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The woman sits gingerly on the seat by the window. The Titan barracks are stark without decoration, just three small rooms; a kitchen, bedroom, and a mixed living and eating room. There is a rug by the door, but it is more innocuous than stylish, doing well enough until it can be replaced. The floor is made of a material she doesn’t recognize, smooth and sturdy. Out the window, she can see the City, stretching far and wide, surrounded by Towers, most of which look wrecked from long-ago battles. Down below, large reservoirs are the water source for millions of people, though there aren’t visible differences between neighborhoods. What she can see is colorful, but most buildings below are like grass in the shadow of trees compared to the Wall.
Quietly, her Ghost floats up by her shoulder. She thinks he wants to speak, but is waiting for her to do so first. Though she can stand the silence easily, a burn for knowledge opens her lips. “Is this really home?” she asks.
“Yes,” the small Light responds. The petals of his shell twist and shift, reminding her of birds that she does not know the name of. She knows their song was beautiful.
“What does that mean?”
His gaze snaps to her, unsure of her meaning and a little worried. He seems more responsive to her than assertive, she thinks. Though, he did tell her what to do when she first woke, coughing and terrified. She had pressed her back against the metal car behind her and flinched at every howl from the creatures they faced. She felt small in the face of a ruined world, unsure if she should even survive. There was a certain wrongness to it, she thought, like finding a thriving vine after a fierce wildfire had burned everything around it to ash.
There were sparks of courage and recognition as her empty memory struck things that it not-quite-remembered. Her hands were smooth on the rusted rifle her Ghost had found for her, the smell of the flowers made her nostalgic even in her barely-restrained panic. Her Ghost had guided her through it all, seemingly unbothered by her stumbling steps and refusal to face the Fallen by the ship for several minutes before she got her courage up. He seemed to believe in her resolutely, despite never meeting her before.
She doesn’t understand how he could know. There’s a lot she doesn’t understand.
“It means that you’ll live here, you’ll meet people here,” he says, earnest as ever. “Other Guardians, lots of them! They’ll teach you and work with you. That’s called a Fireteam, and they’re usually in threes, but sometimes in sixes for the bigger jobs.”
“Jobs?” she asks, running her fingers through her hair. Nervous, though she doesn’t think she’s old enough to have formed habits. Time enough for that later. “I don’t know anything.”
“That’s not true!” he exclaims, enthusiastic in a way that seems to overflow now that there’s someone to share with. “You handled that rifle way better than I expected! Most Guardians have to learn from scratch how to aim, but you already knew how to reload and everything.” He freezes in the air, realizing the underlying anxiety beneath the statement. “Oh. Don’t worry, I promise. I’ve been around for a while, you know. You’ll get the hang of it as we go along. As long as I’m alive, you can’t die permanently, so there’s lots of time.”
She finally meets his eye as her curiosity finally burns too hot. “Do I have a name? How do people like me have them, if we don’t remember anything?”
“Well, there’s a couple different ways.” He settles in his shell, shaking it out a little. “Most Humans and Awoken choose a new name, unless they somehow know their old name, like a name tag or badge. Even then, some of them choose to leave it behind. However, Exos have their name and number imprinted in them, so they always know it, even through being resurrected. I’ve never heard of an Exo choosing a new name, though I suppose it's possible.”
She considers this, returning to looking out the window. The sun is going down now, just dipping below the mountains that ring the Last City. It shoots the sky red and purple, and the mountains glow like fire.
“You know…” her Ghost begins, almost shyly. “If you don’t want to choose your own name, I could do it for you, if you like. Sometimes that’s how it happens, the Ghost and Guardian both choose each other’s names. I’ve got a couple of ideas, I’ve had a long time to think about it, after all.”
“Have you ever had a name?”
“Yes! I have,” he replies brightly, then twists off kilter and expands a couple inches. She thinks it would be the same as furrowing his brow. “But, I don’t want to use them. It’s a new time for me, with you, and I want to use a new name.”
The woman examines her choices and picks bravery out gingerly. The other options don’t seem viable, and the only people she’s met seem to think that her rebirth is a good thing, so there’s nothing to lose by taking her cue from them. She makes eye contact with her spark, the tiny, fragile, metal-and-glass person who staunches her wounds and slyly avoids Wire Rifles and looks at her kindly, and asks the question that would truly begin their journey.
“What would you name me?”
The tension leaves him as his eye shines iridescent and settles on blue, excitement at her responsiveness showing through his whole body. “I was thinking maybe Sjuma, that’s traditionally Awoken and means ‘seeker’. Or Palanti, which means ‘far-sighted’ from an old story. Maybe Thraia? In old Earth, it used to signify a completeness or balance, but I’ve heard it used by Awoken as a concept to describe themselves. I like that one, since I’m complete now that you’re with me.”
“I like it too,” Thraia says, smiling for the first time at her Ghost. “Now, for your name.” A hesitant pause, then: “I don’t think I’m good with words,” she mumbles. “I can hear them in my head, sometimes, but it’s hard. Is that bad?”
Her Ghost dips down to nudge her hand and waits a second, thinking. “I…don’t know, Thraia. We’re a new pair, so I won’t be able to tell what you’re thinking for a while. There’s a couple different names for what will happen. The Stoneborn – that’s a group of Titans – call it The Cord. I’ve heard some Warlocks call it a synergy. I prefer to call it neuro-symbiosis. I’ll be able to read your thoughts, to a degree, when you want me to. It helps on the battlefield, and you might even be able to see through my eyes when you’re dead.
“Resurrection can be…disorienting. You can get headaches afterward. Your muscles and bones can be sore after the Light knits them back together. It takes a while to get used to, so the beginning is the worst. A lot of New Lights die their final deaths early, just because they don’t have the best tools yet: awareness and ability to get back up after a resurrection.” The Ghost pauses with a worried air. “You don’t have to remember everything I tell you. There’s a lot to learn, and I’ve had a long time to think about how to explain everything.”
The woman simply nods, thinking. It is only hours of pondering later that she suggests the first ideas. Kani is dismissed after deliberation. Stormwren doesn’t quite fit. Finally, determined that her spark should not go without a name while she has one, Thraia suggests Viyan.
“Viyan?” The little Ghost spins in a complicated double figure-eight dance. “I love it! I haven’t gotten a new name in a long time.” He settles and laughs, the glee of finding his charge settling in anew.
She smiles back, her anxiety melting away in the face of the person who already seems to meld into her soul. “Thraia and Viyan. I think we’re going to do well together.”