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Chapter Text

Gheleon sagged against the wall, his eyes drooping. Zavala’s office was stuffy. His clothes were full of blood and noxious ash. He was patient, but he preferred to have a reason to be waiting. They could find Felwinter later. The Commander said the Iron Temple had slid into ruin in the centuries that had passed. They should be discussing what came next, like dorming. Hell, they should be discussing dinner . He appreciated the Commander’s refreshingly succinct explanation of the time that had transpired between their now and seemingly that morning, but now his mind raced. He ached for details. He wanted to see the City. He wanted to visit the Temple. He wanted to visit Site Six. He wanted to be alone. Everyone else, however, seemed content to just sit around and wait. Why, he had no idea. Felwinter had wandered off plenty of times before and come back hours or days or months later or even decades that one time. Nobody had seemed interested in waiting around for him then, let alone even worry about the guy, so what was different now? The collective inaction was making him edgy in a way that only rarely came over the Hunter.  

Skorri began to sing. He loved her singing as much as the next chump (he could hear Radegast not-so-subtly humming along to the familiar hymn) but he was bored and itchy and bored and starting to feel something like claustrophobia despite the size of the Vanguard Commander’s luxurious office. 

His attention wandered, eyes drifting all over. His interest skipped over the knick knacks and the statues decorating the space. He ignored the funny kinetic doodad on the desk. He’d always struggled with art that didn’t have a specific purpose. An artfully carved knife or a beautifully woven blanket, he could get behind. A thing made purely to be seen and nothing else was a challenge. 

What did catch his eye was a grate, high in the ceiling. The faintest draft wafted down, blowing in puffs of cool evening air. Skorri’s voice was lovely but that whiff of fresh air sang to him. He looked all around, craning his neck, and then turned, reaching high, and pulled himself up the side of the display shelves he stood against. There he squatted, perched atop the highest shelf, and smirked when Skorri spared him the quickest glance and a fast grin. He always found the highest place in the room. He liked the improved vantage and the guarded seating. Nobody would think it odd for him to be up there. 

Well. Not any odder than anything else he did. 

Soon enough, Skorri’s attention drifted back to those seated around her, and Gheleon straightened up slowly. 

The grate bumped free of its insert easily and without more than the softest thump, and seconds later the Hunter had pulled himself up into the ceiling. He turned away from the office: it wouldn’t do to thud-bang his way over everyone’s heads as he eased along carefully. Every now and then, he would pause, listening, but Skorri’s singing continued. Nobody called out, either, and before long, he’d cleared the office entirely. 

Eventually, he found another vent that opened into what looked like an empty hallway, and Gheleon slid the grate aside and dropped down.

He hadn’t seen the Titan approaching until he’d fully slid out of the air duct but  when he dropped down, the big guy’s alarmed squawk was shrill enough to make Gheleon jump like a startled cat as he landed. 

“Whupp! Sorry ‘bout that, lad!” He coughed, rightfully abashed. He’d really thought the hallway was completely empty. Usually he did better.

“Damn Hunters!” the Titan groused, hurrying past. “All of ya ‘re such weirdoes!” 

Gheleon watched him go, snorting softly to himself. 

“Takes one to know one,” he muttered, dusting his knees and shins off. He shook his cloak out, and straightened the wolfs-head hood, and was in the process of patting himself down to check for all his knives when he noticed a sweeper bot staring at him from an alcove just down the way. He squinted at it. “ What ?” he asked, spine rolling into an affected slouch. The bot looked away quickly with a gravelly squelch.

“Good evening, Guardian,” it said and resumed minding its business. Gheleon nodded, satisfied. Looking around, he took a moment to gain his bearings, and set off.

Guardian… Lightbearers had been taking up the title more and more, but the Iron Lords were, at least in Gheleon’s mind, something else . They were older. Forged from harder times. Last he’d checked, most people respected that.

Last he checked, there wouldn’t be a random Titan roaming around he didn’t recognize, either. He still refused to face the uncomfortable creeping itch of centuries lost head-on. It was fine. Times had changed, was all. 

So was that what they were now? Guardians ? The Iron Lords were long-dead, after all. The notion was troubling and Gheleon firmly shoved it aside. 

The hallway opened up into a bazaar, and Gheleon was greeted with a fresh puff of cool, wet air, rich and sweet with the curious mix of night-blooming flowers and grill smoke. He took in a deep breath, savoring the strange perfume while scanning the populace of those milling about the open-air restaurants and byways. 

Most of the people he saw were clearly Lightbearers with their heavy armor and ostentatious ornamentation, but there were a number of Lightless as well: civilians alongside Tower staff in uniforms mingled amongst one another and the occasional friendly Guardian.

