Chapter Text
What, you want to hear my story? How I got this way? This fucked up? Hey— don’t deny it, we all know I’m a little wrong.
Fine, fine, I’ll tell you. If you pay for drinks first. Come on, cough up the Glimmer.
There we go.
Give me a minute now, it’s been a long time so my memories are all backed up.
Right.. here we go.
“Guardian? Guardian!”
Life was nothing like death.
One moment you don’t exist, your soul lost to the void, your energy retaken by the earth. The next..
“Eyes up, Guardian!”
A cacophony of sounds slammed into their ears like a loud drum, rattling their mind, as if every sound ever made came rushing into their mind at once. Their head throbbed. The massive drum began to settle as high pitched ringing overtook it, drowning out all else, a menagerie of sensation beginning to wake up.
Sore, gentle pain shot up their body– I have one of those– and a soft, cold palm landed on their face. Fingers slowly pressed into their head.
Fingers. The word formed in their mind instinctively, as they felt both the touch through their head the the cold through their fingertips. Right, hands. I.. I have those.
Sensations and feelings flooded their mind once more, this time originating from their skin– Do I have skin?– and shocking their nerves. Unused systems began to click into place, humming back to life, and their chest rose reflexively. A rush of air filled their lungs, their arms digging into a soft, malleable material. Miniscule stones dug into the cracks of their skin as their elbows bent and their back arched. The air slowly left their lungs– I don’t think I have lungs– their body falling back into the material.
They changed their focus somewhere new. A blinding flash of color briefly passed by their eyes, their eyelids creaking open just the slightest bit. Hues of blue and white, with tinges of green- How do I know the names of those?– swayed in their blurry vision as their eyes very slowly opened. A speck of red and black floated above them, swaying side to side, a pinprick dot of gold in the center. As their eyes opened it suddenly grew closer, their muscles crying out as their instincts shoved their body backwards, away from the looming threat.
“You’re awake! Thank the Traveler, I was worried I messed it up somehow.”
A voice– A person’s voice. Speech, language..– spoke gently to their senses. Sounds became words, words became meaning, meaning became information.
“Are you doing okay? It’s a lot to handle, but don’t worry, you can take your time. Here. Let me help.”
The soft voice continued. A cold, sleek feeling pressed against their empty hand, fingers pushing into the sharp ridges, palm resting on a solid surface. Their arm lifted, not by their own movement, and the red voice began to clear in their vision.
Red blurs sharpened into sleek, cold panels, several of them forming a strange cross-like shape. A gold diamond-like glow floated in the center, within a sort of black sphere, lined with a dark black and brilliant gold.
“Just focus on me. You can process the rest as you go, just keep your eyes on me.”
They didn’t know why, but they followed the voice’s orders. Their vision focused entirely on the floating metal, analyzing each sharp line, each cold panel, each tiny detail. The thing was made of black and red material, with trims of gold around the edges. The golden eye– they could only assume it was an eye– kept focused back on them. It felt.. calming. As if the thing before them was a good thing, a positive presence, keeping them safe and grounded.
Their fingers gently pressed into the thin spaces between plates. The metal plates shifted at their touch, expanding and closing, gently fitting itself in their palm. Their fingers slipped between two plates, barely touching the black orb in the center, housing the thing’s eye.
What is this thing anyway?
“I’m a Ghost. Your Ghost. But don’t think too hard on that, just.. let yourself wake up first.”
They nodded, before knowing what nodding meant, and their stomach flipped within them. In an instant they were on the ground once more, head buried into the ground– sand– and one arm wrapped around their waist. They felt awful.
“Hey, hey, take it easy. Here. Follow my counting. Take a deep breath in, one, two, three, four..”
Their lungs slowly expanded, a mixture of air and sand coating their throat.
“And breathe out for one, two, three, four, five, six.”
Their lungs collapsed, air and sand both rushing out. The Ghost began counting again, filling their lungs with air, and pushing it out. Breathing in, breathing out. Inhale, exhale.
I think.. I’m ready to see the world now.
“Move at your own pace, Guardian. I’ll be here for you.”
They slowly began to move, categorizing each muscle, each body part, as it made itself known. Two arms, two legs. One central torso. A flexible neck, and a hard head. Two hands, ten fingers. Two eyes, slowly looking upon the land.
Large puffs of green blew in the wind– They’re trees– small leaves occasionally falling down to the ground. Bright white clouds flew in the sky– Those make rain. A small black creature– a bird– flew out of the tree and across the clouds, out of their vision. On the ground lay a large bed of sand, the material hiding in the cracks of their body, causing an itchy touch.
