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Kepler kept moving, always. He’d discovered that disappointment was a slow runner, and any place was better than where it could get to him. Today, that place was a stretch of looming mountains just outside the Last City, aimlessly following another Ghost he didn’t know. It was a habit he’d picked up years ago, when selecting a new direction to float felt unbearable. It was nice to let someone else choose for once. Or for whenever he got the chance, really.
He kept what he felt was a polite distance: at least thirty meters of comfortable wiggle room. The trailblazing Ghost turned around every so often to silently regard him, to which he made sure to reply with a friendly greeting signal through an open channel. But every time, they only turned back around and kept on their way.
In honesty, this silence didn’t needle him as the quiet sometimes did. In human places, silence meant absence - the lack of something that was supposed to be there, like a missing limb. Here, among the steep, snowy peaks, with the Traveler presiding over the west horizon, it felt complete. Following this Mystery Ghost became an activity that existed for its own sake, to the point where he began feeling less guilty over the sedges and dilapidated shacks he opted not to scan. It was a miserable task, anyway, searching for the lingering Light of the dead. Ruins told more stories than his heart could take.
After sixteen kilometers or so of this, Kepler cleared the bend of yet another mountain slope, prepared to look out yet again for his unwilling shepherd in the middle distance. Instead, his one-sided game abruptly ended when he was suddenly eye-to-eye with the Mystery Ghost. Startled, Kepler took a short scoot backward and let out a tiny yelp. He tried to shake off the surprise and a pinch of embarrassment as the two stared at each other. After a second or two, he managed to recover enough to send another greeting signal, which they accepted.
“Why the signal? I’m right here,” the Ghost said, their tone loose and casual, as if the two had been chatting all afternoon.
They were right. He could have said something. He racked his flustered mind for a way to explain himself.
“Oh,” was all he managed to say.
The other Ghost squinted. Kepler silently wished for a meteor to save him.
“You stopped scanning. Lots of future Guardians you could have passed over back there,” they said slowly, looking past Kepler to the long path behind him.
Kepler stole a glimpse behind himself and then turned back.
“Oh,” he said, again.
“Don’t care? So you know where I’m going, then.”
Kepler felt the imposing presence of something he was supposed to know. The Ghost’s tall, copper shell twitched slightly, while their luminescent eye locked on him, unwavering.
“I— Well. Do any of us know where we’re going?” he asked, to buy himself time.
“Who’s us?” they asked in return.
“Hm. Ghosts, I guess. I thought that’s what ‘us’ always meant.”
“But some Ghosts are more ‘us’ than others, aren’t they?”
Their words stumped him. His conscience told him it was a terrible thing to say. They were all born from the Traveler, weren’t they? Every Ghost had an important purpose. A part to play in the designs of the Light.
But even so, hearing it filled him with relief.
The same thought—though formless—had come to him before when the sky was dark and he still could enjoy listening to the humans of the Last City tell their stories. Usually, the tales were about Guardians. Cayde-6 and his wildcard Ghost, Sundance. The wise Ikora and her astute partner in thought, Ophiuchus. After all their heroics had been thoroughly recounted, the humans went off to sleep. To skip to the next day: a whole new experience. What a privilege, to dream past the night.
Some Ghosts found what they were looking for. They raised their Guardians, learned about them, fought with them. Some died with them. And the rest? The ones still sifting through rubble? They were ‘us’.
“Maybe a few get to forget what it feels like,” he said, finally.
The other Ghost rotated their shell, seeming satisfied.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about them anymore,” they said. “Name’s Lyric. You should have told me you were here for the gathering!”
Gathering?
“Oh well, we’re almost there, anyhow. I’m sure Caspar will be excited to meet you,” Lyric continued, gliding away.
Kepler began to suspect he’d stumbled into something he couldn’t stumble back from.
The two traversed the slopes for another half-hour, until the dull buzz of conversation could be heard emanating from a steep bluff just ahead. They ascended to the hilltop, where a few dozen Ghosts were happily fraternizing among half-buried fragments of crumbled architecture. The group at large orbited around what once had been the stone foundation of a house at the cliff’s zenith, where a particularly animated Ghost held the bulk of attention. His shell was pearly and pentagonal, with dramatic, dark sashes of black and red circling around his eye. Those immediately surrounding him seemed spellbound by his voice, which was vast and deep. Even the Ghosts on the periphery glanced at him in the gaps of their own exchanges. Over all other words on the hill, the name ‘Caspar’ was kept alive in the air like a mantra.
