Joy to the world, the chapter has come. See you this time next year. Kidding. [b]Chapter 39 - Trials of Delphi[/b] "A void jump?" Zharn groaned, feeling like death all over again. The acidic tang of vomit clung to his mouth, and he wiped it away with a shaky hand. Their small closet had been plunged into darkness; he could faintly make out the shape of Savara a few metres away, unmoving. Coughing his way to his knees, Zharn crawled over and rolled her onto her back. A pair of bright eyes slowly opened, and she stared at his face with confusion. "... Sorran?" she whispered softly, bringing up a hand to his face. Zharn let it linger there for a moment, before pulling away and shaking his head. "No, I'm still me," he corrected ruefully. "Are you okay?" Savara sat up with a start, her momentary delusion fled. She looked about their small space, and whistled for a light; it did not come. "What happened?" she asked him, her voice still low. Zharn leant his back against the wall opposite her, and it took all his will to stay awake. His gunshot wound still throbbed to the point of insanity; there was no pain like the pain of peeled flesh. "Some [i]idiot[/i] must have jumped the city without raising the impulse shields. Don't worry; the radiation isn't dangerous, but it can cause some disorientation and sickness for a while." "Then it's the perfect time for us to leave," Savara asserted, jumping to her feet with the litheness of youth and moving for the door. "Leave... where?" Zharn asked her pointedly, and he took no satisfaction from how his words stopped her in her tracks and etched self-doubt on her face. "I don't know this station well," she confessed to him, and he felt the role of leader suddenly slide onto his shoulders; it was not a weight he wanted to bear, not here. "But we should be looking for Sorran." "I've never been here either," Zharn told her. "And you need to give up this mummer's dream of Sorran. He's dead and rotting, you need to accept that and move on." He saw her eyes tear up, but he steeled himself and continued regardless. "My priority right now is to get you off this station and somewhere safe. The hierarchs aren't after you - not yet. But if you stay with me, and they'll hunt you for whatever reason they're hunting me." "And then what will you do?" Savara demanded, and it was his turn to be flustered. He averted his gaze from her piercing eyes, guilty of his mind. [i]I intend to hunt down your bastard father and put an end to him, and his Ossoona puppeteer,[/i] he vowed darkly. Imperial Admiral Grymar'ee had been given his chance, and the man had turned cloak and shot him. Zharn was done forgiving. It was a luxury he could no longer afford. But he did not say this aloud, and changed the subject. "I have a friend waiting a mile south, a Jiralhanae by the name of Orpheus. We'll meet with him, and then assess our current situation," he laid out, hoping Orpheus hadn't been discovered. With any luck, the Jiralhanae had seen Pel and Grymar'ee fleeing and knew where they'd gone. "Once we find him, we'll head to my cousin's house, here on the station. He will take us in, until my fleet returns and we can leave this place." "A Jiralhanae?" Savara demanded shrilly. "How can we trust such a thing?" "That [i]thing[/i] is a good and noble man, one who I would trust with my life," Zharn admonished, like a parent teaching a child to be open-minded. "I have known him some months now, and he has been nothing but loyal the entire time." "So you replaced Sorran as brother with a [i]brute[/i]?" Savara ground out, and her words cut deeper than she realised. Zharn shook his head. "It's not like that. Sorran will always be as my brother, in this life and the next. Nothing will change that; not his death, not--" "He's not dead," Savara insisted again, that stubborn pout about her mouth. If he'd had the energy, Zharn would have thrown his arms up in exasperation. "Still you persist with this fantasy. Fine! I'll play along; he's alive. Whatever makes you feel better, Savara. Maybe he'll turn up at the door; hierarchical pardons, cake and a promotion for me to Supreme Commander in hand," he droned sarcastically, not caring for how he hurt her feelings. The girl had know Sorran for a few weeks and yet she acted like she knew him better than he did. [i]He is my brother![/i] ... present tense. Gods, her fervour was poisoning his mind. Savara had turned away from him, arms folded tightly. Zharn sighed theatrically, before gritting his teeth and climbing to his feet. A convulsion of pain racked down his spine, and the wound at his side felt hotter than a furnace. