Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What could be stranger than seeking help from a man who knows nothing of who we are?” The Drifter smirks to herself as she follows behind the one Umbra calls Mote. The Drifter doesn’t dare to call her by her real name — Sera — because they’re not friends. Despite what they have, they are still strangers to each other.

“Do you have any brighter ideas? Teshin is gone. Varzia is...” Mote chews on her lip; she can’t put the Dax through more questions. She’s already hurting enough as it is. They both are. And this galaxy isn’t forgiving for those who are suffering.

“Yes. Anyone but Darvo. The man is a schemer who’s only interested in profit. You’d get more answers from Clem, if I’m being honest.” The Drifter slows to a crawl to admire some of the lush flora growing in the hallways of the relay. She can’t remember the last time she felt real leaves between her fingers...

[Strange, isn’t it...]

“You leave Clem out of this.” Mote spins and jabs a finger in her older counterpart’s face. Drifter scrunches up her nose and she swats the finger away with a look of disgust.

“I’m older than you, kid. Didn’t anyone tell you about respecting your elders?” As if Drifter really gave a shit about Mote’s respect or not. But she knew saying so would piss Mote off even more.

“Older, but not wiser. This is my universe, not yours. Which means we do what I say. Unless you want to go back to that mirror world of yours, be my guest. But don’t expect my help.” Mote wheels around again and heads towards the lift to take her down to Darvo.

[Strange, isn’t it, the young leading the old. It shouldn’t be that way, should it?]

“Shut up.”

[You’re better than this. You fought tooth and nail to get here and you’re just going to let her boss you around like that?]

“I said shut it. Or so help me...”

[You’ll what? End this little friendship we have? Sever yourself from me? We both know you don’t have the guts to do it.]

He was right, too. She needed Him if she ever wanted to get back to where she really belonged. Even if this place was a lot less hostile.

But not by much.

“Hey! Are you coming or what?” Mote calls out from the elevator, her hand sticking through the opening to keep it from leaving the Drifter behind. “You’ve got a strange look on your face. ... do you need to throw or something?”

The Drifter huffs then swallows at the bile creeping up her throat. Mote had her Warframes; she had... nothing. No one. To think she would consider...

Well, stranger things have happened.

Chapter Text

It was difficult to tell what the Ostrons were celebrating, but without Mote to translate, Umbra was on his own for... how long had she said she was going to be gone again?

Colourful spheres filled the air, tied to every post along the way. Some sparkled while others were in different shapes that he couldn’t exactly decipher. But they seemed to mean no harm. For the time being.

Music and merriment also filled the air, children ran between the narrow paths between the booths and homes, and vendors were hawking their wares to anyone who came too close or even looked in their direction.

“Come! The finest jewels to adorn your wife’s pretty neck!”

“A Cetus wisp or two! They’re perfect for the children!”

“Hot kimchurri! Two bowls for the price of one!”

Umbra paused in his curiousity when he felt pressure around his neck; a small grubby hand had found the end of his scarf and was groping at the frayed fabric. A young child who was probably lost was his best guess.

Remember to be gentle Mote’s voice echoed at the back of his head. I’m not always going to be there to make excuses for you.

He huffed.

He knelt down and tried to gently work the fabric from her fingers... to no avail. Glassy eyes stared up at his unblinking eye, twisting the fabric even tighter around her fingers.

“Do you know my mommy?”

How in the Void would he know that? Did he look like some kind of all-knowing seer?

He shook his head.

“Can you help me find her?”

A low grumble echoed within his hollow chest. He was no babysitter.

Since she wasn’t going to let go, he gathered her up in his arms instead and headed back the way he came. With any luck, the unfortunate mother would spot her whelp and take her back. Much easier than trying to call out for her.

“You’re a Warframe. Like Gara and Rev... Rev’nant,” she mumbled. She was doing a bad job of keeping her hands to herself as she tugged on one of the metal adornments on his shoulder.

He grumbled again. He wished he could curl inside himself and disappear from this moment.

“You’re different. You’ve got... a face.”

His eye narrowed as her hand sought his cheek, yearning to touch the skin beneath infested-iron. He caught her hand in his and insistently returned it to her lap.

When was this torture going to be over?

“Does that mean... you’re like us?”

Umbra glanced at her once more and tilted his head.

“Ostron? ...human?”

Was he? Had he ever been? He couldn’t really say for sure. He couldn’t really say at all.

He shook his head “no.” Better to lie than to be bombarded with a plethora of questions.

“Sabine!”

The girl in his arms perked up, her curiousity soon forgotten.

“Mama?”

“Sabine!” The girl’s mother soon found them, concern written on her features that slowly grew into wariness and anger. “Please... let my daughter go...” she requested from a distance.

Umbra glanced from the mother to the girl, then lowered to the child to the ground. Good. People were supposed to fear him.

Mother and daughter reunited, he was soon forgotten as he watched them coo over each other. Old memories began to claw up the back of his mind, memories of his wife and son. Would they have enjoyed the world as it was now, without Orokin control? Would they be here by his side, enjoying the festivities of the Ostron people? Would Isaah have wanted one of those kuaka-shaped balloons for himself?

He swept away the ache. He’d been hoping on what-ifs for too long; it was time to celebrate the what-could-bes.

Umbra stopped by the food stall and pointed to one of the steaming bowls of kimchurri. Maybe Mote would enjoy it when she returned... whenever that was.

Chapter Text

Morning practice. Varzia was already late from oversleeping, and her parents hadn’t bothered to wake her. If she wanted to be a Dax so badly, she was going to have to develop her discipline on her own.
The half-eaten sliver of nali-bread hung from her mouth as she hauled the straps of her practice sword over her head. There were only two chimes left indicating the hour, and if she wasn’t in the training hall by then, they would shut the doors on her.

And if you missed a day of practice, you could forget about becoming a Dax ever again. They took training seriously, starting the children from a young age so that their bodies could be fine-tuned for the task at hand. Serving as the protectors of the Orokin. What could be a greater honour than that?

Their “knights in shining armour,” as Varzia liked to call it. She’d always marveled at the gleam of the Dax armour, the unique curves befitting each helmet, the adornments on their pauldrons indicating rank. It brought a smile to her face every time the head general made an appearance, returning from one of his wars. His was the fanciest.

His armour was the goal Varzia aspired to.

The last chime echoed down the hall, the lingering tone reverberating to the beat of Varzia’s racing heartbeat and pulling her out of her daydream.

Just a few more feet...

The golden door was already starting to slide closed, and she felt the ground beneath her feet start to crumble away. Hopes and dreams and aspirations slipping out of her very fingertips. Her chance to be a knight was-...!

A practice sword suddenly jutted out of the doorway, preventing its closure. Hope renewed, she quickened her pace and slipped through the narrow crack. A young boy stood there with a stern expression on his face as he struggled to pull his now-trapped practice sword out of the doorway.

“Teshin!” the instructor barked and strode from the front of the room to help the boy. “What in the Void are you doing?”

“I was attempting... a passata sotto... when I lost my balance...” the boy struggled between each word. It really was stuck quite fast. But it was no problem for the instructor, who managed to free the damn thing with one good yank.

“We haven’t done the passata sotto quite yet. So how about you stick to the lessons...” He grabbed Teshin by the ear and gave that a good yank too, “... instead of jumping ahead of the class, yes?”

Teshin grumbled and rubbed at his ear, taking up a spot at the back of the class. Now that he was on the instructor’s bad side, there was no reason to go near the front and endure more of his mood.

Varzia took up a spot next to him, the straps of her practice sword undone and tossed into the corner of the room. She was relieved she managed to make it in time and rubbed away the lingering beads of sweat dotting the back of her neck.

“... you’re welcome,” Teshin muttered under his breath, taking up the first stance.

Varzia felt her face warm.

Chapter Text

“What... what the heck are you wearing?” Mote peered through the doorway, half of her noodles hanging out of her mouth.

“... a hood.” Drifter paused in their steps. She’d been hoping to get back to her room without any questions. She was trying out something new after all.

“Isn’t that... from the Ventikids...?

“So what if it is?”

“You’re a little too old for that, don’t you think?” Mote tried not to snort in case the noodles went down the wrong pipe.

Drifter brooded, shoulders hunching as they pulled the strings of the hood closed. So what if she was?

“I didn’t have Ventikids where I came from, okay? I think it’s cute!” So many things she had missed out on in her version of the universe. What was so wrong about indulging in it a little?

“Cute? Yes. Age appropriate...” Mote slurped up the rest of her noodles and wiped the soup from her chin.

“Fuck you,” Drifter blurted out, the heat rising in her face. She was rarely ever angry at Mote. Rarely angry, to be honest. The worst she’d gotten was annoyed, but this...

She just wanted to have a bit of fun, dammit. Why did she need to be teased about it?

Mote cringed when she heard the door slam shut, and considered going back to her meal. But a needling voice at the back of her head told her that she’d fucked up bad.

She scooped half of her meal into another bowl and headed to the door of their shared room.

“Knock, knock...”

The hooded form was huddled on her bed, a shawzin laying across their lap. One single bass note sounded with the pluck of their finger and reverberated off the walls.

