orendalogs | IT'S YOUR DESTINY!!!

Just because they didn’t….

Well, there went the cuteness of the moment. But they do exist, he wanted to say, though he silenced himself in reflecting upon the fact that if this was Earth’s future, then they didn’t exist anymore.

The portals he had passed through had changed time and distance on him, but up until this sudden moment, Aoba had imagined everything nevertheless existing simultaneously somehow. He was in the future, but he could go back home as soon as he had the right portal. But to anyone else, anyone who was not ‘Chosen’…the past, and all the people in it, were forever out of reach. It was…a very heavy revelation and shift in his manner of thinking to make, so much so that Aoba was kind of glad for the distraction of what Declan asked next.

Aoba sighed softly and then was quiet for a few moments afterwards, not averting his eyes but gazing towards Declan with a look that was reluctant and not happy, but not without understanding.

“…Yeah, okay,” he managed at the end.

"There are too many scenarios I have too consider. If you're alone, if I do something stupid and miss a blind spot, if Ghost is delayed recovering me. You may never have call to use any weapon at all, and with luck that will be the case, but if it comes to pass...your safety is more inportant to me than your sensibilities..."

He paused, expression pained by the words that to him sounded unkind no matter how he said them.

"I'm sorry. I don't like it. I won't force you, but it's a precaution everyone takes in this world. You aren't able to shield yourself with the Light the way Guardians are, so you're at risk. I...don't know what I'd do if something happened to you that I feel like I could have prevented. Especially when the whole point is to get you home safely."

“You don’t—You don’t have to explain it to me,” Aoba answered, awkwardly stammered at first, but without bite. Now his gaze dropped as he poked at his food to avoid seeing that hurt-seeming look on the Guardian’s face.

“I understand why you want me to be armed and I know you’re only looking out for me,”—and Aoba squirmed internally at that painful wording of I don’t know what I’d do—“but I’m never going to be comfortable with weapons that way. It’s not like I’ve never defended myself or hurt other people in a fight, but putting a gun in my hands is just…completely different. A completely different scale of fighting.”

War. The word was war. Not even the territorial fights that gangs like Dry Juice and Benishigure got into approached the level of war that embroiled Declan and the other Guardians.

“I’m not mad or anything, and I’m not going to say ‘no’ just on principle. I’m just not going to like it, either.”

But he did have to explain, because he kept pushing things Aoba didn't want. Whether it was for the man's own good or not, Declan still felt guilty about it. Especially since there was at least a nugget of ulterior motive there. He instantly felt disgusted with himself for thinking those thoughts, anyways.

"Guns don't mean killing," he added after a moment of thought. "You can fire warning shots, you can wound superficially just to give yourself time to get to cover. I don't want you to have to do anything you find morally challenging, either. If you're ever unsure, I make an excellent shield," the Titan pointed out, thumping a fist on his chest with a half smile and tilt of his head.

"And I can erect an actual impenetrable shield as well. So best case scenario, we never see combat and worst case scenario, you fire a warning shot and run. Either way, safety is important, so a quick rundown at the range is necessary. But after that, if you feel confident running, I leave that choice up to you. I'll defer to your judgment, Aoba. I promise, I won't force you to do anything, ever. Really, that includes carrying the weapons, if you're genuinely against it."

Of course guns meant killing, Aoba thought. It was precisely what they were made for. He wasn’t about to argue semantics with Declan, however, and didn’t want to. The semantics of it all weren’t the point, and neither did Aoba have anything like an intention to convince his friend otherwise. He could tell that this was just something they were going to inherently disagree on, however gently, and all he wanted was for Declan to understand why.

The idea of straight up using Declan as a shield made him feel pretty sick, though, lowering a piece of food back to his plate unbitten. Some sort of shield ability was one thing, but as a proverbial meat shield? Armored Titan or not, Aoba could not see himself adding to any risk the Guardian was in that way.

