Chapter Text
Dust and Echoes (RWBY/Halo)
Chapter 36: The Best Laid Plans
[~][~]
Remnant, Oum System
Xiao Long Residence, Patch Island, Kingdom of Vale
December 1st, 2541 (UNSC Military Calendar)/ 70 A.G.W. (Remnant Calendar) 20:05 Hours
“Dad, I don’t wanna go to sleep!” Ruby complained as she was carried by her father into her bed.
“Yeah! I wanna stay up and watch Pumpkin Pete!” Yang added as she walked beside them, only for his eldest daughter to let out a yawn that betrayed how tired she actually was. Like a disease, Ruby yawned right after, and both girls blushed in embarrassment.
Chuckling to himself in amusement, Taiyang Xiao Long remarked, “Well, while I would love nothing more than to stay up all night and watch cartoons with my wonderful little girls, it is well past your bedtime.”
“…Uncle Qrow lets us stay up late,” Ruby quietly grumbled, but didn’t resist as her father tucked her into bed.
“Well, Uncle Qrow’s not here right now,” Taiyang replied, trying not to let his disappointment at that fact leak into his voice. If the girls noticed, they didn’t show it as Tai moved to tuck Yang in as well.
Rather than leave right away, however, Tai stared at his girls for a moment. They had pleading looks in their eyes, and his experience as a father told him that simply tucking them in and wishing them goodnight wasn’t going to cut it. If he wanted his children to actually get their sleep, he’d have to go the extra mile. Luckily, he had just the thing.
“You know, I think we have just enough time for a bedtime story,” Tai announced as he moved to the little bookshelf in their room.
“Yay!” Ruby cheered as she sat upright, with Yang quickly getting out of her bed to join her younger sister.
Tai smiled as he selected their favorite book and walked over to Ruby’s bed. Sitting between them, he placed the book on his lap and allowed his girls to rest their heads on his shoulders.
“Ooh, The Girl Who Fell Through the World,” Yang said as she recognized the front cover.
“Yep. Figured we’d pick up where we left off last time,” Tai replied, and Ruby practically vibrated beside him.
“This is my favorite story! Mom used to read it to us all the time!” Ruby proclaimed.
Tai felt Yang flinch at the mention of Summer, and he momentarily glanced in her direction. A sad, conflicted frown had crossed his eldest daughter’s face, a frown he echoed. Not long after Qrow had returned from his mission out in space, Tai had to pick up his daughters early from school. Ruby was crying, and Yang was enraged. Apparently, one of the other students had made fun of Ruby and Yang having different last times, claiming they weren’t actually sisters, prompting Yang to defend her sister and beat the boy up. While Tai and Qrow were proud of Yang being a good, protective older sister, the incident led to Yang finally asking the question they’d been dreading for years.
She now knew the truth, that Summer Rose, the woman who had raised her and Ruby all her life before suddenly disappearing, wasn’t actually her mother. Her true mother was Raven Branwen, Qrow’s twin sister who had run out on them shortly after she was born. Yang hadn’t taken it well, and while their family trip to Bernieland did cheer her up tremendously, it was clear that it was still a sore subject even now.
Tai quickly forced his smile back into place before Yang noticed, then he turned to the last page they were on, which prominently displayed an image of Alyx, the eponymous Girl Who Fell Through the World, sitting on a log watching as one of her companions, a man completely encased in rusted white and gold armor, made a fire. Clearing his throat as his girls settled in, Tai began to read aloud, “’After a long day of traveling through the Ever After, Alyx had finally had enough. Her feet were tired, her stomach was growling, and she wanted to rest. Seeing the plight of this young maiden, the Rusted Knight agreed, and he set out to make a campfire for them all to share.’”
Putting on as stereotypically heroic a voice as he could, Tai spoke, “’There, that should keep us warm for the night,’ the Rusted Knight said. ‘When the sun rises, we must keep moving, lest we risk further delay.’”
“’I don’t wanna,’ Alyx complained,’” Tai said while making his voice sound like a little girl’s, something he had plenty of real-world experience in listening to which made Ruby chuckle.
“Alyx is so whiny,” Yang complained, to which Ruby vigorously nodded.
“But the Rusted Knight is so cool! He’s my favorite!” Ruby added.
“Yeah, he’s mine, too,” Yang agreed. It was a common sentiment, one that stretched back to even Tai’s childhood. Part of him wondered how many children the Rusted Knight inspired to become Huntsmen and Huntresses through the tales of his heroics. But that was for another time. For now, he had to finish reading this story so his kids, and himself, could finally get some sleep.
Turning the page, Taiyang continued, “’With the fire lighting up the night, Alyx and the Rusted Knight began to finally rest. But they weren’t alone, for soon they were joined once again by the Knight’s pupil who had returned after scouting ahead for dangers.’”
Changing his voice again, this time to an almost nasally, self-important tone, Tai read aloud, “’I, the Silver Squire, have returned!’ the Silver Squire announced, his silver armor shining in the moonlight.
“’Joy,’ Alyx sarcastically remarked, as the Squire’s presence continued to irk her to no end.
“’Were you seen?’ the ever-watchful Rusted Knight asked, to which the Silver Squire shook his head so vigorously that the rest of his stout body followed the movement.
“’Nay, I was not. After all, a genius such as myself can slip underneath anyone’s nose,’ the Silver Squire boasted.’”
“Ugh, I take back what I said about Alyx. The Silver Squire’s way more annoying and full of himself,” Yang said while giving an exaggerated grimace.
“Yeah…. I don’t think even the Rusted Knight likes the Silver Squire all that much,” Ruby commented while pointing to the painted picture on the page, showing both Alyx and the Rusted Knight giving unamused stares towards the puffed-up Silver Squire.
“At least their bickering can be funny,” Yang mused, then allowed her father to keep reading.
Clearing his throat once again, Taiyang continued, “’I bring word from the Armored Giant as well,’ the Silver Squire announced. ‘The Patchwork Army continues to hold its own against those foolish Meddlers. They have freed another acre from their grasp.’
‘Good. May our fortunes continue,’ the Rusted Knight replied, and Alyx couldn’t help but shudder at the few but foul memories of the Meddlers and their monstrous hordes. But then the Rusted Knight’s voice went low as he quietly asked, ‘What about…her?’”
Tai felt his daughter’s grips on his arms tightly slightly, and he forced himself not to chuckle at their nervousness. Instead, he once again spoke as the Silver Squire in an uncharacteristically somber tone, “’She has been…unusually quiet as of late, I’m afraid.’”
Taiyang turned the page, and as the next painted image came into view, Ruby whispered, “The Blue Fairy….”
Indeed, on the page was the same campfire scene as before, but the trio were seated somberly around the flame which was now burning a stylistic blue. Inside the fire was the translucent image of a blue woman, her back turned to the readers as her embers trailed upward into the night sky. Her presence seemed to dominate the scene, and the stars themselves were arranged to look almost like a pair of cold eyes staring down on them all.
“’She is planning something, which is why we must get Alyx to the Tree as soon as possible,’ the Rusted Knight proclaimed.
“’Then a nervous Alyx asked, ‘Is the Blue Fai—‘
“’Don’t say her name!’ the Silver Squire fearfully interrupted. As his visor darted throughout the forest, which suddenly seemed much darker than before, he nervously continued, ‘”She has eyes and ears everywhere. Even saying her name is enough to catch her attention. If that happens, we are doomed.’”
Ruby shuddered at the oppressive, almost scary atmosphere the children’s fable was giving. Seeing this, Yang reached out and rested her hand on Ruby’s shoulder then reassured, “It’s okay, Rubes. The Blue Fairy’s not so tough.”
Ruby remained unconvinced but didn’t say anything, allowing Taiyang to get back to the story and say, “’Do…do you know her?’ Alyx asked, and both the Rusted Knight and the Silver Squire turned towards each other. Memories of lives long since over passed through their minds, then the Rusted Knight sighed.
“’He removed his helmet to face Alyx directly, and with a sadness that permeated his very being, he answered, ‘She was…a friend, once upon a time. Someone I trusted with my life. But that person is gone now. All that remains is a ghost of whom she once was.’”