Their mouth opened to speak, and sound flowed out of them. Words formed themselves so naturally, meaning appending themselves to each one, syllables forming into sentences.
“Where.. am I?”
“You’re on Earth. In Old Brazil, more specifically.” Their ghost answered, voice as soft and patient as before.
They looked down at themselves, taking in the bright white paneling comprising their body, with gray tubing and flexible materials. Their fingers stretched, one hand still resting atop their Ghost. The Ghost floated gently in the air, pressing into their palm, its eye watching over them.
“What’s.. going on?”
Their voice was hoarse and sore, as if unused for centuries at a time. Their Ghost floated higher at their question, pulling their hand up higher.
“You’ve just been risen, brought back to life, by me. If you feel a little sore or disoriented, that’s normal.”
They slowly took their hands close to their body, clenching their fists and pressing their fingers into their palm. They opened their hand and gently felt the fabric across their body. A thin shirt covered their chest, and some old, torn sweatpants covered their legs.
“You’re a Guardian now, and I’m your Ghost. Don’t worry too much about what that means, I can explain more later, but for now just know you have powers of the Light within you.”
“Light..?”
“Yes, from the Traveler.” The Ghost seemed to brighten at the mention of the Light, panels of its shell spinning in place. “There’s three kinds of Light, but just focus on whatever feels most comfortable for you. You’ll learn how it works with practice.”
They groaned, pushing their hands against the soft sand and slowly raising their body off the ground. Their legs shook for a moment as they stretched, slowly standing up, one hand holding tightly to their Ghost.
“And.. Who– or what, I guess.. am I?”
Their ghost gently floated away from them, watching as they caught their balance. “You’re an Exo. A robot body, but with a human mind inside it.”
“That.. makes enough sense.”
“Don’t worry about the specifics until later. You don’t technically have to eat and breathe, but it’ll be uncomfortable if you don’t.”
“And..” They stuttered, watching as the Ghost spun in place. “Who am I?”
The light dimmed in their Ghost, their shell stopping in place as they both thought.
“Well.. Guardians, like you, are all risen without memory. A blank slate, a fresh start.”
That was vaguely disappointing. Despite their attempts to, they found they couldn’t stay upset at the revelation.
“You should be able to access your permanent memory though. Exo’s have their names and numbers permanently saved. If.. If you’ll let me, I can try and find your name printed on your body somewhere.”
“Sure, I don’t see why not.” They shrugged, glancing around the area. “I’m just gonna start walking then.”
“No problem. I’ll be with you.”
Their Ghost disappeared in a flash of Light, while their sore limbs began to push them forward. They could see a small opening in the treeline by the end of the sand. Behind them, waves of water crashed into sand and rock, seafoam gathering on the edge of the ocean. Into the forest it was, then.
“I think I’ve got something. You’ve got some kind of barcode on your head.. maybe if I can decode it, or find another one somewhere else..”
Their Ghost spoke quietly, almost directly into their mind. They hummed as they stepped into the space between the trees. The ground was cold, grass brushed against their bare feet as they stepped onto some kind of old, rocky pathway. Plants grew in the cracks of the path, tree roots crawling through the stone.
“So.. what’s your name?”
“I don’t have one. Usually, Ghosts get named by their Guardian. Don’t stress over it though.”
They hummed, walking down the tough pathway. Rocks dug into their feet as they walked, causing them to wince, and changing their path onto a grassy pathway. They raised their hand to cover their eyes as wind blew by, bits of dust catching into their panels. The forest sounded musical. The sway of the branches in the wind, the soft song of a bird or two up in the canopy, the lull of the waves of the ocean nearby.
“I think I’ve got it. On your abdomen, there’s the same barcode as your head. Next to it says.. ‘Risk - 9’. I think that’s your name.”
They– Risk. Their name– smiled. “That’s.. nice. I like it, I think. What’s the number for?”
“The number is the amount of times an Exo has been reset. I don’t think we can reset Exo’s anymore though, so no need to fear losing all your memories.”
“I won’t bother asking about it until we’ve got downtime then.”
Their Ghost laughed, and Risk giggled along. They couldn’t exactly smile, given the metal facial features decorating their head, but the brighter glow inside their mouth gave away their joy.
The pathway gave way into a small town, a long pavement road winding through several destroyed homes, branches and roots breaking through the stones. Relics of a better time, of a lively village, torn apart and reclaimed– though not fully– by nature.