Keeping his head down, Gheleon slid into the crowd, meandering along until he reached a sheltered garden off to one side. Here, he peeled off from the milling bodies, and took a seat on a stone park bench with a sigh. 

He remembered, seemingly not very long ago, when these gardens, scattered generously all about the towers, had been planted as the final touches on the wall and its sentries. Now the centerpiece Ironwood Tree, but a sapling in Gheleon’s memory, stood strong and gnarled from centuries of slow growth, its trunk significantly bigger around than the Hunter resting beneath it. 

“At least some of us old souls have stuck around,” he murmured, tossing the tree a lazy salute. The tree, of course, did not respond, and Gheleon hunched back into a comfortable slouch, breathing deep as he enjoyed the evening and the pocket of quiet he’d found for himself.

The sun set, but twilight kept the sky a deep, luminescent shade of cobalt, little more than the first and brightest stars glinting between the brighter beacons of air traffic overhead. A gentle breeze billowed up from the valley floor far below, cool and wet, and rich with the scent of greenery and flowers. It was a far cry from the comfort of his den, but… for now it would suffice as Gheleon admired the twinkling city lights just beyond. 

Chapter Text

Saladin couldn’t remember the last time he’d run so fast, the Titan leaping from the open bay door of the Cabal shuttle that had carried him down from Caiatl’s flagship to the Tower without thinking, armor-clad boots clapping like thunder on the hangar floor when he landed. He’d already been on the move by the time he hit the ground, stampeding off at full-tilt, parting pedestrians, maintenance personnel, and fellow Guardians with equal disregard. In his head, Zavala’s words beat like a drum, driving him. 

She was back.

She was back !

He hadn’t believed him. Couldn’t bear to even consider it despite Felwinter’s recent and uncanny return. 

But then, there! 

In the background, sweeter than any siren’s song, he’d heard a laugh .  Her laugh… The laugh. The sound made his heart burst alight like a torch, and now Saladin was compelled by a force far greater than himself.

Caiatl could execute him for the way he’d addressed her as he left, but he didn’t care anymore. There was a bright point in the center of the universe, and it was pulling him back, pulling him home , and her name was Jolder. 

“Slo- Slow down!” His Ghost, Isirah, appeared at his shoulder as he ran, her shell spinning fast as she fought to keep up with him. “You’re going to get someone hurt!” He ignored her, and she gave his ear a hard Arc zap, making him hiss and swat at her. It did, however, give him pause enough to slow his gait somewhat. “You’re going to trample some poor Lightless civilian!” She scolded. “Don’t be so reckless! You’ll only lose a few seconds walking instead of charging like a wild bull, you know!”
He snorted, disagreeing, but relented nonetheless, dropping out of his veritable stampede into a jog. She, like many of her kind, was a force to be reckoned with, and he already knew he couldn’t win an argument with her.

“ Must you nag?” he complained, indulging in a dramatic sigh instead.

“It’ll take even longer if you flatten someone,” she pointed out tartly. “And she’ll never let you live it down if you do. Nor will the Commander. You don’t want them both on your case, do you?. I’m sure even the Empress-”

“Alright, enough!” He couldn’t reasonably dispute any of that, so with a grumble, he put his head down and slowed to the fastest walk he could get away with. 

Bystanders still jumped aside as he wove through the Hangar and thud-thudded his way over open-air catwalks, storming his way along the corridors at the most impolite walk in the history of the Tower, nearly throwing himself at the doors to Zavala’s office when he finally arrived. 

He slammed them open, bursting in, and what had been the hum of pleasant conversation within turned to an abrupt hush. Suddenly five sets of eyes were pinned on him, and for a moment, time froze, the Titan wavering.

“ Poookieeeee!” 

The shrill, effeminate squeal of joy that greeted him preceded the Jolder-shaped cannonball by mere milliseconds. This was not enough warning for Saladin, and with a mighty clash of bodies and bright armor, she collided with him hard enough to topple them both, the pair tumbling back to the floor with an apocalyptic crash. 

Saladin hit hard, Jolder astride him, wheezing and gasping, but grinning.

Jolder giggled and cackled in delight, beside herself that she’d felled him. 

Usually, he remembered, he would catch her before she hit him. 

Long ago, he remembered, she’d tried to knock him over on the regular, pouncing on him without a moment’s notice every chance she got. 

Once upon a time, he thought, she’d been the light of his life. 

And then he’d lost her. Lost them all. 