Taiyang turned the page, where they were greeted by a massive, double-page spread image of the Rusted Knight and Alyx sharing a tender moment. Since the Rusted Knight wasn’t wearing his helmet, Tai and the girls were able to see what he looked like, or at least this artist’s interpretation. While he wasn’t able to tell how old the man was, several features could be made out. He had long, blond hair tied into a ponytail with a white streak running through it. His face had a thick beard covering it, and the sockets of his eyes were deep. This was the image of a world-weary man, one who had clearly faced hardship and loss yet, at the same time, refused to stop and succumb. It was admirable, especially for someone of his age.
“Aww, that’s so sad,” Ruby mourned. “They used to be friends. Friends shouldn’t fight.”
“I don’t think she gave him a choice, Rubes,” Yang sadly remarked.
This was a subject that hit Tai a little too close to home. He once considered Raven Branwen one of his closest friends, even marrying her. But while he thought they’d have their entire lives and futures to look forward to, especially after Yang was born, she clearly thought differently. He didn’t know why, even after all these years. All he knew was that, one morning, he woke up and Raven wasn’t there. She had left in the middle of the night without leaving a note nor saying so much as a word. Qrow managed to track her down eventually and demanded answers, but all she apparently gave was petty excuses. Something about how she wasn’t cut out for the life of a mother. Taiyang was able to smell that bullshit all the way from his home, as did Summer who had moved in to help raise Yang.
Part of Tai still loved Raven and he always would. She was an important part of his life, and was the mother of one of his children. But their time together was over, and if she were to one day walk through his front door and back into his life…honestly, he didn’t know what he would do. It wouldn’t be welcoming her back with open arms, that much was certain.
Shaking his head, Tai cleared his throat to regain his focus. Turning back towards the book in his lap, he picked back up where he left off. The girls settled down as Alyx, the Rusted Knight, and the Silver Squire rested their weary heads. As the Knight said, once the sun rose on the next page they set out again, now with the Silver Squire annoying the other two with inane chatter the entire time. For his part, Tai was just happy he didn’t have to act out the part of the Curious Cat too in this scene. He could only do so many voices at one time.
As he neared the end of the current chapter, he could tell Ruby and Yang were about to drop. So he turned to what would be the final page, and he read from the lines, “’As Alyx, the Rusted Knight, and the Silver Squire walked down the path, they were greeted by an unusual sight. Racing towards them was a large, steel boar whose tusks dug into the dirt, and riding atop it was the Forgemaster of the Patchwork Army. He had news to share, Alyx knew, but of what she did not know.’”
Tai stopped as he felt Ruby and Yang’s shallow breathing. With a smile on his face, he gently placed the storybook aside then laid both girls down on the bed and under the covers. As quiet as a mouse, he put the book back on the shelf, turned off the light, then left the room.
Walking back into the living room, he sat down on the sofa and turned on the TV. The volume was already low so that the girls wouldn’t wake up, and it was tuned to one of VNN’s many talking head shows where the anchors were debating amongst themselves on the various important geopolitical news items of the day. As had been the case for the past year, it was all about the UNSC.
“I want to bring us back to the arms deal signed this week between the UNSC and Atlas,” one of the anchors said. “Misriah Armories will now be partnering with the Schnee Dust Company in both constructing a new factory in Mantle as well as researching and developing new Dust munitions for the war effort. Doesn’t this risk drawing Remnant further into Earth’s orbit?”
“I’m more concerned about Misriah partnering with the SDC specifically,” another anchor added. “For all Earth’s talk about ‘respecting Faunus rights’, they’re partnering with perhaps the most exploitive company on the planet. Can you be any more hypocritical?”
“While that is a fair point, what other options are there?” the first countered. “For all of the SDC’s many, many problems, they are still the largest Dust producer on Remnant, and have more experience in the industry than practically anyone else. That’s something the UNSC needs if they want to fight the Covenant. Also, I personally think this is a prime opportunity for the SDC to have some external pressure finally applied to them. The Kingdoms are far too reliant on Dust to push back against their excesses, especially Atlas, and the UNSC isn’t. They can tell them ‘no.’”
“Which brings us back to my earlier concern. I am all for the SDC finally being told enough is enough and forced to apply even a shred of decency to their operations. But that needs to be done through regulations by our own Kingdoms, not a foreign power exerting even more influence over us.”
As Taiyang continued to watch their debate, he found himself somewhat agreeing with both of them. The last thing he wanted was for the UNSC to exert more control and influence over Remnant, especially after what Qrow told him about the human colonies out in space. From how he described it, a lot of the issues that led to the Insurrection were, at least in part, exacerbated by Earth’s desire for control. Not that it excused what the Insurrectionists were doing. While Qrow certainly sympathized with at least some of their concerns, his experiences on Vyraj convinced him that the Insurrectionists that were left were nothing more than terrorists actively putting human lives at risk for petty reasons.
There was also the fact that, thus far, all of the Kingdoms weren’t doing much to contain the Schnee Dust Company as it grew larger and larger under Jacques Schnee’s leadership. It was rapidly becoming a monopoly, allowing it to skirt labor laws, environmental regulations, and anything else that got in the way of maximizing their profits. Atlas seemed more than happy to encourage them, propping them up as an exemplar of Atlesian superiority, and the other Kingdoms just wanted cheap Dust. The longer this went on, the more problems the SDC would create, and it wouldn’t end well. For as much as the UNSC clearly wanted Dust too, they weren’t completely dependent on it like Remnant was. Remnant used Dust for everything; the UNSC just wanted better bullets and missiles. They had a lot more options and motivation to tell the SDC to piss off if they pushed their luck too far.
In a way, they already were. Not only were the UNSC backing Menagerie’s exclusive claim to perhaps the largest Dust deposit found in over a century, UNSC-designed fusion reactors, solar cells, and wind turbines had entered Remnant’s energy market, reducing people’s dependency on Dust to power and heat their homes. The same was happening with transportation, with Terran companies like AMG Transport Dynamics partnering with local manufacturers to bring their civilian vehicles to Remnant. He’d already seen a few driving around. Those were either electric or powered by hydrogen fuel cells, further eroding Dust’s control over Remnant’s economy. Pretty soon, the only industry the SDC could fall back on would be defense, giving them a lot less leverage. That was probably why the SDC partnered with Misriah in the first place, to get ahead of that inevitable market shift.
He just hoped that, at the end of the day, these drastic changes wouldn’t be creating problems that his daughters would have to face.
Taiyang soon lost track of time. He didn’t know how long he was watching the TV, but after a while he stopped paying attention to it. Instead, he kept looking out the window towards his driveway. Qrow had gone out earlier that evening, and he hadn’t come back yet. A pit was growing larger and larger in his stomach, and he was half tempted to hop into his truck and drive into town to try and find him. There were only so many bars on Patch, assuming he didn’t just fly into Vale.
But before he could give that more serious thought, he saw a pair of headlights emerging from the darkness. Tai quickly got up and went outside, and saw that it was a flatbed Warthog. Seated in the passenger seat was a passed out Qrow Branwen, with the familiar Sergeant Avery Johnson driving it. He let out a heavy sigh as the vehicle pulled to a stop, then the retired Huntsman stepped out to help Avery carry the unconscious Qrow into the house.
“How bad did he get?” Tai asked as they went inside, grateful that the girls were asleep so they didn’t have to see this again.
“He almost got into a fist fight with some off-duty marines, so you tell me,” Avery said, and Tai frowned as they gently placed Qrow onto the couch. At the same time, Tai turned Qrow’s body to the side and placed an empty bucket beside his face.
Seeing that Avery was looking at him, Tai frowned and explained, “Experience, sadly.”
“I kind of figured that,” Avery remarked, then placed his hands on his hips before turning back towards Qrow’s unconscious body and sighed. “Lucky I got there when I did. Stopped them from doing something they’d regret.”
“Thank you for bringing him home,” Tai sincerely said to the marine, who shrugged nonchalantly.
“Don’t mention it. Couldn’t just leave him by himself.” Avery then sighed and shook his head, and remarked, “I knew he had a bit of a drinking problem, but this… Has it always been this bad?”
