Amanda held up a finger toward the ceiling. "Hangar control, I'm going to call you back," she said through clenched teeth, then dropped her hand and fixed her glare on Spark and Weiss. "Alright," You two, start talking."
Spark helpfully rotated to present Weiss, like he was unveiling a work of art. "This is Weiss, my Guardian! Newly risen, partially trained, prone to reckless endangerment but showing admirable adaptability under pressure."
Weiss scowled at him. "You were the one who said flying is just 'controlled falling with hopes attached.'"
"And you executed the concept marvelously!" Spark chirped.
Amanda dragged a palm down her face. "Okay, look. I don't know what backwater corner of the Cosmodrome you two crawled out of, but you are very lucky you didn't pancake yourselves into tower wall art. Let's get you cleared before Zavala—"
A familiar heavy footstep echoed from behind.
Amanda winced. "—finds out."
Commander Zavala approached with the measured patience of someone who had long since accepted that chaos followed Guardians like a personal hobby. His gaze swept over the mangled Arcadia ship, the smoking skid marks, and the cratered deck plating.
Then he looked at Weiss, then Spark and finally Amanda.
"I assume," Zavala said, "there is an explanation for this."
Spark bobbed eagerly. "Oh! Yes, Commander! Weiss and I completed our initial field excursion with approximately twelve hostile engagements, thirty-seven near-fatal incidents, and one extremely efficient escape maneuver which—"
Amanda coughed loudly. "Crash landing. It means crash landing, big guy."
Zavala's eyebrow twitched, which was basically a shout of frustration by Titan standards. He folded his arms.
"Guardian Weiss," he said, "I welcome you to the Last City. Though traditionally, new arrivals do not begin their service by destroying part of our hangar."
Weiss shrank slightly. "Sorry… sir. I'm, uh… still learning."
Spark chimed, "Indeed! Her combat performance has escalated rapidly—she decapitated a Fallen Captain with his own weapon, you know! Very resourceful!"
Amanda muttered, "Great. A newbie who collects alien swords. Nothing ever goes wrong with that."
Zavala inhaled slowly. "Weiss, once you've been medically evaluated, the Vanguard will debrief you. Spark, continue her acclimation. And please, for the sake of structural integrity, avoid any additional… creative landings."
Spark made a sound suspiciously like a giggle. "No promises!"
Zavala turned away before Spark could elaborate, leaving Amanda to deal with the aftermath.
She sighed deeply.
"Alright, Guardian. I'll get a fire team to drag this metal corpse out of my hangar. You, come with me. We need to check her for concussion, shock, radiation exposure, and whatever else results from trusting him with flight instructions."
Medical Bay – A Short Time Later
Weiss sat on an examination bed while a medic scanned her missing arm's regrowth, now partially reconstructed by the Light. The pain had faded to a phantom ache, replaced by clean numbness.
"I can't believe it's just… growing back," she murmured.
Spark hovered proudly. "Ah yes! One of the many delightful features of your new metaphysical status. You are, effectively, very difficult to kill. Quite resilient! Entirely repairable! Mostly."
"Mostly?" Weiss muttered.
"Oh, don't focus on that part." He said innocently.
The medic coughed. "She's stable. Light regeneration is progressing normally. She'll have full limb function by tomorrow."
Weiss exhaled shakily. "Thank you."
Spark rotated toward her. "Now that you're functioning—and no longer distracting yourself with existential panic—we can continue your briefing on Guardian duties!"
Weiss gave him a tired look. "You make that sound like homework."
"Oh, it is!" Spark chirped. "Extremely dangerous, occasionally explosive homework!"
Before Weiss could reply, the intercom chimed.
"Guardian Weiss. Report to the Hall of Guardians. Vanguard briefing required."
Spark spun excitedly. "Excellent! Our first official assignment! Hopefully with fewer explosions. Though I make no guarantees."
Weiss slid off the bed, steadying herself. Her rebuilt nerves tingled. Her fingers twitched around the hilt of the Arc Blade she'd reclaimed earlier.
"Alright," she said. "Lead the way, Spark."
"With pleasure!"
Spark zipped out of the room, already narrating possible mission probabilities. Weiss followed, walking toward the Hall of Guardians, and toward the new life that had crash-landed into the Tower along with her.
______________
The doors to the Hall of Guardians parted with a deep metallic rumble, and Weiss stepped into a chamber filled with light, movement, and power. The great vaulted ceiling arched high above her, banners of each class swaying gently in the warm radiance of the Traveler filtering in from the skylights. Guardians in polished armor strode through the hall: Titans like living fortresses, Warlocks surrounded by faint hums of arcane energy and Hunters with light-footed precision, as their Ghosts zipped around feeding them intel, maps, and mission directives.