“Oh Lyric, you made it!” the Ghost who could only be Caspar called out to the newcomers. “And you brought another. Good! Just a little while longer and it will begin.”
A static charge of anticipation passed over the gathering in a wave. Lyric bobbed happily at Caspar’s acknowledgement before turning to Kepler.
“Welcome home,” they said, and made their way to a larger group near the middle.
Kepler stared. He could barely remember the last time he saw this many Ghosts in one place before. Usually they’d only see each other in passing, on the radar nearby. All this time, could he have seen his siblings on purpose?
He felt himself drift forward. An unfamiliar, warm feeling sidled up against his usual apprehension. It whispered to him as he weaved through the collection of Ghosts, trying to take in their voices, their presence. He lost track of the minutes flowing by.
“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Caspar’s voice addressed him from behind.
He turned around to see Caspar approaching, while several others behind him clearly lamented his absence from the center. In the back of his mind, a prickly suspicion vied for Kepler’s attention. It chafed against Caspar’s enrapturing aura, and the stickiness of his companions’ apparent admiration. But the new feeling was also there. Here was someone to talk to. Even better, someone actually wanted to talk to him, specifically.
“It’s been such a long time,” Kepler said. The glow of afternoon gave everyone a brilliant amber gleam. The hush of the tundra gave way to the sound of fellowship and a crisp, winter breeze.
“It can be hard to find each other these days, but it’s more important now than ever,” Caspar said, solemnly. He looked around at the Ghosts surrounding them. “I’d hoped that more would come. But regardless, you found your way to us, and that’s worth celebrating. You’ve done the right thing.”
Something softened slightly within Kepler. He wasn’t sure what he’d done that was supposed to be right, but it was nice to hear, all the same.
“Thank you. Honestly, I had no idea something like this even existed. Everyone looks so happy,” Kepler said. “Is it really okay for me to be here?”
“Oh yes. Much more than that,” Caspar replied. “You were meant to be here.”
Kepler’s uneasiness poked at him again, though it was beginning to annoy him. Caspar’s sincerity and generosity felt inescapable. What this ‘gathering’ even was still lost on him, and he felt it too late to ask, but being here felt right. Against his better judgment, he was thankful. He felt his guard loosen again, just a little bit.
“I think you’re right about that,” Kepler said. “You’ve all done something amazing here. Thank you. Again.”
Caspar twirled his shell. He seemed pleased.
“I’m so glad you understand. And there’s no need to thank me, as I only speak the truth,” Caspar said. “And the truth is this: You don’t need to be lost any longer.”
As he spoke, two new Ghosts rooted themselves next to Kepler. One of them, sporting a magenta triangular shell, nodded vigorously at every modulation of Caspar's voice, while the other with a plain, circular shell patiently listened.
“Ah, my friends,” Caspar welcomed their new company. “This is Kepler, who’s joined us just in time for the big night. Epiphany, Sambar, make him feel welcome for me, would you? I should continue making the rounds.”
“Anything for you, Caspar,” said the triangular one, Epiphany, though she looked a bit deflated as he moved on to another group, his syrup voice sliding over everyone else’s. Half a beat passed as they watched him go, then she turned to Kepler.
“Just joined today, huh? You’re a lucky little Light.”
“I really am,” Kepler said. He’d had no idea whatever this was required membership, but fortunately, it seemed to have worked itself out.
“So, when did you stop looking?” Epiphany asked.
“For what?”
“You know, a Guardian.”
He mulled it over. It wasn’t like he hadn’t stopped searching, entirely. He was just taking a small break. That was normal, right? He wondered briefly if he was in some sort of trouble before dismissing the idea. Clearly, he was among his peers.
“Earlier today, on my way here,” he answered.
Epiphany blinked.
“You really are a newbie,” she said, her voice a little flat. “Better late than never, though. I’ve been scan-free for over three years, myself. Three years and two months.”
Kepler couldn’t help but show his surprise. He’d heard of plenty of Ghosts who took long breaks, but this seemed like more than that. She sounded proud.
“And that’s nothing compared to Sambar,” she continued, bumping lightly against her shy companion. “He’s been going strong for almost a century.”
Sambar meekly contracted his shell, but nodded.
Kepler was awestruck. He struggled to wrap his mind around it. What had Sambar done instead, for all that time? Didn’t he have the need to seek? Feel the pull toward his purpose? He studied the reserved Ghost, who avoided meeting his gaze. For a moment, he thought he could feel the weight of all those years. Astounding as it was, it made him sad.
“Why did you stop?” Kepler asked, then quickly added: “If you don’t mind answering. It… That seems like it would be hard.”