Tai’s frown deepened, and he answered, “Alcohol’s always been Qrow’s vice. It’s how he copes with…well, everything. I retired from active field work after Yang was born; Qrow didn’t. With everything he’s seen, he needs a release and he often tries to find it at the bottom of a bottle. Usually, he’s able to keep things mostly under control. But this…I haven’t seen him this bad in years.”
“Hmm,” Avery hummed, and both men stared at the blacked-out Huntsman as he snored.
It wasn’t a question in Taiyang’s mind as to why Qrow had fallen off the wagon this time. Just over a month ago, Qrow had gone with Ozpin, the other Headmasters, and some UNSC reps to use the Relic of Knowledge. The UNSC had figured out that Salem was a thing, and after Ozpin told them the truth, they had demanded to use the Relic to see if there was a way to possibly win the war against the Covenant. Apparently, there was, and Lord Hood had immediately departed to personally deliver that information. But the Relic had also revealed some long-forgotten truths about their own existence on Remnant, and of Ozpin.
Qrow had told him everything that night when he got back. About how the Brothers they worshipped were actually Forerunner scientists, how Remnant wasn’t actually a planet, how humans were placed here thousands of years ago for the sole purpose of being experimented on. Most damning of all, he revealed that Salem used to be Ozpin’s wife, how she came to be the Grimm Queen, and how she was completely and utterly immortal. That revelation, along with the fact that Ozpin didn’t actually have a plan to stop Salem aside from keeping her at bay, had shattered Qrow.
They both got drunk that night. Very, very drunk. But while Taiyang was eventually able to force himself back into functionality for the sake of the girls, Qrow sadly had not. He’d always been the most dedicated of them all to Ozpin’s cause, only to learn that his life’s work was built on a comforting falsehood. He’d been spiraling ever since, and try as he might, Qrow was refusing to get off his self-destructive ride.
He sensed that Avery was looking at him, but as the retired Huntsman turned towards the marine, Avery raised his hand and shook his head before saying, “No need to dive into the nitty-gritty with me. I know that whatever…this is all started when the big wigs had their meeting.”
“You know about that?” Tai asked while raising his eyebrow.
“I know that it happened, and scuttlebutt says some big things went down,” Avery clarified. “But what was actually said? Nah, just rumors and hearsay. Something tells me you know more than I do. Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask.”
Tai tilted his head to the side and asked, “Why not?”
“Because whatever was in that meeting was clearly need to know, and I don’t need to know right now,” Avery answered. “When I do, the brass will tell me. Until then, I know better than to threaten op-sec.”
Tai supposed that made sense for a military man, and he nodded in acceptance. He then asked, “You want anything?”
“Nah, I gotta get back to base. There’s some marines who need chewing out,” Avery joked, and both men smiled.
Taiyang escorted Avery back out of the house, then watched as the marine sergeant got back into his Warthog, turned around, and drove back into the night. He stayed outside until he could no longer see the lights of the vehicle, then went back into his house. Stopping by Qrow, he frowned that the bucket was no longer empty, and he sighed.
“Qrow, what are we going to do with you?” he quietly asked himself while putting his hands in his pockets. Rather than simply go back to bed, Tai decided to sit himself down on the reclining chair nearby. He wanted to keep an eye on his last teammate. It was the least he could do.
As he began drifting off the sleep, out of the corner of his eye he could’ve sworn he saw a flash of red that reminded him somewhat of a tiny Summer peeking down from the top of the stairs. But it disappeared as soon as it arrived, and any further thoughts went with it as he fell into a deep, exhausted slumber.
[~]
Earth, Sol System
HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6, Sydney, Commonwealth of Australia
December 3rd, 2541 (UNSC Military Calendar) / 70 A.G.W. (Remnant Calendar) 0930 Hours
As Admiral Lord Hood finished his debriefing, the entire room was silent. In all his years serving as Chief of Naval Operations, Vice Admiral Preston J. Cole had debriefed the UNSC Security Council hundreds of times. He’d been debriefed hundreds of times more. These debriefings went over everything, from mission results to fleet deployments, resource stockpiles and budget allocations. Subjects that were simultaneously all-too mundane and critical to humanity’s continued survival as a species.
This particular debriefing was anything but mundane, and was probably the most important in his entire career. He’d wager it was possibly the most important and consequential in human history, a term that held much more meaning now than it did just a few hours ago when, much to his and his fellow members of HIGHCOM’s confusion and concern, Lord Hood’s ship returned from slipspace and demanded an immediate gathering of every single member of UNSC leadership.
“Once Jinn had finished…telling her story, for lack of a better term,” Lord Hood continued, standing ramrod straight and with his arms folded tightly behind his back, “I immediately set a course for Earth to deliver this to you personally.”
“…I see,” Parangosky said, her voice much quieter than Cole was used to. It betrayed just how shocked she was, not that he blamed her. He himself was barely able to process his thoughts. If even the unflappable CINCONI wasn’t able to properly form a response, what hope did anyone else have?
Still, Parangosky was nothing if not a professional, and she immediately asked, “Does anyone else know of this?”
“Aside from myself and the people inside that pocket dimension, no,” Hood confirmed, then paused for a moment before adding, “I would not be surprised, however, if other members of Ozpin’s inner circle were made aware of this. In fact, I’m fairly confident in saying that’s likely already happened.”
“We need to get a handle on this, now,” Colonel Ackerson insisted. “If this information is accurate, it is the single most important piece of intel we have, and it cannot just be floating out in the wind.”
“Agreed,” Parangosky replied, then locked eyes with Lord Hood. “You are dismissed, Admiral.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lord Hood responded, flashing a crisp salute before turning around and leaving the debriefing room.
As the doors closed behind him with a loud, heavy thud, Cole steeled himself and said, “Seal the room, all recording devices off. Authorization code Alpha-Charlie-Zeta-019-58713-J.”
A series of thunderous, muffled noises came out of the walls. In a matter of moments, every single sensor, camera, microphone, and signal was shut off. The doors were sealed shut, trapping them inside. As far as the outside world was concerned, this room no longer existed. It became a veritable black hole, a void in the vast sea of information that was the universe. At least, that’s what they would have believed before meeting a supposed Spirit of Knowledge, who would apparently be aware of everything they said and did here regardless. He tried not to think about that.
Only then did Cole release a tired sigh. He hung his head, then mumbled, “God, where do I even begin…?”
“We need to verify this,” Admiral Whitcomb said. “If, and I mean if, this is accurate, this represents the single greatest intelligence operation in human history. Language, key personnel, homeworlds. Yesterday we knew next to nothing about the Covenant, and now we know potentially everything. I can’t think of anything that comes close, but I am not willing to stake humanity’s survival on the word of an alien AI alone.”
“Are we certain that Jinn even is an AI?” Admiral Stanforth asked as he leaned forward over the desk, resting his arms on its surface. “If she is, she’s the most advanced AI we’ve ever encountered.”
“I don’t care if she’s literally a magic genie in a bottle. Her only source of information is herself, and I will not act on any of it unless we can corroborate it. We cannot afford to do anything less, not with this much at stake.”
Cole sat up straighter and nodded in complete agreement before asking, “Any ideas on how we can do that?”
“We could send a prowler to one of the planets Jinn specified was a Covenant homeworld,” Major General Nicolas Strauss suggested. “One of the few advantages we have in this war is our stealth technology. We could slip in, verify that the planet and the Covenant are actually there, then leave before they could even notice us.”
“A valid option, but which one?” Stanforth pointed out.
“If what Jinn says is accurate, the Jackal homeworld orbits the HD 69830 system,” Strauss offered. “It’s only 40.7 light years from Earth, so we’d be able to get an answer quickly.”
“Absolutely not,” Ackerson immediately objected while raising a finger. “While I completely agree with the assertion that we need to verify this intel before acting on it, we still have to be careful. Out of an overabundance of caution, we must act as though everything Jinn said was the truth until proven otherwise. If the Jackal homeworld does actually orbit a star that close to Earth, we cannot risk drawing the Covenant’s attention. Frankly, it’s a miracle they haven’t detected us yet if that’s actually the case.”
“A testament to ONI’s signal jamming efforts,” Parangosky added as she interlocked her fingers atop the desk. “Colonel Ackerson is correct. While I have every confidence in our prowler corps’ capabilities, the risk is too great. If the Covenant detects one of our vessels in the Jackal home system, they will ask how we were able to find them, which increases the chances of looking in Earth’s direction. No, we need another target.”
