How many times? She fought against impossible odds. She kept fighting. She'd crumble into ashes from the sheer effort of it all. She wasn't always able to hold herself together. How many times? The voice repeated in deeper concern. She would keep pulling herself together as many as it took. She would keep dredging onwards regardless of what lay in her wake. She would not lay not to rest. It was not yet her time. How many times? Again the voice echoes this time frustrated and very deeply concerned. She was mute but in motion. She was on fire, but made of her own ashes. She was no longer a son of despair, but a daughter of the Light. How many times the voice issued forth. Into her world it loomed there on the horizon. It was in the hours twilight. That was her favorite time of day. How many times had she done it? How many times had she burned the ashes of her old self to reforge herself anew. She'd lost count decades ago. She'd keep fighting. As long as there where Vex. As long as there where Hive. Who else could last this long. Rise this early. Survive even death. She was her own most perfect cure. The cure to what ailed herself had laid buried within. She'd meditated on it for a long time. Pondered with each passing and rising moment what it meant. She was an unstoppable force about to encounter and immovable object. She was Her own Fire. Her ghost was taken from her. She fought on. Her connection to the Traveller was lost with his death. Yet still she pressed on. She pressed on because she was the Praxic Order. She would harness her inner awoken power to rise from the ashes of her old self and be reborn anew. She would do this endlessly for all time. She was the azoth onto her own self. She was a Phoenix rising from its own ashes. The vex and Hive would fall before her as she mastered the darkness and the light.