* Sorran crept through the stillness of Restraint's manor; the once welcoming aura of a home had become one of menace. The lights were out, leaving only the faint beams of a Sanghelios moon which shone onto High Charity to illuminate the way, helped by occasional flashes of thunder. [i]"I will find whoever has done this,"[/i] he remembered the words of Hem, b-blam!- with anger and blind hatred as he'd stood over the unconscious body of an honour guard; the man's spine seemed to be crumpled, as if it had been dealt a harsh, crippling blow. [i]"You search for Restraint, Jajab and the Huragok. Signal me if you encounter the assassins; don't engage them alone."[/i] The manor was a large one, with multiple stories and countless rooms, and now faced with the prospect of an assassin or dead body behind every door, it seemed impossibly vast. Sorran crept between rooms as quietly as possible, active camouflage systems engaged. The plasma rifle in his hand offered him some assurance, its iconic shape shrouded by a masking shimmer. As Sorran approached the library, he smelt a familiar stench. One he had been subjected to not a day ago on Sanghelios. Smoke. Closing his visor to prevent any particles from reaching his lungs, he threw open the door and immediately recoiled from the intense heat. Restraint's library was ablaze. Ancient bookcases which had survived centuries upon centuries had flames eating at them and the physical books and scrolls they housed. The scholar within Sorran despaired as he saw all the history burn. One of the last surviving scrolls from a famous philosopher turned to ash before his eyes; the words of the dead joined their creators. Putting up his shields, Sorran braced himself and began to wade through the fire. It snaked up his boots, held at bay by the flickering light encompassing him. Even so, the heat seared his eyes; tears streamed out of them, only to be dried instantly by the inferno. He made his way towards the small, hidden bookcase in the back of the room. The one which contained files, deciphered Forerunner texts, recounting of events and other evidence which, when piled together, alluded to the true nature of Halo. Said bookcase was the source of the fire. His hearts sank as he saw the cherry red glow from inside the storage unit, realising the truth was simply ash flying about him now. Thankfully, it was all backed up on the digital network. He prayed it too hadn't been destroyed. Before moving to leave the library before it collapsed down upon him, noticing his shielding was being devoured at a quickening rate, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. His own, personal bookcase; dwarfed by the other towering behemoths, but full of books and other texts he had intended to read at some point -- he had found little time to do so. 'Paradise Lost.' The human epic was sat on a shelve above the various Covenant texts below, and the tower of fire climbing his bookcase had yet to reach it. Human texts were considered contraband throughout the Covenant, but that had never stopped Sorran reading them anyway. For a race of supposed barbarians, some of what they wrote was far more beautiful than anything even the greatest Covenant writer could achieve. He'd looted what seemed to be the fourth book from a human library on Eridanus II before everything had happened, drawn by the beauty of its cover. According to Restraint, it was one of the greatest pieces of human literature ever written, but he'd never found time to even start it. Without even knowing why he did it, Sorran reached out and slipped the book into the bag on his back. At least he'd save something from the library. With a forlorn look back, he pressed the fire-ventilation system on the wall and exited the room. Air was quickly sucked from the library, and the fires soon died. They left ignorance in their wake. [i]Someone's obviously tried to get rid of any evidence pertaining to the truth of the Journey,[/i] Sorran fretted. It was imperative that he find Restraint. Assassins or not, he had to risk it. "High Councillor!" he bellowed over the rain, his voice flying through the empty corridors and spilling into many rooms. "Restraint, can you hear me?" * [i]"Restraint, can you... me?"[/i] a voice dimly echoed from several stories below. Something about the voice sounded familiar to Ahkrin, but he couldn't hear it properly. "You've brought a friend," he stated to Hem. The elderly honour guard grunted noncommittally, his eyes seeming to hold an internal conflict. Ahkrin struck. Faster than the eye could blink, his arm spun around, a dagger in hand, and rushed to meet Hem. What happened next was a blur; Ahkrin felt resistance and thought for an elated second his knife had hit -- suddenly he realised his wrist had been seized by a terribly strong hand, and before he knew it he found his own weight used against him. He barely avoided careening down to the ground, rolling and managing to shakily end up on his feet. He looked up in time to see a foot crash into his face. When his concussion faded, he was pressed up against the wall painfully, arms almost popped out of their sockets as they were wrenched behind his back by Hem. "You killed Restraint," Hem spoke. It wasn't a question, not even a rhetoric one. It was the deadening statement of a man who had lost so much and had just discovered he's lost something else. "You, Ahkrin Descol'ee. Do the gods think this some kind of joke?" "Do I... know you?" Ahkrin ground out, trying to twist out of the honour guard's grip. Such an endeavour brought only more pain. "Not me," Hem answered without really answering, before loosening his grip a little. He still held Ahkrin in a tight vice, though. "Lead on to Restraint, Ahkrin. Try anything else and I will gut you now rather than later, regardless of who you are." [i]Who I am...?[/i] Ahkrin wondered, trying to think of a reason why this elderly stranger of an honour guard would refer to him as such. They were all marks; he knew none of them. Generally he did his best to keep away from the Covenant, its politicians and their guards. As his father had done. There was very little chance anyone on High Charity could know him by appearance alone. But that seemed to be the case. "You aren't worried about your friend?" Ahkrin asked slyly. "I am guessing he is the other honour guard we've been assigned to kill--" "I know it's only you, Ahkrin," Hem intoned, seeming to struggle to keep anger out of his voice. "To involve more people would make disposing of all the evidence more difficult for the hierarchs. If it's just you, it makes matters a whole lot easier. I'm guessing that was the job of Pel before I arrived." [I]... he speaks sense,[/i] Ahkrin realised, knowing he had been played for a fool. Perhaps the hierarchs [i]had[/i] ordered Pel to dispose of him after he'd infiltrated and killed Restraint. Then they'd turn him into a scapegoat; some lunatic who had disagreed with a policy of the High Councillor and taken it upon himself to murder him. [i]But why did the hierarchs want these people dead so badly?[/i] "What's going on here?" he demanded, curiosity once again besting his common sense. "This is more than simple heresy." "Oh, Ahkrin," Hem lamented with the souls of dead weeping behind his words. "If only it were simple heresy."