“What about the Urs system?” Whitcomb spoke up with a hint of anticipation in his voice. “If what Jinn says is accurate, that’s where Sanghelios, the Elite homeworld, is, and it’s nowhere near Sol.”
“That would be even worse,” Ackerson rebuked. “Sanghelios is likely one of the most defended places in the entire Covenant empire. It wouldn’t matter how good our stealth technology is. They would pick us up on their sensors and give chase.”
“Not to say Sanghelios isn’t a worthy target in and of itself,” Cole pointed out. “In fact, if we can verify that this information is true, I’d say Sanghelios would be a priority target, second only to High Charity. If it were up to me and we had the capability to do so, I’d reduce that planet to a nuclear wasteland. But we don’t have the capability. We never did, not even before the war. We could gather every ship and every army we had and throw it at Sanghelios, and all that would happen is we’d cripple ourselves.”
“What do you suggest, then?” Strauss asked, and Cole locked eyes with him.
“Balaho, the Grunt homeworld,” Cole answered. “We already knew that the Grunts were at the bottom rung of Covenant society, and their homeworld is no different. It’s overlooked and discarded, meaning its defenses would be minimal, allowing us to insert a stealth craft without their noticing. Balaho gives us the best chance of success with the lowest risks, given our present capabilities.”
Parangosky and Ackerson nodded in agreement, then Ackerson said, “I’ll direct a vessel to investigate immediately.”
“Make sure it’s our best. We can’t afford to make any mistakes. I’ll also direct our xeno-linguistic teams to compare Jinn’s translations against what we already have,” Parangosky added, but Cole remained deep in thought.
‘Given our present capabilities,’ he thought to himself, and had to fight back the urge to laugh.
Acknowledging that truth was a blow to Cole’s pride. In all honesty, this entire debriefing was, regardless of intent, tantamount to a near repudiation of everything Cole had done during this entire war. He had led humanity’s defense against the Covenant since Harvest, fought dozens of battles against them himself and emerged victorious every single time. Each ‘victory’ cost the lives of thousands of brave men and women, all the while more worlds were reduced to glass.
Yet, despite all that sacrifice and loss in the desperate hope that they could defeat the Covenant, now they were being told it was impossible. That no matter how hard they fought, humanity could never defeat the Covenant, not really. They were too big, too powerful for humanity’s might and resilience to overcome. Instead, according to Jinn, their only path to victory was by exacerbating the Covenant’s preexisting issues and helping them to destroy themselves.
As he looked at Ackerson and Parangosky, the heavy grip on his heart tightened even more. If what Jinn said was true, it was effectively an endorsement from God to the Office of Naval Intelligence. She was essentially telling them that subterfuge and information warfare were the keys to humanity’s survival, keys that were firmly in ONI’s grip. They had already been accumulating more and more power and influence in human space the longer the war went on, and now they would be given a blank check to get even more. Again, assuming this was true. But as much as Cole wanted to be doubtful, in his heart he knew she was telling the truth.
After all, they already knew that at least one thing was true, which Whitcomb was already bringing up as a holographic projection of a massive space station surrounded by the largest fleet Cole had ever seen erupted over the table.
“According to Jinn, this is the Covenant Holy City of High Charity. It’s the industrial, economic, and social heart of the entire Covenant empire,” Whitcomb said before tapping a few more keys on the desk. Next to the three-dimensional hologram came a two-dimensional image, and Whitcomb continued, “This image was taken by the CFHT-Mars telescope on January 18th, 2524. Within the image, we can clearly see what was, at the time, an unidentified stellar object. This discovery was sent to Dr. Catherine Halsey for evaluation, who was only able to ascertain that it was alien in origin, and far larger than anything previously encountered. I now believe this unidentified stellar object was High Charity.”
There was no dispute in Cole’s eyes. The silhouette was identical, from the bulbous head to the long tail trailing behind it. It was almost funny. They had managed to catch a glimpse of humanity’s arch-enemy a year before they even knew the Covenant existed. What could they have done if they had recognized the threat for what it was? It likely wouldn’t have changed much, but a year was a long time, and at the very least they could’ve gotten the wheels spinning much earlier.
Cole took another deep breath, and as he stared at the holographic depiction of the Covenant’s mobile capital, a deep-seated rage took root as he thought of the men who sat atop it. The Prophets of Truth, Mercy, and Regret, the ones who were most directly responsible for the Covenant’s war of extinction. It was by their decree that humanity’s mere existence was declared to be an affront to their gods and thus needed to be exterminated. Billions of innocent people and hundreds of worlds were destroyed because of them. Worst of all, if Jinn was to be believed, it wasn’t for any genuine religious belief. It was because they had discovered humanity’s connection to the Forerunners, their birthright for all intents and purposes, and feared for their loss of power and prestige.
“I want them dead,” Cole declared, his voice filled with venom. “Truth, Mercy, Regret…I want them dead.”
Cole could feel the temperature in the room increase as everyone’s rage reached boiling point at the mere mention of the Prophets responsible for the murder of billions. With his arms so tightly clenched that they were shaking, Ackerson remarked, “Agreed, the only question is how. If getting a ship to Sanghelios were difficult, High Charity would be impossible. Jinn told us as much.”
Stanforth then took off his hat to run his fingers through his short, neatly combed hair, and sighed before adding, “Another thing is certain, though. We can’t count on a truce or ceasefire anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Ackerson asked, and Stanforth looked back at him.
“Over the past couple of months, I’d been brainstorming an operation we could execute against Covenant leadership,” Stanforth began. “It was only ever theoretical, and a desperate Hail Mary to begin with. Essentially, the idea was that we would infiltrate the Covenant homeworld, kidnap a Prophet, and sue for a ceasefire in exchange for their return. Based on what Jinn said, that operation was doomed for failure. Even if we somehow managed to pull it off, the other two Prophets would simply exploit the power vacuum to gain more power while treating our hostage as a martyr to escalate the war against us.”
Cole frowned, frustrated at yet another admission of humanity’s lack of leverage in this war. That was when Whitcomb cleared his throat, catching their attention. He remarked, “Actually, I don’t think the plan is doomed.”
“Explain,” Ackerson demanded, and Whitcomb straightened himself.
“I have been involved in numerous weapons programs designed to level the playing field against the Covenant. One of them, I believe, may be perfect for this,” Whitcomb explained. “It’s called Project NOVA. While I can’t explain the physics behind it, the scientists assure me that, theoretically, a single NOVA bomb would be powerful enough to destroy an entire planet.”
Cole was beginning to understand where his Deputy Chief of Naval Operations was going, and he concluded, “You’re suggesting we insert a NOVA into High Charity.”
“Then detonate it, killing everyone and destroying everything inside,” Whitcomb confirmed, his bushy mustache widening as he smiled. “It’s the perfect target. It is the heart and nerve center of the entire Covenant empire. Everything flows through that city, and much of their war machine is manufactured there. It’s like Earth and Reach combined into one, on an even grander, top-heavy scale. We destroy it, and we bring the Covenant to its knees in one blow. With how specialized Covenant worlds supposedly are, they’d collapse into infighting and famine quickly.”
Cole honestly liked the sound of that, then Parangosky coldly remarked, “Assuming, of course, that the Covenant don’t immediately throw everything they have at us to avenge their holy city before they fracture. Because they will, at least in the short term. If what Jinn says is accurate, as humiliating as it is, the only reason why humanity is still alive is because we are in the Goldilocks zone of being just enough of a nuisance to attract the Covenant’s attention but not so much of a threat that they’d send their entire military at us. It doesn’t hurt that the Prophets are attempting to hide the truth about humanity’s supposed connection to the Forerunners.”
“Yes. In short, destroying High Charity would be an untenable escalation in this war,” Ackerson acknowledged, then visibly gagged. “Ugh, I almost threw up in my mouth saying that.”
Cole nodded in sympathy before adding, “We’ll table that operation for now. If the war continues to degrade, we’ll revisit it. In any case, the first order of business is verifying whether Jinn was telling the truth or not. If she is, how do we proceed?”
