The Midas Cyclops retracted a set of thin mandibles that had been used to mend the shattered eye of the Minotaur, allowing the combat-oriented construct to regain its composure and perform a rematch. It wasted no time charging forward with an unhindered stride, toppling my fortitude with a single well aimed blow. I was tossed into the air and caught by a blooming tree, splintering its branches as my heavy armor paired with the natural attraction of the floor. There was no conceivable moment of peace between my measly return to an upright stance and another swift follow up kick. I slammed into a sharp rock and died instantly. There was no expectation of resurrection, for if I had been alive enough to think, I would have absolutely believed that my second end had finally been reached. Yet such a conclusion was clearly not meant to be, for Midas allowed Aydin the briefest of chances to bring me back. The Vengeful Mind was likely not satisfied with such a quick death. It did promise me I would perish forever, after all. I do not recall how many more deaths I experienced that day, my memory lost within the brief shards of time between one swift murder and the next. There was little I alone could do, for against my will I was trapped within a loop. If I was still a devious bragger, I would tell you that I ultimately overcame my superior foe with a great act of cleverness that turned the tide towards victory, but once again that’s an out of context truth and therefore misleading. It was Aydin that had the clever idea, not me, and it was one that I am grateful went unspoiled. Had the alien machine paid any attention to where I was guided to stand, had it overheard Aydin’s whispers, it wouldn’t have accidentally flung me at its own central mind. It had been a gamble, a single wishful prayer that Midas would not consider such an unorthodox method of salvation. My iron form became an unconventional spear that struck the Cyclops core directly, its screams made of pure surprise as I used the opportunity to take a vengeance of my own. Most of the proceeding violence was all instinct as I performed the task I was made for. My hands effortlessly dug into its curved chassis, as no amount of flimsy gold could halt a Lightbearer’s wrath. The Minotaur attempted to pull me from the hull of the Cyclops, but that only made my focus turn as I leapt to claim its unprotected head. I slipped my fingers into a gap that connected the neck to the body, and with an unrelenting grip I tore it free. I was thrown to the ground, ornate prize in hand, and the remains of the headless machine fled once more. I let it go, for the Midas Cyclops still lived. It lay dying where I had left it, the one glass eye sputtering pale bluish reds, so any further need for conflict was unnecessary. I was just about to pull out its mind core when Midas conjured for me a reward instead, a fully realized memory of our shared past. Before my very eyes was what I assumed to be a holographic replica of myself, a skeletal machine built in the shape of a man with a countenance of endless rage. His untrue form was locked in a frigid stance as Midas’s revelation continued to materialize. In the revealing display I saw the wonderful garden as it was originally meant to be, and I saw my past self burn it into oblivion without a second thought. The forgotten dead man I witnessed scared me down to my heart. “All I wanted was to build a paradise,” whispered the fading machine, its singular eye focused solely upon the projections. “And now you have destroyed it a second time.” Even though the Vengeful Mind had lost its victory, it still received revenge by imparting upon me another source of guilt. Suddenly my own mind felt sour, and I silently considered that perhaps it would be better if I continued to live in ignorance. Without waiting for Midas to experience the last moments of infinity, I walked out of the chamber and navigated my way back outside. The clear sky came with the conclusion that the loss of our memories might just be more kindness from the Traveler, and that my return to Venus was yet another mistake. In the end, I do not regret my trip to Venus, for not only had I admittedly learned from the event, but so had my other half as well. While I had been staring at Midas’s memory, Aydin had done something that was understatedly [i]brilliant[/i]. He used the opportunity to scan the intact recreation of my past self, and then afterwards took the obtained information to develop a schematic for a voicebox, my voice box. I don’t remember my first words, but I do remember how relieving it felt to speak after I had once believed I never would. There’s a freedom in having a voice, in being able to enact your thoughts onto the world so that others can listen and perfect themselves with understanding. A voice is a form of power, a power that can easily define who you are. With my voice I escaped the reach of seclusion, actively joining any open fireteam that was willing to have me. I found safety by being in groups, by for once traveling not alone, but in the presence of strangers that would in time become friends. I was happily innocent back then, before I had the chance to learn how cruel the world could truly be, before the fatal skirmish of Enedra. [i][On the barren Moon, in the ruins of Crota’s Temple.][/i] [b]Next Fragment:[/b] https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/252049343?sort=0&page=0 [b]Book:[/b] https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/251789024?sort=0&page=0