Spark drifted proudly at Weiss's side, his blue iris flashing with eager excitement. "Oh, look, Weiss! You're entering the cultural and strategic epicenter of Guardian operations. Try not to be overwhelmed. Or do—emotional reactions are quite normal, I hear."
Weiss swallowed hard. As she felt just how much Light was in the room.
At the far end of the hall stood the Vanguard.
Ikora Rey
A tall, composed Warlock with warm brown skin and violet eyes that saw more than she ever said. Clad in crimson and white robes, her posture radiated calm authority. When she looked at Weiss, it was with a calculating intelligence—not unkind, but piercing, like she was already fitting Weiss into a greater design.
Cayde-6
Leaning one elbow on the mission console, Cayde-6's metal frame gleamed in the hall's light. His blue Exo armor was decorated with scrapes and custom markings, his cloak draped casually like he had put it on while telling a joke. Even without a face, his glowing orange eyes conveyed mischief, humor, and just the right amount of roguish charm.
Zavala
Towering above them all, Commander Zavala stood like a statue carved from discipline and duty. His Titan armor was deep blue and heavy, plates thick enough to stop a tank shell. His stern expression rarely shifted, but his presence radiated protection—a living wall between the City and its enemies.
Ikora inclined her head as Weiss approached. "Welcome, Guardian. I see you've brought… quite the trophy."
Her eyes flicked to the Fallen Arc Blade at Weiss's hip, still faintly sparking with crackling blue energy.
Spark spun proudly. "Recovered from a hostile captain! Severely damaged Weiss's arm, but she made excellent use of the pain to motivate decisive action."
Weiss groaned softly. "Thank you, Spark…"
Cayde leaned forward, finger-guns firing. "Kid, that's hardcore. New Guardians don't usually stroll into the Tower swinging around alien lightning swords. You're starting strong."
Zavala exhaled through his nose—a Titan's version of a sigh. "Guardian Weiss, your arrival was… memorable. But what matters most is that you survived the Cosmodrome and recovered a functioning jumpship."
He gave a long, slow look at Spark. "And, of course, that your Ghost… supervised."
Spark's iris brightened. "Correct! I provided real-time guidance, occasional distractions, and one crash landing of manageable severity."
Cayde chuckled. "Oh, this one's going to be fun."
Ikora stepped closer, studying Weiss with sharp focus. "You're still adjusting to your light. That much is clear. But you handled yourself well under pressure. And you're already forming instincts, good ones."
Weiss shifted uneasily. "I just did what I had to. I didn't really… know what I was doing."
Spark interjected, "And yet she performed with a statistically impressive survival rate! Particularly after losing an appendage! Very admirable, very messy."
Zavala continued, "A jumpship is being prepared. Amanda is repairing the one you arrived in, though that may take time."
From across the hall, a technician shouted: "More time if she keeps finding pieces!"
Spark hummed innocently.
Cayde pointed a thumb at Weiss. "Hey, kid. If you ever feel like ditching the lectures and joining me for some fun fieldwork, my door's open."
Ikora swatted his arm lightly. "Cayde."
"What? I'm recruiting!"
Weiss breathed in deeply. The hall buzzed around her, humming with Light, purpose, and destiny. She could feel Spark buzzing at her shoulder like a caffeinated lightbulb.
Cayde pops up from the desk and pats Weiss on the shoulder. "Walk with me, I got a present for ya!"
_________________________
Cayde-6 strolled beside Weiss through the Tower courtyard, hands tucked behind his head, cloak fluttering lazily in the wind. Weiss walked stiffly, still trying to look like she belonged here despite feeling anything but. Guardians laughed in clusters, Titans clanged armor, Warlocks floated books—everything around her felt alive and overwhelming.
Cayde, meanwhile, radiated irreverent ease.
"Alright, rookie," he said, stopping near the balcony that overlooked the city. "You handled your way back to the city without dying once. That puts you ahead of most of new Guardians."
Weiss blinked. "Umm… thank you sir."
"Oh, none of that sir stuff. Just call me Cayde." Cayde produced a thin, blue-and-silver sheet of hard-light paper with a flourish, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. "This is your weapon requisition form. One weapon. One. Don't ask for two. I tried that once—they still yell at me for it."
Weiss accepted it carefully. The form shimmered with her name and the emblem Spark had chosen for her (a white snowflake with a blue lightning bolt through the center. "We're a team so of course I've gotta combine our themes!" the ghost had argued).
"What am I supposed to pick?" she asked quietly.
"Something that speaks to you," Cayde replied, tapping her shoulder. "We hunters like things with style, precision and a little flare. Something that says: 'I'll kill you, but I'll look cool doing it.'"
