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every last tale

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I'm going to try this four ways and then a fifth. I prefer the four-round burst pulses to Vance's weird five-burst, but these are strange times. Old weapons feel unfamiliar. New weapons feel scary. 


1. We gathered on the back ledge of the Tower courtyard, watching the Traveler as it surged with Light. Polaris said he was Lightsick. I say he's sentimental. But he was also right: the Traveler was changing. Dawn came and we drifted out into the streets with wolfpack curiosity. Waves of Light washed through the City. We hung off lampposts and rooftops and billboards and trees and watched the Traveler pull itself back together, surging with enough Light to stave off the Dark.

The squishies celebrated, but I like to think Exos and Ghosts have this in common: we recognized the preludes to the old disaster.

2. I can never fix in my head when you were first rezzed, so I don't know if you were there in the earliest days, before Crota's End and the Wolf Rebellion. But it was a strange and scattered and quiet time. The Traveler almost died more than once — a few dozen hungry Hive, an algorithm or two of Vex — and we were too tired or too young to panic.

We're livelier now, but not safer.

3. Remember how the Speaker used to talk about the Dark? He described it so vividly — the shadows like tendrils, devouring the inner colonies. We lost four worlds today, and it felt exactly like his oldest stories.

4. Exos are scared. The Pyramids promised Guardians ancient power on Europa. Awoken and Humans have children. We don't. That place is our cradle and our grave. We're not ready. We're going anyway.

5. The Sea of Screams, the purification of Rose, Eleusinia, the Pit of Heresy, the prophecies of the Nine: I owe you a dozen times over for strengthening my Light. I like to think my weapons remember what we've done.

All this is to say: thank you. I'll see you on the ice moon. I hope my hometown unsettles you less than it does me.