“I said I’ll carry them, and I’ll carry them,” Aoba reiterated, but again without sting. He wasn’t snapping. He was uncomfortable and unhappy with the idea, but as he’d said, he wasn’t angry. “I may not want to use them myself, but at the very least I can carry them for you.”

"You know," Ghost chimed in, breaking the awkward moment up with an even more awkward segue. "In ancient civilizations, like Japan and Rome, carrying another man's weapons often implied an intimate relationship between the two. There had to be a sincere bond of trust between the two, since one protected the other, and the one carrying the weapons was responsible for their safety in the sense that failing to provide those weapons risked their lives. It's good that you two are forming such powerful bonds of trust."

It was easy to see a smile in the construct's tone, and Aoba - more adept at reading people than Declan was - might have heard a slightly sly sound to the words. Hard to tell from a floating ball's one-eyed expressions, though.

Declan blinked a few times, staring wide-eyed from behind the half-curtain of white hair. Lips pursed, puckered in attempt to form a word, fell short, and eventually he looked to Aoba, momentarily speechless before clearing his throat.

"I...I can carry them if you'd rather not. I can switch my gear out to carry more..." He fretted visibly, not wanting to burden Aoba with the weight of the guns or his affections.

Edited 2018-10-18 15:34 (UTC)

Aoba definitely heard the smile and a touch of something else, but after a blink of his own he decided that Ghost could only mean their friendship. It seemed to be the first of any real depth that Declan had ever made, so it made sense for his construct companion to approve.

Ghost's words made a surprising amount of sense, too, in a way that actually made Aoba feel somewhat better about just carrying weapons without being willing to use them. It made it a shared responsibility. Teamwork.

"I said I'd carry them, okay?" he repeated himself one more time, though his own touch of relief seemed to run counter to a greater level of distress on Declan's side. Huh. "Unless... you think I might run off with a weapon when you need it?"

Another thought to reflect on: if he had Declan's weapons, running away from his side wouldn't be an option. Not in Aoba's mind, anyway.

"I won't, I mean. If they're your weapons more than mine, I'm going to be right at your side."

Whatever distress previously radiated from Declan was immediately dashed away in the sudden shock and pleasure he displayed. When Aoba stubbornly insisted he would carry the weapons despite Ghost's (he cast a quick, withering look his way) unnecessary factoids, Declan was confused but happy - and confused by his happiness. Fortunately for them both, Aoba's second statement changed the pace and the Titan snorted a laugh before he could stop.

"Snrk. Ah! I'm sorry. Sorry. I'm not...I mean I'm laughing, but not at you. I just...I don't think you would ever run. Not if you thought for a moment that you could help. I trust you. Trained or not."

…Declan needed to laugh more. Even if it was a little bit at Aoba’s expense.

But it was…good, to hear Declan express that kind of faith in him. What reason did he even have to, really? But he did, anyway, and Aoba was not one to be ungrateful for it. Maybe he wanted nothing to do with war or the weapons thereof, but Declan had become someone important to him. Theirs was a friendship he would absolutely protect.

“Then that’s all settled,” Aoba said, relaxing enough for it to count. It then seemed important to plainly say, “I trust you too, Declan. Even if I ask questions or don’t like something, I’m still going to trust you.”

"Trust isn't about liking everything, just about seeing past it," the Titan shrugged, nodding once and taking a few more bites of food.

"When you're finished, we should get going. We've got to register you properly, we should check my ship in the hangar, and we'll log a couple hours at the range. After we wrap all that up...you want to come with me to the mountains? I need to go to the temple for my...commendation..." He flushes slightly, uncomfortable with the praise thrust upon him. So far as Declan ever saw it, he wasn't doing more than any other Guardian. Any recognition from the Iron Lord, Saladin, was something to talk about.

He didn't want to be talked about.

"I've put it off for a while, but I keep getting summons. I'd skip...but the temple on Felwinter Peak is beautiful, and it's a place still on Earth. A good short trip in the ship for a test run, I'll wrap up business on Earth, then we can head out at first light. What do you think?"

