Ikora gripped the railing as a slight breeze ruffled her hair. She was alone for the first time in…she couldn’t actually remember the last time she had been alone. Since the Iron Temple had opened its doors and Lady Efrideet had taken over the Iron Banner, this area of The Tower above the Vanguard chamber had become unused and quiet. With Guardians roaming everywhere else in The Tower, the Vanguard had decided to keep the doors to this space sealed and now it was their place to find a moment of solitude. Even Zavala came here to pace and muse on the machinations of the range of enemies eager to see them fail. Ikora closed her eyes and sought a place of calm as she enjoyed the feel of fresh air against her face. The ocean of responsibility refused to let her go. Ceaseless waves of reports and briefings, suggestions, affirmations, questions and suspicions buffeted her remorselessly. The Warlock refused to give in and dived deeper, determined to find a space where she could relax even if only for a moment. Under the currents of demands she pushed and eventually she found silence. It was all still there, the noise, the need, the duty - the ceaseless remorseless war, but for now it was on her periphery rather than in her focus. She took another deep breath, this time through her nose, seeking the world around her. Seeking something real. The reek of dirty oil and the sharpness of exotic chemical bi-products from the engines of the countless ships that visited the Tower threatened to overwhelm her. As she had before, she delved further. And there, as she knew it would be, was the staleness. She hated the staleness. It was everywhere they were. [i]Us[/i]. It emanated from them all like a broken perfume. The people in the city felt it and were visibly uncomfortable whenever they were near. Guardians shunned those streets now, restricting themselves to The Tower and places elsewhere in the universe. Places where they were not reminded of what they had been, rather could just be what they now were. And what are we now? Ikora mused. Should we of Light be like this? It was not the first time he had thought this. Not the first time she had questioned. The Fallen called them Ghouls of their Great Machine. [i]Filled with light yet husks...[/i] She forced such melancholy thoughts aside. Osiris had voiced similar concerns. She remembered their long talks, their passionate debates as to their new natures and what it meant not only for themselves, but the universe. Resurrected from death, kept from death by their Ghosts which were themselves constructs of an alien, unfathomable intelligence. And to do what? Fight for it. But why? Why them? And what was the grand plan if there ever was one? Were they just to fight everything? Fight forever? Osiris had questioned, had challenged The Speaker to provide answers and enlightenment. [i]And look where that got him.[/i] The Warlock shook her head. She couldn't go there. Not yet. There were things that had to be done. She took another deep breath, seeking to keep her moment of breaking tranquiity a little longer and at the edge of her senses she caught something. She focused on it, a tantalising essence at the edge of her senses. Slowly it grew, wrapping itself around her. The fragrance from the tree. It weaved its way through the city and was generally unnoticed. Except. She had noticed them coming to it from time to time. There was no apparent reason. No apparent need. Except there was obviously a need. Some climbed its bows to sit in its higher reaches. Some met near to it, building fireteams against the darkness. Some simply came and stared at it, sitting under its bows for a time. The tree. Something real and natural and a reminder of what had been and what might be again. Its fragrance was sweetness, but also held a hint of spice. She thought back, as far back as she could. She couldn’t ever remember anything ever smelling as rich and wonderful as this. "Penny for your thoughts?" Ikora opened her eyes and turned towards the voice. “A Penny?” Cayde-6 shrugged. “Something Banshee said”. The Exo Vanguard came to stand beside the Warlock, leaning casually against the railing. “So here’s the thing, my Guardian has some interesting info”. Ikora raised an eyebrow. “Your Guardian?” Cayde shrugged. “Aren’t the Warlocks your Guardians? Anyway, we have a situation. We’ve found the House of Mercy”. Ikora remained silent staring at the Hunter Vanguard. “Well, when I say found the House I mean we found what was left of them. Which is not a lot. Actually they are all dead”. “What are you trying to say Cayde?” “Ok, point taken. Rambling a little here. We found the Fallen weapon, you know that one that was supposed to kill us all? The good thing is that it is also dead. Spent. Can’t be used”. Ikora let out a breath she had not known she had been holding. “Well that is good news and a weight…” “Yes well”, Cayde interrupted, “there is also the matter of the bad news”. The Warlock Vanguard’s eyes narrowed. “Go on”. “Seems the entire area is infected with whatever was in that weapon”. “Infected?” “Tainted. Marked. Messed-up. It’s killing the Fallen if they spend too much time on it – which again is a good thing. Might send them all there actually. Can you do that by the way? Maybe ‘wizard-something up’ to send them…” “Cayde, you are rambling again”. “Right yes. So that’s probably a no then. Shame”. Ikora opened her mouth to speak again and Cayde held both hands up in the air before him. “No, no you are right. Rambling. The bad news is that as well as killing Fallen it also kills us. Seems that whatever your Eisca did didn’t change its original intent. It still kills the Light”. “So we establish a quarantine, “ Ikora stated simply. “An area off-limits to Guardians. It’s not a problem, we have done so before. We will of course monitor the area, but effective immediately no Guardian can enter the zone”. Cayde rubbed his jaw. “Well, about that. Here’s the thing…”