A dark-colored Liset bathed in indigo and dark violet hues swerved towards the hangar. As it was spewing its passenger out, the entrance, a dome, combed over.

An Octavia of softer shades of lavender stepped out. Their head slowly turns, watching several warframes sprint through the doors. Beside them, a Xiphos hissed and let out a Rhino decked in red and black. Octavia eyed the Rhino's scarf-like syandana in interest.

Rhino's head glances toward them for a moment. They throw a peace sign, waving and filed out of the hangar towards the relay. As the red and blacked colored warframe ran, soft thumps jolted the floor like a mini earthquake.

During Rhino's stomping quakes, a worker stumbled and fell on stacks of polymer bundles. His yelp, high-pitched in fright, sounded octaves in the dome.

"Void damn it, not again!" an exasperated worker exclaims, dropping their share of polymer bundles.

Octavia took that as a cue to leave.

They make their way towards the Concourse, overlooking the crowd of warframes swarming one delighted Baro Ki'teer beneath his self-made pedestal. If the Void Trader was overwhelmed by the sheer hubbub crowding him, he didn't show it. The Tenno took the time to look over their credits, deeming it good enough and hoping Baro would at least have something well under two-hundred thousand credits.

They pause at their abysmal number of Ducats. Sheepishly, Octavia brings a hand to rub their neck in embarrassment. Well, it seems that they wasted their time coming here after all. They stand there fiddling with their twin Akagarius at their hips awkwardly, mulling over their to-do list of the day.

What's a Tenno to do when they come here to buy some goodies when they can't even afford them?

The lavender-hued Tenno released a huff of air that sounded like a breathy whistle. It was a thoughtful sigh, as the Tenno didn't know how speaking worked while controlling the warframe. Octavia spun around and exited the ever-growing Concourse.

They peek into Syndicate enclaves, oblivious to the bewildered glances sent their way when they enter the room to admire the scenery and leave. The Tenno never had the time to personally meet the Syndicates in person, since they never really found an interest in them—their mind mostly focused on their missions.

Octavia poked their head through the doors, noting the crackling fires and red everywhere. They were a bit spooked by the Chargers behind glass screens in the far back, subdued and not particularly interested in escaping.

The next room felt peaceful and emitted sounds akin to the natural ambiance of Earth. If it weren't for the suppressed atmosphere and upturn of lips that were neither positive nor negative, Octavia would've loved to stay in the enclave for a while longer.

They enter another enclave. The lavender Octavia cocked their head in befuddlement, a rumbling hybrid of what was supposed to be a hum of confusion emitted from the Tenno. The room was small and bare as though it were some kind of storage room. They step back out the doors, watching a syndicate glyph flicker to life.

The Tenno stepped back into the small room. Their ears perk at rhythmic sounds that flowed like quiet streams.

"Music?" says Flyest, quiet and mumbled under the odd mechanics of Transference and communication through warframes.

It was difficult for Tenno to talk through their warframes, especially those who've awakened from stasis prior to the Dream. It required Transference, just as an Operator connecting to their warframe. Flyest awakened not too long ago from both their stasis and the Dream—and Transference was recently foreign to them—so speaking outright would spill gibberish instead.

As though it were a magic word, the room crumbled and opened a path, revealing a soft blue Cephalon.

"Curious about music, as I am, Tenno?"

"Leaving already?"

Flyest paused mid-step in their walk to the dry-dock hangar where their ship waited at. Their Octavia blended in with the pastel purple that coated the hallways of the gigantic Dojo that was supposedly their home. It was only the lighting that brought them out.

They glanced behind them, seeing a prime variant of Equinox decked in various garbs that garnered the eyes. The Equinox was slouching in near the doorway, seemingly eying them. Octavia had never seen them before.

Then again, this was the second time Flyest had been in the Dojo.

Flyest inclined their head passively, nodding. They had a mission, after all. It was something that was a part of them. The itch to complete it was something they had to relieve from.

"Mission." For Cephalon Suda, they wanted to add but couldn't, to build the mandachord. "Hangar." My ship is there.

The Tenno rubbed their elbows, feeling Octavia's protruding appendages and musical notes tickle their fingers. They already had a mandachord inside their warframe, but there wasn't any way to hand it in physically to Suda herself. The mere suggestion had thrown the cephalon off.