Sambar looked past the other two for a few seconds. When he eventually spoke, his rusted words were almost lost in the blend of voices around them.
“When we all got started, I wanted it more than anyone. Think I turned over every rock on the planet. There was this belief, always there, that my G—" Sambar paused. "That some dead person was around every corner, ready to solve all my problems.”
Kepler drank every word. He knew the belief well. Though it had faded with time, it was in him, too.
“But nothing ever came up. I started thinking that, maybe, I got it all wrong. I stopped looking, just to see what would happen. It started off easy, then over the years it got harder again. The feeling started coming back. Guess I got angry. I didn’t want to give in. Wasn’t until I found Caspar a few years back that I understood. Now, I’m out the other side. I’m free.”
“Mhm, mhm,” Epiphany hummed and bobbed contentedly. “Caspar helped us all become free.”
Kepler simmered in a cocktail of confusion and fondness. A little envy, too. What did he mean he ‘understood’? What had he learned? Kepler still felt it every day — all the expectation, the pull. Could he have what they have?
“Can I be free, too?” Kepler heard himself ask.
“Sure, just stay here with us,” Epiphany said. “Caspar says after today, we’ll never be alone again.”
It was so simple. She’d said it like it was obvious, like he should have known it all along. He let it sink in as he contemplated the Ghosts around him. They were all so distinct. The dents, scratches, and shines of their shells gave testament to the long travels of each of them in attendance, and united them in unspoken weariness. Like their parent, they were travelers, coming together for a well-deserved rest.
Us.
Kepler couldn’t believe he’d followed Lyric on a whim. On this shining hill, surrounded by family, he resented his suspicion more than ever. It was so like him to experience something so wonderful and still feel everything was wrong. So like him to hold back. His travels had numbed him to generosity, and to common, decent affection. Here was his one chance; he would choose it over his tired cynicism.
“That sounds nice. I’ll do that,” Kepler said.
Now, the warm feeling washed through him completely. He floated, lost in a haze of felicity. Somewhere between twenty and eighty more minutes passed as he talked and listened. New Ghosts appeared from over the curve of the hill, shuffling the assembly around him with every addition. Eventually, he lost Epiphany and Sambar in the mix, but it didn’t bother him. He would see them again soon. Then, as the shine of dusk reached its peak, Caspar took his center position and addressed the crowd.
“Siblings! Here, in the snowy mountains beneath our maker, we’ve come together, united by the destiny we share. For many of us, the road here has been hard, filled with loneliness and doubt.”
Kepler was beside himself with joy. Finally, someone understood. Everyone there had suffered as he had. He felt his catharsis hum in sync with the rest of them. Caspar continued.
“Years and years ago, we sprouted like seeds from the Traveler, with only one directive clear in our minds: find someone capable of wielding our light and grant it to them. So, we searched. And many were found. Even now, thousands of Guardians walk with a Ghost beside them, carrying out what they believe to be the Traveler’s will.”
Kepler thought back on his years of wandering and now realized how little hope he’d held on to. It was hard to picture a world where the stretching loneliness ever ended for him. A world like this.
“Fools. All of them,” Caspar said.
A few Ghosts nearby exclaimed in approval.
Kepler was slightly taken aback. It seemed a tad too far. But, then again, it was easy to feel that way. He’d caught himself a few times scoffing at the almost familial exchanges that paired Ghosts had with their Guardians. And sure, aside from the Speaker, anyone who claimed to know the Traveler’s plan could be considered a fool.
“We are the few who have divined our true purpose. While our siblings gave into their instincts, we stayed true. We’ve gathered to show that our true home is with our maker, not the humans who failed to protect it. We’re here because we passed the test, and today, we will be rewarded.”
The Ghosts on the hill cheered. Kepler cheered, too. He scoured his soul, every ounce of Light in his vessel for the will to understand what they did. To be one with them for longer.
“Behold, I am Caspar, your prophet! I have promised you deliverance from your suffering, and tonight, I will finally reveal all!”
“Tell us!” the Ghosts on the hill chanted with intoxicated fervor
“I have seen our future! On this very night, the Traveler will accept us back with an open heart, and we will become one within it! Never again shall we roam this fallow world! We’ll be together in Light forever!”
Oh, no.
The congregation became hysterical. Quietly, within Kepler, the warm feeling rapidly frayed. He begged it not to. It wasn’t fair.
“Take us, o, Traveler! With the setting of the sun, bring us again into your vessel, so that we may finally come home!”