“I would direct Section One teams into identifying potential assets within Covenant space, for starters,” Parangosky immediately answered. “Individuals who would be amenable to working with humanity, or at least getting our support. There’s only so much we can do without a source on the inside. This isn’t like inserting an agent into an Insurrectionist cell. We need a member of the Covenant, preferably an Elite. Luckily, the Covenant apparently has no shortage of heretic groups willing to cause trouble, and at least some of them would have to be willing to work with us. If nothing else, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“That’s easier said than done, Margaret. The Prophets have spent the past sixteen years demonizing humanity. Even if they hate the Covenant, that’s no guarantee a heretic group would be willing to accept our help,” Whitcomb pointed out, and Parangosky nodded in acknowledgement.
“Whether we find an asset within the Covenant or not, the objective remains the same: bleed the Covenant dry,” Ackerson said. “If anything, this gives credence to my proposed fortress world strategy. If we concentrate our defenses on planets with Forerunner artifacts, the Covenant will be forced into prolonged sieges to recover them. This will increase Covenant casualties, making it much harder for the Prophets to hide how damaging the war is actually becoming for them, based on Jinn’s assessment. People will ask questions, and the bonds holding the Covenant together would fray more quickly while also buying us more time. Hopefully.”
He had to admit, Ackerson had a point. What’s more, Material Group’s operations on Remnant were already beginning to bear fruit. They had been working with scientists within the SDC in transporting Dust off-world, and were keenly interested in Atlas’ hardlight shield barrier systems. It encased the entire city to protect it from both the environment and Grimm attack, and could easily be reworked to defend against Covenant invasion. A picture was forming in Cole’s mind of an entire fortress encased in a hardlight bubble, forcing the Covenant into a costly ground campaign against human soldiers fielding Dust-enhanced weapons and armor. Each planet would turn into another Harvest, drawing more of the aliens’ attention to obtain the Forerunner trinkets they so desperately coveted. Then, if the planet were to fall anyway, the human defenders would destroy the Forerunner artifact to deny the Covenant their prize, making it all for nothing.
Speaking of Atlas, thoughts of the Relic of Creation housed within its vaults came to mind, and Cole added, “We need to convince Atlas that a better use of the Relic of Creation would be against the Covenant, not in keeping their city afloat.”
“They won’t do that, not unless we can provide an alternative to keep their city from crashing to the ground,” Whitcomb pointed out. “We don’t have the technology to do that. Not yet, at least.”
“I suspect Covenant anti-gravity technology would be our best bet,” Stanforth suggested. “We can prioritize REAP-X’ and XEG’s efforts into that field of study using captured Brute weapons.”
“Thankfully, we may have a lead there,” Ackerson acknowledged. “I’ve been informed that one of the gravity hammers recovered from Peponi by Specialist Clover Ebi had its security measures broken. They were able to glean key insight into its inner workings.”
“Having read Ebi’s file, I don’t know whether to chalk that up to good luck or not,” Whitcomb joked, and Cole couldn’t help but briefly smile. “Any other potential applications?”
“They’re thinking they might be able to apply the gravitic generators to our missiles. If we make the warheads pressurized with an atmosphere, we could potentially make Dust missiles functional in space. Maybe even MAC munitions. That’s years away, though.”
“Better than nothing. We should allocate extra resources. The sooner we crack artificial gravity, the sooner our Dust applications will fall into place,” Strauss suggested, and Cole nodded.
He then sighed again, and asked, “What about the Forerunners? And the Ancestors? In fact, how do we explain all this to the public?”
“Simple: we don’t,” Parangosky immediately answered. “Not completely, at least. Our Ancestors and connection to the Forerunners will remain classified and on a strictly need-to-know basis. The last thing we want is for the public to enter an existential crisis on top of us facing extinction, and that’s not even including the risk of this supposed connection getting back to the Covenant. If the Prophets figure out we know about this, the gloves are coming off.”
“God, how I understand that feeling,” Whitcomb remarked as he rubbed the top of his bald head. “I still can’t believe we might’ve had a spacefaring civilization millions of years ago, and we were created by practically living gods. It makes the legends of Atlantis sound downright reasonable.”
“Indeed. I have a hard time believing that myself,” Ackerson agreed. “If it is true, though, I can’t think of anything else that would be as good a morale boost as us having a Manifest Destiny over the galaxy.”
At the Colonel’s remark, Cole frowned and pointed out, “I’m fairly certain that line of thinking is what doomed the Forerunners, Colonel. The Master Chief was very clear on that.”
“What doomed them was whatever that Precursor bioweapon was, assuming all that is even real,” Ackerson countered. “But I’ll concede to your point. Besides, we don’t have the ability to rule the galaxy, anyway.”
‘Yet,’ Cole thought as he mentally finished Ackerson’s statement for him. Something told him that, even if ONI was openly dismissing the notion, the idea of humanity being the ‘rightful’ inheritors of the Forerunner’s Mantle and thus the true rulers of the galaxy was too tantalizing a prospect to ignore.
Personally, Cole’s thoughts on the Mantle echoed the Master Chief’s. It was an excuse and justification for an imperialistic peace, and human history was already rife with examples on how that could easily be exploited and abused, let alone the Forerunners’ history. Even the Insurrection was caused, in part, by Earth’s imperialistic policies against its colonies and paranoia about losing its control. ONI was a big part of why things got so bad to begin with, with them and hawks within the Admiralty using the Carver Findings to justify a military crackdown that only exacerbated local tensions rather than diffusing them when they were most able to. Cole wrote an essay about it in his freshman year of high school, predicting how human colonies would inevitably diverge culturally from Earth, leading to conflict. He got a B.
Yet, ironically enough, it was only because of the Insurrection that humanity had the tools it needed to defend itself against the Covenant. Their battle-hardened fleets, their magnetic accelerator cannons, the SPARTANs. Without the Insurrection, humanity would’ve been defenseless when the Covenant attacked. Speaking of their super soldiers, Cole’s heart sank once again as he realized he could no longer hold off on Ackerson’s proposal for more funding to the SPARTAN-III program. They would need all the SPARTANs they could get their hands on to throw at them.
He wondered how many more lives would be ruined because of his decisions, and how many more would come afterwards. Especially if, as he feared, ONI would grow more powerful because of these revelations. It was only making him more and more exhausted, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. Still, he had a job to do, and he would do it until he no longer could.
Parangosky’s voice cut through his thoughts, “As for how to reveal the relevant information we obtained from Jinn about the Covenant, I propose we attribute it to one of our many black ops teams who sacrificed their lives in the defense of humanity. We provide evidence that, due to their actions, we were able to obtain critical information about the Covenant’s motives, language, history, and culture. Information that we can use to defeat them. We’ll throw them a lavish, posthumous ceremony, award them the highest medals, and attribute everything to them.”
“Yes. Much more believable than saying, ‘a naked blue lady who came out of a golden lamp told us,’” Whitcomb joked, and Cole had to force back a laugh. The others, save for the unflappable Parangosky, smiled in response, but they quickly readopted a serious expression.
“Speaking of Remnant,” Stanforth began, “that brings us to the subjects of Salem and the Apple. How are we going to deal with them?”
“For the Apple, I would recommend an immediate deployment of xeno-archeology teams and several Army divisions to begin excavations,” Strauss said. “If we can give our soldiers aura and semblances, it could provide a massive boon for our forces. As for Salem, I believe we should coordinate closely with Ozpin on how best to contain her. He’s the expert in that regard.”
“I agree,” Cole said, then sighed. “God, I can’t even imagine what trying to deal with her would be like. We could drop a nuke on her, and she would come back completely unharmed.”
“Thankfully, the Grimm Queen is a problem limited to Remnant,” Ackerson said. “Let’s try to keep it that way.”
Cole nodded at that, then he pressed a few keys on his desk and pulled up a holographic projection of a large, ring-shaped superstructure orbiting a gas giant. As everyone in the room stared at it, he commented, “So, this is Halo? I have to admit, I can understand why the Covenant reveres this thing. It’s beautiful.”
“And potentially dangerous,” Ackerson pointed out, then thought for a moment. “Correction, it is dangerous, whatever the hell it is.”