And then there was Aoba, surprised by Declan springing yet another something else on him. Sometimes the Guardian just had no ability to segue, really. Blinking, and mouth full of food again, Aoba had to make a moment to clear his mouth and remind himself what a commendation was.

“That’s like…an award for outstanding service, right?” he asked, having to draw on nothing but a dictionary understanding of the word. Real enthusiasm soon followed. So Declan was getting some proper recognition from his superiors! Aoba had to admit he’d wondered a little bit, but now said wondering took a different angle on things.

If he was putting it off…that probably meant he didn’t think he deserved it. That would fit with him brushing off Aoba’s praise every time he told him what a good person he was. So maybe Declan wasn’t really so underappreciated at all, except by himself….

“…Yes, absolutely! I’ll absolutely go with you, Declan. That sounds like something you shouldn’t put off at all anymore,” Aoba smiled with his reply. It occurred to him then: he’d better do as much as he could to shore up Declan’s self-esteem before he had to go. As much as it was obvious the man had gotten by just fine before Aoba came along, he deserved at least a little healthy pride to stand tall with. Maybe Aoba could impart a little more before he left.

Agreeing that he wasn’t ‘Decker’ was a start, but surely they could achieve more than that.

"Mm...I don't like this sort or thing, really. Having someone to go with will be nice." He meant it all, too. He didn't like being praised for doing what everyone else did, didn't like being noticed for efforts other Guardians made just as well and often. Mac worked more frequently than Declan did and just because Declan was a defender in many of his missions, he got more recognition. It seemed wrong.

Of course Declan also didn't understand that Guardians like himself were far more rare and sought after; his determination to protect others before himself to the point of being an immovable wall against hordes of creatures was indeed commendable. During the mock battles of the Iron Banner, Declan single-handedly carried his team to victory sometimes. Lord Saladin noticed.

"Well...no time like the present..."

When Aoba had enough to eat, the remains (of which there were few with how Declan could eat) were put in the cooler and they headed up the Tower to go over registrations. Aoba was very briefly introduced to the vanguard leaders, including Cayde-6 who kept dodging left and right from ine foot to the other to look around behind a very distressed Declan that kept shielding Aoba with his body. The hunter just wanted to see the supposedly not-at-all-spy portal-jumping not-quite-human that Declan was hording to himself. Cayde wasn't unlike Mac, in a lot of ways. Though he had infinitely more authority. Despite it, he didn't order Declan around or demand Aoba present himself. The vanguard approved Aoba's passage and sent them along with a few murmurs of approval that Declan was going to meet with Saladin.

In the hangar, Declan stepped away to review a checklist of issues handled by Halliday, his ship hovering, engines trimming a low, warm sound, like a large sleeping cat. Other ships whizzed by in and out if the massive center, Aoba able to watch a lot more hustle and bustle than anywhere else on the Tower.

Eventually they were cleared and the two men were transmat ported onto the ship, dropping into the cockpit.

"No time to go over everything, I'll do it later. A storm is kicking up on the mountain so we'll go straight there and wait it out." That said, he slid into one if the seats, flipping switches and tapping away on bright screens with the muscle memory of one who had made flights a thousand thousand times. Soon they were zooming through the sky, though inside the ship it felt no worse than riding a bullet train.

"It shouldn't be more than a half hour...it's just Russia."

To be completely honest, Aoba had no idea why Declan was trying to shelter him like that. He remembered Cayde’s robotic-but-animated face from it peering around Declan’s shoulder on a vid-call or two and was not averse to meeting the Exo in person—enough so that Aoba gave Declan a playful poke in the back as if to say ‘what gives?’, and took the time on his own to present himself properly and indulge some of that curiosity. Aoba had a fair share of his own, after all, so it was an even trade.

Tell you one thing, though…Aoba was leaving transmat teleportation well on the list of things he’d never get used to. It was too eerily instantaneous.

Not that he had long to dwell on it. The ship went up…and up. He didn’t even register the absurdity of a comment like ‘it’s just Russia’.