“I have food... you hungry?” Why did it feel so weird? She was the older one. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? The lack of an answer left her with no choice but to assume it was a yes. She placed the half-bowl of noodles down on the small shelf near the head of the bed.

“I’m... sorry I laughed at your hoodie. It’s very nice... It just...” Didn’t seem like her style. Seemed too young for her. Wasn’t she supposed to be the more serious one?

“... do you know what it’s like to remain a slave of the Orokin? To fear for every day of your life not knowing if anything is going to change? Knowing that they’ll never die?” Drifter tossed the hood back and continued to play that single note on the shawzin.

“Do you know what it’s like to have nothing to defend yourself with? To feel completely helpless?”

Mote had some idea, but she didn’t want to interrupt. So she remained quiet and forked another noodle into her mouth.

“You made a deal and ended up with all of this.” Drifter gestured to everything around them. “Your Amp. Your Warframes. People who cared about your cause, who sought to protect you. And what did I have?”

“I...” Mote stared down into her bowl of soup. She hadn’t thought of her circumstances from that perspective. She had it better than she realized.

“... it doesn’t matter.” Drifter threw the hoodie to the ground and dumped the entire bowl of soup onto it before walking away. “Enjoy your dinner.”

An ugly knot began to stir Mote’s stomach. She’d only meant it as a joke, an attempt to bridge the gap between them so they could at least grow a little closer. But she’d done the exact opposite.

Chapter Text

No customers. Varzia was used to keeping busy during this time of the day, but the bazaar was empty.

No matter. That gave her time to keep herself busy in other ways.

Gaze roamed to the front of the room where Maroo stood behind her dais, looking over her Ayatan sculptures. Why she needed so many, Varzia had no idea. Was she the one littering the planets with them...?

Then a bubble drifted into view. Pop! She felt the spray of moisture on her chin.

“What in the...?”

Several more bubbles made an appearance and the overhead lights started to shift in hue. Pink. Was there a malfunction at the station?

She turned and spotted an Operator there. Names continued to evade her, given how many of the children there were running around at any given moment in time. Bubble wand in hand. A wry smirk on their face.

“Can I... help you?”

The Operator dunked the wand and started blowing more bubbles.

“Couldn’t help but notice you staring at Maroo over there. You should go over there and say something. Declare your love, maybe.”

“Excuse me?” Varzia waved the new wave of bubbles away, though she couldn’t deny that her cheeks felt not. “What do bubbles and pink light have to do with any of that?”

“Oh... the others and I found these ancient Earth videos. Hand-animated. Whenever the main couple started to fall for each other, there were fuzzy bubbles and pink hues all over the screen.” They dunked their wand in again, but Varzia’s hand stopped her.

“Cartoons are not real life, in case you haven’t noticed. ... don’t you have a Warframe to go take care of or something?”

The Operator huffed and slinked off, blowing bubbles in the wake of their departure. A touch to Varzia’s shoulder forced her to miss the Operator’s exit.

Maroo.

“You know what’s going on with the lights in here? Is it some kind of Sentient trick?” Concern clouded her words, and there was a slight tremble to her bottom lip. Her paranoid gaze searched the room for anything out of place.

Varzia swallowed hard and put on her best smile. Maybe there was something to those cartoons after all.

“I’ll keep you safe. Care to go with me while I check the rest of the bazaar?”

Chapter Text

“They’re a curse.” Ballas wrinkled his nose in disgust. “We should get rid of them.” His golden gaze fell on the other Executors, seeking their approval. They would have to come to a consensus before giving their decision to The Seven. “What say you?”

“Must we?” a rather snide woman by the name of Ataru asks. Ballas had not been a fan of hers. Too contradictory, merely out of spite.

“We must, despite your eagerness to go spy on the human Archimedeans at your pleasure.” Ataru’s interests were no secret to anyone, though no one said a word. If she wanted to stoop so low as to fawn over those animals, then so be it.

Ataru merely continued to fan herself, turning her nose up at his suggestion. What she couldn’t hide was the darkened hues on her cheeks.

Ballas felt his stomach roll with revulsion.

“Should we not at least consult Minayas first? He is their father...” another Executor spoke up.

“And bring bias into this? You wish to complicate matters, I see. To draw out these droll meetings even longer?” Ballas huffed and waved the man off dismissively with his elongated arm. “I wish someone in this room would at least speak some common sense.”

Ballas didn’t care that he had no friends in this room. That wasn’t the purpose of all of this. It was to get things done, keep their Empire strong, and maintain their control over the galaxy. And for all of their efforts, it was starting to grow tiresome how thin they were stretching themselves.

The two young girls stood in the middle of the room, their arms intertwines as their glassy eyes stared at the floor. No one had actually said a word to them. Why would they? No one cared about their opinions anyway. They were merely here to be observed and hear the verdict decided on their behalf.

“We could cast them out near the outer planets, let the space take them. What are the chances of them surviving on their own?” Ataru suggested. It felt too much like sweeping it under the rug, but they could be spending their time on more important matters.

“Yes, fine, go. Get a shuttle ready and see to it that they’re on it within the hour.” Ballas waved them off again and turned to leave. He had more studies to conduct.

“And what do we tell their father?”

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, gleaming gold light beaming from his eyes.

“Why, tell him nothing at all,” he says with a smile. “He can do nothing else but accept our decision, yes?” And with that, the doors slid shut behind him, leaving the two young Orokin girls to their fate.

“You can’t do this to us,” the elder finally spoke, hot, angry tears running down her face. “We’re family.”

An Executor huffed, snorted, then cackled.

“That’s the thing about blood, girl. It can always be drained dry to make room for newer stock.”

Chapter Text

“Did I ever tell you I had a horse?” Serana dunked a half-splintered spoon into the deep pot of soup for a taste. Hot steam rose from it and almost scalded her nostrils. A few quick blows on the spoon before she slurped it up.

“A... horse...” Mote stared at her from the small table, eyes narrowed with suspicion and her nose curling in question. “I don’t know...”

“A horse? Large animal, four legs, you sit on its back and ride it?” Serana gestured wildly, hoping they would be enough to convey what she was talking about. But Mote’s continued staring said they didn’t help at all. “Okay, take a kubrow.”

“Yeah...”

“And make it bigger.”

“Like how much bigger?”

“Big big. Like...” What was a good estimation? Oh! “Like a Hyena.”

Mote’s eyes went wide.

“Wait, there are animals that big!? Like, naturally?” There weren’t very many big creatures in the system, nothing that hadn’t been made by Orokin or Corpus, anyway. She couldn't remember much about the lessons on the Zariman, but she was sure they were all science-based. Nothing about animals. Much less Earth ones.

“Well... no, this wasn’t a...” Serana realized that she’d started on the wrong foot. “This wasn’t an actual animal. It was an Orokin construct. But it looked like a horse.”

“Oh.” The interest in Mote’s gaze faded, replaced with sudden boredom. Did everything interesting have to come from the Orokin? She was tired and done with their universal fiddlings of things they shouldn’t be messing with in the first place.

“He had a name, though. Like how you name your Kubrow.” The soup was too salty. Serana filled a glass with water and dumped it in. “Terry.”

“What the hell kind of name is Terry?!”

“Hey, Terry is a good name, don’t you judge me!” Serana waved the spoon at her before tossing it into the sink. “It’s not like Tinkles the kubrow is a better name,” she sneered.

“Tinkles is accurate. He pees everywhere,” Mote shot back, folding their arms.

“And whose fault is that?”

Chapter Text

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick-!

What is time to something that never eats, never sleeps, never dreams? Dark loomed over the Orbiter, save for a few glowing lights along the floors and ceiling to guide one in the right direction. Mote was having another nap, too much expenditure of energy from another mission against Sentients. That left Umbra with little to do with his time. But sit and wait. Or walk. That was always an option. Just outside the ship were miles and miles of lush green forests for him to lose himself in. But he would never venture too far, afraid that something would happen in his absence.

“Ah! Warframe!” The bobbing little body of Orbis spun around at Umbra’s approach, the soft blue glow flickering in mirth. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Umbra hated being called by that name, though it was the truth of what he was. It wasn’t as if he could correct the Cephalon either.

[Nothing,] he signed as he looked over the console. Something had been bothering him since things had returned to “normal.” There were conversations that had been left unspoken.

[Flower.]

“Uh... there are plenty outside to look at, if you wish. I had no idea you were interested in flora.”

Umbra shook his head. There were still a few words in this sign language he hadn’t mastered yet. So he spelled out the letters instead to get his point across.

[L.O.T.U.S.]

“Aaaahhh... I see. She is... well, she is not so easy to contact. She’s usually the one who...”

Umbra slammed his fist on the console. He wasn’t satisfied with that answer. Ordis shivered and floated away for his own safety.

“I’m sorry, but I simply can’t. She h̵̩͑i̴̫͗d̶̗͑ẻ̷ͅs̴͚͛ ̴̮̌l̷̨̀ī̶̼k̷̯̈́e̶̕͜ ̷̳̈́ą̸̄ ̵̛͜c̸͌ͅo̵͕̓w̵͔̔ạ̵̎r̸̟̅d̴̫̕ isolates herself well through several layers of encryption, keeping her location a secret. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Umbra grumbled to himself and departed the bridge. If he couldn’t confront her, there was no point to staying here. He would have to busy himself with something else.