“That’s the million-dollar question: just what is Halo?” Whitcomb remarked. “Jinn explicitly told the Master Chief that, if the Covenant finds Halo, humanity is doomed. Assuming she was telling the truth, that poses the question of why Halo is so dangerous. Is it a weapon of some kind? Does it store something dangerous within it? Does it open a portal to some dimension filled with pain and suffering? The possibilities are endless, which makes trying to plan around it nearly impossible. For as detailed as Jinn was, she was annoyingly vague.”
“I don’t care what Halo is or what Halo does. Right now, that doesn’t matter,” Parangosky dismissed. “What I do care about is the fact that the Covenant want this thing, which means I want to find it first. We can figure out what to do with Halo when it’s found.”
Cole supposed that was as good a plan as any at this point. Nodding at his fellow Security Council members, they continued to discuss plans on what to do next. It was somewhat funny, in Cole’s opinion. Despite the fact that they all openly promised to not use Jinn’s information until it was actually verified, deep down Cole knew there was no point. He knew she was telling the truth. He could feel it in his bones, and he knew the others recognized that as well. They were certainly planning humanity’s future like she was.
For the first time in sixteen years, they finally knew their enemy. How they thought, where they lived, and how to actually hurt them. For the first time since this terrible war began, Cole could just barely see a glimpse of what appeared to be a light at the end of this dark tunnel.
[~]
Glyke Geosynchronous Orbit, Keskus system
High Council Chamber, Holy City of High Charity
Cycle 545, Unit 133 (Covenant Battle Calendar)
Ninth Age of Reclamation
Sitting atop his gravity chair, the Prophet of Regret watched as the latest witness gave his testimony. He had long since lost count of just how many witnesses were called forth. Truth be told, Regret was barely paying attention to the proceedings. If it weren’t for the fact that, as one of the three Hierarchs of the Covenant, he was expected to preside over such trials, he wouldn’t have even attended. Regret would much rather be leading excavations into Forerunner ruins to glean whatever knowledge and treasures laid within. But, alas, he could not.
That wasn’t to say he was making his disinterest obvious. Regret was many things, and a good actor was one of them.
“Thank you, Major ‘Vasovee. You honor your fallen Lance with your words,” Regret proclaimed as Major Rteda ‘Vasovee stood before the assembled members of the High Council. The highest ranking Sangheili and San’Shyuum in the entire Covenant sat in this room, debating and legislating on how best to run the empire. Of course, the final say to all decisions came down to himself, Truth, and Mercy, but their input alongside the countless ministries that answered to them was still valuable in ensuring that the Covenant ran smoothly.
“Thank you, noble Hierarchs,” Rteda ended his testimony as he respectfully bowed towards the Prophets of Truth, Mercy, and Regret.
As Rteda saluted and was escorted out of the council chamber, Regret took a moment to glance around the room. He focused most of his attention on the Sangheili councilors, many of whom were eyeing Rteda as he left. Some were soft, clearly sympathetic towards his tale of how his lance of Zealots, led by the late Sangheili Swordmaster Ir ‘Haramai, lost their lives to the humans during the Scouring of Peponi, leading to him resigning from the Zealot Order as to not shame their memory by so easily replacing them. Others were far harsher, likely blaming him, in part, for the failures that happened that day.
For his part, Regret felt something was off about Rteda’s story. According to him, Ir and his lance had secured a copy of the Peponi Cartographer’s data and was escorting it back to their ship, the Valorous Penance, and the Minister of Veracity. But their Phantom was shot down by human air defenses, killing everyone inside save for Rteda himself. While the other Phantom carrying the data was successfully returned to the Valorous Penance, it was all for naught as, not long afterwards, a hijacked Phantom carrying human boarders infiltrated the ship and destroyed it. A wounded Rteda was found in the Peponi jungles by a pair of Jiralhanae Stalkers, who escorted him back to Covenant lines.
There were holes in that story. For one, how exactly did Ir’s Phantom get shot down in such a way that its repository was completely destroyed? The repositories onboard Covenant vessels were designed to record everything that happened onboard a flight so that, in the event of catastrophe, it could be recovered and inform investigators as to what happened. It was the single most durable component of any vessel. But Ir’s repository was, according to both Rteda and the Jiralhanae Stalkers, completely unsalvageable. Combined with the complete destruction of the Valorous Penance, that meant they knew absolutely nothing beyond what three survivors claimed.
Then there was the fact that Rteda had immediately resigned from the Zealots to rejoin the standard legion forces. It was unheard of for a Sangheili to willingly leave such a prestigious and honorable posting. Regret imagined that many of the harsh glares from the Sangheili was because Rteda did just that. He claimed, and certainly showed, that he was simply honoring his fallen comrades. That, since he was the newest member of that lance before its untimely demise, simply transferring to another would be acting as though they never mattered. Regret supposed he could see the logic behind that, but most Sangheili didn’t think that way.
No, there was something about his experience in the Scouring of Peponi that Rteda ‘Vasovee wasn’t sharing. What that thing was, Regret had no idea. In the end, however, he wasn’t exactly inclined to figure out what that was. Compared to everything else they were focusing on, the truth behind Ir ‘Haramai’s death was ultimately inconsequential. Besides, he already knew that Rteda’s actions had doomed his career within the Covenant military. Having known and befriended many Sangheili over the years, Regret knew that enough wouldn’t take too kindly to Rteda’s resignation. They’d shuffle him off to some backwater post away from any action to languish over his lost honor. They’d view that as a more suitable punishment than the messiness of accusing him of cowardice and executing him.
With Rteda gone from his sight, Regret returned his attention to the true focus of today’s trial. A trial that was being broadcast live across all of High Charity, all of whom were giving it their undivided attention. It was less of a trial and more of a spectacle. The outcome was predetermined before the accused had even entered the holy city. All the actors knew this, but they also all knew they had a role to play. Such events served as a reminder to all the Covenant what the price of failure was.
For a failure as grand as the complete destruction of a Forerunner Cartographer, the theft of its insights by the humans, and the death of a Minor Prophet? That didn’t even include the fact that half of the planet’s population had managed to escape the Covenant’s holy wrath. The Covenant demanded justice and penance for such a disaster, and the Prophet of Regret was all too happy to oblige.
“Fleetmaster Var ‘Gatanai,” the High Prophet of Truth announced, his silk-like voice echoing across the High Council Chamber as the disgraced Fleetmaster in question walked up to the central podium still wearing his golden armor. “Today, we have heard many stories about the events that happened on Peponi. What say you in your defense?”
“I have none, noble Hierarchs,” Var said, hanging his head and refusing to look them in the eye. “As Fleetmaster of the Fleet of Solemn Accord, the security of the Cartographer on Peponi was my responsibility. Its destruction by the humans is my greatest shame and dishonor.”
Rather than be moved by his admission, the Sangheili councilors snarled in response, with one of them shouting out, “If you knew the Cartographer’s destruction was your doing, why do you still stand and breathe?!”
“What’s left of my honor demanded that I face the High Council openly,” Var replied, which only caused the council to get even more enraged.
“You have no honor, coward!” the same Sangheili councilor shouted at the top of his lungs, his words echoed by others roaring in agreement. “If you had any left, you would’ve taken your own life as you should have!”
As the council chamber erupted in a cacophony of shouts and screams that Regret was unable to parse, he kept his attention on the disgraced Fleetmaster. Var ‘Gatanai continued to hang his head, refusing to look at any of them even as the council’s harsh words and denouncements rained upon his armor like plasma bolts. He could tell that they affected him, but what did Var expect? Sangheili custom demanded penance for failures to retain their honor. The bigger the failure, the harsher the penance. For the destruction of a Forerunner site as significant as a Cartographer and the death of a Minor Prophet? Most Sangheili would’ve already killed themselves. The fact that Var did not won him no sympathy in their eyes.
“Order! There will be order in this council!” the High Prophet of Mercy shouted. Despite being the oldest of the current Triumvirate, his voice was still strong enough to carry over the shouts which began to die down into quiet murmurs.
With all eyes on the Prophets once again, Mercy whispered, “Noble Prophet of Truth, this has gone on long enough. He already admits to his failure. Why drag it out any longer? Make an example of him.”
