Book of the Unmentioned

16: Revival

The next few parts are a continuation, but I never finished it.

"She is dead," they say. "Savathún has fallen." Good for her. It's all I ever wanted at some point. Yet, here I am, looming over this rock that is an eroded headstone. I can see the hole I dug myself out of, the six to seven feet worth of a ditch. It is like a gaping mouth, awaiting me to fall back and be consumed. The cool breeze of autumn brings me back to my senses.

I see my favorite weapon, worn from time and being unused. How sad. I need to get it fixed.

I remember having a ship. I remember allegedly giving it away. I want it back now. As long as I'm still alive, it's mine. Who did I give it to?

Oh, that's right. Him. I wonder how hard it'll be to get it back. I hope there is cooperation.

I see things differently now. My opinions have changed. Now, I don't know who is an enemy. I do not know who is my friend. I do know, however, that being dead and alone allowed me to properly clear everything out—set things straight. I enjoy this feeling of clarity.

How am I alive? Well, I'll just say determination had a lot to do with it. I could not allow myself to be so sacrificial and dull at the end of it all. It's annoying and unethical. It makes me wonder how long I've been like that for.

I wonder if others are as sacrificial as I was. I wonder if they will ever wake up. If they don't, I don't care. I'm no longer making it my problem.

Back on the subject of getting my ship. As I flex my newly reanimated tendons and muscle, I can feel the stiffness of idle death seeping away. I feel my power, my Light, giving me the strength to stretch, to walk, to breathe. I need to find this new owner. I am unaware of how long he has had my prized possession for, but I generally do not care. He will not have it for the winter solstice.

My Ghost, the reason for my awakening, is cracked. He was shot down before I was killed, thought to be dead by everyone. Poor thing, I need to treat him to a better, stronger, shell casing. The little floating machine cannot speak now, his communication is a collage of warbled beeping and English. He can still operate with everything else, however. He can still resurrect, send messages, and ID anyone. I don't have my helmet, so my heads-up display isn't visible. Why does being dead bring such unfortunate things?

As I contemplate on what to do and where to go, I feel something cold on my ring finger. I remove it for further examination. It's plain, no engravings. Just any old metal ring if I'm being honest. Rudimentary, to say the least. I'm guessing this means I'm married, or I was. I may remember how I died and the faces of people, but going back to not discerning friend or foe, I do not remember my relationships with people. Well, with that, I guess this marks the end of whatever that was. Poor... whomever. They'll find someone better, or just wait till I come around. I wouldn't place my money on the latter though.

I look at the metal ring one last time before I throw it off the cliff and into the ocean. Maybe someone lucky will find it, or maybe the person who gave it to me will. That would actually suck starting to think about it. Whoops. Oh well, I'm not jumping into the ocean to retrieve it. Moving on now.

I look at the vast horizon of opportunities. I could always return to the safe haven of the Tower, become the heroine once again. I could expand my knowledge on Darkness, unleashing power to protect humanity at all costs. Or, I could go into hiding. The fabled hero sticking around the slums of the Tangled Shore. I could secretly rule the Shore, overthrow the Spider, the Shore's only law. So many choices, but first, my ship. I'd better start walking. I grab my gun and leave.

Beyond the cliff was woodlands, where bandits and outcasts could hide. I did not find any of them, fortunately. What I did find was a bar, not a bad distance from the walls of the Tower. Others like me, Guardians, stood, sat, and talked. None seemed to recognize me, thank goodness. Before I went inside, I had found a cloth to use as a makeshift bandanna, and an old flag as a cloak. I was grateful for the existence of offerings to the dead, for I had money to buy myself a drink. That was when, I sensed someone.

As I slowly turned, I looked right into the eyes of some guy just staring at me. I turned quickly enough to get the jump on him. He knew he was looking too long, and he glanced away. As I turned back to my drink, I felt more eyes, as if their gaze was burning holes into my body, painting targets on my back. Some got up, slowly. Others seemed to have reached for something. I tensed, wondering if I had to fight to leave.

"Ladies, ladies, please." The voice sounded friendly, yet deadly. It almost sounded automated, like an Exo, but too artificial. I'm guessing a voice changer.

I then felt a hand on my shoulder.

As I whirled around to meet the owner of this hand, I was proven right. They had a helmet on, and before I died there were designs and schematics for a voice altering helmet in case of infiltration missions. This might be a clue to how long I've been dead for.

"Are you new here?" I felt everyone now looking at me. Powerful men and women—Human, Exo, or Awoken—here to have a good time, now switched up to the killing machines they were known to be. Here, all I had was my worn out Ace and foggy memories. I really don't want to get violent.

Stupidly, I respond with, "Depends on who's askin'." Yet, I couldn't just let whoever this was push me around. Not after all that character development.

The stranger grunts, almost sounding like they knew I would say that. They nod as well, mulling over something. I should have you know, this person towers over me. Actually, I may be exaggerating a bit, since Hunters are usually agile and meant to have a small frame, but not this one. I was surprised they weren't a Titan. They could probably pick me up and chuck me out the Solar System. And so, I began to think about the sheer strength of this person. And that's how I blacked out. I'm actually a little grateful that I wasn't thrown. The last thing I remember is getting caught after falling.