They laughed together, but then Saladin’s laughter hitched into a damning hiccup. Jolder’s laughter trailed off, and she sat up to give him a long, hard stare. Then she slapped him across the face. Saladin gasped, shocked, but Jolder flashed him a big grin.

“No grieving! We are here, now,” she said firmly, climbing off of him and stooping to offer him a hand. “Our future begins now.”

Saladin took her hand and wavered to his feet, gobsmacked. He smiled slowly. 

Jolder’s contagious joy was impossible to resist once it caught on. He hiccuped once more, pulling her into his arms, and held her as he looked around the room. Familiar faces, just like he’d remembered them all, stared back. 

From his desk, Zavala wore a particularly big smile. Silimar averted his eyes, hiding his own grin. Skorri was nearly leering.

“Well, you gonna kiss the Lady or leave us all hanging?!” She demanded, giggling when his eyes met hers. 

Saladin flushed.

“You just want your own turn!” Jolder laughed back, teasing. This made Saladin go even hotter. The game, as old as time, stirred a deep, nearly-forgotten warmth into his chest, especially when Skorri made a loud gagging noise in reply. 

Right now, he thought, he could kiss the Warlock, and each of the others as well.

He hadn’t realized just how terribly he’d missed them all. His eyes started to water again, and Jolder shot him a sharp look just before punching him hard, square in the chest. Her fist clanged loudly against his armor, but the strike resonated into his body, shaking him. He coughed, and blinked away the mist, his smile returning a little more brightly.

“I’ve missed you,” he hummed, reeling her in closer to lean down and kiss her softly. “Traveler’s Light, I missed you…!” 

There was blood on her lips: dried and going stale now, but he could still taste the reminder of grave violence just behind them. The smell of fire and acrid, burnt chemicals overwhelmed the rosewater perfume she liked to wear. He shivered, and tightened his arms, squeezing her hard. He was going to have a difficult time letting go of her. 

Chapter Text

Rasputin lengthened his stride, nearly breaking into a trot to keep up with Felwinter. He’d taken off the moment they landed in the Tower with a spectacular forward lean to his pace. He didn’t know his way around well yet, but Felspring had kept her tap into the Vanguard network, and quietly guided him through breezeways and halls, staff and fellow Guardians all but throwing themselves out of their way as he moved. 

Rasputin wisely didn’t protest, nor did he attempt to slow him down. Felwinter was on a mission, and Rasputin reasoned someone was likely to get hurt if anyone tried to stop him. Especially the Warmind, who was thus far only grudgingly being allowed to follow without conflict. 

“I do know the way if you’d prefer a more certain path,” Rasputin suggested, jogging forward a step. He touched Felwinter’s elbow and the Exo lurched away from him, fixing him a sharp look and refusing to slow. 

“I’m fine.” 

“He’s alright. We know he’s alright,” Rasputin tried. “Targe confirmed it.” 

“Of course he’s fine,” Felwinter huffed, perturbed. “That does not make me any less eager to return to him.” 

Rasputin shut up for a minute, mulling on that. A part of him bitterly reflected on how Felwinter had never been so eager to return to him .

“That’s different,” Caerus hovered in close, speaking low as he picked up on Rasputin’s line of thinking. “You know it’s different. And also not entirely true.” Rasputin let out a grumpy vent but didn’t attempt to counter the observation. He could choose his battles when he needed to, and he certainly didn’t want to get into it with his Ghost about his storied history of misdeeds while his son was within earshot. Caerus was still tracking his thoughts and gave him a smug, triumphant squint. Rasputin retaliated with a half-hearted swat that Caerus easily dodged with a laugh.

Felwinter glanced back at them.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asked icily. 

“Same place you do,” Caerus provided, still smug. “We need to debrief the Commander.”

“No we don’t,” Rasputin countered. Felwinter let out a loud, deliberate snort. 

“You? Concede to the Commander’s rules? I’ve heard enough to know better,” he said. “Excuses do not impress me.” 

“Well, what does?” Rasputin blurted, frustrated. 

“Peace and quiet,” Felwinter quipped at the same time Felspring cheekily supplied, “Guys who mind their own business” 

Caerus laughed. Rasputin was so offended his pace faltered, and Felwinter’s stride somehow sped up, pulling a sizable gap between them. Rasputin thought suddenly of their wild pursuit across Neomuna, and slowed a little further. He watched Felspring glance back at him and a moment later, Felwinter’s rush eased just a little. Rasputin sighed. 

The sight of the armored doors to Zavala’s office was a relief by the time they arrived, and Rasputin took the initiative to reach past and palm them open when Felwinter hesitated briefly. Felwinter flinched, tossing him a cagey look, and shrank aside as the doors opened.