As they thought about it, detaching the mandachord built inside their Octavia would leave them in a similar situation akin to Valkyr and her missing leg.

The prime variant of Equinox straightened, their hand laid on their black and white chest. "I see," Their voice was polite and boyish, but there was a strange tone in his words that made Flyest confused. "But I thought you were leaving the clan, so I thought to come here to find out why."

"Not that it was any of my business." He then blurted, his voice reaching an embarrassing high pitch.

They shrugged.

"Draginn," He offered a hand. "I am one of the Tribunals."

Ah, one of the right-hands to the Founder.

They pointed at themselves, tapping their chest. "Flyest," They said slowly, enunciating. It was quiet enough that they almost didn't hear themselves either.

"Yes," It was a simple word but Draginn said it as though it were a special honor. "I was the one that recruited you. Nice to meet you."

Flyest nodded, taking his hand for a shake. They had no idea how to hold a conversation, even small talk but here, someone was doing it for them.

Maybe that's how they can make friends.

Flyest emitted a gargled yelp as they narrowly avoided another merry-go-round of Sentient laser beams. They squeezed through the opening left by the pair of Sentients, leaping to get to the bottom of the dome-like room. There, a hydraulus sat in the middle of it.

The nervousness that turned into absolute panic turned into utter frustration as four Sentients materialized with a distorted screech, two of which curled on themselves and began to twirl.

It reminded them of another Tenno, a Revenant-user who undoubtedly loved to use a similar ritual. It was only ever the only ability they'd use, enjoying the deaths of everything that fell to their twirl.

Unlike the Sentients, that Revenant-user was a glass cannon. Powerful, but enough to shatter even under the weakest of forces. These modified and inorganic beings were created under the weight and reinforced.

Flyest wondered if they've ever fought a horde all at once during the Old War. It would've been a pure nightmare, they bet, having to charge in with everything to rid of them. Their memories were unclear.

A Battalyst cackled as it leaped into the air and performed a roll, making a sharp downturn towards the lavender-colored Octavia with a Zenith in hand. They slam their entirety against the ridged thing, jamming their Redeemer's blade up its socket bits. It let out a shrill screech of outrage, rendered immovable with a Redeemer up its gut. The Tenno thrust back the blade with glee curling up their insides and adrenaline through their veins.

It died with a mangled garble, cornered between them and the wall.

(You're next, you disco-looking piece of—)

The moment of the sudden rush was broken when a thread-like laser grazed Valkyr's leg, and the Tenno hissed as they stumbled on their feet. The Redeemer in their grip slackened, clattering to the floor.

Suda-Hunhow's overlapping voice gripped their ears, commanding the surrounding Sentients.

Flyest knew it was wrong to desecrate a corpse, much less one that died a few seconds ago, but they detached an arm from a Battalyst and hauled it on their shoulder.

Can't they use this as a gun?

The Tenno warily eyed the Battalyst arm as if it'd attack them.

Its siblings screeched in outrage when they snapped the arm. They casually tore their half not-leg—holding it in one hand, the crudely snapped Battalyst arm in the other—and stabbed right down the middle of Valkyr's leg like a kebab.

Using the other half of the arm as a crutch, Flyest took the leg on a cob and jammed it through the end of Octavia's severed limb like a dagger to the eyeballs. They shuddered, feeling the Sentient arm bulge through the warframe's leg, their nervous system roaring in their ears.

For now, it'll do. Flyest can have Helminth take it out when they get back, anyways.

A red-cloaked Battalyst shuddered violently, its core brightening with artificial energy. The others followed suit.

Was the Void killing them? Was being in the Void this long destroying them from inside out? The Tenno braced themselves, calling Octavia's abilities.

A wave of nausea knocked them out of their stupor, their vision hazing. It shrieked, lunging at the weakened Tenno.

The lavender-colored Octavia threw a Mallet in the middle of the dome. A loud, splattering bang jolted them suddenly, and Flyest shut their eyes.

The ringing in their ears calm, the light outside the film of their eyelids dimming into a soft, dark glow. Tentatively, they crack open an eye. They see... the walls of their Orbiter?

Flyest stumbled out of the Somatic Link, tripping on their feet as they flew through the doors.

