Just bellow, at the foot of the cliff, beneath the gunfire and chaos an elderly woman stumbled and crawled across the rubble of shattered homes and decaying corpses. She reached and clawed with such desperation that she could only shake her head and blink to rid herself of the tears that obscured her view. She traveled days across the decaying landscape to reach the last city standing. Far west where the elderly woman and her family began their journey there were rumors of risen soldiers of light fortifying a great wall to protect and shelter the last city on earth. Somewhere safe for those who could find their way there. She began the journey with her husband, three sons and their families. She managed to live long enough to hold five grandchildren in her arms before the darkness came, now there was one. Along the way to the city she'd lost everything. All of them but one. Above, Beth, a recently resurrected Guardian, crouched behind a fortified position on the cliff's edge, firing on the fallen just across the valley. Amid the artillery and dusty debris Beth caught sight of the elderly woman dragging her grandchild to safety. Seeing the woman struggling to save the little girl below, an uncontrollable urge swept over Beth. She'd never seen or met the elderly woman before, still, the woman reminded Beth of her own grandmother in many ways. The same determined will that burned in the woman's eyes below raged in her own grandmother's eyes. And like her grandmother, a gentle light of compassion glowed behind them. Only a light that was tender yet determined could find some resemblance of a peaceful life being a black woman during her time. The thought of her grandmother vaulted Beth from behind her position, down the bluff. "Soldier!" Commander Zavala shouted. "Where are you going!? Get back to your position!" Beth could barely hear her Commander over the earth being pounded in by a Walker division enclosing on their perimeter. Half a dozen Walkers crawled behind thousands of Fallen, shaking the ground and mincing rubble beneath their feet. Beth didn't much care what Zavala was screaming. Truth be told, even if she had understood what he was saying she would've still charged forward down the hill. Beth didn't fully trust Commander Zavala yet. There were still issues that lingered from her previous life. There wasn't a single female Titan in her Battalion and she'd only run across a hand full since she gotten to the city. Most of the females she met were Warlocks. Which confused her considering the word Warlock has always been the name for male Witches. Beth had few illusions about herself. She never had a sharp mind, in fact, she was a bit dense. But Beth figured maybe a Woman's Light was more conducive to the Warlock's class. Even so, It would have been helpful to have at least one female companion among the Titans to grab a beer with and open up to. But the ranks were flooded with testosterone. When Beth finally worked up the courage to share her feelings with Commander Zavala, he came across emotionally distant and intolerant of weakness, almost apathetic. Surprisingly, it was Rahool, the Tower's local Cryptarch that Beth found an understanding ear to confide in. Beth would sit talking to Rahool for hours. Not really a steady flow of conversation, Beth usually waited till the crowds of Guardians that gathered around Rahool thinned. Then she'd share her thoughts with him followed by long moments of pensive silence. On occasion Beth thanked Rahool by providing security whenever a Guardian became enraged and violent with Rahool's decoding. Maybe it had something to do with being an Awoken or simply a long life and breadth of experience to draw from, But Rahool would always have the most helpful and insightful things to say. Beth wasn't good with her words and she never learned to read or write. But Rahool never failed to sense all she tried to communicate between the few broken words and misshapen sentences she could get across. As soon as Beth leapt from behind her position she knew it was a bad idea. Her instincts took over, dismissing any reservations she may have had at the moment. Sliding down the steep incline was the easy part, in some ways exciting. But how would she get back? Especially with a battalion of fallen edging closer. Beth dug her fingers into the rock face to slow her descent, firing her rifle at the fallen bellow as she fell. Her index finger gave way and snapped at the knuckle, speeding her plunge down the bluff. When her feet finally hit the ground, caving in the ground beneath her feet, the impact shattered her femur. Even so, Beth bolted without hesitation towards the elderly woman and her grandchild, snatching them from the rubble to a safe position, behind a ship wreckage that somehow got this far inland. Beth fell to the ground in a plume of dust and debris