Yet again, all eyes in the room fixated on the entryway. Felwinter looked forward again, then all around, his eyes darting, but neither Osiris nor Timur were present. He drew in an audibly sharp breath.

“In the closet across the way,” Jolder chirped, grinning from where she remained wrapped around Saladin. 

“Excuse me?” Rasputin squinted at her, resolutely ignoring the utterly blazing glare Saladin was pointing his way. Jolder pointed at Felwinter. 

“Your boys are having some private time next door,” she explained, grinning when Felwinter visibly relaxed. Though he was irked by her teasing choice of words, he offered her his best attempt at a smile. It was good to see her in one piece. 

“Thank you, Lady Jolder,” Felwinter sighed. He turned on his heel and elbowed past Rasputin in search of his lovers, leaving the Warmind to stand awkwardly on the threshold. 

“Welcome back!” Skorri chirped, giving Rasputin a little finger wave. “We thought you’d left us.” 

Saladin spun on his heel to look back at her in shock. 

“ Back ?”

“This is the guy who got us out of Site Six,” Jolder said mildly. Saladin bristled.

“This guy is the Light-blasted Warmind that tried to destroy us all in the first place!”

“Ja, we know. Zavala explained it to us.”

“I did as much as I could,” Rasputin murmured from the doorway. He heard Felwinter call out for Osiris from somewhere behind him in the corridor, and he glanced backward, distracted. 

“I don’t believe that for one second..!” Saladin snapped. Rasputin looked back and squared his shoulders.

“You don’t have to, but it’s the truth nonetheless, Valus .” Saladin’s lip curled. 

“Since when the hell do you-”

“Hey…where’d Gheleon go?” Silimar’s voice, incredulous, rose over the ensuing fight. 

Everyone stopped, looking around.

“Ghel?” Skorri frowned deeply, looking all over and then, finally, looking up. “Ah. I should have known.” High above them in the far corner, a ventilation grate sat askew in the ceiling. Rasputin scowled.

“How in the blazes..?!”

Chapter Text

Rasputin found their wayward Hunter seated on a stone bench in one of the Tower’s more secluded gardens, slouched in his seat. He was surrounded by Saint’s pigeons, one hand held out with a palmful of roasted seeds he’d been carrying. He looked blissfully content, the corner of a smile just visible from the shade of his hood, the Hunter softly cooing back at the birds occasionally. If Rasputin was kinder, he might have hesitated to interrupt him.

“Where have you been?” 

The pigeons scattered in a hurry as he approached, but Gheleon still turned slowly to look up into the eerie carmine glow of Rasputin’s electronic eyes. 

“Right here,” Gheleon said blandly, shrugging. The motion disturbed the last pigeon and it flapped its way skyward from his shoulder. He sighed and pocketed the rest of the uneaten seeds once more. “Why?”

“You escaped the Commander’s office without anyone seeing you go at all,” Rasputin said, just shy of accusing. “ How ?”

Gheleon shrugged again.

“Through the air vent,” he said, making a vague overhead gesture with one hand as if that explained everything. 

Rasputin’s eyes narrowed. No one would tell him this, but Gheleon was suddenly intrusively reminded of Felwinter for some reason he couldn’t quite explain. 

“And no one saw you leave?!” the Warmind asked, incredulous.

“No,” Gheleon drawled. “Not no-one . I definitely confused a sweeper-bot a little, an’ I scared the hell out of this big Titan fellow.” He made an over-the shoulder gesture with his thumb in the general direction he’d come. “Poor lad, I thought he was going to pass out. Feel a little bad ‘bout that, actually…”

“You left a room full of people, through the ventilation shaft, without any of them noticing you leave,” Rasputin deadpanned, unbelieving. 

“S’pose so. Can’t say I hung around to be sure, but I didn’t hear anyone yellin’ or anything.”

Rasputin balked audibly, the sound he made turning into an awful sort of grinding noise. 

“They send you to collect me?” Gheleon asked, after a moment, the last vestiges of his smile withering. . 

“ I sent me to find you,” Rasputin corrected sternly. “Your friends were content with waiting for you to return, but I want answers.”

“You got ‘em,” Gheleon drawled. He shifted, pulling a long strip of dried venison from a pouch. He ripped a chunk off, holding it out in offering to the Exo looming over him.

Rasputin recoiled in distaste, and Gheleon huffed and rescinded the offer, stuffing the morsel into his own mouth. 

“Suit y’self,” he mumbled, chewing.

