For a moment, Kael stood still in the middle of the hangar.
It wasn't the echo of his footsteps. Or the scent of exhaust and Solar coolant. Or even the distant hum of ships lifting off beyond the force-field shields.
It was the Tower itself.
Alive. Structured. Filled with motion and stories.
In his old life, he'd only seen it through loading screens and cinematic angles—distant, controlled, pixel-perfect. But here? Every step, every corridor, every warm light and hurrying Guardian told a different story.
The Tower breathed.
And now it was breathing around him.
---
Amanda Holliday had already moved off toward the far platform, datapad in hand, voice raised as she called over a crew chief.
Kael remained still for a second longer.
Then—
> [System Note – "Temporal Divergence Detected"]
This version of the Tower contains discrepancies from observed timelines.
Influence Level: Minor
Notable: Certain personnel appear alive despite Destiny Timeline Archive logs.
User Status: Observer-Origin Flag Active
Continue without disrupting causality.
Or disrupt… and rewrite.
Kael's jaw tightened slightly.
He looked after Amanda again—still alive. Still Amanda.
"Yeah," he whispered, "this timeline's already cracked open."
---
Ghost appeared beside him, his tone low and clipped.
"I scanned the hangar's systems. You're on file. Barely. The Tower knows something landed, but they don't know who."
Kael grinned. "I like it that way."
"Be careful," Ghost said. "We're an anomaly walking through protocol. The longer you stay, the more attention you'll draw."
"That's kind of my thing."
---
He followed a marked route toward the main plaza, passing a mix of new and familiar sights—gunracks being repaired by Hunters, a pair of Titans arguing over armor upgrades, a Warlock seated cross-legged mid-float beside a pigeon.
Pigeons? He smirked.
---
> [Questline Active: "Welcome to the Tower"]
Objective: Report to the central Guardian kiosk.
Optional: Scan faction terminals | Speak with available vendors | Access Vanguard history records
Hidden Subobjective Triggered: Social Dynamics: Faction Tension
---
Starflame Whisper flared softly in his inventory.
> "It's cleaner than the Hive chambers… but colder in other ways."
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"You feel it too?"
> "They watch. Not all with eyes. Not all with love."
Ghost chimed in. "Factions. Politics. Different loyalties orbiting the same Light."
---
Kael moved through the plaza, passing a banner for New Monarchy—its crimson crest fluttering gently above a polished vendor stand. Not far from it, a Dead Orbit recruiter tapped his console, his eyes fixed on Kael longer than necessary.
He kept walking.
Toward the central tower lift.
---
> [System Note – Faction Relations Detected]
Status: Cold War – Passive Political Tension Active
New Monarchy – Seeking stronger leadership
Future War Cult – Monitoring timelines through experimental means
Dead Orbit – Preparing for offworld migration initiative
Guardian Involvement Level: Unaffiliated
Warning: Faction alignment may affect future dialogue, rewards, and alliances.
---
Kael paused.
This was not the game anymore.
This was a living political machine.
And he'd just stepped onto the board.
---
The central plaza of the Tower opened before Kael like a memory rewritten.
He stepped into the sunlight and froze.
Because he'd been here before.
Not in this life—but through a screen, behind a controller, at 3AM grinding for loot with music in the background and a mug of cold coffee beside him. He remembered the flags, the sound of boots on metal, the way Guardians gathered in silent emotes or celebratory chaos.
Only this time…
It was all real.
---
His eyes were drawn skyward first. The Traveler hovered above, so close now that it felt like its light touched everything—casting the entire courtyard in a warm, golden haze. Wind blew through scattered banners. Vendors spoke in low tones. Sparks from engineers lit the walls with flickers of life.
And below all that?
Guardians.
Hundreds of them.
Walking. Talking. Sparring. Waiting.
Alive.
---
Kael exhaled slowly.
> "This place was destroyed," he whispered.
Ghost hovered beside him, quieter than usual. "Not here. Not yet. Or maybe never."
Kael didn't respond. He simply walked to the edge of the plaza, placing a hand on the balcony rail.
Below, the City stretched wide and green—homes, towers, light-farms, children chasing birds through alleyways. The distant sea glittered like broken glass.
His breath hitched.
"This was never in the game," he murmured. "Not like this."
> [System Note – Timeline Deviation Registered]
You are observing a version of the Tower prior to the Red War. Events from recorded history may no longer align with your presence.
Advisory: Do not attempt to prevent or force historic events. But should they shift… adapt.
---
Kael nodded, stepping back. He moved deeper into the plaza—and passed a small sign.
Tower Facilities Map
North Pavilion: Guardian Kiosk
West Annex: Vanguard Operations
South Pavilion: Banshee-44's Armory
East Wing: Eververse Trading Company
Central Atrium: Dormitory Access | Showers | Lavatories
Meditation Garden (Quiet Zone)
Food Court: "Traveler's Roost" – Open 24 hrs
He stopped. Re-read the sign.