as she slammed her back against the rusted boat while clutching the elderly woman and little girl in her arms. Beth couldn't believe how much of a giant she was compared to the two. It was like she was holding a two children in her arms. Beth grimaced in pain. "Are you two ok?" she asked the them. "Nana!?" The girl shouted in tears, shaking her grandmother violently. Beth looked down to see the elderly woman slouched with her head bowed to the side. She lifted her hand from around the drooped figure in her lap and saw the blood that coated her palm. Shit, shit, shit… Beth neurotically repeated to herself as she banged the back of her head against the boat, tears streaming down her cheeks. The young girls moment of loss was too close to her own. Amidst mortars berating the cliff face, shells trickling down from atop the cliff and arc bolts bearing down on her position, Beth couldn't help but remember that day when she lost her own grandmother and decided sacrifice her own life. In the early spring of 1944 Alabama experienced an early heat wave. Maybe that's why most of the white folk around here are so ornery. They usually get pretty nice this time of year with the ending of winter. Beth thought to herself as she pulled the splinters from her Grandmother's wooden gravestone. It was all she could afford after paying for the casket and plot of land to burry her Grandmother. She died protecting Beth from a group of her white co-workers, angry that a negro received a raise before they did, and a woman at that. They gathered in front of her home with sticks, bats and iron pipes and didn't leave until the house was in flames Beth drove an ice truck for a living and delivered massive blocks of ice to homes and businesses. A job not usually done by women, let alone a black woman. The ice factory's owner found her in the field of a friend's farm. When he saw Beth's six foot four frame lugging crate after crate of sweet potatoes, loading truck after truck from dawn till dusk, far after the men left and went home, he was compelled to steal her away from his friend. In the fields she was paid half the wage the men were but worked twice as hard. So he offered her equal pay and Beth took it for her and her Grandmother's sake. Slouched and sobbing over her Grandmother's resting place, Beth wondered what was left to live for. The rage and bitterness of what those men did gnawed at her till her hands trembled. There was nothing she could do and the helpless feeling crippled her legs, bringing Beth to her knees. The only reason she pushed herself and kept going, bearing the indifferent looks and hatefulness was now six feet below her tears. They took you away from me Nana. You always tells me how pretty I is. When them other women made fun of me and my bigness you told me the lord made us all how he loved us to be. Nana… you loved me, Beth lamented. That's when she heard the gun shots echo across the air and trumpets mourning in the distance. Just over the knoll, on the other side of a clutter of gravestones sunken and leaning towards the small hill's downward slope, a black family huddled around a small marble tombstone. Though it was a modest size, the gravestone's marble was as luminous as the robes Beth imagined would be passed out at the heavenly gates. And unlike her Grandmother's funeral, there was a large group of people gathered around that pearl sticking from the ground. With sorrow still (heavy on her soul/weighing down her heart), Beth wiped the tears from her eyes and climbed to her feet. She watched the ceremony intently and wondered what kind of negro the military sent trumpets and gunfire for. Beth waited there in the shadows till the funeral was over and everyone left. The sun gradually sunk beneath the skyline as evening bloomed, setting ablaze the horizon a muddled red, orange, purple and gold. Its warm fading light stained her short tangled hair a soft burgundy as she approached the pearl gravestone. She stood their a long while, unable to read the name etched in marble. The frustration only made her feel more isolated and hopeless. Beth's Grandmother had always read the signs they came across and helped her with any paper work she had to fill out. But there was nothing but silence now. Silence and a overwhelming fear that her life would never be as it once was. After a short time something began to burn brightly within her and glimmer through her eyes. A feeling she'd get when the crates of sweet potatoes got too heavy, when the ice she lugged on her back got too cold. A feeling that pushed her to keep going. Thats when it all came together for her. The war with Germany, the marble tombstone, the ceremony, respect and honor. I'll volunteer, she realized, repeating the words over and over. I'll volunteer. (Chapter 2: https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/113007520)