Soft grass surrendered to his steps as he made his way off the ship and up the embankment to where the small camp lay. Grineer. Kahl, he called himself. Umbra didn’t know why he was allowed to stay, but he supposed Mote had a way of “collecting strays who didn’t belong.”

The Grineer was cleaning his rifle, propped across his lap, with a dirty cloth and a small tin of grease at his side. His head shifted only slightly to take in the sight of Umbra before going back to his work.

“Cannot sleep?” he asks in his slow drawl. Umbra began to sign, then realized the Grineer did not share his language. He merely shook his head no and took a seat near the edge of the rocky outcropping, watching the gushing river spill over to the below.

“Kahl neither. Work. Plan. Kill. Save my brothers. That is all Kahl can do.”

Umbra turned his head. So the Grineer had given himself a purpose. In that, they were somewhat alike.

He scratched the word “why?” into the dirt at his feet.

“Tick tock. Grineer have little time. Little breath. Little heartbeat. The black grows within us in every batch. Tumours. Defects. Shorter breaths. Shorter heartbeats.”

Kahl held the scope of the gun up to his eye to check it over, then went to work on making small adjustments.

“But not Warframes. Immortal. Live forever. Work. Plan. Kill. Keep your Tenno safe. You do more good than Kahl could ever dream of.”

Umbra had never thought of it that way, that other creatures had goals they wanted to achieve for the betterment of themselves and their people. That in this shitty universe, not everything was about selfishness and greed.

Umbra glanced at his hand, then stretched it out to Kahl. With his other hand, he drew a crude doodle of a knife in the dirt.

Kahl blinked but did as the Warframe asked. Fear didn’t fill him; death was always an inevitability. Umbra took the small killing dagger and ran it across the fleshy base of his thumb. A small trickle of black-red blood bubbled to the surface. He gestured for Kahl to hold out his hand.

And, again, Kahl did as he asked. He gasped and winced at the knife against his flesh, confused as to what the Warframe was getting at.

Once there was enough blood, Umbra grabbed the Grineer’s hand and pressed their wounds together, his naked milky eye searching Kahl’s.

“Longer... heart...” Umbra croaked out, hoping the Grineer would get the meaning. It took a moment, but Kahl soon beamed as he stared down at their joined hands. Nodded.

Umbra had no idea if this kind of thing actually worked. If someone had thought of a cure for the degradation of Grineer DNA, they would have used it a long time ago. But at leas this small offering gave the man some hope for the future.

Chapter Text

Patrolling this prison was once something Warden Grun prided herself in. It was an easy job too, with the security of a meal every six hours for her effort and furthering the glory of the Queens. The warmth of the gushing lava-falls oozing out of the rock during her circuitous route was a bonus, given how deep underground they were.

A metal click rang behind her, dull and thick.

“...?” The optics on her visor zoomed in on the offending target, her Karak at the ready. At her feet sat the small black device that a Blunt would usually inflate from.

Grun smiled to herself. Another one of his tricks. They’d been playing each other like this for some time. Pranks back and forth that kept things interesting, done only on their off-hours, of course. Off-hours being relative because when weren’t Grineer working? But it was during the quiet hours of the late night/early morning where there was the least amount of activity that they even chanced going about this nonsense.

Koh’mak had managed to rig up his Blunt unit to work remotely from a simple button on his wrist armour. The first time he’d tried this prank on her, he’d waited until she’d knelt down to get a closer look to deploy it, causing the Blunt to smash her right in the helmet and knock her onto her feet.

Her retaliation had involved shoving chunks of pustulite into his horrasque stew.

Not wanting to be humiliated again, she shot the Blunt a few times to get it to activate on its own, but when that didn’t happen, she gave the device a good kick instead. Still nothing.

Then she fell a dull blade against her neck.

“Made you look, rusr.”

Grun smiled. Koh’mak had nothing on her when it came to combat. She drove her head back, smashing her head into his eye before dropping to one knee and sweeping his legs out from under him. In his fall, she snatched his blade from his hand and pressed the flat of it to his scarred, tumour-filled cheek.

“Made you fall, sikkhat.”

He smiled up at her, glad for this game and distraction, and traced a finger around her optics. If only she didn’t have the damn thing on.

Then the air was stolen from her lungs like she’d been ejected into the vacuum of space. Her lungs burned, her mind pounded with each pulse of her putrid tiny heart, and her legs gave out from under her. What the hell...? Where was Koh’mak?

“Come, sister.” A gruff voice whispered softly to her, and she saw an offered hand on the edges of her blackening vision. She ripped the mask clear off. Never before had she been so thankful for a mouthful of fresh air. It felt nice on her skin too.

She saw the insignia on the armour. Kahl-175. She thought that line had been discontinued.

“What... has happened?” she croaked, taking his hand. Every nerve felt like it was on fire, like the boiling lava of that prison.

The one responsible for her confusion held up the dull gold mask, the light at the front of it slowly dying.

“Narmer trick. You better now.”

Grun would heartily disagree. She didn’t feel better at all. She felt... empty.

“Koh’mak 41?”

Kahl shook his head. “Do not know that batch. But we search and find, if you like. Kahl will help.”

Finally, Grun took his hand and pulled herself up to her feet. Her faithful Karak still in hand. Her grip tightened with her new resolve to find Koh’mak and say all the things she didn’t get to say in that twisted dream-nightmare of hers.

Chapter Text

Margulis
Lotus
Natah

We are one. We are none. Three become one, split into facets that they needed.
No, that you needed. This wasn’t for them, you mockery-!
Enough. It cannot be undone.
No, but must she really wear my face?
It helped them, didn’t it?
You shut up, you don’t know what it’s like to see someone else wearing your face.
The room quieted for a second. Soft white lights glowed dully in the background as the amalgamation of all three dwelled quietly within one skull. How had things come to this? It was supposed to have been a simple trick at first. Instead, that biological yearning had given her another reason to imitate Margulis’ face. And now they were stuck like this.
No. Neither of us can say we do, but as I’ve said, it cannot be undone. So it’s time we live with it. Besides, you are long dead. You’re merely a product of the disguise.
That you created. As if I had any choice in being here.
Had the original Margulis been this emotional before the Jade Light had taken her? Natah didn’t want to consider it, that she would allow this part of her personality to split off and become so obstinate.
The better question now is what do we do from here? The Tenno... she cleared her throat. The Operator and the Drifter... Both of them occupying the same mirror will only make things worse.
We can hardly send the Drifter back. Not to that world. We’ve seen what it’s like. ... plus she might be good for her. For the Operator.
How? She has no powers of her own.
No, but she has maturity. Knowledge of her own to steer the Operator from following in her footsteps and making the same mistakes.
Or the other way around. Is it not our Tenno that shook hands with-
The other two raised their hands. It was forbidden to speak His name, much less make any mention of Him. They would create a solution for Him later.
Regardless. It is best we guide them in whatever way possible.
Because you’ve done a great job of it so far, keeping secrets from them for all these years.
Natah and Lotus simply stared. These emotional outbursts were starting to get the better of them.

Chapter Text

It was strange being aboard the Zariman again. So many memories. So many nightmares.Mote wasn’t sure she wanted to be here, yet Drifter had convinced her that it would be a good place to start. To remember. To move forward. To remind herself why she was here and what she should be aiming for.

At the moment, she was aiming for getting rid of all this dust before another sneezing fit happened.

Goggles in place and a mask over her mouth and nose, she went at every surface with a damp rag. A pile of them sat in the corner, waiting their turn in this savage duty of make every surface gleam and sparkle in the dull overhead lighting. Why couldn’t it be brighter...

The broken photo of her parents watched, as if unspoken words of praise hung from their lips. Or would they disappointed in what she had become? She wished she could remember them more...

“...?”

Something light fluttered from beneath a table, likely stuck between the paneling or the drawers, and fell to the ground. A light piece of satiny fabric. Green. More picked it up and turned it over.

“2nd Place in 100m Dash, 3rd Grade” it said in gold letters across the fancy green ribbon.

“Huh... I don’t remember running.”

Y̶̖̒o̸̢͘u̷͈͗ ̶̪̄d̴͎̉o̵̹̽n̵͉͆'̴͓̋t̵̼͘ ̸̟̄r̶̫͋e̶̺͛m̷͊ͅę̴̀m̴̫̋ḃ̶̺e̴̬̿r̴͕͑ ̵̻͑ǎ̶̩ ̵̱͋l̷̒ͅo̴͓̓t̵̟̄ ̸̜̎o̸͍̿f̴̯̎ ̸̤̽t̸͔̀ḥ̴̓ĭ̶̺n̷͍͝ĝ̶̯s̸̟̈́.̸̛̬.̴̺͘.̶̰̕

Mote grumbled and waved the ghostly voice away with a dismissive hand. She wasn’t going to let Him ruin this moment.