He was too busy being as plastered to a window as he could get, hastily rousing Ren from sleep mode in his satchel in order to share the moment with his Allmate. Aoba may have never flown before, but they were still inside the atmosphere so it’s didn’t unsettle him. For all he knew (though at the same time he doubted it) an ordinary airplane had a similar view.

“This is incredible…!”

They were flying reasonably low to give Aoba plenty to see anyways. Without the test run of the ship, Declan didn't want to enter the stratosphere just to slingshot for a shorter trip. Thirty minutes wasn't a hassle for him. Besides, it was obviously a good choice, based on how pleased Aoba was.

He spent the trip pointing out different landmarks and abandoned cities. All the old countries they zoomed over.

"We could fly over Japan if you wanted. Anywhere at all. Everywhere is empty anymore...but the marks humanity left behind are still there. I've visited a lot of places, just to see the historical sites. The world isn't a safe place, but it's not lost. Just abandoned."

Just abandoned, he said. Aoba dropped slowly back into his seat, enthusiasm dampened, as he reflected on that. Right…the place they frequently just called The City was The Last City. It was a gigantic place, but half because it was all humanity had left. And the Exos, who were manmade in some forgotten part of their past. Aoba wasn’t sure how the Awoken, like Declan, fit into it though. Human offshoots, something like that?

The whole of the Old Resident Districts and Platinum Jail would have fit inside The Last City with ample room to spare.

“…I’ve never even left the island where I was born,” he said in half-answer, voicing his thoughts allowed. “I mean, before the whole portal mess, obviously. But for ordinary people, unless you’re really rich, it’s just about impossible. My parents got out when I was really young, but I…well, I guess I never really thought about it in depth, but I probably just assumed I’d die there without ever seeing anywhere else. Not the mainland, not anything.”

He propped his chin on a hand, watching the face of the world glide by below them. Vast and abandoned.

He considered Aoba's suddenly muted enjoyment and expressions, pale gaze softening. He understood well enough, despite alwayd having lived in the city, never personally experiencing a loss of home. Hard to lose what you never felt like you had. Still, when he visited the old places and ran his hands over stone temples and wood pillars, he longed to know the bustling world of the past.

"Perhaps...it will offer some solace to know that your world, if it is at all the same, will soon be visited by the Traveler? If you are from an age of advanced technology, you haven't long to wait. The first contact happened on Mars. There were no colonies, just three brave astronauts sent there on a skeleton of a ship. Your Earth will enter a beautiful golden age, and last for lifetimes. My Earth...it isn't yours. Not for a long, long time. Don't be saddened by this. It is no one's fault. This isn't the result of humanity failing. Try to find beauty in the things you see here. Think of it as less if a mausoleum, more of a museum. Humanity is out there in space, surviving against the odds, and the city is the combined effort of every culture man ever produced. We may not be the same, but the very best parts of humanity brought us here."

“But what good is a golden age if it all ends up like this?” Aoba wondered, considering empty cityscapes below them. Still his tone was thoughtful, humbled by what he was seeing. Being in the city wasn’t unlike being in the Districts on a much larger scale. It didn’t feel like a place of war when he was well fed, comfortably housed, and perfectly safe.

It was a gentle variety of a wake-up call, seeing the empty world below and taking a few degrees of ‘abstract’ out of the way he envisioned Declan’s version of their world.

“Chances are I won’t be there to see it, anyway,” he added, free hand slowly ruffling Ren’s fur as they looked out the window together. It seemed crazily unlikely to him that his own day and age could be the one that would see the arrival of the Traveler. It would be too far-fetched of a coincidence.

But say it did happen in Aoba’s era. Would it even matter, if he meant to come back to Declan’s?

…Well, so it wouldn’t matter to him, but it was nice to imagine that everyone still on the island might benefit from the arrival of the Traveler in their lifetime. Let them not have to know, or worry, about how it would all eventually end.