Clearly Truth agreed with Mercy’s words, and he began his pronouncement as he floated forward in his chair, “Fleetmaster ‘Gatanai, you were one of our most treasured instruments. You have long led your fleet with honor and distinction. But your admitted failures at Peponi outweigh all your past deeds. For the crimes of failing to protect a Forerunner artifact and allowing the death of a Minister, this Council hereby declares you guilty on all counts. Your sentence is execution.”
Regret watched as Var took a deep, heavy and resigned breath, then he declared, “I accept whatever penance the Council deems fit.”
“Whether you accept it or not means little,” Regret rebuked as Var was led away by a cadre of Sangheili Honor Guards. The disgraced former Fleetmaster practically withered under the barrage of insults being hurled his way, yet he was trying to stand tall regardless. It was the only thing he had left, Regret knew.
As he watched Var disappear from sight, Regret couldn’t help but feel somewhat intrigued by how he composed himself. It was very atypical of Sangheili to not only admit their wrongdoing but to accept punishment for it rather than commit ritualistic suicide. He didn’t know how he himself felt about that, yet he found it intriguing regardless. Still, as much as he wanted to call it a day, they still had the rest of the session to go through, and so Regret turned his attention back to the High Council.
[~]
After what felt like an eternity, the day’s council session was finally over. Regret and the other two Hierarchs were finally able to retire to their private chamber, the Sanctum of the Hierarchs. Inside, tended to by Sangheili clerics with the finest wines, sweetest fruits, and succulent meats from across the entire Covenant empire, he was finally able to relax. They were bathed in soft, warm light, for hanging over them was a dazzling chandelier adorned with delicate shards of glass, each representing a world burned by the Covenant’s righteous flame, and lit by the glowing power of sacred ichor crystals carefully extracted from Forerunner sites. The rare gems added an ethereal, holy glow to the chamber in a range of colors. Yet, despite the fact that the council session was over, Regret found himself trapped in it still.
Beside him, Truth sighed wearily, then remarked, “Politics…how tiresome.”
“Indeed. It seems as though, half the time, the council must needlessly debate and squabble over the most minor things,” Mercy added.
“Such debates let the council’s voices be heard, and let them believe they have a say,” Truth said, and Mercy nodded.
Regret remained silent as he pondered Truth’s words. It was just as his fellow Prophet said. At the end of the day, all decisions within the Covenant were theirs to make. The High Council could and would provide their input, but that didn’t mean the Hierarchs had to take said input into account. That wasn’t to say that the High Council was powerless. They held a tremendous amount of sway, and appeasing them was half the job of being a Hierarch.
Knowing Truth, he likely wished to take away more of their influence and add it to his own. It was part of the game they all played, and both knew it.
“Regret, you have been unusually silent,” Truth suddenly pointed out, breaking Regret’s concentration. “What troubles you, my friend?”
He and Regret and both knew they weren’t actually friends. They were barely colleagues. The truth was, Regret and Truth were allies of convenience. In the twilight of the Twenty-Third Age of Doubt, he and Truth, then respectively known as the Vice Minister of Tranquility Lod Mron, and Minister of Fortitude Ord Casto, had conspired to overthrow the previous Hierarchs to install themselves as the new leaders of the Covenant. It was then that they learned the terrible truth of the then-recently discovered species, humanity. Together with the Philologist Hod Rumnt, they enacted their coup, became the Prophets of Truth, Mercy, and Regret, then started the Ninth Age of Reclamation, and started the War of Annihilation.
It was a brutal yet necessary decision, one that he couldn’t allow any regrets over. It was why he chose his name upon his ascension. That didn’t mean things were going exactly according to plan, however. Humanity, like a plague, had infested far more worlds than they had anticipated, and had inflicted far greater casualties than any conflict in Covenant history. Not since the War of Beginnings had a single conflict killed so many of them. They were still winning the War of Annihilation, but it was terribly costly. It was taking nearly all of the Triumvirate’s efforts to downplay just how many lives had been lost and to keep the High Council from asking too many uncomfortable questions about why they were trying to exterminate the humans in the first place.
Regret furrowed his brow as he looked Truth in the eyes, then admitted, “I have…concerns. Concerns over what happened on Peponi.”
Truth seemed to understand where Regret was going and nodded, saying, “Ah, yes. The destruction of that Cartographer…who knows what information we could’ve obtained from its records.”
“Var committed heresy in my eyes by failing to protect it,” Mercy denounced. As Regret had noticed over the years, Mercy was quite ruthless at times, especially when concerning the Covenant religion.
“Now, Mercy. Var is a failure and a coward, yes. But a heretic? No, that I do not agree with,” Truth rebuked while shooting Mercy a sharp look.
Mercy took a moment to think his fellow Hierarch’s words over, then he nodded in agreement. Regret nearly rolled his eyes. Ever since he became one of them, Mercy’s inability to truly think for himself most of the time became readily apparent. The elderly San’Shyuum was far too focused on tending to the spiritual matters of the Covenant to deal with politics, preferring to leave that to his younger Hierarchs. When it came to actually running the Covenant, he tended to simply follow their lead, most often Truth.
Especially when it came to the Jiralhanae. It was obvious to Regret that Truth was among a growing faction of San’Shyuum who preferred the recently incorporated Jiralhanae over the established Sangheili. To them, the Jiralhanae weren’t just stronger than the Sangheili, which was an objective fact, but more importantly far more submissive to the San’Shyuum. Even if they were equals per the Writ of Union, the San’Shyuum and the Sangheili had been jockeying for power within the Covenant since its inception. Truth didn’t like sharing power, and that extended to the Sangheili. Mercy was the last of the Old Guard, as it was. He never liked the fact that the San’Shyuum demilitarized following the War of Beginnings in favor of relying solely on the Sangheili for their protection. Replacing them with the Jiralhanae was simply a way to correct past mistakes in his eyes.
But Regret saw things differently. While he wanted to ensure that the San’Shyuum remained on top as it always should be, he respected the Sangheili. They had been their loyal protectors for thousands of years. It was through Sangheili fleets and Sangheili swords that the Covenant had expanded to its current height and prosperity. The Lekgolo, Yanme’e, Kig-Yar, Unggoy. None of them would be part of the Covenant were it not for the Sangheili and San’Shyuum working together to illuminate them to the glory of the Forerunners. The Sangheili and San’Shyuum partnership allowed both to prosper, and throwing all that away just because they found some hairy apes who were bigger and stronger was not only an insult, but foolish.
Furthermore, Regret disputed the idea that the Jiralhanae were stupid and thus more easily swayed by the word of the Prophets. While they had found the Jiralhanae at a low point in their history, which made conquest and conversion easy, the Jiralhanae were still a Tier 4 civilization, to the point of establishing colonies across the Oth Sonin system, before they destroyed themselves in the Great Immolation, regressing back down to Tier 7 hunter-gatherers. The Covenant arrived shortly afterwards, and even then they had just rediscovered radio. As a species, the Jiralhanae were at their weakest, so of course they were subsumed easily.
But the Sangheili had noticed quite quickly the dangers that the Jiralhanae could pose. To be sure, a significant portion of it stemmed from simple jealousy. Even if they didn’t want to admit it, they saw that a significant portion of the San’Shyuum were beginning to view the Jiralhanae more favorably, giving them control of auxiliary fleets that, while underequipped by Sangheili standards, still far surpassed anything that the non-Sangheili members of the Covenant were allowed to have. They were even allowed to modify their own weapons with Forerunner technology, which many Sangheili viewed as barbarism at best and heresy at worst. But beyond that, the Sangheili also recognized the simple truth that the Jiralhanae, as a culture, were naturally aggressive and domineering. They wanted to be at the top of the pyramid, and immediately became rivals with the Sangheili because of that drive.
For now, the Jiralhanae’s attention was squarely focused on the Sangheili, a rivalry that many San’Shyuum gleefully exploited to their own benefit. But if they were to one day replace the Sangheili as Truth, Mercy, and many other San’Shyuum desired, it wouldn’t be long before they’d see the San’Shyuum as the next rival to surpass. The Sangheili valued honor and tradition. The Jiralhanae valued brute strength and dominance. In his heart, Regret knew that replacing the Sangheili with the Jiralhanae wouldn’t lead to an age of uncontested San’Shyuum supremacy. It would lead to the destruction of the Covenant itself.