“You’ve answered noth-” 

“I take it stealth isn’t your thing,” Gheleon interrupted, sitting back to regard Rasputin. “Zavala said you’re the Warmind. Didn’t know an AI could get rezzed as a Guardian,” Gheleon rambled. “But guess there’s lots I don’t know. Would’ive thought you’d met a Hunter before, though.” 

Rasputin’s fiery gaze slid aside. He suddenly found himself thinking perhaps he should spend a little more time with Ana. 

“Are you saying you’re all like this?” he demanded. Gheleon shrugged again. Some of the pigeons were cautiously returning in twos and threes, and he tossed more seeds out for them, hoping to lure them close again. 

“What made you change your mind?” Gheleon asked abruptly, ignoring the question and inserting his own instead. “That SIVA… looked like you controlled it just fine. We were all about to die, why’d you come back?”

Rasputin stared back at the Hunter, weighing his answers. 

“For…Felwinter,” Rasputin said slowly. “And me.” Gheleon cocked his head curiously. With that wolf-head hood of his, its ears erect, it made him look like some quizzical beastman. Rasputin realized he’d been looking at the glass eyes of the wolf, not Gheleon’s actual face. “I’ve made all too many mistakes in my time, but that-” he waved a hand in the general direction of the Cosmodrome, half a globe away from where they were now. “-was by far one of my most egregious. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try and correct things.”

Gheleon stared back at Rasputin, his shaded face puckered with confusion.

“ Felwinter ?”

“He’s-”

“You know Felwinter?” 

Rasputin’s mouth snapped shut, the Warmind stunned speechless. 

“I thought he’s been searching for you nonstop for centuries. That’s what he told us, anyway.”
“He didn’t lie,” Rasputin said quickly. “I knew he sought me. I was ignoring him.” 

“Is that why you tried to kill us all?”

“I did kill you all,” Rasputin corrected. “In history as we know it, you all are dead.” Gheleon let out a soft whistle and leaned back in his seat somewhat.

“Isn’t that lovely,” he groaned. “But you changed your mind. For Felwinter.” He sounded rightfully incredulous. 

“I think Felwinter would be supremely cross with me if I explained further,” Rasputin said finally. Deep under the cloak’s hood, Gheleon’s eyes glinted as they narrowed thoughtfully. 

“And you… care about that, why exactly?” 

Rasputin stared back at him blandly, considering refusing to reply at all. 

“Please see my previous statement,” he said at last. Gheleon sniffed and looked away, out to the city lights below. 

“That’s weird,” he said.

Rasputin followed Gheleon’s gaze, looking outward. It really was a pretty evening. He felt a little leap of joy to realize he could appreciate such a seemingly mundane thing. The world was opening up for him, bit by bit. He hadn’t realized how much he’d actually missed in his previous life. 

“I suppose, without context, you are correct,” he said. 

Gheleon laughed. 

“Yep. You’re an odd one indeed.” He glanced back and up at Rasputin. “That’s a compliment, by the way.” 

Rasputin blinked at him.

“Why… thank you.” 

“Ah -ha! There you are!” Rasputin jumped, startled by the sudden boom of Saint-14’s triumphant cry not far at all from where he stood. He turned quickly, eyes wide, hands already growing hot with Light. He relaxed again just as quickly when he registered Saint, and even revealed the tiniest smile in greeting. 

“Saint,” Gheleon stood, a bright smile of his own gracing his rugged features. “It’s good to see you well.” 

Saint grinned.

“And the same to you, my friend! Forgive me, I have come running as fast as I could when Osiris told me you and the others had been returned to us.

“Thanks to this guy,” Gheleon tipped his chin at Rasputin. Saint’s smile widened.

“Yes! I have heard!” Saint crowed. “He does not accept class descriptor but I think Rasputin has the heart of a Titan! Big and heroic! Like the rest of him!” 

Gheleon snorted softly, trying not to laugh, and had to turn away slightly to hide his mirth while Rasputin sputtered, flustered by so many seemingly unwarranted compliments at once. Saint’s words made him warm in a funny, uncomfortable sort of way.

“You’re exaggerating,” he deadpanned, nearly gasping for composure. Saint laughed merrily.

“I am not!” Saint giggled. “You are just too pig-headed about your own self-hatred. You cannot fool me, you are too much like my Osiris!”

Rasputin wheezed. 

“You can’t be serious,” he groaned, rubbing his face in exasperation. 

“You could be twins!” Saint declared. “Come home with us, I will goad him a little and you will see. He will sound just like you.”
“I thought you liked this guy,” Rasputin coughed. 

“I do. I find it endearing,” Saint chirped. “Come.”

