Rust and Water: Prologue - Endless Dance

The scent of rust and water. The only illumination of the night the swath of the Milky Way, somehow unchanged. So bright. Mulch of untold years of dying vegetation crushed underfoot. Soft, yielding. Legends told that snow once fell here, centuries…maybe millennia ago. Would it have felt similar underfoot? Cloth slid among clinging branches, avoiding their hungry grasp. Years, decades, had worn this path; there was no reason to change it, even as it changed. Skeletal edifices loomed overhead, an artificial, crumbling range of mountains made by man and, like the man of old, slowly succumbing to the heavy hand of time. A soft, worn boot pressed against a broken slab of concrete. Push one, two, leap. A dark reflection dashing over the watery gap, disappearing into the shadow of the artificially formed canyons. No need for the moon, betraying Luna, to show the way. Streets had become channels. Ancient vehicles, reefs. And everywhere there was the scent of rust and water. A splash as yet another piece of the landscape surrendered its will to gravity and grasping vines, pulling it ever downward. A pause, to make sure the sound hadn’t disturbed any sleeping shadows. A soft inhale. The water rippled the reflection of shadow and ether. It settled, lapping its unending effort to lick away the base of the stubborn metal mountains. A soft exhalation. It was nearly a dance, navigating the wreckage, swirling cloak partner and protector. One pace to the left, leap, turn, a bounce to the right, twirl and up. A dance that had been performed so long that it was now gracefully unconscious. Until a step was missed. The Hunter landed hard, her knee taking the force of the fall, her gloved hands following. She stifled a gasp of pain, pulling her other foot up to take the weight off her shattered kneecap. The end of her worn cloak trailed in the water, quickly becoming heavy, a noose rather than a partner. She freed one hand to pull the length of sodden material forward, lest it try to drag her down. “Guardian?” “I’m fine.” A voice so long unused that it had rusted in the throat. How long had it been since she had last spoken? Years? Decades? “I heard something crunch.” A small light flared, scanning the affected area. “Broken.” “Then fix it.” Silence as Light and Ghost worked to repair the Guardian. The Hunter did not watch the process, her helmeted face turned skyward, watching the turn of the milky stars overhead. Her hands worked without supervision, wringing the excess moisture from her cloak. It was a wonder that it had not rotted away by now, given how many times it had been dipped and dried, torn and mended, burned and repaired. She wasn’t sure what its original color had been. But it was [i]her cloak[/i]. [i]Her [/i]knife.[i] Her[/i] guns. [i]Her [/i]light. Those very few possessions that she valued. Not her Ghost. Toby wasn’t a [i]possession[/i], he was a companion and an asset, the only one she’d had in such a very long time. “Done.” The Hunter nodded. She had felt the shattered pieces reknit; there was no remnant of pain as she stood. She spared another nod to her Ghost and the small drone bobbed before reinserting himself into the armor matrices. The Hunter took a deep breath redolent of the scent of rust and water, felt it settle in the back of her throat. A few taps of her toe on the broken slab of concrete, to assimilate the new steps into the dance, and the Hunter was off again, a mere shadow amongst shadows. On an endless, thankless patrol of an ancient long-dead city. ---- A/N: The start of something. We'll see where it goes. https://www.bungie.net/en/Clan/Post/1371758/226449536/0/0 -Part One https://www.bungie.net/en/Clan/Post/1371758/226526566/0/0 - Table of Contents