The worlds were burning.
He growled as he saw the nodes on the comm panel winking out as world after world fell. He listened to the last, despairing transmissions, hearing the screams, and forced himself to harden his heart to them. He could take his fleet to these worlds, to try in vain to save them, or he could hurry back to see their homeworld, the creche of their people, protected and safe. These were not easy decisions to make, but desperate times like these necessitated them.
Let them hate him. He would accept being seen as heartless, of being unfeeling, if it meant his people would live. He would accept being viewed as a cold, emotionless automaton. Even now, he heard the whispers among his oathborn crew. That he had a heart of stone. If his people were safe due to his actions, then he would be a Kell of Stone.
It had been swift, sudden, and they had been unprepared. It swept through their worlds like a black gale, scything their ketches and skiffs from the air, knocking their buildings and cities over, a whirlwind of destruction against which they could hardly stand. And there was something else within that whirlwind, a malevolent hunger that consumed everything, an angry maw which took all it could.
He ordered his ketch back to the homeworld. The best and strongest of the Houses were there. Their most powerful weapons, their brightest minds. With him and his forces, they could hold off anything, bunker down and wait out the whirlwind, let the maw break its teeth against them. And above all else, they would be under the aegis of the Great Machine.
It had helped them, guided them, sheltered them as they'd grown, strong and tall with its Light. It had helped protect them as they'd spread and grown, peace between the Houses, across the worlds. It would protect them again.
It must.
When his ketch emerged from jump-space, however, he saw that the Whirlwind had come upon them. He saw the ketches of the other Great Houses-- Gears, Judgment, Weavers, Kings, even the Rain-- fleeing from it. There were some others still there, and the panel lit up as several ketches hailed him. All beseeched his aid, pleading for him to help them, to defend them against the doom which had come upon them. He assured them that with the Great Machine at their backs, they would stand against the whirlwind which came for them.
But then he looked upon the jewel that had been the homeworld, mighty and glorious Riis, but without the stalwart presence of their god. The skies of their world lacked the pristine white sphere which had stood for generations, shepherding their people.
"Where is the Great Machine?" he demanded. Alarms were blaring around him as the scanners detected the approach of the doom. He saw the baleful green portals opening over his world, saw the vile shapes of the tomb ships descending to it, and looked upon the impassive bulk of the dreadnought staring him down. He looked to the empty space where his god had been, almost weeping. "Where is the Great Machine?"
His swords dropped to his side, hands clenching tightly around their hafts. He drew in a great breath and then unleashed a challenging bellow, the force of his shout turning heads. "We shall not go quiety!" he roared. "All batteries, target the dreadnought! Fire at will!" His eyes burned bright. "When we meet our forebears in the House of Eternity, they shall know us as warriors!"
The ketch rang with their shouts and they went gladly into the maw.
~*~*~*~
You are Chelchis. Kell of a mighty House. Spearhead for the Eliksni, carrying the banner to new worlds. Sire to a creche of children, mate to a spouse long separated. Renowned as the greatest warrior that Riis has ever borne.
You have been taken.
A sword that smote your enemies. A shield that protected your kin against all who would threaten them. But you sword blunts against the hide of the predator. Your shield shatters from the force of its bite.
You were abandoned by your god. Left to fend for yourselves and to slow the ravenous rage pursuing it.
Be calm. Lower your hand. Sheathe your sword. Set down your shield. All your strength and all your love for your people was not enough. You were spread too thin, even as you left some behind to save the rest. You depended too much on your belief in your god.
There is a knife for you. It is shaped like [absolution].
You need not depend on the cowardly god anymore. Stand without its hollow protection and march proudly. You are free of its machinations, so you may free your people from their bonds of dependence. This is what a Kell should be, a beautiful final authority, sharp and keen.
Take the knife. Cut away your chains. Take your new shape.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Author's Notes: Something of a potential new series, again about the Eliksni/Fallen of the world of Destiny and Destiny 2, and various notables of their race who have been "lost" in some way. In this one, it's about a figure from the lore, Chelchis, Kell of Stone. He's only mentioned in a handful of pieces of flavor text from Destiny 1, and it's implied that he was either killed by or Taken by Oryx.
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