The massive steel beam groaning from the intense winds. It was shocking to think that this structure was still standing after nearly 500 years. But its days of supporting colony ships were over. Once this one beam was strong enough to support a hundred tons, now it was struggling under just his weight. The wind felt good. He ran his hand through his hair and breathed in the scent of the Cosmodrome. Rust, Fallen, and ash. That basically summed up this graveyard. Jonathan Macleod, once one of the greatest Stormcallers the City had to offer, stared out at the horizon. His robes were singed by centuries of combat. It might be possible to repair them to their original beauty, but that's only if someone could remember what they looked like. His hair was now showing signs of age, gray hairs began to appear around his crown and starch white hairs near his hairline. The gray was from his immortality waining and the white was from the horrors he survived. His previously magnificent armor was from the Iron Banners of long past. They might now be considered relics of a distant past. But he didn't care. They stopped bullets. That's all they needed to do. He took out his Ghost and was immediately filled with a deep sadness. The once striking shell, sewn from pure Light, was now a crystalline black. The eye was closed and she was silent. "Averlia..." She wasn't dead. But old. Maybe too old. He was sitting in his home, arguing with her as usual, when suddenly she fell to the ground. She hasn't spoken since. There was no trigger, no massive distortion he felt in the universe. His Light was strong and his will stronger, but Averlia was not well. How long did Ghosts last anyways? You would think much longer than a Guardian, but maybe not. Guardians lost Ghosts and Ghosts lost Guardians. Because of this, no one was alone. The Tower was almost always able able to pair up two survivors. And were eager to do so. But they wouldn't help him. No one could now. None of his friends knew enough about the Light to help. He clenched the sleeping Ghost tightly and gritted his teeth. Tears began streaming down his face and he screamed into the Cosmodrome. He screamed the screams of a survivor. And he kept going until his voice was hoarse. The wind dried his tears and swallowed his screams. You would expect this a couple thousand feet up. Eventually he tired and sat down again. He could hear the steel groan and complain from his shifting but it couldn't be helped. He stowed the sleeping Ghost and took out a piece of Fallen technology. It had no discernible function until he clicked a button on its side and spoke into it. "Spoke" is a strong word. To someone who didn't know, it sounded like a series of chattering and growling. It was the only way a human could speak the Elinski tongue. After a few minutes a voice responded and it was most certainly a true Elinski. After it had finished chattering he clicked the button again and spoke into it again. Then he rose and began his decent off of the huge tower of rust and ruin. He made it down to ground level and waited at the beach. The cool air felt good and soon he found himself sitting, his eyes closed and his mind drifting as he meditated. Between this and his occasional vents he managed to remain sane all this time. A few Guardians appeared on his helmet's HUD but none came to investigate him. But it was only a matter of time. A Guardian not moving for an extended period of time was seen as a bad thing generally. And eventually his helmet would sent of a signal to any nearby Guardians to come check on him. His Ghost previously intercepted those signals but in her current state she was unable. John was not thinking about this. It had been so long he had forgotten... [spoiler]open[/spoiler]