If you want to move to a preceding or following part, or read an actual description of the story, click [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Clan/Post/1901902/223764924/0/0]Table of Contents[/url]. For the last few weeks, Morgana had been experiencing a recurring dream that was as vivid and memorable as the first time she dreamt it. In it, she was standing somewhere in Old Russia, in the Cosmodrome, looking for possible artifacts to salvage but at the same time curious about what she was doing at the place herself. Suddenly it would leap forward to a point in the future where she was experiencing excruciating agony in her abdomen, and she would look down at her hands to see them covered in her own blood. Over time the pain would continue to build, then diminish as her breathing got shallow, her limbs got cold, and an aurora shining in her vision would get brighter and brighter until… Master Rahool looked slightly disturbed, but pretended to dismiss it nonchalantly. “Dreaming your own death is not as bad as it may seem. It happens all the time; the fact that you wake up at the last moment is completely normal!” “Yes, Uncle, but this has been happening over and over again. And the way I can remember it - [i]feel it[/i] - so vividly…it doesn’t feel normal.” “What would you propose is the solution?” “You know our kind is predisposed to having…visions, for lack of a better word,” she offered. Master Rahool rubbed his orange eyes. “I do not doubt that our kind may be inherently gifted with certain abilities not granted to other humans, but most of them are found and cultivated in the Reef, and thus propagate amongst the Reefborn. Earthborn such as us rarely experience such expression of traits.” “But Warlocks of any race tend to have visions as well,” Morgana responded. “But you’re not a Guardian, Morgana!” Having run out of arguments, valid or irrational, she returned to looking for something to eat. Her uncle sighed sympathetically. “Look, Morgana, I don’t want to make light your situation if it’s really bothering you. I owe it to your mother, my sister, to make sure her daughter is safe. But you’re growing into a young woman now, and more than likely end up taking care of me in-stead of the other way around. If you want to understand why you’re having these dreams, then I might be able to arrange something with the Warlocks, have them probe your mind - if, of course, you consent.” Her smile returned. “That’s very kind of you, Uncle. I don’t think it’s necessary to bother the Warlocks at this time, just in case you are right and I’m just having a disturbing nightmare. Perhaps I’m just overworked as well.” The tension in her uncle’s voice relaxed. “Perhaps. Speaking of which, you might want to hurry up. We have another whole day collecting artifacts and decrypting engrams ahead of us!” After breakfast, Morgana brushed her teeth, showered, and put on her cryptarch apprentice robes. She followed her uncle to the small hangar bay on their floor of the Tower, where they could ride a transport to the hangar bay at the very top level, the Atrium Propugnatorum, where Master Rahool had his small stand right in the Tower Plaza. The flight there was uneventful. Leaning in her seat to look out the porthole, she saw the City and Traveler had lost their early morning glow to be replaced with the brilliant splendor of the full light of day. She continued to watch until the walls of the hangar bay cut off her view. The robotic frames below guided the ship to the landing platform. With a low hiss of landing gear hydraulics and a slight bump from touching down, the ride finished as smoothly as it had yesterday and the days before that. When the ship doors opened, a human woman with messy blonde hair and wearing a Shipwright uniform was there to greet them. “Top of the morning to you, Master Rahool,” she said with genuine welcome. “Good morning to you as well, Ms. Holliday,” Master Rahool returned. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” “Just here to check you and your ship in,” Amanda Holliday answered, pulling a small tablet off her belt and inputting some information. “Good morning to you, too, Morgana. How was your flight?” “As smooth as ever,” Morgana replied. “You do an excellent job maintaining the ships.” “Well, somebody’s got to do it,” the Shipwright said off-handedly, but her smile let Morgana know she really appreciated the compliment. “Anything come up while we were gone?” her uncle asked. “Nothing unusual this morning, so it looks like you’ll have a regular, busy day,” Holliday informed him. “Try to catch a break today, you hear?” Master Rahool scoffed. “That I seriously doubt is going to happen. I swear, just the other day I had [i]sixteen [/i]Guardians all lined up in front of my stand!” They exchanged farewells and Morgana and her uncle continued up the stairs and walked out onto the south side of the main courtyard. Immediately to the left, the Tower dropped off, overlooking the City and the Traveler with a view that outmatched Morgana’s from her window. Ghosts flew through the air, depositing their Guardians just on this side of the railing preventing anyone from plunging off the Tower. Titans, Hunters, and Warlocks scampered around on their own or in fireteams, picking up items or packages from the Postmaster, Kadi 55-30, or from Tess Everis’ Special Orders station. Others engaged Banshee-44, the Gunsmith, back behind Master Rahool’s stand, or searched through the transmat vaults right in front of the stand. Still others went to Tower North to talk to the Guardian Outfitter, Eva Levante, or to the Speaker himself, or they ran down the eastbound stairs heading to the hall where Lord Shaxx, the Crucible handler, or Commander Zavala, Cayde-6, and Ikora Rey, leaders of the Vanguard, waited. Already, several Guardians were lined up in front of Master Rahool’s stand, waiting for the Cryptarch to decrypt the engrams they had acquired on their travels. Master Rahool walked up to the front of the line and addressed the crowd. “Sorry I’m late, I hope I haven’t neglected my work for too long. Let’s see what you’ve brought us today.” They spent most of the morning decrypting Guardians’ engrams mostly into various weapons or pieces of armor, occasionally transforming into strange coins or motes of light. Most of the Guardians turned right around dismantled the gear into weapons parts, plasteel plating, sapphire wires, hadronic essence, and glimmer. Others had their Ghosts transmat the armor and weapons into their storage inventory or equipped the gear outright. Some of the Guardians came with artifacts scavenged from enemy forces, and Master Rahool paid them handsomely for their finds. For the most part, Morgana didn’t perform any actual decryption. It wouldn’t look favorably on her or her uncle’s reputation with either the Cryptarchy or the Guardians if she somehow failed to decrypt it because of her lack of experience. She mainly settled herself into a routine of cataloging the morning’s artifacts they acquired or updating their database on what inventory they had access to. It was…unrewarding work, if not just a tad boring at times, but usually she could occupy herself with studying some of the relics or reading up what knowledge had been gathered on the objects thus far. After the morning rush, activity slowed and what few Guardians there were were either lone Hunters come to make a (most likely belated) report or small fireteams back from routine patrols. One such fireteam arrived in the early afternoon, led by a Titan that walked to the Master Rahool’s stand with the fireteam’s engrams while the Hunter updated the bounty tracker and the Warlock reported to the Vanguard. “Afternoon, Master Cryptarch,” the Titan said as he approached, his helmet secured in the crook of his arm and his Ghost hovering over his shoulder. “Greetings, Titan,” Master Rahool welcomed. “How may I be of service?” “More of the usual, sir,” the Titan replied, “but I hope I also have something here to shake up your day.” The Titan signaled to his Ghost, and the little machine transmatted a long piece of fabric across the worktable. Master Rahool’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned in to inspect the item.