"No Golden Age lasts forever. That's why it's an "age". Humanity had several well before the Traveler arrived and they were infinitely shorter. The Golden Age after the Traveler will last for centuries. Humanity will colonize the solar system, human life spans triple, disease and defect are eradicated, art and science moves forward in ways previously thought unimaginable. The people you know will live in a time of wonder, Aoba. And even now, in this era when it seems all is lost, we hold on to the most valuable principles. Eventually we will beat back the Darkness, and this beautiful abandoned world will welcome humanity back," Declan murmured, gazing out the windows as they drifted, slowing down in their approach to the mountains on the horizon.

"I try to think about it like controlled burns. If we drifted closer to the cities, you'd see where the wild has taken over. Trees grow out of buildings, roads have cracked and disappeared under wild growth. Humanity pulled back and the world finally healed completely of all the ways we damaged it. When we defeat the Darkness and return to the world we retreated from, we will have learned from our past mistakes. Nothing is lost, here. Only put away until we can come back for it."

Sometimes Declan was too sensible for his own good. This, however, was not one of those times. Aoba turned his head away from the window partway into the answer to watch the Guardian as he spoke, giving him all of his attention if not necessarily all of his agreement. By the end of it, though, it was hard not to agree with him -- or at least, impossible not to want to.

"I hope you're right," Aoba answered, softly smiling and not the least bit disingenuous about it. There Declan went again. Good, honest, brave, now add hopeful to the list... sure, he could counter that 'no one is like anyone else' all he wanted, but Aoba was still going to sit there quietly in his little bit of warm awe that he'd never met anyone quite like the Titan before.

The kind of guy you'd give up a Golden Age for, huh?

Aaaand there went all those intrusive little thoughts again, right on cue. Well, the morning hadn't been all that long ago, anyway. All those emotional nerves were probably still raw.

He looked back out the window before his cheeks could get too red.

"I only wish I was alive then. I would have liked...more choices," he murmured, expression wistful. "Then again, maybe I was. I don't know. Ghost says I was very, very old. Pre-Golden Age. I've never asked much about it though. It never seemed relevant," the Titan shrugged, reaching over and tapping a few things on one of the screens, alerting the outpost to his arrival and asking permission to dock.

The Iron Temple slowly came into view as they lowered altitude, flying into the beginnings of an ice-storm, snow silently obscuring the view in a misty veil until they were right up on the massive, ancient stone structure. Colorful flags flapped in the winds and great fires burned in stone and iron bowls all around the place, showing the territory to be quite large. Bridges and walkways connected numerous peaks and cliffs, and in the snow, Guardians moved between parts of the temple grounds, wrapped in heavy furs and cloaks over their suits, a combination of ancient knights and futuristic soldiers. Hands raised here and there, waving a greeting to Declan's ship, the craft carrying a brother in arms; a sign that personal feelings between individuals didn't change the general respect Guardians shared.

They landed in a hangar, the massive doors closing behind them. Declan opened a supply container near the ship door, pulling out a pair of fur cloaks, casually throwing a darker, smaller one over Aoba's shoulders. Pale eyes inspected the other man, nodding approval. His old cloak fit Aoba like it was sized for him. Declan's newest cloak draped over his shoulders, white and grey, a thick collar blending with his hair.

"It's warm inside all the temple areas, but we have to cross the courtyards to get from the hangars to the main hall and the barracks," Declan explained, gesturing for Aoba to follow him out a side entrance. Outside, the winds raged, snow whipping across cobblestones and rocking the wood-slat bridges. Fortunately they didn't have to take any of those dubious-looking paths; they walked straight across the main courtyard, Declan stopping at one of the massive fires, the warmth radiating comfortably despite the storm. There he was able to point and gesture, describing the different areas, explaining in brief the history of the Iron Lords, the closest to real knights the Guardian's had. He pointed out the Iron Lord barracks where they would relax and weather the storm - they were always short, he remarked - before heading home. Then he sighed and forced himself onward to the temple proper.

