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the cosmodome, old russia
They’d searched a very long time for their Guardian. Hitched rides to Mars with daredevils who punched neat holes through the Cabal’s net (terrifying), played keep-away with Vex Minds on Venus (awful, never again), and even stowed away on a Reef-bound transport (boring with the added spice of allegedly friendly fallen).
All this, and this Ghost couldn’t find their Guardian. They knew that they had one; all Ghosts did. It just… took some longer than others.
They’d asked Hebe about it, once. Maria-9 had been busy challenging Hunters to drunken knife-throwing contests, and Hebe had decided to keep well out of the way.
“I once thought I’d never find them, either,” They said, purple spines spinning idly. “And then I was hiding from the Fallen in the EDZ - terrible place, by the way, I don’t recommend it - and there she was.” Hebe turned, scanning the bar floor - Maria-9 had commandeered an Awoken’s knife and was flipping it end over end casually.
“So… I should go places I shouldn’t expect to find them, right?” Another Exo, their cloak bright with the FWC’s colours, leaned over a table, shouting anatomically unlikely obscenities. Hebe sighed, and vanished - but left the Ghost with a parting phrase.
“You’ll know. No matter how unlikely or weird, you’ll know.”
It was then that the Exo hunter lunged at Maria-9, and the bar erupted into chaos. The Ghost slipped away, unnoticed once again.
--
They scanned the rusted-out cars again, flanges flaring, desperate to pick up any answering noise before the Fallen came sniffing after them. Nothing, nothing --
The shriek of a Vandal on the hunt sends them flinching into cover, shell closing around their delicate core. Out of the sightline of the Fallen, the Ghost zips between cars, trying to put some distance between the rusted Cosmodrome walls and themselves. Their passive radar is okay, but not quite as good as - hang on.
Something--
No, probably nothing. The Ghost paused, shell almost brushing against a door panel. There was the faintest whisper. Almost as if it were on the edge of their hearing. Probably a dead Ghost.
But--
The Ghost slowly rises up, peeking into the chassis of the vehicle. There’s a skull, just peeking out from the footwell. The whisper is now a hum. The Ghost flares out again, scanning --
Mine. My Guardian! It beats like a war drum through the core of their being, and Light floods out of them. Bones and muscle knit back together, and the Ghost curls fieldweave and plasteel plates around restored flesh. They feel when the consciousness breathes back into life, and it’s magical.
This is their Guardian.
“Guardian? Eyes up, Guardian-- It worked! You’re alive! You don’t know how long I’ve been looking for you.”
Their Guardian flexes their fingers, stretching out the stiffness of eternity. This… is going to be wonderful.