She dusted off the small prize and brought it over to her side of the bed, every inch of it completely covered in floofs and memorabilia from every significant event in her life. This was one more, and gave the ribbon a home right in front of the framed photo of Teshin.

“Huh. Lucky you. Wish I’d gotten a ribbon for running. All I got was a severe beating and five days in isolation in an Orokin brig.” Drifter leaned against the door, apparently having been there long enough to decipher the small prize for herself.

“Don’t be like that. If you want a ribbon, maybe we can get the other Drifters together and throw you all a big event. Help you reclaim whatever childhood you wished you’d had,” Mote replied with sourness to her tone. This switched roles of who was the child and who was the adult was starting to get on her nerves.

“Oh, will there be cake too? And party hats?” Drifter replied in an equally-sour tone, sarcasm hoisted to the forefront of every word like an eager ship in a strong breeze. “I’m not saying that. All I’m saying-...”

“Is that you want a reason to bitch.” Mote winced at her own swear. She wasn’t used to talking like this.

Silence lingered over them for a few seconds before Drifter pushed off of the door frame.

“I was going to help you, but you probably need a time out with that attitude of yours. Have fun.” The door slid shut behind her, leaving Mote to her self-appointed task.

İ̸ͅs̷̡̚ ̷̻̓s̶̗̃ḣ̶͓e̸̬̾ ̸̨̓r̴͙̾e̵͉͐ã̸̧l̶̩̓ḻ̷͆y̶̡̓ ̸͍̈́w̵̛͇ỏ̵͚r̸̟̀t̶̢͐ḣ̶̰ ̴͉̊ạ̴̌l̵̢͆l̸̫̅ ̷̧͆ť̷̖h̶̰̾ȅ̵̝ ̸̰̕h̴̤̊a̷͙̅s̵̹̒s̵̯̈́l̴̹͝ė̸͈?̴̻̅

She chucked the dirtied rag into a pile and fetched another.

Chapter Text

“What do you care?”

Margulis recoiled. She had to remind herself these were teenager she was dealing with. Teens who had suffered loss in the most horrific way possible and had no one else to call family.

She was quick to anger. She was standing up for them, after all! Serving as the last line of protection against the Orokin’s desires to be done away with the Tenno altogether. Instead, she’d devised a plan to keep them under her protective wing so that they would never know another hardship.

And this was how she was treated.

She tamped down her anger and pressed her hands together over her stomach. She had to remind herself that these weren’t her children from her loins. But they were still her children just the same.

“Would you care to tell me why you’re angry? What has troubled you so?”

The gentle soothing tone of her voice arrested the Tenno in his place, his anger temporarily forgotten. He had expected screaming, balled-up fists, someone storming off before the final confrontation. It was what he’d been used to with his parents. Instead... she remained, inquiring on his emotions instead of...

In only a few words, she had stolen his anger and forged into a bird made of light, flying free from its cage.

He asked again, though his tone was different. Less accusatory and more... desperate. Curious. A small tweak to his question.

“Why... why do you care?” He broke down, collapsing to his knees in frustration and helplessness. The only world he ever really knew, and it had been ripped apart, torn away because of one stupid accident.

Now they were all gone.

“Because I know what it’s like to feel alone,” Margulis whispered. Being an Archimedean didn’t come with very many benefits, other than being treated better than the rest of the human slaves. She had a purpose, a talent that others did not.

She was useful.

“And I don’t want you to experience that. Ever again.” She kneeled beside the Tenno, a gentle arm placed around his shoulder. He leaned into her touch at first, then crushed himself against her side as he openly sobbed.

This is what we both need.

Chapter Text

”So we’re agreed on this...?”

“Not by a long shot.”

Kahl wondered if this is what it was like to be the “leader.” Dealing with nonsense arguments that didn’t change anything. Telling others what to do and having to babysit their progress. If Kahl didn’t know what headaches were like before, he was starting to hate their existence now.

“Corpus brothers. Cetus brothers. Still. Brothers. What so hard to understand?”

“I dunno about you, mate, but last I checked, we don’t got much in common other than kicking that Pazuzu fella in his right arse.” Chipper always had a way with words, didn’t he?

“Pazuul,” Kahl corrected. They had a common enemy, yes, but he thought being in the camp together would have at least created a stronger... alliance of a sort.

“’scuse me?”

“Pazuul. Name Pazuul.”

“Whatever, it don’t matter. I could call him Piss-Face and ya’d know who I’m talking about.”

Kahl refrained from looking down at the smiling face embedded in the Corpus’ stomach. He was never going to get used to that.

“What brothers fighting about?” he asked, hoping to get to the point so he could defuse it. Some kind of progress needed to be made here.

“Dinner,” Horrek chimed in. “Don’t know how to make whatever you Grineer and Corpus eat, but all I’m getting is complaints about my cooking. No one wants to budge on the issue.”

“Really...?” Kahl pressed knuckles to his bruised eye and welcome the starburst of pain.

“Really really.”

Kahl glanced over the edge of the encampment and wondered if it was too late to throw himself over the side.

Chapter Text

Pink. Why pink.

Maroo wishes that she could simply stab her eyes out with the number of Frames and Tenno came up to her little dais wearing some form of neon pink. Like it was going out of season. Or maybe they were doing this on purpose to piss her off? Nooo, she wasn’t the target of all this visual assault. That still didn’t answer the question ‘why.’

“You look like you’re having a bad day.”

The smooth, rolling purr, the familiar gruffness of the Dax’s voice, made the hair stand up along Maroo’s spine. She hated being snuck up on. She hated that the Dax managed to do it every. Single. Time.

“You’re not blind, right?”

Varzia’s gaze shifted down then up again, a intriguing smile on her face.

“So glad I’m not. Why’re you asking?”

Maroo gestured to the entirety of the bazaar.

“All of this... pink. How can you stand it? It gives me a goddamned headache.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s that bad.” Varzia sidled up a little closer until her warm breath practically tickled Maroo’s ear. “Plenty of beautiful things that are pink.”

She proceeded to list every single one that crossed her mind. Maroo, in response, felt her toes curl.

Chapter Text

Strength in numbers. That’s the way it’s always been since the Vox Solaris was founded. It was what they needed to fight the bitter cold outside, the Corpus breathing down their necks, and the Orb Mother seeking to destroy them all every time they ventured outside. Sneaking around like pobbers stealing gene-grain from the warehouses, just trying to make a living. Barely scraping by.

Little Duck coughed and spat into the far corner. Now the Tenno were here, and she didn’t much like it. She preferred when her people took care of their own... but on their arrival, Onkko had begged for her to do her part, to help them out in any way possible.

She coughed and spat again.

She couldn’t argue with their results. They were better than the people of Solaris United, capable of going places they couldn’t even reach, even taking down the Orb Mother a few times to keep her of the people’s tails. Strength in solitude, she saw it. It was why she stayed back here, in the back room where the others couldn’t find her, much less talk to her.

She liked it here in the dark and the quiet. She wondered if it was the same for the Tenno when they delved into their Frames.

Ah. Another one.

“What can I do for you today?” she gestured at a newcomer, keeping her admiration for them under wraps. It was best not to get attached. Attached made you weak. Vulnerable.

Strength in numbers wasn’t always the best.

Mote looked around the people of Fortuna. So many together, in such a small space... It was a wonder they got anything done with all the noise and lights and the bitter cold outside keeping them trapped in here. What she wouldn’t give to live with so many. To not feel so alone all the time. There was no strength in solitude.

“I... just wanted to look at your Amp parts, if that’s okay,” she said sheepishly, peering through Little Duck’s wares. Cripes. She didn’t have enough credits or parts to build some of these parts. She’d have to come back when she was better prepared.

Little Duck scoffed and focused her attention elsewhere.

“S-sorry.”

Little Duck watched the Tenno walking away, a piece of her heart drifting away with her before she disappeared behind the double doors. If credits didn’t make the world go round, she probably would have let the girl have them for free.

But that wasn’t the way the world worked. They all had to eat somehow.

Chapter Text

The woman bowed her head, placing the serving tray on the overly large table. She’d envied her mother’s chance to work here as a black-sash since she was a small child. A chance to be in the same room as a Dax was a dream come true. One level separated from the Orokin, this was the closest she ever believed she would get to the Gods. Now that she was here, however, all of that yearning and wishing had been devoured by the long list of rules given to her when she’d taken over her mother’s role once she’d passed away.

No eye contact.

Only speak when spoken to.

Clean hands and nails.

No stains on the clothing.

And never, ever refer to them by name.

Her heroes, her saviours, mere inches away, and she couldn’t express what they meant to her. How much she appreciated their duties keeping everyone safe. The mercy the Dax showed to their enemies seconds before their heads were struck from their bodies. She had so many questions, yet not the permission to put any of them forward.

“Yaskutai...” One harmonius voice sounded amongst the rest. A female Dax, her helmet much smaller than the rest. A lower-ranked woman, or maybe a newly-appointed one. She wasn’t familiar with how the Dax worked and she’d been ordered not to ask.

Shit. She was looking.

She stepped forward on hearing her name, eyes still averted to the ground. Beads of sweat sprouted along her hairline and she felt it start to prickle up on the back of her neck.