"Wait. There's a bathroom?"
Ghost chimed, "You didn't think Guardians just held it forever, did you?"
"I don't know! Nobody ever… goes in the game!"
Ghost cackled. "Welcome to immersion, Guardian."
---
He turned left toward the armory first.
The armory was chaos in the best way—workbenches cluttered with coils, frame parts, ammo types he couldn't identify. Sparks flew as a Titan slammed his hammer into a sparking shield generator. A Hunter tinkered with a pulse rifle that hissed and growled like a caged animal.
And in the center of it all stood…
Banshee-44.
Tall. Grizzled. Awash in cobalt and silver plating. The Exo turned slowly, as if his processors ran on warm nostalgia and broken protocols.
Kael approached, heartbeat ticking faster.
---
"Something about this place feel familiar?" Banshee asked, not looking up.
Kael blinked. "...A little."
"Good," Banshee muttered. "Means I've probably met you before."
Kael smiled. "How many times you gonna say that today?"
Banshee paused.
Then looked at him. "How many times have I said what?"
Kael stifled a laugh.
> "Ah yes," he whispered. "The true final boss. Memory corruption."
---
> [System Note – Vendor Activated: Banshee-44]
Available Services:
– Weapon Modification
– Frame Restoration
– Armament Tuning
Memory Retention: Inconsistent
Lore Marker: Banshee-44 is the 44th body of a long-forgotten Exo who remembers fragments of his past with every reset.
---
Kael watched the old Exo turn back to his tools.
"You're a legend," he muttered.
Banshee blinked. "I get that a lot. Usually from people I owe weapons to."
---
From there, Kael made his way east—toward the Eververse.
The building gleamed like a tech cathedral: gold and white with holo-screens projecting flowing fabrics, ship schematics, and Guardian armor shaders that shimmered like nebulae. A neat little queue of Guardians stood at glowing kiosks, some browsing. Some shopping.
Kael blinked at the board of prices.
"Yep," he muttered. "Still overpriced."
Ghost laughed. "Would you believe people once paid real money for dance emotes?"
"I was one of those people."
> [System Note – Eververse Access Unlocked]
Currency Detected: 900 Bright Dust
Silver: 0
Reminder: Cosmetic transactions are final. Style is eternal.
Shop Rotation: Updated Weekly
---
Kael browsed the current wares for a moment. Shaders, cloaks, a rather ridiculous Sparrow with glittering afterburners.
And a rare finisher animation called "Thronebreaker."
He raised an eyebrow. "Tempting."
Starflame Whisper pulsed lightly from his side.
> "Let them see you blaze."
Kael smiled. "You'd say that."
---
---
After checking out the Eververse (no, he still wasn't buying the "Worm Dance" emote no matter how funny Ghost thought it was), Kael veered off from the crowds toward a less polished vendor stall tucked between a structural support beam and a ramen cart.
The glowing display read:
ELMA'S RELICS, RESTOCKS & REALLY BAD IDEAS
Kael couldn't help himself.
He stepped closer and nodded at the Awoken vendor behind the counter.
"You look like someone who either needs a nap or a sidearm that talks back."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "That second one's oddly specific."
She smirked. "So's my inventory."
---
She pulled up her terminal and tapped through a few menus. "You browsing or panicking?"
"Bit of both," Kael said. "What day is it?"
Elma blinked. "You forget your calendar?"
"He's a drama orb. Mostly editorializes."
Ghost appeared and spun slowly. "Excuse me. I'm narrating your legacy."
"Poorly," Kael replied.
Elma snorted.
"Okay, ghostless one," she said. "It's Friday, second Gemini cycle. Also—he's here."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "...Xur?"
"Yup. Brought two decent exotics, one knockoff, and a suspicious toaster that might be a helmet."
Ghost added, "He greeted me with interpretive humming. Again."
Kael rubbed his eyes. "Of course he did."
---
> [System Note – Xur Available (Friday–Sunday)]
Inventory: Mostly cursed, always weird.
---
Kael glanced at a Telesto on the rack that was gently vibrating with malevolent energy.
"Is that… stable?"
"No," Elma replied. "It's Telesto."
Kael blinked. "Fair."
---
She tapped her console again. "Name?"
"Kael."
She offered a hand. "Elma. Purveyor of questionable weaponry and bad timing."
They shook.
Kael looked over her goods again, pausing at a faintly glowing blank Guardian journal.
"Light-absorbing paper?" he asked.
"Yeah. Writes thoughts you're not ready to admit. Just... don't sleep near it."
Kael laughed softly.
He bought it immediately.
---
To Be Continued – Chapter 16 – The Architect of Names
---