“No. I am certain I would be welcomed only by you, Saint,” Rasputin said, then hurried on to add, “This does not bother me in any way. It is merely a fact.” 

He regretted his firm refusal when Saint sagged dejectedly, but then the Titan was pulling himself back up with a fresh smile.

“Ah yes. We will work on that, too.” For a long minute, Rasputin stared at him, but Saint’s smile didn’t falter. At length, the Warmind dragged his attention over to Gheleon.

“Your friends are worried about you,” he told him. “You should check back.” 

He said it as mildly as he could muster, but it still came out like both a command, and a dismissal. He refused to wince at the miscalculation. Gheleon let out a long sigh. 

“Aaah, yea, I suppose I should mosey back. Come on, Saint. I bet Osiris is still hanging around the Commander’s office too.” 

Saint hesitated, glancing back to Rasputin, but he tipped his chin in the direction of the office, urging him off. 

“Go on. I have matters to attend to.” Saint looked ready to protest but Gheleon gave one of the ribbons adorning his armor a gentle tug.

“You heard the man. Let him be.” 

“Yes, yes, I am coming. Good night, my friend!” He waved, and turned away to follow Gheleon. Rasputin heaved a big sigh and turned, claiming Gheleon’s vacated seat. 

It was a nice night, and though he would have liked to spend the whole evening there, he did indeed still have another errand to perform. He raised his hand, summoning Caerus.

“Come along,” he murmured, blinking sedately back at his Ghost as he appeared, bobbing in patient silence, waiting for his next command. “We still have work to do.”   

Chapter Text

Out in the breezeway, Felwinter wasn’t immediately sure what Jolder had meant. Osiris clearly hadn’t heard him call out, and it took him a moment to spot the shadowed doors across from Zavala’s office. As he moved closer, however, he could feel Light. Not Osiris’, of course, but the unmistakable effervescent charge of Timur’s. 

Felwinter’s composure crumbled. He lunged for the door, nearly tearing it down in his rush. 

This startled the two Warlocks inside something terrible, but their reactions were nearly perfect opposites. Felwinter heard Osiris’ colorful string of curses before he even saw him in the dim utility closet, but Timur’s surprised laughter rang clearly over the vile oaths. Felwinter’s knees locked, the mechanical breath in his chest stuttering to a brief stop until the pressure forced its way out of him in a harsh gust.  

“Oh, hey handsome.” Timur smiled in the low light. In his arms, Osiris, rumpled and red-eyed, brightened with relief as well.  

“Felwinter!”

Felwinter took the handful of steps required to close the gap between them and then threw himself at his lovers.

“Oh!” 

He shook, his breath rattling and hitching painfully. He couldn’t help it. So much had happened so fast, he was already reeling well before they’d returned to the Tower and now this… this exquisitely agonizing relief, joy…the grief of processing it was threatening to pull him apart. He didn’t need to breathe but he felt like he was suffocating. Drowning. He’d wanted so badly to see Timur’s smile, charming and full of life, but now the mere sight of it broke him. 

“Oh, oh,” Timur felt the tremors and squeezed Felwinter hard in a warm embrace, Osiris following him in to press firmly against his side. “Easy, baby…” He spoke far more softly than usual, that sparkling bravado he wore so confidently temporarily set aside. “I know… I know you’ve had it rough. I heard.” Felwinter swallowed a strange sound before it could escape when the Stormcaller kissed his temple gently. “Osiris filled me in.” Felwinter shook his head and pulled away.

“I killed you-” Felwinter groaned.

“I survived,” Timur countered easily, smiling. Felwinter sagged, his eyes darting as he looked Timur up and down frantically. 

“Over and over …” Felwinter went on, barely audible. Osiris reached out to rub his back in slow circles and he thought he must be even more of a mess than he realized. “I couldn’t-”

“It’s okay, Fel,” Timur said quietly. Felwinter knew better than to attempt any sort of argument with…well, either of them actually, and he nodded. Instead, he stood planted, hands on Timur, patting him down, forcing himself to look at him closely. 

He wished he hadn’t. 

He’d thought looking harder would prove to his racing mind that his lovers were there . They were there and they were safe and everyone was together again. 

However, the usually pristine white of Timur’s robes was blotched and streaked with dried blood, and beyond his open lapel, a much darker stain spread over his heart, crusted and flaking, a hole visible through the mangled fabric to reveal unmarred, porcelain skin beneath. 

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from that tattered hole in Timur’s shirt. 

His aim had been perfect, Felwinter thought. One shot, clean through the heart at such an angle it’d killed him instantly. Flawlessly. 

Of course. 