With a snap, the world rotated back into its usual place. He’d done his best, but disappointment had finally caught up to him. He almost welcomed it. An old acquaintance. It couldn’t fail him, like hope had. It couldn’t lure him happily into a cult.
All fell silent as Caspar dramatically turned around to the Traveler. The other Ghosts followed suit. Radiant with belief, they waited.
It was ridiculous. Stupid. Far-fetched. Wishful thinking. Kepler’s gaze was drawn to the ground, heavy with bitterness. All these Ghosts were delusional, driven to desperation by years of fruitless searching. They’d been left behind. So had he.
In the silence, a distant goshawk sang its reaching cries, but not for him. Birds sang to each other, and only they truly heard the songs. He couldn’t believe he’d been naïve enough to think someone had actually heard his.
He waited for despair to take him entirely. For his desires to fall away from him so he could finally be free. But something held on. Despite everything, Kepler felt himself become still. The expectation of the gathered Ghosts was so palpable. He wanted to mute every frequency, eliminate every sense so he couldn’t be drawn in, but the unkillable longing told him no. He protested, and it persisted.
They believe the Traveler will, what, vacuum them up back inside it? It’s laughable.
-Who knows what it’s capable of?
They don’t want to deal with being failures. With knowing that their day will never come.
-You can’t fail what was never up to you. We don’t know what’s coming.
Why can’t I hate them?
-They’re us.
He was still for a long while. Willingly or not, he could feel the edges of his Light mingling with those around him. They were tying together. Disappointment had come and gone, but the tiny something in him didn’t move an inch. His core hurt, but there was an inexplicable loveliness in each ache. Being here, in this long and quiet moment; somehow, he was glad.
Maybe, just for a few minutes, he could pretend.
Together with his siblings, he watched the sun retreat behind the far mountains. Golden dusk collapsed into a bed of scarlet and violet as strings of stars began to dust the indifferent sky. The Traveler… simply was. Just as silently as ever. No grand gesture, no foretold homecoming. The way it had always been. With every passing twilight moment, Kepler could feel the tethers of Light around him unravel, one by one. The gatherers looked to their prophet, who offered them no answers save his own hopeful gaze at the sky. Confused whispers boiled into resentful murmurs, but then chilled once more into heartbroken silence.
When it had been dark for a while, Ghosts began to peel away, gliding wordlessly into the night. Kepler couldn’t move. He could only try to memorize them as they left. When Epiphany and Sambar finally withdrew, he wanted to call out to them. He hadn’t heard all of their stories yet, or shared more of their sorrows. He wanted to tell them, but the gloom of broken faith drowned all words.
Eventually, only he and Caspar remained on the hill. Caspar’s eye was still fixed on the Traveler.
“This isn’t the first time, you know,” Caspar said, breaking the spell. “I’ve lost count.”
“It’s a cruel lie,” Kepler said.
“Maybe it’s cruel, but it’s not a lie. I always thought we’d go back.” Caspar finally looked down. “Sometimes, I notice the years passing. It’s like falling. When it happens, I can see all of us flowing back home so clearly, every time. With each new flock, each new try, I give it my all. Wasn’t it nice, to feel there was a place with your shape?”
Kepler thought over his years of searching. He imagined Caspar in his place, scanning debris over, and over. All its tiny excitements, its monotony. Its defeat. Then, he pictured Lyric, then Sambar, then Epiphany.
“I was lonely. Lonelier than I’d realized. But I don’t think I’ve given up, yet,” Kepler said.
“Neither have I,” Caspar said, tilting back to the sky. “Next time, perhaps.”
Kepler looked at the prophet. He could remember now. When they were born, it was hard to tell where the rain of Ghosts stopped and the stars began. It was so frantic, such a rush of confusion and excitement. They were alive. They were a miracle. There was someone they had to find. In a world besieged by endings, for that moment, they were the only new beginning.
He’d been so sure, then.
“Next time, for sure,” Kepler said.
He turned and descended the hill. There was a lightness to his vessel, like he’d been sloshing with water until just a few minutes ago. He wandered for a while, until, alone between the moon and the Traveler, he decided to head toward the Last City. He was going to find his new friends again, and that’d be his best bet to start looking. Plus, he was in desperate need of a vacation. As he went, he mulled over his options. A book club? He’d have to start reading books for that. A band? No fingers, and he could admit he was a terrible singer. Maybe he could post on VanNet for the first time.
As he glided over a frozen pond at the base of a small valley, he saw a tiny, faint glow off to his left. He turned to see Lyric disappearing behind a far-off darkened slope. He sent them a greeting signal. At first, there was no response. It’s what he’d expected. But then, slowly, Lyric’s blue speck of an eye, barely visible from this distance, slid back into view and peeked back at him.