Risk took a slow step onto the pavement, hissing at the heat. They looked up into the sky, the sun resting directly above them. Midday then.
A portion of their thoughts wondered how they retained certain memories. As their Ghost explained, Guardians were born as blank slates, their memories gone. Despite this, certain knowledge stayed with them. Names of objects, body parts, pieces of nature, all ingrained into their mind. Why did they remember? Was there a kind of core memory center that would hold onto knowledge like this? Was it exclusive to Exos, being as their memories were stored as code?
“Risk?”
“Hm? Oh yeah, sorry. Spaced out a little.”
Their ghost floated before them, their shell spinning in place. “You’re fine. I was just telling you there’s a house nearby with some Fallen scraps, we can try and scrounge up some armor and maybe a weapon or two.”
Risk followed behind their Ghost as it floated along, leading the pathway to their soon-to-be materials. “Why do I need armor and a weapon? I’m guessing it’s dangerous, but why?”
“Despite being mostly picked clean, Brazil is still Fallen territory. A couple small groups still hang around and take whatever scrap the first raids left behind.”
They nodded. These Fallen then, must be quite strong to overpower so many people. They must be very good engineers, if they could create weapons and armor out of nothing but scavenged scrap.
“Fallen are a race of aliens who invaded us a long time ago. Supposedly, they used to live in prosperity under the Traveler, but calamity destroyed them when the Traveler suddenly left. They came here trying to get their Light back, but now they mostly fight us for the principle of it.”
“Oh, that’s kind of sad actually.” Their Ghost slipped through a broken doorway, glancing left and right across the broken walls. “Imagine living in total prosperity and perfection, then your source of safety just.. leaves. After living with the Light for so long, how can you imagine being without it?”
Risk stepped past the broken door and into the room. They winced, cracked porcelain stabbing into their foot, their hand catching their balance on a piece of exposed rebar. The home was destroyed, pulled apart, even burnt. Bits of ash still covered the cracks in the walls and the floor.
“I would agree, if they weren’t so aggressive against us. I’ve seen them massacre dozens of people without remorse.”
“I guess, yeah. They have caused plenty of hurt. But I don’t think they’re completely unforgivable.”
They carefully stepped past cracks of glass and porcelain, circling around a cross of a broken wall. A small bed lay on the other side. The frame was broken down the center, burnt in certain places, the sheets torn away presumably by these “Fallen.” A speck of red lay in the corner of their vision, hidden in the darkness below the cracked wood, as if shoved away on purpose.
Risk stepped over to the side of the small bed. They bent onto their knees and reached out towards the color, fingertips meeting a soft, rugged fabric. With a gentle pinch of their index finger and thumb, they pulled their arm back and sat up straight.
In their hands sat a small red blanket. Patterns of small white flowers dotted the fabric, the stitches unrefined and loose. Two small beads hung off of a torn string, which in turn danged off the side of a burnt patch of ash. Risk ran their fingers over the stitches, feeling the softness of the fabric, preserved by nothing but the broken bed above it.
The flowers were created by hand, by a person long, long ago. Beads and stitches still remained, the remnants of a little child living through the color, through the texture, through the love poured into this miniature piece of fabric. It felt like a loud and jarring statement.
I existed. I lived here. I loved someone.
A family member, maybe? Perhaps a mother, stitching a blanket for their young child. Maybe a newborn. Maybe it was an older uncle, or an aunt, finding a nice gift for their nephew and adding a small, personal touch.
Risk’s grip on the blanket tightened. Their Ghost hovered over their shoulder, silently observing their movements.
“It hurts." The Ghost spoke up. "Seeing what once was, signs of the people left behind. It's all the more reason to fight for the ones still here.”
They forced air into their lungs and softened their grips. “Yeah."
Risk folded the blanket as neatly as they could, fingers brushing against singed edges and frayed fabric, bits of ash rubbing on their fingertips. They managed a shaky breath as they laid the fabric on top of the mattress, sunlight reflecting off the embroidery.
It took all they had to tear their vision away.
“Alright. Where’s the stuff?”
Their Ghost nodded, as best he could at least, and led them off into a secondary room. Inside, a massive pile of scrap metal lay beside a wall. Most of it was tinted purple, with some plastic tubing and wiring holding a brighter kind of purple.
“It looks like some kind of Servitor died here. We can try and use the scrap to make something, or try to find some already made parts.”