He never missed. Rasputin had made sure of that , hadn’t he? He felt sick.

“I… saw you die,” Felwinter whispered, swaying. There’d been no reason for that damned dragon to show him that, except to layer on another cold icing of hurt.

“I know, baby,” Timur soothed. “But I lived.” 

“ No, ” Felwinter rasped. “In the Cosmodrome. Before . The first time.” He cleared his vocalizer with a harsh bleat of static. “When the Collapse came.” 

“I- oh.” Timur blinked at him, stunned speechless and finally out of gentle arguments. 

“You what ?” Osiris gasped. That part was news to him. Felwinter shook his head.

“He called me pretty, ” Felwinter coughed, brightening just a little at the memory of the uncanny encounter. For all its pain, the glimpse of Timur , as true to himself as he’d ever been, was precious. Osiris snorted warmly.

“Ah. So some things never change after all,” he said. 

“That sounds right, yeah,” Timur added, a funny little smile brightening his countenance once again. “Did you-”

“No,” Felwinter said quickly. “I didn’t ask.” Disappointment flickered across Timur’s face, but then he smiled again.

“Ah, well, I’ll find out eventually,” he chuckled. 

Felwinter thought that yes, he probably would. He wondered if Rasputin had a roster of Braytech employees stashed away somewhere. For Timur, he thought he could endure his father’s hopeless fawning if it meant getting answers. 

“Fel! Even I can see your frown!” Timur chirped, nudging him when Felwinter’s attention drifted into introspection. “Chin up…we’re back together right?” Felwinter nodded. Hearing it hurt like a bright arrow through his chest. Why did joy ache so?

“I…” Felwinter pulled in a deep breath, air shivering out of his vents. “I’m- I-” he vented hard again, frustrated by how he fumbled to articulate what he was feeling. “You’re-”

“Let’s get home,” Osiris cut in, taking one of Felwinter’s hands in both of his, holding them gently. “We all have a lot to process.” He paused, and smiled wryly at Timur. “And you’re both filthy.” 

Timur barked out a sharp laugh. 

“Washing me won’t change that,” he quipped. 

That drew Felwinter back, and the Exo’s eyes brightened with renewed warmth.

“It’s still worth a try,” he murmured wryly. “You smell like a tire fire.” Burning and chemicals; It’d been a long time since Felwinter had been into the Site 6 vault by now, but the lung-clogging stench of blood and burning carbon fiber, silica, and worse was surely burned into Felwinter’s immaculate memory forever. 

Timur only laughed.

“And you smell like rot,” he countered, grinning. “Help keep my bath warm?” 

Felwinter smiled cautiously, the Exo still terrified to allow himself optimism. He leaned back in, letting Timur give him another stout hug, but then gasped, lurching backward when there was a squeal, something in his coat wriggling frantically. 

“Careful!” Felspring appeared, flitting in close then backpedaling just as fast when a beleaguered Pouka came zooming out from beneath his lapel. Timur yelped, leaping back, and looked ready to end the poor creature, but paused when Osiris laughed merrily. 

“You have a stowaway!” 

“No, I knew it was there,” Felwinter wheezed, reaching for it only for it to race into his open palms. It wiggled and chirred, fins beating wildly, then lurched away again, bolted right toward Timur who staggered back until Osiris stopped him.

“They are friendly,” Osiris assured, smiling warmly. “And quite sweet.”

“And you and it have a natural affinity,” Felwinter said, watching as the Pouka nuzzled and bumped at Timur’s chest until he brought his hands up to give it a tentative pet. “They can-”

“Uh!” Timur’s eyes popped open wide, but then he blinked rapidly, a look of wonder dawning across his handsome features as the little thing gently tickled his mind. 

“That,” Osiris hummed, his smile brightening. “Suppose we have a pet now too, hmm?” Timur hiccupped. 

“I-- I-I th-think th-there’s s-s-something I n-need to tell y-you, Fel,” Timur stammered, his face slowly turning pink. The Pouka wiggled out of his hands and began to orbit his head rapidly for several laps before it hurried back to Felwinter. 

You idiot. I’ve known about the Siddhartha Golem for a century./

Felwinter’s eyes widened, surprise overpowering his alarm.

“I think we should get home,” Osiris said again. “We have plenty of time to talk.” 

Chapter Text

“Really?” Caerus zipped from one side of Rasputin’s head to the other, agitated. “ Really ? Rasputin, this is barbaric!” 

Rasputin grunted, sucking in air in a sniff. 