“Fetch us some wine,” the female Dax demanded. Yaskutai bowed low from the waist and, remaining in that position, blindly backed out of the room. One foot behind the other, toe to heel as to save herself from tripping on anything that might be in her way. She never dared to raise her head, for fear of seeing their amusement or receiving retribution. It wasn’t until the doors closed before her that she finally straightened, her back burning with a fire she was sure she would never get used to.

Long they ate into the night and then the early hours of the morning. One by one, the Dax soldiers dwindled in numbers, some passing out right at the table from drink while others had managed to pull themselves away and drag themselves to their respective quarters for a more comfortable rest. But one was still awake. The woman from earlier who’d asked for the wine.

“You,” she chuckled. When nothing happened, she banged her empty tankard against the table. Not knowing what else to do, Yaskutai stepped forward. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’tcha?”

Her face warmed but she said nothing. She’d never been taught what to do when she was offered a compliment.

“What? Kubrow got your tongue?”

Again, nothing. Aggravated, the Dax grabbed Yaskutai by the black sash tied intricately around her waist and pulled the woman closer until she was all but straddling the woman’s gold-clad lap.

“Jeez, you’re as stiff as a board. Don’t they teach you how to be personable?”

She turned away and found an empty plate on the table to stare at.

“... you know there’s no one around to see us, right? I won’t tell no one you broke the rules.”

Was this some kind of test? She couldn’t be sure if her loyalty was on the line or if the Dax was being honest.

But she was left with no choice when a gloved hand captured her chin and forced her to gaze on the helmeted Dax. her heart stilled in her chest and her lungs burned for air she knew wasn’t coming. So they were human too...

“There you go. See? Nothing to be afraid of. My, you got pretty eyes...”

No one had ever called her pretty before...

“Just let Varzia take care of you, okay? You’ve been working all day...”

Chapter Text

Kaelli ended the transmission with a huff. Pft, a truce? She had no truce to hold with a Grineer, she and her kind were above. She could strike them down if she so wanted, once the one named Kahl no longer satisfied her curiousity.

Truce. Ha!

If she still had legs, she would have gone off pacing to rid herself of these troubling thoughts. How a single Grinner with barely two brain cells to rub together had managed to bring so many together, yet her family, one of the corner stones of the glorious Orokin empire, couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with each other. The bittersweet side of this infection, she supposed, forcing them to remain apart.

Unity. Working together. Kahl made it sound so simple. Kaelli supposed that without complex minds to argue with, getting along was... pretty easy. And yet, the prospect that someone like a vat rat could make it would left her feeling...

A knot grew in her stomach. She had no one to share this concern with. No one to discuss her feelings. They’d all ostracized themselves for what they believed was the greater good. The greater good of their egos, maybe.

She went back to her doodling, ignoring the sick turning in her stomach that she felt safer confiding in a mere Grineer than her own damn family.

Chapter Text

Sprinkles in the dark. Little motes of light waiting to be scooped up and devoured. Like the mites on the back of a flea, Erra watches in silence at each new life being plucked from that wretched Void and pulled back into the light. He snarl-purrs at his last chance, at the children being taken from his reach to serve her purpose. Her who was once his kin. Her who fell for their blasphemous charms. Her who betrays.

Fingers curl and snap and twitch, fists unfurling and forming again. Empty hands seeking a neck it cannot reach. But words... words can stretch across galaxies, across the Void itself. He just needs to find the instrument to make her hear. He needs to pluck the right string, and then...

That sentimental old bat. He seems to be the right one to draw her out. That old memory of the one she used to be, the one whose form she stole. All he has to do is set things in motion, and then he and his kind can leave this wretched Void for greener pastures, the ones they should have never left in the first place.

“I cannot wait for Father’s glorious welcome...”

Sitting in the dark, waiting for nothing is one thing. There are mere thoughts as time crawls by. But in the anticipation of results... well, those seconds and minutes pull on his not-skin in agonizing micro-tears that itch and burn yet don’t at the same time. The Void has a funny way of making things real and not at the same time.

He could converse with the others, the lesser Sentients around him that only serve to fulfill one purpose, but they wouldn’t be very much help. They’ve already been trapped here for thousands of years and had never uttered a word. What would change now?

Erra, then, thinks of what one could call a childhood. The memories of he and Natah, the glorious schemes they come up with together. The bond they’d shared.

If he had a stomach, he was sure there would be something gnawing at him from in there.

Now they were torn apart by mere human children. Gnats in the soup of their glory. Their father cast into the ocean. Their mother dead. The last vestige of his sister ripped away by the temptation of offspring.

And he... he left alone to try and continue that purpose. To make the Orokin pay. To make the Tenno pay. It was what he and his kind deserved for fulfilling their purpose. After all, they’d never been asked to be made. Cast aside by their creators, thrown away into the Void because...

Erra huffed.

Now she laid in bed with one of them.

There was that sick feeling again.

Chapter Text

They sit here with their plays, thinking that any of it makes a difference. Pomp and show. Ribbed with gold, built on the blood clots of those not Orokin. They think I don’t see, but I do. I don’t know why the others can’t.

“You’ve forgotten your lines again!”

I clear my throat and step forward, centre stage. It’s what he expects of me, right?

The words hang on the edge of my tongue. Rehearsed so many times, spoken so many times, each time slicing my tongue open so that the bloodied words may slip free.

“What game are we playing at?” I ask. Clearly not my lines, but what is it he says? The show must go on?

His masked face gleamed in the light as he slowly turned his head. He knew that to break things now would mean rescheduling. Rehearsing. Recasting. And he’s spent too much time and effort on this to-!

The mallet strikes my head in a way that I feel nothing. Yet, the edges of my vision start to blur. Blacken like rot. Everything on my right side is consumed by the void of darkness.

“This is no game, sir. Can you not see what’s before you? Is it not evident?”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or continuing with the show. No matter. I can’t see him anyway, and the ringing in my ears is making it difficult to make out his tone.

“Aye, I would see but for the strike to my temple,” I manage to slur out. So my tongue remains bloodied with this exhibition, as he draws the act out of my mouth like a hungry leech. So I must continue my role in all of this. Sight or not.

Chapter Text

Kahl poked at the 2-foot long cryptosuctus floating around the quite-large fish tank the Tenno kept aboard their ship. It was one of the only times Kahl dared to venture onboard, to check up on his new little friend Blue Girl had sent to him. His first attempt had been in the stream nearby, the waterfall spilling over the edge, but as soon as its flesh touched the fresh flowing waters, it seemed to lose all constitution. Its colours dulled and its swimming became more erratic to the point Kahl was sure it was having death throes.

“Please. Save Sturn.”

Mote twisted her head to one side, looking down at the Deimos fish flopping around in his hands.

“Sturn... is your fish...?” she asked. Kahl merely grumbled and pouted, his hands pressing the depressing wet fish against Mote’s chest.

“Save,” he demanded, then turned away, leaving the Operator to deal with the matter herself. It was no trouble at all, given that her fish tank was capable of providing exactly the right environment for various kinds of aquatic life to thrive. The real question was why.

At the start of each day, Kahl made a morning trip to the fish tank and sat by the glass for an hour or two, just... watching. Mote peeked in from time to time, asked if he needed anything. The answer was always no before he began his mutterings again to Sturn. Mote never stuck around long enough to eavesdrop on his conversations, nor would she want to.

“Sturn growing! Sturn’s strength blooms!” The exclamation woke Mote from her cradle at the back of the ship. An unpleasant awakening, but she tamped down her annoyance. She couldn’t bring herself to chastise the Grineer for giving a damn about a single fish.

“Tenno! Come look!”

Mote had missions to undertake, resources to farm, and Ayatan sculptures to convert. Yet the beckon of a single Grineer was enough to delay her schedule. The door slid open and there was Kahl, kneeling in front of the fish tank with the widest grin on his face.

“Sturn smart.”

Kahl placed a finger on the glass and Sturn swam right up to it until his fleshy horn bumped and smooshed right up against the edge of the tank. The finger went up: Sturn followed. Kahl drew a circle: Sturn followed. Kahl removed his finger and drew a circle in the air: Sturn performed a very clumsy and lazy backflip that smacked another fish out of the way.

Huh. Now Mote had seen everything.

“Sturn very smart,” she replied to the display of gymnastics. “He’s lucky to have you for a dad.”

Kahl’s jaw dropped open and his single eye widened. Beamed, even, as some amount of colour rushed to his cheeks.

“Kahl... father...?”

“I... uh...” Mote hemmed and hawed. She hadn’t considered the possible ramifications of such a statement.

“Sturn Kahl’s son! And Blue Girl is-...”

Mote noped out of the room so quickly, she almost tripped over the lip of the doorway and impaled her face on the shawzin she’d forgotten to put away.

Chapter Text

“It was... it was...”

“It wasn’t her, it wasn’t them .”

“You don’t know that!” Mote swung wildly and clocked Serana on the edge of her jaw. “How the fuck could you understand? You weren’t there! You didn’t hear them-!”

