* Zharn's eyes snapped open, and he gasped for air with the ferocity of a drowning man. It seeped into his burning lungs like acid, and his tongue could taste the metallic tang of congealing blood. He coughed most of it out, and his body felt like it was going to shake itself apart as he did so. "Lie back down, you're going to kill yourself," he heard a woman's voice order from behind him. Instinctively his arm reached down to his side and he felt the hilt of his energy mould itself around his hand; he touched the glyph, the sword activated and he raised his arm-- Pain exploded like a million fireworks, sending convulsions down his spine and attacking every muscle and bone in his body. Lights danced across his eyes until they all burnt out, and he was left with black. His eyes opened again, and he looked to his sword arm - his blade was gone. He scrambled around for it furiously, but it wasn't anywhere in sight - which wasn't saying much, seeing as how he could hardly move his head without a spear of agony plunging into him. Zharn took in his bearings. Well, this wasn't the great journey and if it was, it looked pretty mundane. It wasn't Pel's office either - someone had moved him. It almost seemed like he was in a closet of some kind... or a small warehouse; shelves reached all around him, and a pile of boxes rose like a wall to his right; the actual wall to his left, like he'd been tucked away in some corner, out of sight. "Good, you're awake," that same female voice from before spoke, again behind him. Zharn had learnt his lesson earlier, and didn't move to retaliate. If the woman wanted him dead, he wouldn't have woken up for a second time. "Who are you?" he asked, or at least he intended to. What came out in reality was more of a hoarse squeak, and the exertion made him feel ill. He felt a cup press up against his mouth, and fearing poison or some drug, resisted a few futile moments until his jaw sagged with exhaustion and the liquid poured down his gullet. Water. He lapped it up eagerly, and felt a little stronger just from that. "You've been out for hours," the woman ignored, and went off on her own topic. "When I find you, you were close to death. I had to drag you out of Pel's office--" "You must be a strong wench," Zharn interrupted. The voice sounded Sangheilian, but it was unlikely if she carried him, more likely Jiralhanae. "I found an anti-gravity belt," she explained. Ah, probably Sangheili after all. "I found this warehouse, it seemed empty. I healed your burns as best I could, gave you some of my blood to replace what you lost, and then it was left to the gods to bring you back. It seems you have some friends on the journey, Zharn." "I hope so," Zharn answered, wondering if Sorran ever made it to the great journey; he died a heretic in the eyes of the prophets, but who were they to denounce a man as sinful or not? That lay with the Forerunners and they alone. "Again, who are you? Do you know me?" "In a way," the woman replied ambiguously. "We're still in the Janjur Qom district, by the way." "Guards?" Zharn asked of her, suddenly wanting his weapons in case any of them came. "All the ones I've seen have been dead... torn apart. The wounds are consistent with Jiralhanae claw and teeth marks." [i]Jiralhanae? It is unlikely Pel wanted them here.[/i] "Did you see two Sangheili? One dressed in black armour, another very tall and a bit older?" he quizzed, wondering about Pel and Grymar'ee. They'd left him for dead, and he fully intended to repay the favour. "No," his mystery saviour said. "I haven't seen Pel in days, and I haven't seen any older Sangheili. But enough of that. Why are you here?" [i]Why am I here?[/i] the question echoed in his mind, and he did wonder. By all rights he should be hundreds of miles above all this mess, sitting in the throne of the fleetmaster and enforcing the blockade of High Charity. But he was ill suited to remain sat in his chair whilst others acted, a trait which probably made him a poor fleetmaster. "I'm chasing leads," was all he said. He did not know this woman, and for all he knew she worked with Pel or the hierarchs. [i]Where are you, Orpheus?[/i] "What sort of leads?" "That is my business, not yours. I am a fleetmaster of the Covenant, and I demand that you tell me who you are and what it is you want. I swear to you that I mean no harm." "You've have already proved yourself a liar, Zharn Thierr'ee. Why should I believe anything you swear?" she asked harshly, and he could hear anguish in her voice. Again, the feeling that he knew her. "When have I lied to you? I've only just met you!" Zharn insisted, thoroughly perplexed now. His body was aching like a million shards of glass rested on his bones, and every breath brought with it fresh pain. "You told me Sorran was dead!" the woman nearly shouted. "Where is he? I can kill you just as I've saved you, so talk." [i]What?! ... wait.[/i] "Savara?" he asked hesitantly, as a million questions were bottling up in his mind. Footsteps echoed as the woman walked, and stepped into his field of vision. His guess had been right. It had been a long time since he'd last seen her on the [i]Immortal Repentance,[/i] so many months ago, but he recognised her as clear as day despite how different she looked - her clothes were torn and stained with blood, and not just his own. Her face was streaked with mud and grime and the toll of many days without good sleep. But she was unmistakably Savara. "It has been a while, Zharn," Savara acknowledged, her smile holding no mirth in it. Zharn groaned, and with much effort managed to prop himself up on one arm. "It's good to see you safe, I'd been looking for you," Zharn began. "But you seem confused. Sorran is dead, just as I told you all those months ago. How, I do not know. Murdered in his cell, or... maybe he ended it himself. It is not something I like to think on." "You can stop with the pretence, I've seen him. What was it, then? Some deep cover operation? Is that why his death was faked?" [i]She's making no sense,[/i] Zharn observed as he listened to her. She rambled on about seeing Sorran in the garb of an honour guard, talking with another honour guard on High Charity. [i]Sorran has never been an honour guard, he could barely hold a gun without dropping it.[/i] He told her as much. "... do you know nothing?" Savara whispered then, sounding close to tears. Her eyes begged an answer of him that he did not have. He looked up at her sympathetically. "Whatever... whatever lies you have been told, or shown," he wheezed out, still struggling to draw breath. "Whatever lies, they're just [i]lies[/i], girl - Pel wanted to raise your hopes, so he could dash them and weaken your resolve. It's an interrogation technique. Sorran is dead, Savara. I identified his body, and it was him. I'm sorry." There was silence between them for several long seconds, and Zharn strained to hear any other sounds. There were none; the warehouse had been picked well, it seemed very closed off from the world outside, and judging by the dust which caked most of the floor and boxes, it was seldom used. "Maybe they were lies," Savara conceded, and even those words seemed to tear her apart. "But they're all I have, Zharn. I don't know why I was taken or what they wanted from me, and I just need something to keep me sane - right now, that's the hope that Sorran's alive." [i]I know all too well that feeling,[/i] Zharn empathised, and reached for her hand soothingly. She accepted it wordlessly, and suddenly he found himself pulled into an embrace which nearly choked what little life he had left in him. "Sorran may be dead, but I was his brother and you and he were together. That makes you as family to me, you understand, and I would have you tell me what happened," he instructed softly through the barest of breaths. [i]And then I'll tell you that your father's looking for you. Or maybe not - no matter how estranged from her father she might be, I doubt she'd care for my intent to kill him.[/i]