I think Destiny 2 is more than just a shooter, or an RPG. It's a lesson about being human, about being alive, and confronting the reality of death. It's about the hero myth and what it means to be a hero. In Destiny, we were lead through a narrative that told us we were a hero, that we were untouchable. We forged Fireteams and slew Gods; we cheated time and we cheated Death. We were given titles of Legends and Wolves, Slayers and Destroyers. We paraded ourselves through temples in Shaders of Silver and Gold. No matter how many times we fell, we got back up again, angrier and more determined than the last. In Destiny 2, we begin very much the same. We begin in polished armor, splendid cloak, unwrinkled robes and a heroic Ghost. But from one moment to the next, none of that matters. Our titles and weapons, our achievements and efforts mean nothing as we fall from the heavens to the fire below. We rise again, but now we are broken. Now our colors are dimmed, our Light is gone, our weapons are useless and our Home is in ruins. In an instant, everything we were lead to believe has been taken, and we are left to ask ourselves: How do we come back from this? As we move forward, we are finally confronted with something we are unused to: The bodies of our fellow Guardians. There is no Ghost to revive them. There is no revival. They are gone, for the final time, and we realize Gaul spoke a word of truth: We have forgotten the fear of death. These bodies are terrifying to us, because we were lead to believe we were unstoppable. And so we go on, but now the enemies seem more ferocious, because we know we are now their equals. We now refuse to die, because we have this one life. And when we find Hawthorne, she spares us not a moment of pity. She hands us a gun and turns away. Is this spite? Is this jealousy? No. It is an acknowledgment of a better truth. Among the refugees of humanity, we realize we are surrounded by heroes. We are surrounded by those who fled their home, with the belongings on their backs carried by no armor or inhuman strength--they were spurred on by hope. These people who are "ungifted" by the Light have continued to survive, and it is only now that we might ask ourselves: Is the Light a curse? Have we forgotten what it means to be a true hero? To be truly brave? To value the fight we have always believed we would win? We are immersed in sorrowful strings, and challenged with a question: How do we come back from this? But Hawthorne shows us, we already have. We are alive, and we have the fight for humanity in us. Beneath the Light and armor and titles, there is something new, something we already were before our Ghosts ever found us: There is an unwillingness to die. It is then we learn that none of these powers ever made us a Hero or a Legend: It has always been us, the Player. The hero has been the refusal to give up, the joy in adventuring with friends, the memories we created, and this is why Destiny was never complete, and felt so lacking, because we were content just being heroes. But now, we are told everything has been taken from us, and only now we realize that we only think this because we have forgotten all we already had: Determination, companionship, and the Destiny to keep pushing on, even in the face of true death and loss. Hawthorne gave us a gun and knew we had all we needed the moment we stood up from our Fall--the heroism of limping forward in Darkness. And that is what being a Guardian has always been about.