"My warframe!" They gasped, a panicked glint in their eyes. "Ordis, we need to go back! Bring the ship back to—" The Tenno slid down the elevated path to the Arsenal, toppling over themselves in a heap. They growled in frustration, heart hammering in their chest, but went silent when only the whirring machinery of the Foundry and engines replied to them.

"Ordis?" It was an unsure whisper, like a lost child looking for their missing parent. "My warframe's in the Void—the Sentients! I need to... go... back..." Their menus pop in front of their face with an inbox message.

Go to Simaris.

They start to feel the pains of a headache coming in.

Flyest went to swipe the hologram, but their hand hovered over the communications tab. Maybe they can ask for help, ask someone to grab their Octavia out from the Void. Maybe they can borrow one from one of the members if they'd be willing.

The Tenno's small hand faltered. Their naivety knew no bounds to their imagination. The idea of asking for help was dashed as no one in their clan knew them. Why should they say yes to a random Tenno who just joined? Flyest knew that they themselves would say no if someone were to ask that. Who knew what that person would do to one of their warframes?

But... there was Valkyr. The frame was still lounging in Helminth's room, laying like a coffined corpse somewhere.

The dark clothed Tenno squeaked as they slipped on their feet again. Their head unceremoniously plopped on the floor with a hard thump. Flyest winced.

"Why do I keep slipping." They mumbled, slowly sitting up with a not-so-bad pounding head. Once their gloved hand touched the floor of the ship, something wet and slimy bled through the cloth.

The Orbiter wasn't decorated with bright colors. Black was a surrounding theme with some dark tones of blue and pale purples added into the mix. The Neptunian blue lights cast cerulean rays on their hand as they squinted at it.

Flyest didn't know what it was. They rubbed it between their fingers, smearing it. It wasn't sticky, though it flaked like Earth's polluted plants. The congealed substance was matte black, at least, to their perspective.

They sniffed it.

"Blood?" a whisper.

Unbeknownst to them, underneath the fabric around their kneecaps bled a ring-like cut.

Thread-like wires sprung out, entangling and binding. It was invasive, smothering the countless and shapeless data that was stored under banked memories.

Cephalon Suda made a noise of pain. It sounded human-like.

The Sentient Hunhow was digging into her systems, breaking and probing and violating. Her shaped soft blue body was no longer there, only an imitation of an ancient Sentient progenitor that rippled in pain as Suda's voice and—dare he says it—emotions attacked her Datascape.

The Weave was far from his reach, but Ordis knew he was getting close. He couldn't access it from here since he was bound though he could feel his fellow cephalons respond to the interfering invasion of the Cephalon Weave.

The wires tightened around him. The more they squeezed, the more he recalled his buried memories. The more Hunhow forced his way through, the more anxious he felt when his cephalon eyes peer at an automatic alert.

All ship cephalons had software installed into them to keep track of their Operator's conditions. The Lotus left it to them to inform her if one of the Tenno were falling out of their required health maintenance.

But he damn well knew he wasn't ever going to inform her about his Operator.

The first time it happened, the Operator's status steadily flowed. Then, it just dropped. Blood pressure was lowering. Their heart rate was erratically increasing. Their brain activity had flatlined, for just a moment, and went back again. Then again, and again.

It never crossed his mind to tell the Lotus that, "You know the Tenno that woke up from cryostasis not too long ago? My Operator? Yeah, they're dead." and it wouldn't have ever cut it.

...But the Operator had come back, smeared in gory Grineer guts and dirt painting their Mag. They were unhurt and moving as if—as if nothing had happened.

His Operator's vital signs were untouched and moving as steadily as they always were.

Ordis thought he imagined it.

(Cephalons can't think.)

(But he can.)

He never paid attention to it the first time, but he did for the second time. Then, the third time. Then the fourth time, and the fifth time, and all those other times.

And in all of those time frames, the Operator comes back drenched in blood and guts and scraps of metal. They are unscathed.

(He watched them get ripped apart by the Stalker at one point. It was like a mirror image before his creation.)

(His Operator recovered as though nothing happened)

The Warframes weren't as durable as he thought. Humanoid husks with extraordinary abilities powered by Void and the Tenno, revered as warriors and protectors. If the warframes gave the Tenno the ability to control and fight, then it would possibly make sense that the frames had to sacrifice something in turn.

