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]. “The closest thing we’ve seen them worship are Servitors. They’re spherical, artificially-intelligent machines that produce Ether for Fallen to consume. Some, Prime Servitors, are fairly high in the Fallen hierarchical society, and many Fallen worship them.” “[i]Da[/i],” Nicholas agreed. “Now tell me, one who worships flying spheres for hope and protection, how are you different from Fallen?” Morgana was stunned. She was impressed with how he had drawn parallels between their culture and the Fallen’s, and made her admit it at that. She did not like being intellectually trapped, however, so she argued, “We never made the Traveler. The Servitors were created long ago when the Fallen weren’t pirates and scavengers.” “And yet, you both still bow before a machine whose technology you don’t understand,” Nicholas pressed. He had to make her see her own blindness. “Where machines come from does not matter, you still worship it. But machines can be broken, I’ve broken enough Servitors to know that, and even I have heard about your broken ‘Traveler.’” “The Traveler wasn’t broken, it was injured when it sacrificed itself to save us from the Darkness! It gifted us with its Light in its last moments! That’s what makes us different from Fallen: we serve the Light, they serve the Dark.” Nicholas lips curled in disgust. “Do you hear yourself speak? You talk like child, stating things as either good or evil, but world is not so polarized. Your opposites commingle somewhere, somehow, no? Look at me. I am trying to save your life on one hand, but on the other I spit on your religion. One characteristic is better, one is worse, no? But they are both me. Out here, where staying alive is highest priority of living, one cannot bother his or herself with staying good or evil. Make no mistake, I have met good and evil out here, but it does not remain constant for long. Good corrupts, evil relents. It is way of things.” Morgana glared at him. “I’m not a child, and you have no one but yourself to blame for not striving to be in the Light. The City doesn’t keep anyone out of its borders, you could have traveled there long ago and lived a perfectly happy, safe, good life.” “But without life of struggle and self-reliance,” Nicholas countered. “I would be comfortable and soft like you. I would live with illusion that I am safe, but really I am not, and neither are you. I remember feeling safe, once, in secluded village not far from here. I and my mother lived there for most of my life, and she even longer than that. It was well forested area, very rural, poor place for machines and technology but good for not having anything that Fallen would want. We thought we were safe. Fallen proved us wrong six years ago, when they burned down village, and my mother with it.” Morgana couldn’t reply to that. Nicholas could tell that this story bothered her somewhat, and said, “We should keep moving.” They continued hobbling along. Reflecting on painful memories was not something Nicholas particularly liked to do, but he felt like talking about them and trying to make Morgana understand where he was coming from. He didn’t know why he cared, so he just wrote it off as loneliness and new company. He’d heard plenty of stories of hermits like himself doing crazier things when new people came along. “You are really no safer,” Nicholas continued. “You may think more people, more land, or more power will protect you, but I have heard tales. My mother told me them, may death bring her peace. She liked what she heard from travelers about your City’s victory against Fallen and power of Guardians. She liked to imagine Guardians would come to our village and rescue us, but I don’t think she believed it. She never tried to leave for City herself, or to take me with her. Neither of us saw life beyond life we were living. We did not think it would change, but of course it did. No Guardians were there to help us, but don’t think that I hold grudge against them for that. They still do what they think is right, for sheep following broken machine shepherd. I simply know better. I don’t find strength in illusions, like faith, hope, or safety. That way, I am free to live and free to live how I live.” Morgana felt sorry for Nicholas as they rounded a hill that blocked the sun’s light. She could sort of now see where he was coming from. She was tempted to open up to him about how her parents had died, but her wound felt slicker than before, and her hands were still cold and maybe even getting colder, so she focused on walking carefully and trying not to fall on Nicholas. They continued weaving through the hills in silence while the sun steadily rose in the sky. Another hour and a half passed by when Nicholas stopped moving and held Morgana still. “We are close, but my grotto is uphill. You won’t be able to climb, so I have to leave you here while I look for supplies. If you see any Fallen, scream loudly and I…” He trailed off, suddenly unsure what he would do if Fallen happened to show up. He’d done a fairly good job keeping himself hidden and covering his tracks over the last six years. The thought never occurred to him that he might be discovered. He cursed himself. It was the same way of thinking as last time. He slowly knelt down with Morgana, allowing her to settle herself without upset-ting the wound. He noticed that more blood was staining her clothes than before, and her hands looked a paler shade of blue. “Keep pressure on it,” he advised before turning away and striding up a large hill. His grotto was on the high up on the far side, and since it was about noon it would be very easy for Fallen scouts to see him scaling the hillside. He’d have to move more slowly and stealthily than usual. He had to refrain from relinquishing caution to his familiarity with the area. After thirty minutes, he knew he was close and started to relax. He crept between two boulders and a leafless tree and found himself facing the mouth of his cave. He smiled with relief and took another step forward. Something crunched under his feet. Looking down, he saw an empty can of provisions he had stocked up on recently, but that was absurd, he never left trash outside where anyone could find it. Then he noticed the other can a few feet away, and a blanket shredded a little further away, and an empty ammo crate in pieces just beyond that. His smile died as he observed the ruin at the mouth of his cave. Dread washed over him like a rain shower and sweat started beading on his head. He rushed inside the cave, trying to avoid stepping on his other former possessions as he felt his way through the dark. The passageway opened up to the main cave, but something had broken the Fallen lamp he had stolen to light his room, so the place was pitch black. He pulled a matchstick from his belt and struck it on the ground, casting orange light around the cavern. Everything was torn to pieces. Dismay welled up in his chest as he saw his threadbare bed pad in shreds everywhere, his careful piles of ammo, food, and medical supplies scattered around the place. He quickly snatched up a torn piece of cardboard packing from what used to be bandage packaging and lit it before his match went out. None of the food was salvage-able, either torn open and laying on the ground for who knows how long or spilled out of the cans and making the air reek of cold nutrient supplements. Bullets were sprinkled individually across the floor, but crates, containers, and boxes were all completely empty. He moved forward and began inspecting the medical supplies, hoping to still find something in them that would help Morgana. Vials and bottles of fluids were smashed and empty. Needles of anesthetics were bent at awful angles. He picked up a wad of wet gauze and immediately recognized the smell of Fallen Ether. Rage boiled up inside him. Of course it was Fallen. That meant nothing could be salvaged, the Fallen had already taken it or destroyed it. He roared in frustration and kicked some of the ruined belongings across the room. The fire consumed the piece of cardboard until flames burnt his fingers, so he dropped it and stamped it out in anger. Darkness filled the room again as Nicholas turned to fumble his way back outside.