Regret shook his head. The power plays within the Covenant were certainly subjects a Hierarch of the Covenant had to concern himself with, but that wasn’t what he was focusing on now. Right now, the War of Annihilation was his primary concern, and the latest cause of his distress.
“I’m not talking about the loss of the Cartographer, at least not on its own,” Regret clarified. “Rather, I’m concerned about what the survivors and witnesses spoke of during the battle.”
Truth’s face hardened, then he said, “You mean the demons.”
“I’m not certain those were demons, Truth,” Regret admitted. “If what the warriors say is true, their abilities are different than anything the demons had ever displayed before.”
Mercy waved his hand dismissively and remarked, “Those stories are merely exaggerations by scared Kig-Yar and Unggoy. You can’t trust half of what they say.”
“And what of the Sangheili reports? And the Jiralhanae?” Regret pointed out. “The Stalker Chieftain who recovered Rteda ‘Vasovee reported that one of the demons, wearing no armor, was able to lift an entire Shadow and hurl it off the side of a mountain under her own power. Others reported seeing them moving at blinding speeds, carving through our ranks like they weren’t even there using melee weapons that transformed into guns firing exotic ammunition they had no explanation for. They displayed abilities that were unnatural! It was because of those…witches that the Cartographer was destroyed in the first place, as well as the loss of both its data and the death of the Minister of Veracity.”
Truth pondered his words for a moment, then dismissed them and rationalized, “These are only isolated reports. Troubling, yes, but I’m not willing to concern myself too much on hearsay alone. The supposed abilities of these ‘witches’ are far beyond anything humanity has displayed thus far during this war. I doubt they suddenly managed to obtain this level of strength now, not when they are consistently retreating and hiding like vermin.”
“We dismissed reports of the demons at first,” Regret reminded his fellow Hierarch, causing Truth to frown. “Now their existence is indisputable.”
Truth and Mercy were silent for a moment, then Truth quietly sneered, “I will not waste my time fretting over a threat that was likely conjured up by the shaken minds of defeated soldiers. If you want to, be my guest.”
Regret knew the game Truth was playing. He was hedging his bets. Truth was an intelligent man. While he may be openly dismissive, deep down he knew the possibility of there being at least some semblance of accuracy to these sorcerous accounts. It wouldn’t be the first time they had underestimated humanity’s abilities in this war. They had done so at the very beginning, which had led to the destruction of the Ring of Mighty Abundance and two of the Ten Cities of Edification on the planet Zhoist. The main perpetrators of this travesty were demons.
By telling Regret he could pursue reports on the witches on his own, he was shielding himself from any potential failure and thus wasting of time and resources. Such a failure would be a public embarrassment on Regret’s part, increasing Truth’s standing as a consequence. If Regret did manage to find something, however, Truth could claim that he gave Regret his blessing and thus earn himself at least some prestige. If Regret decided against an investigation, he would thereby be submitting to his rival in the Triumvirate.
Regret scowled angrily, then said, “Of course, Noble Prophet of Truth. If you’ll excuse me, I have things I must attend to.”
Without waiting for Truth or Mercy to reply, Regret turned around and floated out of the Chamber of the Hierarchs. Outside, he was immediately met and joined by several Honor Guards who began escorting him down the halls. They didn’t ask where they were going, instead just dutifully continuing to follow their divine purpose.
As they reached a gravity lift, Regret ordered, “Bring the condemned to me.”
“Of course, noble Hierarch,” one of the Honor Guards replied, then he and two others left to do as ordered once they reached the lower floor.
Regret and his remaining Honor Guards continued onward to their destination. At this level, only Sangheili and San’Shyuum were seen. Any nearby immediately stopped what they were doing and simultaneously got out of the way as well as reverently bowing their heads. Regret couldn’t help but perk himself up at the adulation, and he slowed his pace to bask in it just a little bit longer. His Honor Guards, meanwhile, eyed everyone like a prowling helioskrill, ready to pounce on any potential threat to the Prophet.
Finally, after traversing through several hallways, levels, and gravity lifts, they arrived at their destination. It was a massive, ornate tower hanging over a vast, empty void. It was ornately decorated with purple walls and soft blue lights. Embedded into the walls were countless coffins, and in the center of the chamber was a large, floating sarcophagus.
The Mausoleum of the Arbiter. It was one of the most sacred sites in all of High Charity, even now centuries after the title was disgraced by Fal ‘Chavamee’s heresy. Regret made a silent prayer, thanking the Arbiters of the past for their contributions to the Covenant as they followed the Forerunners on the path of the Great Journey. As the inheritors of the Forerunners’ Mantle, it was the Covenant’s divine right to dominion over Path Tolgreth, and it was thanks in part to the sacrifices of the Arbiters that they were able to do so.
Eventually, the silence was broken as a naked Var ‘Gatanai was dragged into the Mausoleum. He had clearly been tortured since Regret had last seen him. Cuts and bruises were all over his body, and branded onto his chest was the Mark of Shame. The two Honor Guards carrying him practically threw him onto the floor, and Var just barely managed to rise to his knees while breathing heavily.
“Leave us,” Regret ordered, and his Honor Guards saluted before complying. They would only be on the other side of the door, and the only reason why they allowed such distance in the first place was because Var was so beaten and thoroughly searched beforehand.
“The Council wanted you publicly executed,” Regret announced. “I had considered acquiescing to their wish. But, ultimately, the terms of your execution are up to me.”
“I’m already dead,” Var remarked through a painful wheeze.
“Yes, you are,” Regret said with slight amusement. He then asked, “Do you know where we are?
With his head still hanging, Var answered, “The Mausoleum…of the Arbiter.”
“That we are. We are in the final resting place of the vanguard of the Great Journey, created and consumed during times of great crisis. Each of these caskets holds the body of the Arbiter who gave his life in service to the Covenant. The Taming of the Lekgolo, the Unggoy Rebellion, even the War of Annihilation. Without the Arbiters, the Covenant would not have reached its present height, and perhaps may have already fallen.”
“Even on my knees, I do not belong in their presence,” Var lamented, and Regret nodded in agreement.
“No, you don’t,” Regret confirmed. “As you yourself admitted, the failures on Peponi are yours to bear. They have set you on the path to Oblivion. But you don’t have to stay on that path. Redemption may yet be yours, if you can earn it.”
Only then did Var raise his head, and Regret continued, “Your failure was not entirely of your own accord. The humans had unleashed a new weapon on Peponi.”
“The witches…,” Var quietly hissed, and Regret nodded.
“Good, you are already aware. I need not repeat myself, then,” Regret replied as the central sarcophagus floated forward. “Your task is simple and, given your failure, appropriate. I want you to uncover the truth of these witches. Find out what they are, where they come from, and how to eradicate them. The humans have incorporated vile, heretical magic to create these witches, and much like their demons we cannot afford to let them catch us off-guard.”
Regret paused, then added, “As Arbiter, this mission will be your execution. You will die, as all Arbiters before you. Whether it be today, tomorrow, or years from now matters little. The Council will have their corpse, but you… Do this, and your sins shall be forgiven, and you will be welcomed back onto the Great Journey with your honor restored.”
Var was silent for a moment as he stared at the open sarcophagus. Inside, he and Reget could see the shining silver metal Armor of the Arbiter. An ancient design, one that had been untouched and unmodified so as to maintain its holiness. It wasn’t the same armor of course. As every Arbiter who had ever worn it had lost his life in battle, the Covenant wasn’t always able to reclaim it. The last Arbiter, Ripa ‘Moramee, fell in battle on the Holy Bastion of Trove. This new armor was commissioned to replace the one that was lost along with his body when the holy world was destroyed by a single human vessel.
Finally, Var rose to his feet, grunting in pain and exertion. He limped his way over to the sarcophagus, then gingerly took the silver, open-faced helmet into his hands. Var stared into his reflection for what felt like an eternity, then he turned it around and slid it over his head.
“Your Arbiter will do as you command,” the Arbiter of the Covenant proclaimed, marred yet unbowed, and the Prophet of Regret smiled.
[~][~]