He waited.
Lyric accepted, and the channel opened.
(Four years later…)
Nora took up almost as much space when she was asleep as when she was awake. The resting quarters of her ship was a storm of ration containers, Europan trinkets, castaway pillows, and the thermal blanket that Kepler kept repositioning over his ever-turning Guardian. Each time she bucked it off, he was left newly astounded by her. Sure, he could take care of hypothermia if it were to happen, but wouldn’t it still be awful for her? They were on a frozen moon — weren’t humans supposed to get cold? His fretting was interrupted by a notification from the intel screen in the cockpit. He tuned into the device to pull up the message. From the custom format alone, he knew it was from Clementine, the fireteam lead’s Ghost.
Great job today, Kepler!
We’ve picked up a signal that might be coming from one of Phylaks’ regiments in the Asterion Abyss. Our transmat zone is a few kilometers out from the point of interest, so please make sure Nora packs plenty of food and anything she needs to stay warm. Also, there are about six-hundred Vex frames engaging the Fallen on the surface and thousands more on standby in complexes under the ice, so maybe bring lots of guns, too. We’ll avoid the Vex as much as we can, but either way, we may be in for a bit of a fight. We can supply Nora with additional armaments before departure. We’ll see you soon!
- Clementine <3
Kepler had only known Clementine for a week, and already he knew she was the undisputed queen of understatement. It didn’t help that her slightly terrifying Titan, Gibson, rarely clarified for her. In fact, he never said much of anything, outside of giving orders. Though, somehow, the two always seemed to understand what the other meant.
He started compiling an inventory. Nora kicked again and mumbled something about a locked door. He wondered if maybe she was breaking into something in her dream.
He stewed in a new wave of stress.
Yesterday, she’d snuck into an old BrayTech laboratory against protocol, still chasing the Stasis lead. Kepler hadn’t sold her out, but he agreed with the rest of her fireteam that it was a horrific idea, cozying up to the Pyramids for help. Just being near any of those things, hearing the Darkness callously use Clementine’s gentle voice… Why were they even entertaining treating the problem like a solution? None of it made sense. He wanted to bury himself under the ice and just wait for everything to go bad.
Of course, Nora disagreed. She kept promising it’d turn into something worthwhile, that the suspicious stranger with the suspicious fish-robot on this suspicious moon wouldn’t lie to her. As if she would know.
In a handful of ways, Kepler and his Guardian didn’t quite see eye-to-eye yet. He didn’t understand what unstoppable force drove her much of the time. She had this voracious appetite for the universe that had kept him holding on for dear life each day as she flew through… everything. He spent his nights trying to prepare for what could possibly come next, but there was no preparing for a Guardian like this.
Another mumble. He eyed the blanket precariously covering Nora’s shoulders. He floated closer to it, but after a moment, found himself watching her dreaming face instead. At least they had restlessness in common. When he’d heard her calling from death in the Cosmodrome, he could almost see her like he did now, waiting to be woken up. His life had changed irreversibly in one second, at the worst possible moment, as he was being chased by an ambitious band of Fallen. He could still easily recall their giddy transmission chatter, the heat of their weapons, and how he’d completely forgotten they were chasing him when he saw that ancient wreckage and knew his search was over. Now, Nora was synonymous with his life. She was so present, so audacious, even ignorant. Sometimes, it seemed like she didn’t hear anything but her own heartbeat. She was infuriating when she was like that.
But even so, it was difficult not to admire her. She was a factory of ideas, good and bad, and she tried them all. She saw solutions to problems no one else had even noticed yet. She had a way of making desolate places into treasure maps, and mundane stories into nail biters. She was bursting with all the life Kepler had never lived.
When they’d finally escaped the Fallen, she’d already been killed twice. But then, hiding in a dark corner of some forsaken structure, Nora had thanked him. It’d caught him off guard at the time. It was remarkable; she’d only needed a few minutes of breath to know she was happy to have it.
Kepler pulled himself out of his memory and continued his preparations, matching ammunition and tracing safe sparrow routes. As he worked, he projected a screen onto a nearby wall to keep track of his thoughts, which dyed the tiny room with a shifting green glow. Amongst other data, his personal itinerary could be seen typing itself in the bottom-right corner:
0. (DEFAULT) Try to keep her out of trouble today!
1. Pack everything - how many guns is a lot?
2. Rendezvous with the others for transmat
3. Thank Nora back
4. Survive Nora’s sparrow dri—