Going back to the present, to the reality of his current body being squeezed and drained of Weave databanks and protective walls, the Operator's status blinked out of existence and resulted in an ERROR.

If Ordis was used to all prior events of his flatlining Operator, he would've waited patiently for their status to rise and go back to normal, but he wasn't. He couldn't, not with Hunhow invading Suda's datascape and his access to the Weave.

Hunhow was watching. The Sentient progenitor could see what the cephalon was seeing.

"Ordan Karris."

Oh, dear.

"Please," Flyest yanked a tentacle. "Do something."

Helminth wriggled its fleshy appendages at them. Its slimy, squishy limb tried to retract, but Flyest wouldn't let go of it. They glared at the chair, pointing back at the motionless Valkyr by their side.

"She has a cyst," They poke at the protruding pink boil. "Help me, or I pop it."

The Helminth's tentacles and head shriveled.

"Mend Valkyr's leg," They conceded, fingers still resting around the bright pink disgusting cyst. "You can use the Foundry resources. I don't have any specific materials but use whatever that will get me through this last mission."

Flyest then released their hold on the wiggling tentacle, gagging in distaste at the residue it left. "And you can pop the cyst after." They hauled Valkyr to the Helminth, sitting her down carefully. Stepping back a few inches from the door, they sat crossed legged, so their view was facing the chair.

"I'll be watching. Here, in your little room. You can't kick me out."

Despite everything else, the Heminth's stringy limbs readjusted the warframe on its chair with a claw hovering over the cyst. It paused, slimy appendages sliding to the lower half of the body to the feet. 

It wriggled excitedly.

o.o.o.o

The Somatic Link wasn't working.

Flyest attempted to power it with a simple, short void beam to the best they could muster. Needless to say, it did not work.

Valkyr was sprawled with her arms out, head lulling every time Flyest went to drag her to a safer distance to power the link. Valkyr wasn't as heavy as they thought since the warframe was nearly as tall as an adult, but the added weight that the Helminth made for her calf and foot made it an understatement.

"Ordis, power the-" They stopped in their tracks, eyes blinking. Then, Flyest slowly slid a palm down their face, pinching their nose. "-somatic link... You're not even here."

Contacting the Lotus was out of the question. Another Tenno would be fine, but everyone they knew was either a stranger they've barely spoken to or Sleeping. Asking a clan member was in the same category, as Flyest only met like, two of them!

They had to power the link themselves, then.

Other possibilities and ways to soothe their predicament practically went over their head. The small Tenno hopped off their chair and out to the Foundry, setting an energy restore to build. If naturally letting their body rest to replenish energy was out of the question, then they had to manage with taking the artificially made version.

It was a canister that was the size of two Lex pistols attached to one another. Flyest popped open the first can and peered inside. Periwinkle dust piled within. They took a whiff of it and scrunched their face. It had no smell, but some of the minuscule dust particles entered and burned their sinuses.

So they had to ingest this, yeah?

...

...

There was something in their mind that warned them to not take the whole can in one go. The synthetic energy was worth their credits and resources to replicate and build. If they gave up now, then what would happen to Ordis and Suda?

They couldn't leave like this.

Go to Simaris.

The Operator cradled a handful of the energy dust, momentarily taken back by how sculptable it was. They shaped it into a mouth-sized ball.

And from there, Flyest proceeded to throw all of their common sense out the airlock.

Chapter Text

Flyest felt off as they blearily opened their eyes and wobbly stood up. They blinked, slowly, leaning against their arsenal. Energy Restore canteens lay empty and still, some spilling out their contents like sand. 

“Ordis…? Are you there?” The Tenno coughed. Their throat felt like sandpaper. Even as they swallowed their saliva to wet it, it stuck there like a blob. “Shit.” The curse sounded childish and immature on their lips, which frowned when they felt something wet drip down their nose. The light pounding on their head made them shut their eyes, attempting to make it go away. 

They wipe their face with their hand, smearing it. Flyest wobbles their way to navigation, their feet not doing what they wanted them to do. 

Their body stumbles into the incubator, knocking a kubrow egg off its stands. It shatters with a wet splat, the shell cracking like a ceramic pot. Flyest stared at it in horror, their eyes watching a hard goop spill out of its case. It breathed for a couple of seconds and lay motionless on their Orbiter floor.

