You've Got Time ( a Destiny Story)

Only Me

I'm as empty as a ghost
Tired in my feet
I was never innocent
I was only me
I run thru the mountains
See what I've done
This is my consequence
Me and my gun

Lest We Forget – The Brothers Bright

-

April 21, 2871, sunset

Azra came back to Lord Saladin's voice. It echoed strangely in her helmet. Or maybe that was her ears still ringing. "Fireteam leaders: Do not advance on the Wall. Fall back to the Ridgeback District."

The chatter of gunfire sounded out around her, reduced to muffled pops. Azra choked on dust. She could make out the sound of Fallen war cries over the roar in her ears. They were close. Spark lit her head with a flash of Light, and the sounds of battle came back into focus.

"I repeat: All teams rally at the Ridgeback District. Do NOT advance. The City is lost."

Where was she? She lifted her head. Her visor was cracked. Spark paused transmatting rubble away to fix it. She was surrounded by chunks of gray stone and twisted rebar. The air was hazy with smoke and ether.

Spark moved the last of the rubble pinning her legs and Azra gathered herself up. "We have to get out of here," the Ghost urged, "we're on the wrong side of the Wall."

"Can we—"

"Comms are spotty, the whole command structure is in disarray. They broke the Wall. Guardians are scattering. Lord Saladin and Zavala have called for a retreat. I think... this is it. I think the City is done for."

She looked up at the remains of the structure in anguish. Sure, she'd never loved the City as much as the Titans seemed to, but... There were a lot of people there. Now their best line of defense was in shambles.

A flutter of white drew her attention. There, almost twenty meters away, caught in the edge of the rubble field- a scrap of fabric.

Azra scrambled for it. Spark got there first and began to scan. "Don't-" he started, but Azra was already pulling away rocks. The body was face-down and trapped under a slab. She inched the stone bit by bit until she could tip it away, revealing a lanky and slim figure tangled up in a pale cloak. The blotchy red stains showed off the lacy embroidery very well.

A shard of something brightly colored poked out of the dirt by her foot. Azra bent to investigate and pulled a fragment of lime green shell from the earth. She scanned the ground, suddenly seeing the starburst pattern of shattered Ghost. Azra's body went numb as the realization hit her. This Guardian wasn't coming back. And she knew him. Aldur. Gangly, blue-haired, overly cheerful. He was- Traveler- only what, eight months old? Azra had given him a tour of the Tower.

Spark hovered in front of her face. "He's been dead for hours, Azra, before the Wall fell, there's nothing you could have done to help him. We have to get going. The Fallen are closing in."

Azra kneeled and worked to untangle Aldur from his cloak. He was limp and unresisting as she rolled him over. Impulsively, her hands went to the latches to his helmet, wanting to see his face- but her fingers froze on the mechanism. Perhaps... perhaps it wouldn't be the best idea-

"We have to move, now!" Spark barked. Azra realized she was hyperventilating. The screech of an overclocked Shank dying brought her back to reality. Close. The enemy was close. The pragmatic part of her brain took over, and she scrambled to her feet, and ran.

Her radar was filling with enemy signatures even as she cleared the rubble and sprinted north along the perimeter. If she didn't get out, she'd be nothing more than paste to stain the Fallens' boots. The sane bit of her that fought against every death demanded she run faster, even as she tripped over bodies. Fallen or Guardian? She didn't pause to look.