He leaned in closer, voice dropping conspiratorially.
"And between you and me… Banshee's having a good day. He's only forgotten my name twice, so he might actually remember how to help you."
Spark floated into view with an enthusiastic hum. "Oh! An opportunity to acquire additional offensive potential! Wonderful. Perhaps we can finally upgrade from that captain's blade you scavenged in the Cosmodrome. Although, to be fair—"
Weiss raised a brow. "You liked that blade when I used it."
"I enjoyed the results," Spark corrected. "Not the primitive craft skills."
Cayde barked a laugh. "You two are going to be fun. Alright, head down to Banshee, give that to him, and pick something worthy of a fresh Hunter."
He spun on his heel, cloak swishing dramatically. "And hey! Try not to pick anything that'll blow your hands off!"
Spark beeped. "Oh dear, is that a common occurrence?"
"For Hunters?" Cayde called over his shoulder. "Absolutely."
At Banshee-44's Kiosk
The gunsmith's workshop smelled of oil, ozone, and a century of memories. Racks of weapons lined the walls like slumbering metal beasts. Weiss hesitated at the threshold, feeling oddly like she was entering a shrine.
Banshee-44, glanced up. The Exo's face was expressionless but somehow still managed to look tired. "New Guardian," he said in a voice like gravel through a speaker. "Hunter, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't call me sir. Makes me think I should remember something."
Spark whispered, "He should remember many things—his core memory shows significant degr—"
"Shhh!" Weiss hissed, mortified.
Banshee snorted softly. "Ghosts talk too much. Cayde send you?"
Weiss offered the glowing requisition form. Banshee scanned it, nodded, then turned and typed slowly into his terminal.
"Pick one special weapon class—no, wait." He frowned. "That's… wrong. Says here primary class only. Guess you used your special in the field, huh?"
Weiss nodded. "I used… an Arc Blade."
"From a Fallen Captain," Spark supplied brightly. "She was magnificent."
"Mhm." Banshee motioned to a display. "Hand cannons, auto rifles, scout rifles. Hunters usually go for flair. Hand cannons are… dependable. Stylish. Hit like a mule."
Weiss drifted toward them as if pulled by gravity.
The hand cannons were elegant machines—sleek, brutal, beautiful. She didn't understand why, but one in particular made her stop. Matte steel. Clean lines. A grip that felt like it belonged in her palm.
"… This one," she whispered.
Banshee picked it up, weighed it, then handed it over. "Good choice. Accurate, reliable. Won't punish you for being new. Just treat it with respect."
Weiss lifted it, inhaled. There was something comforting about the weight—solid, familiar, even though she'd never held a gun before rising.
Spark drifted beside her admiringly. "This suits you wonderfully! Precision, elegance, and a very satisfying boom when fired."
Banshee nodded and updated her form. "Go on. Get some practice on the range. And remember—clean it. I can tell if you don't."
Weiss smiled, small but a real genuine smile. "Thank you."
"And kid?" Banshee added as she left.
She turned.
"You'll make a fine Hunter."
Weiss didn't know why those words mattered so much.
But they did.
Tower Hangar – Later
The hangar was a cathedral of metal and sky. Engine lifts hummed, drones ferried starship parts overhead, and Guardians prepped for missions across the system.
Weiss approached her temporary assigned jumpship—a sleek, polished craft with clean lines and reinforced plating, its hull reflecting the golden light of the Traveler through the open hangar shield.
Amanda Holiday leaned against the hull, arms crossed and expression half-stern, half-amused.
She was a young woman with short blonde hair tucked behind a red bandanna, grease smudges on her cheek, and steady green eyes that carried years of experience. Her leather jacket bore patches of old ships, and her accent softened every word with Southern charm.
"Well hey there, Guardian," Amanda said. "Good news: this ship flies. I made sure of it. No holes, no fires, and no mysterious falling-apart-while-ascending issues."
Weiss flushed. "I'll… do my best to keep it that way."
Spark bobbed brightly. "I have several new flight strategies that dramatically lower crash probability! Only a few involve catastrophic engine failure."
Amanda muttered, "You are all going to give me gray hair."
Weiss entered the cockpit, settling into the seat. It molded beneath her armor. And she set her blade beside the seat.
Amanda tapped the hull with a wrench. "Bring it back in one piece, Guardian."
Weiss smiled faintly. "I'll try."
The canopy was sealed shut.
The engines thrummed, warm and alive.
Spark's voice echoed in her ear. "Ready for departure?"
Weiss gripped the controls. Her heart beat steadily, not with fear now, but with something stronger.
"Yeah," she murmured. "I'm ready."
The ship rose, thrusters igniting in a blue-white blaze.