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he felt his world spin. His legs began to buckle, he felt himself falling-- A light hand caught him, taking some of his weight. He looked to his bearer, and saw Savara looking straight back. Slowly they edged towards the door, him leaning on her like some invalid cripple. "You don't have to believe, Zharn," she whispered softly as the door opened. "I'll believe hard enough for the both of us." * They were challenged before they got one hundred metres within the door. Two hulking Mglekgolo advanced towards them, both standing twice as tall as any Sangheili. Ahkrin looked to Jeann'ee and saw that his face had balked. He would be dealing with this alone, it seemed. "You. Halt." The words of the Mglekgolo were seldom more complex, save for the rare times when they'd break out into surprisingly touching poetry after a battle. Ahkrin obeyed the command, fixing his feet where they stood on the huge bridge. The dreadnought towered over them, so close that Ahkrin could almost hear the melancholy song of the Forerunners preserved within. It was easy to see why they were revered as gods; even with all he knew, Ahkrin still felt a compulsion to kneel before the dreadnought's majesty. "Yes?" Ahkrin demanded of the two Mglekgolo as they drew near. One of them came to the forefront and moved to mere inches away from him; the stench was indelible, a cloying aroma of rotting meat and the discharge the hive within the armour expelled. "Your business?" it inquired, and although the creature had no eyes, Ahkrin felt as though every facet of his body was being scrutinised by a million of them. He looked at the Mglekgolo as if it were insane, and pointed skyward. "See you not the human fleet hanging in the heavens?" he demanded, and absently muttered to Jeann'ee about 'idiot eels' as the two Mglekgolo followed his finger to see the ships about Harvest. "This is not the time for such formalities, worm." "Not our concern," was the reply he received to that. Ahkrin took a huge risk, and slapped the creature about its face. It flinched from the blow, but did not retaliate. "It is all our concern, you dolt!" he yelled, and noticed the other Mglekgolo shirk away out of the corner of his eye. "You were charged not just with the protection of this entrance to the dreadnought, but with what this vessel represents. It is the centre of High Charity and the centre of our Covenant! If those humans should lay a single scratch on it, I'll have every eel in your colony burned alive." The two Mglekgolo shrank back as the divided colony communed, clearly confused. They'd probably spent their whole lives doing little more than letting by those with clearance and pointing their green cannons at those who didn't. "But," it murmured gingerly, as if fearing another slap. "Your... your business?" "Business of the sanctum," Ahkrin barked authoritatively, pushing past the Mglekgolo and striding towards the dreadnought's entrance. He heard Jeann'ee fall at his feet, and behind them a dim protest about required authorisation - he ignored them and carried on. His act seemed to have worked - no plasma bolts struck him in the back, anyway. "Still have that infamous Descol'ee swagger, I see," Jeann'ee quipped slyly as he fell into stride with him, chuckling when he saw the Mglekgolo stare dumbly after them and then reman their posts. "You should have been in theatre." "Where else do you think I learnt to act so well?" Ahkrin asked coolly, glancing around. "I wonder if this place is usually so deserted." It was disconcerting in a strange way; an eye of the storm that was High Charity's constant noise - a tranquillity lay about the dreadnought and everything it watched. "This is a place for the nobility," Jeann'ee spoke with derision. "No doubt they are all cowering in their bunkers, all the good it will do them." "[i]I[/i] am of a noble house, if you'll remember," Ahkrin pouted. "And do you see me in a bunker?" "Descol' ceased being a noble house after your father disgraced it in the rebellion," Jeann'ee snorted. "Who is its patron now? Some distant, far-removed cousins of yours who can scarce rub a pair of coins together without one of them begged? My friend, your house is dying. Not even your children will be allowed to bear it's name--" "The hierarchs promised they would restore it to former glory," Ahkrin sighed, unable to find himself angry at Jeann'ee words - the man was merely echoing what he himself thought all the time. "There is no chance of that happening now." "Not under the current... dictatorship," Jeann'ee supplied, raising a brow as he looked over. "Another failing of this failed Covenant. Who are the San 'shyuum to fame and shame Sangheili houses thousands of years old, or interfere in matters of family--" "Like proclaiming a bastard cannot be formally recognised?" Ahkrin extrapolated, and he saw Jeann'ee's shoulders drop. "Tell me that is not why you are on this ridiculous crusade." "Of course not!" Jeann'ee flared, but his eyes suggested he wasn't being entirely truthful. "I am doing this for the betterment of trillions, that we might live apart from the unholy bonds of the Covenant."