Epilogue: The Nearing End Smith hid in the heatcore generator room, it was the only thing keeping him alive and mobile. And warm. Of all the things the Traveler improves about Earth, it turned Antarctica into a ghost town, making the temperature almost subzero. The icecaps returned, sure, but simply existing here was a death wish in itself, although Antarctic wildlife had evolved fast enough. That was until the Fallen came. Smith had made a camp under the core, but he had no idea what was powering it. He never bothered to find out, he just survived. In his hand, he held Thorn, or a Thorn rather. Little did he know in his second life, he served the Shadows and held it proud until some golden gun put a bullet in his head and his old ghost. Sound familiar? His new ghost was suspicious, but let it slide. She was always trying to get him to find a ship, to go to the last safe city. He always refused and said- “Life is fine here. We survive here.” “Oh come on!” His ghost exclaimed, “That’s number 1,500,002. The Fallen have found us. It’s time to go!” “If we move, we die. Both of us. Do you understand?” “I’m sick of this!” All of a sudden an Arc bolt from a Vandal’s rifle struck the ghost straight in the eye. She almost fell from the platform, but was caught by Smith. “Spade!” He cried out. He observed the ghost. She wasn’t dead, Spade was always the most resilient, but she was dying. Smith looked around and spotted the culprits. Two Vandals, three Dregs, a Captain should’ve been here, and the coldest hell upstairs. He drew his Thorn and fired with anger and sorrow in his eyes. He urned for his ghost to live. He got three, two Dregs and a Vandal, but the other two retreated. He rushed upstairs to find a medic room. He didn’t know how to heal a ghost’s wounds, let alone how to heal. But damn it, he would try. He entered the med bay to find a Captain, shuffling through the drawers and chucking furniture ravenously. It looked back at Smith and grabbed him. He pulled his trigger twice, getting the Captain one in the foot, until he was chucked at the window. Smith laid down, holding his ghost. This was his end. The Captain raised its blade..... And then dropped. Behind it was the sight of a man much like him. Quill, the man of purest light. Smith took a moment to stare at his figure. He was scared. Everything....everyone is hostile to him. He feels like he’s been on the run forever. “Hey,” Quill said. “You Smith? I came here to talk-“ Smith broke. He drew his Thorn again and fired. The shot landed straight in Quill’s chest. He fell and died. There was silence. Smith had realized how stupid he was to kill him. He looked up. His eyes were tearful under his helm. Quill raised his hand, stood up, and removed the nail-like bullet from his chest. Ash appeared informs of him, scanning and radiating light. “I’ve got you.” he said. Quill thanked him. “That Thorn shot woulda killed me. For good. But your light, has made it weaker. Looks like there’s still hope for you.” Quill put his hands on his knees and observed the couple of Smith and his dying Spade. Quill drew a hand cannon. It was ornamental, almost looked angelic. He pointed the barrel at Smith’s forehead. “Trust.” He said. Smith closed his eyes and whimpered. He pulled the trigger. Smith was glowing with light. He could stand again, he could feel his strength returning as power reflowed. He looked at his ghost. Spade was still unconscious, but now healed too. Smith looked at the stranger, “I can’t thank you enough...how did you-?” Quill responded, “It’s a long story. But when you consider the origin of everything,” he looked at Smith’s Thorn, “it’s even longer.” Smith noticed his glare at his weapon. He then asked “What am I? What was I?” “If you come with me to the Last City, I’ll explain everything.” “I’m sorry but that doesn’t answer the question.” Quill paused, “Dredgen no more.”