Inside he was greeted by a few newer recruits, Declan pausing to politely reply, offer encouragements. It was obvious that among the more war-oriented Iron Lords his reputation wasn't a problem. They were the ones that ran the Crucible and performed in the mock battles; a degree of strength and violence was necessary for survival, and Declan was a valuable soldier.

Further in they went, the vast space and general quiet of the temple echoing the Titan's bootfalls and the whispers of Guardians in alcoves and on stairs. It was a combination mountain war fortress and place of meditation and learning. In the center of it all was Lord Saladin, standing before the altar of fallen Iron Lords. When Declan approached, the man turned and greeted him warmly, politely greeting Aoba as well though his focus was obviously on the Titan. Excusing themselves for a moment, Saladin and Declan left Aoba to explore the temple and it's frescoes, carvings, and statues. Ghost floated over, staying with Aoba and Ren while Declan and Saladin discussed the Titan's work, his war efforts, the apparently numerous commendations he had failed to accept. Declan's eyes occasionally wandered, looking for Aoba, his posture relaxing from regular spikes of tension when he saw the other man, letting him endure the "disapproving dad" demeanor of Saladin, who only wanted to make sure the Guardian got his dues...and also try to convince him to perform more services, of course. But one didn't let a good blade rust.

Aoba, having never seen snow of this scale before, found it very easy to decide that he hadn’t been missing out on anything. Grateful for the cloak he found draped on his shoulders, and ignoring idle thoughts regarding the Guardian’s scent upon it, he bundled up and followed the Titan along. A combination of the cold, the awe-inspiring environment, and Declan’s thorough explanations kept his thoughts well-distracted from a question that had suddenly risen in them, sharp as a knife’s edge.

So if the Guardians were like an ‘organization’ at large, then the Iron Lords were a specific faction that Declan was aligned with. Aoba took that much away from it, at least, though when he was left alone (with Ghost and Ren, the later peeking from his satchel once again) he found himself not terribly captivated by the architecture, stunning though it should have been. He wandered a little among the frescoes, since that seemed less awkward than just standing around like the stranger that he was, but his own attention fell back on Declan just as much as he was sought out in turn—not that he was particularly cognizant of that latter fact, though.

What had his words even meant? Pre-Golden Age? Wasn’t that what Aoba was, if the Traveler’s arrival was somewhere ‘ahead’ of his home time? Was Declan some kind of time traveler too?

He was very old? He never asked much? More choices? Just…what?

“Ghost?” The movement of the little construct in his periphery reminded Aoba that he was there to be asked, meaning Aoba didn’t just have to stare at art and make no sense of his own confused guessing. “What did Declan mean, he’s pre-Golden Age? Is he from my time?”

Ghost drifted closer when addressed, tilting slightly to indicate he was listening. He'd been looking at the art himself, lost in whatever thoughts Ghosts had before Aoba spoke. When the question was asked, the construct's big blue eye squinted, flicking to the side to look at Saladin and Declan.

"Mm...technically we aren't supposed to tell Guardians these things. They're forbidden from seeking information on their pasts. For a lot of reasons, you understand," Ghost kept his voice low, not rising high enough to echo in the chamber.

"...But...no. Declan was old when your culture was young. He doesn't know precisely how old; I haven't told him, he never asked. There was so little left I just extrapolated what I could and made the rest with present-day alterations. I thought it might be better to give him a place among a younger race like the Awoken, but he never....really took to anything. Sometimes I wonder if I'm partly to blame for Declan never feeling like he has a place," Ghost mused, looking back at the Titan, who was no doubt recklessly agreeing to everything Saladin said, as he often did.

"It's a poetic thought though, isn't it? If he were from your time...perhaps you could meet back there? But no...he was dead long before you were born. I would tell you where I found him, that you might at least visit the place he was...but I'd fear that may interrupt my ever discovering him. then again, it simply depends on what you believe of fixed events and inevitability..." He considered for a moment, blue eye blinking widely.

