"Wingless" (Patreon)

The second in a series of short works I wrote 1-2 years ago for the Destiny franchise. You don't need to be familiar with the games to enjoy. The only context needed is that Guardians are immortal warriors who can die and be resurrected by their Ghost companions ad infinitum. I hope you like ❤️

Your bones are old.

Relics from a time before time was a construct. Not a thing that binds but a freely given idea of existence. Nothing more than the distance between meals and the subtly harsh nudge from carefree youth to something heavier.

I searched for you for centuries. The other Ghosts called me Wingless, for what is a Ghost without their Guardian but a bird without their wings.

You did not want to wake up.

Like a child tired out from play, you fought the light hitting your eyes. But when you finally opened them that defiant slit, I understood that playful child was not the right analogy at all. You were that of a spirit withered, a phantom long settled in the peace of sleep unending. Your mortal life still pained you, even in the centuries your bones rested in the dirt, even when you woke unable to remember a thing, the mortal girl you once were hung over you like a rain cloud, a perpetual haunting, followed now by two ghosts against your choosing.

I tried then to tell you what was going on, at last release the spiel I had been practicing to myself for years. I had every word memorized, knew exactly how I wanted to introduce myself to my Guardian for the first time. I didn’t get to do any of it. You just looked at me, then down at your hands, in acceptance.

“What are you called,” you said, voice flat, eyes dim.

“Wingless,” I answered.

“Is that what you want to be called?”

“I have never known anything different.”

You had contemplated then. I saw your eyes glaze, as if trying to nail down a distant memory that was no longer yours to hold. You looked me over, but your expression gave away nothing of your thoughts, your feelings.

“Wingless doesn’t suit you. You fly just fine, after all,” you told me.

We were silent then. Something flittered across your hazel eyes, something like memory, but just out of reach.

“Would you call me something different?” I asked, unsure I wanted to know. Even though each syllable of it grated on me, Wingless was all I had known in uncounted years of meaningless existence.

“Starling.” The word left your lips as a whisper, your eyes distant, remnants of your mortal life leaking through the cracks.

“Like the bird?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

You looked at me at last and smiled faintly. “Sure.”