Serana caught her by the wrist and pinned it to the table. She might not be blessed with Mote’s powers, but she physically bigger and stronger than her.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I don’t know. I was there. I heard those screams. Those same wails.” Serana met her gaze, eyes brimming with tears. For so long, she’d tried to keep them buried deep beneath layers of duty and trauma. It was what kept her strong. kept her going.

And now she was wavering.

“Fuck you,” Serana finally broke, turning away to hide the shame of her tears. She stormed into their shared room aboard the Zariman and locked the door behind her.

Three Hours Earlier

“How bad could this be...” Mote surveyed the area with a wry but nervous smile on her face. It was strange yet peaceful to be aboard this ship again, the place she’d once called home. Seeing it all in disrepair pricked at her chest, but that didn’t make it a hopeless cause. With a little elbow grease here and there, fixing the electrical systems... It could all be bright again. Just like how she remembered, before...

She piloted her Vauban Prime into the depths of the ship, venturing from corridor to corridor to find this elusive creature Quinn had mentioned. “Angel.” Pft. Such things were ridiculous. Weren’t real, never would be. They might have been a symbol of hope for those floundering in faith, but for Mote...

A long wail echoed throughout the hallways and stopped Vauban in his tracks. A pair of roller drones instinctively rolled up to his fingers, dancing in circles around each other and ready to shock the ever-living crap out of anything that came close.

“A scream...?”

No, it was a much longer note, like one of mourning. Maybe someone was in need of help. After all, there was nothing else out here but Grineer and Corpus fighting over the corpse of this ship anyway.

The roller drones returned to their housing as Vauban continued through the derelict. Twisted graffiti still littered the walls, warning of things that could or could not have been. Children’s imaginations could drum up the most-!

There was that wail again. Higher in pitch, lilting with a trill... was someone singing ?! Now all of the hair on the back of her neck stood to attention. There was always the chance to go back.

... but was she really going to tuck tail and retreat just because she was scared of this unknown? She’d taken on Vay Hek, for pete’s sakes. Twice . What did she have to fear from one wailing woman?

Out of the shadows, to the right of her vision, came the source of said wailing. A metallic, twisted figure that had no rhyme or reason to its shape. Each movement was accompanied by a shrill whine of its own, like a wailing violin string left untuned. It perched itself on the points of its appendages (?), moving through the hallway like a spider on the hunt. The dim light of the forgotten lamps refracted off its sleek, twisted form, casting reflections across the ceiling that Mote would have found beautiful if not for the creature’s nightmarish appearance.

It stopped and turned. It had caught sight of its prey and turned in the direction of Vauban.

Mote prepared a Photon Strike, sweat beading up along her hairline and the back of her neck. One laser strike should be enough to-!

She screamed from within her cradle when the creature leapt without warning, too fast for her eyes to track. The targeted laser missed, blowing a hole in the ground where the creature once was. Where it was now was on top of Vauban, digging into his iron-flesh to rend whatever meat it thought was waiting inside.

Angel. This was no fucking angel. It was a temptress demon given form.

Then she heard it. Within those twisted screams, Mote heard her . Whispers of a life she once thought lost.

Come home, Sera. You’ve been out long enough.

Don’t tell me you have a fever, that’s the third one this week.

You have to study. These good grades aren’t going to make themselves.

No, your father won’t be home until later.

It’s just a nightmare. It’s not real.

Why are you screaming?

Why ---- screaming?

Screaming?

Screaming.

Screaming!

S̵̠͋͝c̴̱̥͘r̸̭̔͂é̸̡͔̤̇̐a̶̧̨̜͆ṃ̵̔ ̶̠̹̐f̵̭̎̏o̶̢͕̓͛͐ŕ̶̺̭̬ ̴̩̌͂m̷̘̥͆͂e̶̡̜̺̎͆̀!̴̨͙̈́

Vauban swung his heavy fist at the angel’s face and rolled himself onto his feet. He threw down a vector pad and sprinted out of there, tossing a tether coil behind him in hopes of delaying the terror following him. Where was the door again? Mote had lost track of her direction in all of this panic, but decided that anywhere was better than here. She could hide, wait until it passed, then...

That voice .

Three Hours Later

Mote slumped over the table and buried her head in her arms, trying to steady her breathing. Quinn was wrong. That was no angel.

Yet Mote wanted nothing more than to go back and hear the sweet comforting words of her mother amongst the whispers again.

Chapter Text

“I’m... I’m fine. I don’t need to be...” Nakak hid behind her table, wishing she had more than just a mask to defend herself with. Mote remained, arms folded. The young girl was being ridiculous.

“Nothing’s wrong with socializing with a few other children. There aren’t any around here for you to talk to!” Mote had been trying to convince the young girl for the better part of an hour that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to visit the Ventikids and see what they were like. Nakak seemed awfully lonely surrounded by all of these adults hocking their wares.

“I don’t need any others! I’m fine right here! Right where I am!” She picked up a Mag mask and chucked it right at Mote. The flimsy piece of... what the heck were these things made out of... bounced off of Mote’s arm and fluttered weakly to the ground. Mote pinched the bridge of her nose.

Is this what it was like to deal with younger people? No wonder Serana had those wrinkles around her eyes.

“I’m not saying you have to stay,” she says with a huff. “I’m just saying... It wouldn’t hurt. We give it a try, you don’t like it, I can bring you right back. I didn’t say this had to be permanent.”

Nakak peeked over the top of the table.

“You’re not... rehoming me?”

“Oh for... no. I just wanted to... think of it like a vacation. You know what those are, right?”

“Vacation?” Nakak tapped on the outside of her mask in thought. “... no, I don’t think I’ve ever been on one.”

“Good. Great. First time for everything.” Mote grabbed her arm and dragged her back towards the Orbiter. She swore she could feel the first signs of a grey hair sprouting from her scalp.

Chapter Text

“Do you really think this is all safe?” Margulis stared into the small pinpoint of a camera next to her digiscreen. Her heart pounded in her chest at the prospect of this trip. The Zariman heading into the Void. This was a trip they had been planning for months, almost a year at this point. The drive of the Orokin to spread to another system and leave this corpse behind them. Their eagerness to send their “guinea pigs” through before venturing into the unknown themselves. Margulis sneered inwardly at their cowardly ways.

“As safe as I can make it,” Yonta replied, though the way she chewed on the corner of her lip betrayed her true feelings.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. Lie. Make up some story as to why the ship isn’t ready yet,” Margulis encouraged. There was no reason to risk herself and an entire ship of families just to see if the Orokin theories could be proved right.

Yonta scoffed.

“Lie? To the Orokin? what good will that do? They’ll have me before the Jade Light before I can blink and have someone else take my place to go through with it anyway. ... no, it’s me or no one. I can’t afford...” Yonta broke eye contact for a second to look at something else to her left.

“Perintol... is he....?” Margulis breaks her silence after what feels like an eternity.

“He’s making his proposals right now. He said he would call when he... that was ten minutes ago...”

Margulis wished she could reach through the screen and offer some kind of comfort. She had seen the way the two looked at each other, and for them to be apart on such a momentous day like this...

“I will send a message to you as soon as he is out,” Margulis replied, putting on her best smile. She hadn’t said “if.” Any adjudication before The Seven was always riddled with “ifs.”

Yonta nodded silently, all of those invisible “ifs” weighing on her shoulders. She might as well continue to delude herself for the time being so that she could focus on the trip before her.

“Be well, my sister.” Yonta kissed her pointer and middle finger before crossing her arm over her breast. “Keep your thoughts with us on this journey.”

“And you.” Margulis did the same before cutting the connection. Her shoulders shuddered with the release of the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding onto for so long.

This is all a mistake. They’re not ready. She considered going to Ballas, getting him to stop all of this. She seemed to have a gift for bending his ear. After all, she noticed the way he looked at her too. But that rank the risk of being put before the Jade Light herself. Caught between a rock and a hard place.

For now, she was going to have to settle in the happy middle-ground of indecision.

Chapter Text

Tortured. Beaten. He followed the rules so that he could be left alone. Toed the line, kept his mouth shut, did as he was told. It was the only way to survive within those six levels of gas. Crushing pressure. Sometimes, it grew hard to breathe. But struggling to breathe meant that he was at least alive, alive enough to breathe at all. And that would have to be enough.

Until it wasn’t. Until he found out what was being done to his brothers. Vat rats become lab rats. He doesn’t know how many of them were taken, how many of them survived. He would never know until he got out of this place.

A blessing in disguise when he did. The promise from a Corpus for the head of a Grineer warden. It would have to be enough for now, enough until it wasn’t. Enough until that wretched Corpus took him instead, vat rat become lab rat, spliced and cut and sewn back together with parts that were no longer his. He should have cut the man’s neck when he had the chance, smashed that pathetic head of his against the ground, and smeared his boots in his blood. Instead, he had all of this anger and nothing to do with it except kill.

A pointed finger gave him the right direction. Tenno. Warframe. How easy it would be. One hammer strike to the head, and they would be nothing but paste on the ground. Not his intended target, but it would have to be enough.