"...Would you even want to know?"

Aoba was more than a little bit used to Ghost not making complete sense to him, either because of the overwhelming detail of his replies, or because there was an implied context or other related information that Aoba simply didn’t know because this time was not his own. He didn’t have the familiarity with it that a native would, the knowledge of things that would be everyday or common sense to someone who’d lived in it all their life.

There was no room left for misunderstanding when Ghost said he was dead long before you were born.

The stillness of their surroundings imposed itself on Aoba loud enough that he didn’t forget his volume, but his body language was a shout enough when he wheeled fully upon the Ghost, every line in his posture suddenly an exclamation. Somehow—probably mostly shock—he kept silent until the construct had stopped speaking, but then all bets were off.

“What do you mean he’s dead?” he exclaimed, a whisper made forceful and rasping by the vehemence behind it.

Whether it was his own ignorance in interpreting answers, or never having been told so in straightforward fashion, Aoba had simply never learned that Guardians were raised from the dead.

"SHH SHH SHH!" Ghost hissed, zooming into Aoba's face, then zipping around his head, like a little dog in a frantic panic. A few heads turned, wondering. Ghost was louder than Aoba, and what got their attention. It was simply the nerves of the little construct. He, unlike many of his kind, was willing to share what little knowledge he had. It wasn't Declan asking questions, after all, so Ghost wasn't really breaking any rules, right? That didn't mean he didn't get paranoid. Still, everyone turned away, assuming Aoba was just getting a reprimand from a Ghost, the way all Guardians did.

"Guardians are resurrected from fallen heroes of the past. As long as something remains, even if just a spark of the soul to which a thread of the Light clings, we can trace it and bring them out again. The Light we harbor is more abstract than simple old religion ideas of inherent good and immortal souls. It is the sheer force of will of 'Right'. A harmonious force in the universe, organizing chaos. The patterned threads on the loom of fate, if you must. Every thread connects to something else: Ghost to Guardian, Ghost and Guardian to Traveler, Traveler to Terra and Sol, Luna to Terra, Terra to Sol, Sol to galaxy, galaxy to universe, life to death to life. Understand? Mm..." he paused, huffing softly, knowing full well his conceptualization was complicated.

"Declan was from an age prior to yours. Centuries prior. When I found him, his remains were thousands of years old. Ghosts are equipped with a lot of skills, though carbon-dating human remains isn't exactly accurate. But...Declan was born before the Golden Age of Rome. Pax Romana...uh...I don't know how much history you know, actually. Alexander the Great? You know him? Declan could have lived in the same generation. Oh, wait...you're Japanese. Um. Declan lived before the stories of your legendary Queen Himiko existed. Before Japan existed, and it was still the tribes of the Yayoi and Jomon periods. There are Guardians from all points in time; no few older than Declan. There is one Guardian..." He trailed off, swaying slightly like shaking a head he didn't have.

"Suffice to say there are Guardians that pre-date human recorded history."

Maybe it was a good thing that Ghost was so inclined to provide so much of an answer at a go. It stopped Aoba from getting a word in edgewise, buffering his bewilderment with an overload of information and in that way forcing him to just stand there and listen instead of bursting out with any more questions.

The details of Declan’s particular resurrection were irrelevant. What Aoba was stuck on, understandably, was that his friend had been dead. Had died and somehow been brought back to life. That such was the case for all Guardians.

One might think after everything he’d been through already, this should be no great shock, but it was all the same. Portals, space travel, time travel… somehow those were all on a level he could understand, but coming back from the dead still seemed a thing impossible. Aoba had to find a patch of wall to lean against, even, as his head seemed to reel.

“Is that why you’re called ‘ghosts’? Because you just go around bringing back the dead?” tumbled from his lips, incredulous more than anything else. But Declan was so warm, he wanted to say. He ate, he drank, he breathed, he was warm to the touch. He wasn’t some zombie. “Just to ask them to be Guardians? What kind of recruitment system is that?”

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