Flyest suddenly releases the breath they didn’t know they were holding. It was deep and ragged. They rapidly blink away the wetness in their eyes, averting themselves from the mess.

“Good job, Flyest.” They mumble, slumping over their Mods table. “You just killed your first kubrow.” 

Wouldn’t Ordis be happy that the stain in his ship is gone?

Flyest paused, raising their head. They’re halfway up the ramp to navigation, blinking. Nora Night’s voice rang through their ears, her music bouncing over the windows. Mercury was in their full view.

“Ugh…” They squint, their migraine pounding as they held their head. One hand picks up an energy restore. It was still full, half finished. Its contents were sprinkled, spread across the whole navigation room. Another canister, perhaps the culprit, created a mound near the Syndicate console. 

“What- What did I even do? Hey—” Flyest’s eyes widened for a moment and then glared at the navigation console. “Signal… Disrupted?”

Great. Great. Communications were offline. In fact, everything appeared to be offline.

The hologram crackled. A distorted beep blared from the console—wait, no, every console in the Orbiter. The ship started to tilt, its lights flickering. Flyest slid treacherously under the Market desk, its legs catching them. 

Distorted buzzes erupted into a static alarm. Ruptured voices came from within.

“...tuary—unters, the relay— bzzzt —weave...chaos…” 

“ bzzzt —the...eave!—an...tem—offline... GET OUT!—”

From under the market table, Flyest quietly utters in askance, harried and hands grabbing to climb out—they were stunned beneath flickering lights. “S—Simaris? Ordis? Why—” 

Then came a clear, “No!—I WON’T LET—” from Cephalon Suda. The voice beneath the static broke through, ensuring a small line of poking static and beeps. 

An ear-piercing scream clouded the line. Flyest jumped. The Tenno trapped in their Orbiters around the surrounding Origin System jolted. The communications line connected to Flyest, to the Tenno, to the Weave blacked out.

Suddenly, a sigh. Peaceful. Tranquil. Satisfied. As though a big hearty meal had thoroughly been gorged. 

“It’s. Mine .” Hunhow rumbles. Suda’s voice no longer overlaps his, completely gone. Then there was static, once again. For a few moments. 

A ding. The Orbiter tilted itself to its normal position. The flickering lights stayed, slowly and slowly did it return. They rolled, their eyes were blown wide in their sockets.  The Tennos’s heart rate picked up, recalling the abrupt scream of Suda. A scream so emotional and so real, that it replayed over and over again.

“ HOW COULD YOU?! ” Ordis had screeched through the communications line. In the background, Simaris was heard grumbling, mumbling even. A faint melody, off-key and disheartening layered over the static noise. “ Suda was still there! And you—YOU PIECE OF S—”

“ The Weave was endangered. I had only done what was necessary to protect it. ”

“ You disconnected her. ” hissed Ordis, blending in with the crackling melodies. “She’s. Gone.” There was a long, uncomfortable pause that stretched on. “I suppose you’ve your wish granted. Cephalon Suda is erased.”

Simaris said something inarticulate, which seemed impossible since he was a sapient cube of intelligent, artificial life. 

The line blanked. The communications, broken.

“Tenno? Tenno, can you all hear me?” The Lotus. “Your Links have gone silent. The communications… are up again, as though Hunhow was never here.”

“Yeah…” Flyest nods off, knowing fully well that the Tenno mother couldn’t hear them. They draw little shapes in the periwinkle dust, little pictures of a cracked cube, and a body of shapes. They couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed, drawing the last one. It was Suda. 

They knew Hunhow was somehow a part of this. Simaris, Ordis, Suda… and Octavia? The Tenno retraced their steps, replaying piece by piece of memory. A mission to the Void, red-draped Sentients and—Nothing.

(There was a storm brewing, and they didn’t know why. Couldn’t recall why.)

“There has been unrest in the Relays. Larunda, especially. Cephalon Simaris and several present Relay cephalons are being faced with wariness and hostility. Hunhow has created a divide between cephalons and the living, we cannot let this happen.”

Fix it. was implied. 

“But with what weapon and warframe do I need to fix it?”

Flyest goes to stand but freezes mid-crouch when their eyes meet another. 

There, sitting cross-legged on top of their codex, was a mirror of themselves. Aloof with its shoulders shaking in what seemed like mirth. 