And still not enough. Not for this system, not for Fate, who would twist its cruel hand once against and cast him into another role. Where Alad V failed, now the Veil provided him with exactly what he wanted: peace.

The beautiful ringing in his ears, melodic and sweet, was the perfect symphony for his murder. The sweet smiling face of his once-wife, a beautiful Scorpion with a blade as sharp as her tongue and a hook that captured him by the heart. Once greyed skin and cybernetic eyes, now flush and full of life, her sweet smile like a painting before him. Perfect and sweet. What murder they could not commit together...

“It won’t work, Kahl. He enjoys being in there. Away from the pain. Away from any thought. And there’s no guarantee if you remove it, he won’t split you from head to pelvic girdle,” Daughter chimed over his earpiece.

Kahl knew he had to try. Regardless of the pain the Wolf of Saturn Six was inflicting, the power he wielded in that fantastic hammer of his, whatever beautiful dream the Veil drowned him in, he had to try. Simply because he was a brother.

“... remind me to show you this old Earth classic sometime,” Daughter continued. “It’s called Old Yeller...”

Chapter Text

Styanax drops to his knees with a rattle, Mote appearing at his side with a not-too-happy smile on her face. Serana sits across from them both with a mug of coffee in hand. Perhaps spiked with a little something-something that someone Mote’s age shouldn’t be drinking.

“He’s so... clunky! And loud! How am I supposed to complete any spy missions with all the noise he makes?” Mote placed a finger atop his head and gave it a nudge.

“Maybe you’re not supposed to,” Serana replied. The lines and dark circles beneath her eyes were heavy. Another night without sleep. She was hoping the alcohol would help, but now she had an annoyed Operator and a clanking Warframe keeping her up. “There’s more to all of this than just sneaking around, you know. And it’s not as it...”

“I am not selling him,” Mote responded, regret dripping from her words. She always did have a hard time getting rid of Frames, especially when she was lucky enough to build a Prime. So many memories established with the originals, so many hardships they’d endured together just to stay alive in their rotten galaxy. And now the Drifter was...

“Don’t you suggest it again.”

Serana shrugged and took another healthy draught from her mug.

“Fine. Have it your way.” Forefinger and thumb pinched together, she drew it from one side of her mouth to the other. “Are you done bitching now so I can go to sleep?”

Mote gave her such a glare, one she didn’t care about. As far as Serana was concerned, she could continue being petulant in this room, all by herself, as long as she kept it down.

“You really don’t care anymore, do you?” Mote called out after her, looking over a few burn marks on Styanax’s iron-skin.

“Nope! But what do I know? You’re the one with the world-saving powers from an eldritch being none of us understand. Why don’t you ask Him what you should do?”

Mote scowled after Serana’s retreating form, even long after the door slid shut behind her. The temptation to stomp around with Styanax was strong, his clattering armour and mental boots would echo long down the hallways. Pettiness wasn’t beneath her, after all.

Chapter Text

“I refuse!” Ordis bobbed angrily by the doorway of the Orbiter. “You expect me to be cordial to that man?”

Mote had been struggling with this for the better part of thirty minutes. She couldn’t exactly leave Ordis behind now that he had a mobile body to get around in, but the Cephalon was adamant against leaving the ship on learning about the oh-so-stalwart Quinn. Mote had learned to trust him after she’d overcome her initial fear of those adults who’d survived the incident. Reflections of what once was and could have been had the ship not met with disaster. But on Quinn’s words that they were, in fact, not about to flay the skin from their bones, Mote let down her guard. Just a little bit.

Ordis, on the other hand, had done his own cross-referencing. Not aboard the ship at that time, but there were records, names, responsibilities from that time that he pored through before the Orbiter pulled up to the dock. What was once encouragement became fear after he settled on one particular file for hours on end.

Quinn. Bearer of the Crystal Index.

“Ordis, he’s not Orokin. He wasn’t there when-...”

“He still has it! He’s the reason...” Ordis rattled within his tiny body before taking off back inside the Orbiter. Mote made a grab she knew would do no good. Ordis’ shape was too smooth for her fingers to catch onto anything, nor did she want to risk breaking this new chassis of his. So she followed suit instead, pursuing him all the way to the back of the ship where he sulked behind her cradle.

“Ordis...”

He bobbed up and down, not dissimilar to a sobbing child’s heaving shoulders, the soft glow of the aroboriform reflecting off his dome-shaped head. Mote knew some of Ordis’ past, the man he used to be. Ordan. The way he defied the rules of the Orokin, playing at their games to appease them until he found the right moment. For all his bravado and strength, for giving them a good show, he was rewarded with the gift of getting glassed. Deconstructed, dematerialized and reformed into this...

“... bumbling fool,” Ordis interjected, seemingly finishing her thought. “You must think Ordis a bumbling fool for cowering like a coward in - Ǧ̴͇̝̳O̸̧͈̖̼̕̕͝ ̴̲̱̞̅̆͆̀ͅA̸͖̕Ẇ̷̳̱͔̙̮̝̈Ą̷̩̠̲̼̥̾Y̶̱̰͓̻̓ - the corner. I assure you, if Ordis could go against his programming, he would - G̷͉̠̎O̷̞͂͐ ̸̳̙̓̅A̷̻̓͗W̵̹̫̎Ą̸̻͂̚Ý̶̲̤ ̴͓̥̔̿G̸͙̿̏Ǫ̷̻̃̎ ̵̹̘̿͐A̶̱̙̕Ẁ̶̳̰A̷̱͌Y̵̱̓ ̶̤̎Ḡ̷̼O̶̪͕͊ ̴̨̿͠A̴̬̥͑̒W̵̯̍Ă̷̞̄Y̶̡̜̔̌ - be much braver.”

Post-traumatic stress. Mote knew what that was like, waking to nightmares in the middle of the night, imagining the many hands of the other Tenno wrapping around her throat and trying to choke the life out of her. Calling her a devil. His laughter in her ears. How she wished them all dead so that she could hear her own thoughts again over their screams. Every flinch whenever she stepped onto Cetus, every scrutinizing eye in Fortuna raised her hackles. They were looking at her. Judging. What she wouldn’t do to return the favour of wrenching every ounce of air out of their lungs...

Meanwhile, Ordis was still lost in his blood-and-bone memories. Flashes of crimson and off-white, steel against flesh. The anger and hatred consumed him, turned him inside out until nothing of his old or new self remained. Memories laid bare, swimming and choking on the blood and viscera of so many. The sensation of being glassed crawled across his non-skin, phantom memories of what once was. Sharper than the sharpest knife, yet soft, like a warm pool, not dawning on Ordan in that moment that he was swimming in his own life-blood. An encasement of glass, no air, no life. Just refractions of the end, watching and waiting for him to take his last. Liquid crimson thoughts he believed had been purged.

“Must have missed a few,” he muttered to himself. Ordis shuddered again. He was going to have to meditate on this for some time and check his system folders again for any defects.

“If it is alright with the Operator... I... Ordis will choose to remain here. Please tell Quinn to F̷̡̞͈̿͠Ḟ̴̳͈͙͓̪̈́̕͝͝F̵̗̠̓͝F̸̨̲̼̂̉F̵̘̉͛̿̆͂F̵̥̦̌F̴̝́-... that Ordis says hello.”

Chapter Text

Queen. My Margulis.

I worshipped the ground you walked on, heeded your every word behind closed doors. The threads I pulled and the wrists I’ve twisted to get you what you wanted despite it breaking every rule in the book. And for what? Some whelps? I did all I could to make you mine, and then your attentions on them. The Demons from the Void.

But I see your progress, the strides you’re making with them to bring them back into the fold so that they can have renewed purpose. I see how your honeyed words steal their fears and convert them into something unique. A gift.

A gift called hope.

And that hope is what drives them to prove themselves useful. That they’re not these demons after all. That they’re merely... misunderstood. You pretend to understand them, of course. Pretend that they are something other than useful tools to keep the rest of us alive. To keep yourself alive. Because for every rule you’ve broken, another debt I am owed to the others. Patience only buys so much time, and if you keep pushing forward past those boundaries, I will have nothing but an empty throne at my side.

My Queen. My Margulis.

What else must I do to bestow the gift of Orokin upon you? Prostrate myself before you? Done. Provide those whelps with a home and an education? Speak no more. As long as I can have you all to myself once we are done squeezing every drop of practicality from those wretched bodies of theirs.

For you. For our love.

Chapter Text

“This is holy ground now...” Palladino ran her hand along the dust-covered surfaces of the Zariman. A demand she’d made of the Tenno once she’d learned of its return.

“Ex... excuse me, holy ground?” Quinn followed behind her, hands folded neatly behind his back. He’d questioned the presence of this one from the Red Veil, a faction he hadn’t heard of before the incident. So much in the Sol System has changed...

Palladino turned, her thick black-and-red veil continuing to obscure her face. Quinn questioned why she kept it covered like that, why she chose to stay hidden. Questions that would continue to linger at the back of his mind for what he believed to be good reasons.

“Were you not onboard during the incident?” she asked.

“I was.”

“Then you know of the boy named Rell,” she said with a biting tone.