Risk nodded. “It’d be easier to find something already finished and work off of that. It’s.. not like I have much engineering knowledge or something.”
“Don’t worry, I understand. We can try and find something under the Servitor scrap.”
By the time the sun was setting I had acquired a good amount of new supplies. A fresh new shirt, cleaner than the stuff I died in! Plus, there was a bent metal shoulder pad. A couple bent bits of metal made for minimal armor, covering my forearms and lower legs, with a larger piece being hung around my back. Sure, it wasn’t much, but it’d block an energy bullet or two. Anything is better than nothing, right?
For weaponry, a particularly sharp piece of steel made for a good improvised spear.. sword… thing. Not really sure what to call it. Just stuck it to the end of a stick and moved on. No guns, unfortunately, which meant I had to rely on stealth to get around. Even the lowest of Fallen have at least a pistol, right? I wasn’t exactly too keen on dying over and over. I– I know, I know. It doesn’t match me right now at all. But I was freshly out of the grave, not really ready to confront death again.
Now, let's get to sunset. You were wondering why he’s named that, right? Here’s your answer..
With the light of day disappearing below the waves, Risk was left to their thoughts. A nearby, less destroyed home would make for good shelter for the night, and their Ghost could keep a night watch. This home housed a small collection of books. Some were burnt, and most were torn up, but the pages kept Risk up more than they would admit. Problem was, Risk couldn’t read. Solution being; have their Ghost read out the stories for them. Unfortunately, the context of these stories had been lost to time. They both could barely piece together the characters, the setting, or what certain words meant, and it didn’t help that most books were in a different language. Portuguese apparently, an extinct language spoken by the citizens of Brazil. Even their Ghost couldn’t translate it well.
“You need a name, don’t you, Ghost?”
They set their book down in their lap, turning to face the Ghost hovering above their shoulder. He clicked off the small light from his eye, shrouding the room in darkness, the only light being from the bright, full moon and the subtle twinkle of the stars.
“Well, it’d be nice to have one. You should take your time with it though. Names aren’t permanent, but I don’t want you to choose one that you or others end up hating or finding inconvenient.”
“Well I don’t want to leave you nameless.” Risk sighed and opened their book again, their fingers barely tracing the edges of the ancient pages. Their eyes glazed past lines of ink, their ears tuning out the Ghost’s voice, never fully absorbing any information. Words and language entered their mind, and left again, leaving them in the quiet silence of their blank thoughts.
“Achilles, having been covered in immortality by the river Styx, never truly expected to one day be floating down the river, taken by the water that gave him protection into the underworld where his soul would rest.”
Risk froze, repeating the sentence within their mind. A grand river, who gave a person immortality, yet still carried him into death. Their thumb brushed over the ink, soot and ash making it quite hard for their Ghost to read. He complained in their ear, hovering over their shoulder, before going silent.
“Styx..”
“What was that?” Their Ghost asked, gently nudging into their head.
“I think I’ve got a name for you, and it’s gonna be Styx.”
The Light in their Ghost– Styx– grew brighter as his shell spun around him. Despite a lack of facial features, he was happy, and Risk could tell. His shell spun around him, expanding and closing in as if he were swaying.
“I.. I like it, but.. why Styx?”
They turned back to the page, fingers still hovering over the sentence he had stopped at. “Well, you’re my Ghost. You can bring me back from the dead, and you gave me the powers of the Light. You both protect me, and lead me towards death. It.. feels fitting, I guess.”
“I think I get it.” Styx spun in place, glancing around the room. “Wow. Scribe was right, earning a name really does make you feel different.”
“Scribe?”
“A Ghost friend I know. Don’t worry about it.”
Risk sighed and set the book aside, gently taking Styx in one hand. “For a creature meant to keep me safe and alive, you sure tell me not to worry about much.”
Styx bobbed up and down, mimicking a laugh, then settled into their palm. “You’ll learn everything you need to at the Last City. Right now, everything you need to know, you can discover yourself.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” They spoke between a yawn, stretching their limbs and leaning against the wall. Their seat wasn’t the most comfortable, but it would do for now. “Goodnight, Styx.”
Styx jittered in place before landing in their lap, looking out at the room. “Goodnight, Risk.”
That was my first day being a Guardian. Pretty uneventful, all things considered, but I’d wish things had stayed boring. Looking back though, getting myself into trouble was the best decision I could’ve ever made.
The people I met, the friends I made… Well, they’ll get to the story on their own time. Hey. Next time we meet up, I’ll tell you how I met my best friend, by dying for the first time.