“ Hey, kiddo.” The doppelganger says with Flyest’s voice. “Forgetting something? ”

A normal person’s reaction would’ve been to back away and run. 

Flyest acted on impulse and reached out to touch them.

“Your actions have consequences~” It sang, waving a wagging finger. 

Somatic Link engaged.

In a cellar of an Orokin threshold in the Void, a mound of rubble and discarded technology lay in disarray. A portion of the junk moved, twitched, as though something was underneath it. The large pieces of rubble groaned as it lifted and dropped, something beneath its everything attempting to break out.

From a little crack within, an object was thrown outside.

It burst with music, upbeat.

A Corrupted Nullifier chose the time to walk over a vent, not expecting itself to get thrown to the far end of the hall. 

A lavender-hued one-legged Octavia straddled it, swinging their twin Akagarius and shot.

“You know, when you said you were in a jiffy, I didn’t think it’d be this bad.” 

Draginn the Tribunal, his Equinox prime in all her elegance, looked away from the Octavia abomination standing in his Orbiter. They shrugged in response, plopping down on the floor, unbothered.

“Bring the Xiphos to the Dojo, Remmy.”

“Of course, Operator. Setting the coordinates.”

“That kinda looks like Void, to be honest.” Draginn kneels in front of them, looking from the Void made leg to the Octavia. “First using warframe parts and now you’re using the Void? What kind of engineer are you, Flyest?” He joked.

Flyest shrugged, no sound coming out of them. Silent and slumped, they were. They lit the place of a brighter purple outside of all the black and red walls.

“Larunda’s hectic these past few days.” He commented dryly. “Other Relays, too, but Larunda is where everyone goes. Ever since the feed with Hunhow… You wouldn’t believe how wary people are of cephalons now. It’s mostly the ones who believe cephalons shouldn’t roam freely. Like… Amaryn. It’s unfortunate.”

How well do people react to change, to treat it as a means to go after something else.

Draginn continued, even after his ship began to dock. “It’s just the suspicion of Hunhow, y’ know? Some are afraid he’s got through the weave and infected all the other cephalons. Huh.” He shook his head, leaning forward to pat Flyest’s shoulder.

“If you need any help with anything, I’ll come running.”

“...” Flyest just sat there, eyeless, warframe face staring up at their fellow Tenno. They brought a hand up, literally palm to face with Draginn. The hand movement was clumsy and sloppy, until—“ Question? ” They signed. He nodded, and Flyest, very quietly, asked them: “What happens when you die?”

It was a timid sound, like a squeak. A crack in their small, small voice.

“Well, when you die you’re dead.” He answers lamely. No one truly knew the answer to what comes after death. “You die—when you die, you experience all the suffering first, then tension and numbness, and relaxation. At least, that’s my belief.”

Flyest, ever so silent, nods. They take the answer and go to stand, wobbly on their legs—one of Void and the original, unequal. 

“Just don’t try anything funny, okay?” 

Flyest replies with the tip of their thumb and index finger forming a circle. An ‘okay’.

Draginn was in Cetus the last time he sees the strange Octavia—Flyest.

No longer were they of a purplish hue. White, black, and neon blues of an Octavia Diva. A Verismo syandana sways along with the breeze as they were bent over an Ostron stand, pointing at various journals and paper.

The vendor seemed to roar with a hearty laugh, talking animatedly with the Diva. Flyest pointed their finger to various books, using their hands to… measure? The size of the books.

Later on, as the vendor finished rummaging behind his stall he pulled out a size worthy Orokin book—blank as Flyest flipped through it. They nod, and left, exchanging plat with the man.

Draginn looked away, a bit embarrassed. Not that it was wrong to watch your fellow peers, because it was, but because a prime variant of an Ivara materialized beside him and asked if he wanted a blueprint of an Ivara for spying purposes.

The not-so appropriate setting purposes. 

Flyest went back to their quiet Orbiter. It was still messy and dirty with energy restores lying about, and a stain near the incubator that indicated that something was there for days.

Octavia’s back was leaned against the legs of their codex, Ostron graphite pencils and Orokin sized journal in front of them. The dark eraser that laid beside it complimented the tiny study. 

With slow and steady strokes, jagged letters that resembled a forgotten language formed eight characters. They underlined it and stared at it for a few seconds before slamming it shut. 

Will I wake up from any death?