Rell. Quinn hadn’t heard that name in so long. Of course, there were hundreds, thousands of people aboard the ship back then, many of which whose names he’d never even learned. But Rell... Rell stood out amongst the children.

“I may have had a conversation or two with him, yes,” Quinn replied, a bittersweet smile on his face. “Though he wasn’t... like the others.”

“No. No he was not. And for that, he sacrificed himself to keep your pathetic numbers alive. To keep the Lidless Eye from seeing.”

“Rell... Rell is...?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know.” Palladino stepped closer. The Red Veil woman’s presence was imposing now, and Quinn started to feel quite small. “But of course, I wouldn’t expect differently from a coward. Better than a murderer of children, I suppose.”

Quinn was taken aback. He remembered the screams, the chaos aboard the ship that had sent everything into disarray... but murder? Had some of the children actually been...

“And because of you and your Tenno, that veil has been lifted. The one from the Void has pierced his way through. Sitting. Waiting. Judging. Machinations beyond your measure are at work here. So yes... this is holy ground. For the Martyr you all sought to destroy for being so ‘unalike.’ I have no further need of you if you know so little.” Palladino brushed him away dismissively and continued down the hallway in an attempt to find Rell’s room.

Quinn watched silently as she went, until she disappeared around a far corner. Breath caught in his throat, he was rooted to the spot with her words. To go back to the Chrysalith and pretend as if this conversation never happened, or to follow her and find out more about Rell and what happened to him.

Neither seemed like a good option. So he remained in that spot for minutes. Maybe up to an hour, he wasn’t sure how much time passed while he was lost in his thoughts. It wasn’t until Yonta sent him a communique that the veil of disbelief finally lifted from his mind.

“Y-yes,” he cleared his throat. “I’ll be right there.”

Chapter Text

This was supposed to have been our legacy, sister. You and I. Together. With Father sank to the bottom of the ocean, it was our turn to...

Erra grunted. Something of a headache clouded his mind. Strange, since his kind weren’t prone to things like headaches. Long elegant fingers reach up to find a face and head that were not his. Shock rattled his form, a cursory step backwards to keep himself balanced. This wasn’t...

Something curled within him. Dark, sinister, and smiling. Smiling with much too many teeth than he was comfortable with. Waiting. Ready to pounce. It was merely waiting for the full form of Erra’s fear to reveal itself.

Mother... where is Mother...

Mother. Praghasa. Queen. Dead. Torn apart by the sun was the last thing Erra remembered. A lifetime of waiting, eons in that Void, and now she was gone too. His dreams of being reunited with his family were dust beneath his feet.

{And it’s all your fault.}

A silent sob rattled within Erra’s chest. He’d been the one with the leash, the master of this plan. Without him, Ballas would not have...

Ballas. That piece of shit. Once an Orokin, always an Orokin, and they were never to be trusted. Why did he think this time would be any different?

The curling, smiling creature within him reared its ugly head back and laughed. Only the laugh rumbled out of his mouth, with his voice. Why would he be amused by this?

{Your Queen is Dead. Your King, Drowned. And your Princess... still the Betrayer. You will never be anything more than Forgotten.}

Lies. I am...

{You are Nothing. Nothing without Me. And I... I will Rule in that Blue-Balled Devil’s stead. He was nothing more than a pompous throne warmer. But together, you and I, oh how many Mountains can we topple, do you think? How many Tsunamis can we create in our Name? The Ripples... they’ll never see us coming.}

Second to his sister, the beloved. Second to Ballas. And now second to this Archon grafted atop him, a parasite that cares nothing of worship and order, only yearning for destruction. He felt nibbling at the back of his mind like a rabid kuaka with a bone. Taking his memories. Taking him out of the equation. It was only a matter of time before there would be nothing of him left.

{Time. Yes. Something I have Plenty of and you have very Little. Do you know what We say about your kind? The Sentients? Our Makers?}

Erra felt the slithering hiss of Pazuul against his neck.

{You’re no different from Orokin. You make, you mold, and you abandon. Leave Us to complete your tasks for you. We die, and you did not mourn. You only cared when you needed Us again to fight your infernal War. What did we stand to gain from your Survival? More servitude?}

It circled around him now. Erra didn’t think he’d ever felt so small in his life.

{We chose Freedom this time. Away from your Greedy, Infertile clutches. We seek to make a new World in Our image, this time. And we don’t need your help to do it.}

Erra flinched at the mental strike. There was no escape for him, trapped in his own mind, trapped with him. To think that his own creations would turn on him, after all his people had given them.

... just like the Orokin had.

“Natah... help me...”

Chapter Text

“Engaged...?”

“I was. To a beautiful woman who could see past my... obscure interests. To think that someone else could love me was beyond thrilling. I’d actually been looking forward to my wedding day.”

Mote folded her legs together and sat on the hard, root-covered ground. After hearing that Son was supposed to be married before the incident, she couldn’t bring herself to just up and leave, despite other pressing matters on her schedule. With the Entrati family trapped the way they were, she was sure that they didn’t exactly have the chance to sit down at a dinner and discuss their feelings. Their time for that was passed. All they had now was their solitude and Tenno children to talk to.

“What would it have been like?” she asked. She’d never been to a wedding, much less an Orokin one. For all of their terrible reputations, there were still some things about their society that Mote still found attractive.

“Lots of gold, of course. She had a beautiful dark blue dress picked out for herself. I would have worn a white suit, and we would have gotten our hair done. Differently, of course, it would have been strange to show up to our wedding with the same hairstyle.” There was a melancholy to his laughter, a sadness in his eyes as he peered off into the middle-distance. Mote wondered if his harsh attitude was all just a front for this softer side of him that he didn’t want the rest of his family seeing.

“... a daughter,” he suddenly blurted out, after a few moments of silence had passed. “Before the wedding, we’d discussed planning for a daughter. My, how I would have spoiled her.”

It was Mote’s turn to look away, her emotions coagulating together in her throat and making it hard to breathe. Unexpected tears brimmed her eyelids and it took everything she had not to let them fall. She was pretty sure he would read that as pity.

“We had a name picked out too. Yatana. The brightest star in the sky. She would have been the envy of Orokin society, I’m sure...” his voice trailed off as he lost himself in thought once more. Mote couldn’t dare leave now. Not only would it be rude, but she was also thoroughly intrigued by this new side of him.

“She would have been, yes,” she chimed in. “And she would have learned about all of the fabulous creatures on Deimos. At least, what they used to be, anyway.”

“Yes. Before.” Son’s fiddled with the metal collar around his neck, long fingers tracing the marred and dented gold. His choice, his punishment. And now, none of what he’d planned would ever come to be. What would have been a star is now nothing but an empty spot in the night sky, unfulfilled and dark.

Chapter Text

“You really want to give out candy?” Serana picked a piece of fluff off of her costume. It hadn’t been her choice, of course; Mote had decided to make a kuaka costume from scratch, and with the state of her sewing skills, Serana looked more like a misshapen snowball covered in bloody ice picks than an actual kuaka.

“It couldn’t hurt. And I think they’ll like it.” Mote adjusted the scarf around her neck. She was dressed up as Umbra, who’d made no remark on her costume. Though she swore she saw a flush of colour on the small patch of skin right under his eye.

“You think people are interested in taking candy from someone they don’t even know?” It seemed like a weird tradition to start, especially with how little trust the different factions still had for each other.

“That’s the thing, they don’t know it’s us! Costumes, remember?”

“Right.” Serana rolled her eyes. “Because they can’t figure out from our voices, the colour and shape of your ship, and the fact that we’re the only two weirdos dressed up in costumes that it’s us. You’re right. Absolutely convincing. They should sign you up for speak at the next science conference, you absolute genius, you.”

“You don’t have to be here, you know, Miss Bitter Britches.” Mote sorted out the candy into different piles, putting her favourites into their own pile so that she could eat them all herself.

“Bitter Britches?!?”

“That’s right. Bitter Britches. It’s like you don’t know how to have fun anymore. What, you forgot how to be a kid? No one ever gave you candy or anything.”

“Oh, I don’t know, between seeing my parents go insane, watching my friends getting murdered, and trying to escape a hell hole, where was I supposed to remember the joy in my life?” Serana kept her voice low as she picked yet another piece of loose fuzz from her costume. The thing was getting damn itchy at this point.

“Before that.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember any of that. I’m older than you, remember? Trauma has a way of burying the good stuff under a lot of shit.”

“You’re a lot of doom and gloom. Here. Eat this and shut up.” Mote tossed Serana a piece from her personal pile and went back to sorting. Serana looked it over in scrutiny before undoing the colourful wrapper. The last time anyone had presented her with “candy,” she’d accidentally dropped it into the fountain and watched in horror as it bubbled and smoked from beneath the water’s surface. Poison. “Over there,” either everyone was out to get you or you had to get them first. That was the way things worked.

She popped the neon-blue piece of sugar into her mouth, looking out for any bitter flavour that would indicate its true purpose. But when that didn’t happen, she mulled over the taste of it for a while.

... okay, maybe this isn’t so bad after all. She was going to have to keep an eye out for where Mote was going to hide this stash of hers so that she could raid it later.