“It won’t do to leave a gap this wide in the timeline,” he mumbled, disgruntled. He jerked a shoulder, hiking up the dead Fallen Vandal he carried over it. He’d already docked the corpse, leaving its lower arms behind. He dragged a second body -this one a slightly charred Drekh - in his other hand, the body cutting a harsh groove through the thick snow blanketing the Cosmodrome. Caerus swooped at him again, shell spinning.

“And what exactly will this do to resolve that?” Up ahead, the Site 6 bunker sat huddled low into the cliffside, concealing the fresh carnage of the replication chamber within. 

“The nanites will consume most of the bodies that would have been left inside,” Rasputin begins, “but we have clear record that there were eyes on a handful of…remnants. We can’t change what the Guardian and Valus Forge find.” 

Saint and Osiris were busy with Felwinter and his lover, Zavala had a room full of freshly rescued refugees. Even Saladin himself was tied up with the lot. It was the perfect time for Rasputin to return to Mercury and from there, the still-trembling aftermath of Ironsbane. 

“I think they’ll notice the difference between human corpses and Eliksni ones!” Caerus complained. “They’re not subtle ones!”
“You’ll note, of course,” Rasputin countered coolly, “that they already have.” There was a third Fallen body near the bunker doors. “Grab that.” 

“Absolutely not!” 

“Kindly obey my command so that we can avoid breaking time, Caerus,” Rasputin said, the calm in his voice beginning to fray with sharp tension. Caerus let out a growl of frustration, but tipped down to scan and then tractor the poor dead thing aloft, heaving it along. “Thank you,” Rasputin clipped. “Now come along. The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can go home. I’m sure you’d like that.”

The Ghost snorted derisively and refused to answer. 

Unfortunately for him, Rasputin had no qualms about letting the silence stretch into something uncomfortable, and eventually, Caerus couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Soooo what’s your plan for making these guys look like the other guys?” He asked at last. Rasputin tossed him a sideways glance, not quite able to hide his smug satisfaction entirely.

“Enough SIVA will distort the corpses so that they won’t be identifiable,” he said. “And can recreate enough to disguise them the rest of the way.” Easy. Caerus gave him a skeptical squint. “Have you not seen the footage of what Forge and the Guardian found here? It’s in the VanNet archives.” 

“Not a fan of blood-sport,” Caerus grumbled. “Which includes watching graphic footage for fun.” Rasputin rolled his eyes and hiked the Vandal up a little higher again. The weight was nothing for the Warmind, but it was proving ungainly to carry. 

Without warning, he sent a databurst, slapping his Ghost with the footage whether he wanted it or not. Caerus squawked in commingled outrage and dismay, but then fell silent. 

“They…thought those were human?!” He demanded, a few minutes later. Rasputin laughed.

“I’m sure Saladin would see Lady Jolder’s face in the shape of the mountainside if he were looking for her. This is what Humans do, Caerus. They see things that aren’t really there.”

“They’re calling one of them Felwinter…” Caerus almost dropped his cadaver. “Boss…they’re fleshy. Since when are Exos so meaty?!”

“As I said… wishful thinking does much of the legwork for us here.”  

They trudged through the bunker entrance down into the vault beyond, the replication chamber looming in the haze ominously. Writhing tendrils of SIVA withdrew at Rasputin’s feet, clearing the path on his silent command, and the reinforced inner doors parted, groaning as they opened in welcome. Caerus’ eye darted anxiously. He still couldn’t help but think of the unthinkable violence that had happened here. He scanned the space warily, unable to entirely trust that Rasputin had 100 percent control of the deadly nanites. All he got, however, was noxious smoke warnings, the space eerily, impossibly still. 

The Warmind’s footsteps on the inner catwalk echoed oppressively, the plume and bellow of ash and grit doing nothing to muffle the intrusion despite the hush. He reached a platform overlooking the rest of the chamber, and balanced the dead Vandal on his shoulder to raise his hand and point. “Drop it there.” 

Caerus gladly did so, dropping the body with a horrible crunch of polycarbonates and silica wire amalgamations and a thick burst of disturbed ash. He cringed, dipping briefly, and zipped backward back to his Chosen, in no hurry to mix with all of that. Rasputin unceremoniously chucked first one Fallen and then the other down off the low balcony, utterly unphased by the brazen disregard for the dead, and then summoned a handful of red dust into his palm. He blinked at it, his command silent, and it slithered away through the air to disappear into the greasy layer or smoke hanging around the floor. 

“There. We’re done here,” Rasputin said, turning away. He didn’t need to watch to know the nanites were acting in perfect compliance to his command. He didn’t want to watch them mutilate and distort the bodies he’d fed them, either. He knew how this story ended.  

“Let’s go.”