(This is my first time writing something of this nature. Any criticism is highly welcomed.) I wondered why he wore a mask, being no different than any of us. He was the only one who ever spoke for us, for the light. Fibers within me struck the tune of wonder and curiosity. He spoke of a collapse, how the nightmarish darkness threatened our peace, love, and most importantly, our light. He conversed calmly, I listened intently, never voicing a word. Though, not all bear the light. Even the non-lightbears were willing and content. At the very least, they served the light. Their benevolence was welcomed with opened arms. I consistently gave my respects, always bowing down. My Ghost urged me to get a backbone. The Traveler was no longer in sight. The tune had changed from wonder to a tense thrill. Tales of the so-called Fallen. Murders, killers, and scavengers of the collapsed world, the darkness. Two others tagged along, both Titans. As headstrong as diamonds, they were ready to seek their vengeance. This moment was the first I learn of the ignorance and gullibility of the Traveler's chosen. The first few arachnid-like creatures fell by the Titans. It was a shooting gallery. I cocked my pistol. It was a game, so deeply invested, forgetting the rest of the existing world. Strike after strike on this destroyed planet. One after another, after another. The air was contaminated with smoke and debris. Dead Fallen, as well as their mangled servitors, littered the light tainted war zone. Only a group of pitiful dregs left, I took a step in the other direction. The tune turned harsh. “You missed a few back there.” “No more harm will come of them. We have already left them in shatters.” “Mercy to those thieves? I’ll be sure to clean up next time.” Strange to think a fallen, tool of the darkness, killer of peace, of light, would reflect it in their eyes. They seemed thankful for the very little mercy lightbears show. But what did we care? The loot of the day waited for us back home. People of the Tower and City are always reassuring. Any hope lost was risen back from the icy grave. So many good people. The Speaker, arms open, vocalized the Traveler's tale. It’s a little muffled behind that mask.