A/N:

I know I'm still working on DA and WC (with Citadel on hold for now) but this story has been rattling around in my head for months now. Originally I was going to wait until I had finished up with WC before starting it but it's driving me mad, so…here ya go.

As the others, I will try and get a chapter up as often as my schedule and circumstances allow. As all my fics, this will be left-of-canon and explore some deeper nuances of culture, especially Guardian culture, in Destiny. It will not be an exact replica of the game and I will add my own touches to it. It will not be necessary to have played Destiny to read my fic and follow it, but I do not apologize for any spoilers so keep that in mind.

It is unknown at this time if there will be any romance, or if said romance/romances will be F/F, M/F, M/M, etc. Knowing me at some point there will be one, and it will probably be F/F but nothing specific is planned as of yet.

Enjoy!

Destiny: The Song of Three

It was near to midnight, but even were it midday there would be no light here. The blizzard that had been raging full force for hours had consumed the world in a dark curtain of cloud, wind, and viciously driving snow.

The rusted skeletons of cars rattled and groaned against the force of the wind, which was strong enough that the snow could find no real hold save in the lees. The scrubby plants and short trees that had grown over and through the old concrete highway and entwined themselves in the wrecks had withered and shrunk back against the bitter cold and driving gale, but here and there an old branch thudded against metal, or broke away to fly off into the dark.

A light glimmered.

Inside one of the smaller ruins in the midst of the endless field of decay, the Ghost emerged from what had been a glove box, the light shining from it to play almost solemnly over the frame of what had been the vehicles' front seat, ages ago.

A small robotic device the size of a large clenched fist, the Ghost almost tentatively hovered, drifting a few inches forward before its light shifted toward the empty frame of the passenger side window. Reflecting that light, the driving snow winked and flashed as if millions of lightning bugs were swarming.

The wind was lessening now, it seemed. Another hour and it should be safe enough for it to continue on.

Like a bird snuggling back into its nest, the Ghost moved back again, into the shelter of the glove box, and settled. Its light dimmed slightly as the slits over its ocular aperture closed halfway. The blizzard outside would drive even the Fallen to seek shelter, but there was no purpose in giving away its position, nonetheless.

Resuming its wait for the storm to subside, the Ghost let its thoughts drift a little.

It could not sleep, not as organic beings understood it, but then there was much about Ghosts that organic beings still did not understand. This particular Ghost was older than it should have been- older than most Ghosts who were still Seeking. It had been wandering for quite a long time now, ever since the moment it had been born within the depths of the Traveler.

The Ghost could not be sure, but it suspected that its particular mission was not quite the same as those of its siblings. Ghosts were born of the Traveler- formed of its tech and its Light, with a very singular purpose. They sought out the remains of the Ancients and when one was found that suited the Ghost's intended drive and purpose, they transferred much of the Light within them into the remains. The Light then- through a method even the Ghosts could not fathom- rebuilt the dead and restored them to life.

The Ghost was then bound to their single restored individual for the rest of both their lives. These restored individuals had little to no memory of their previous life or who they were before they had died. Not that it much mattered- what was important was their new life, what they had been resurrected for. Every soul brought back to life by the power of a Ghost was from that moment on a Guardian- charged to do what the Traveler itself could no longer.

That was how it was supposed to work anyway, but this Ghost suspected its purpose might be different. It had seen its siblings- born both before and after itself- find their Guardians without much trouble. They scanned the boneyards and ruins on every planet that was accessible, their initial charge of Light sufficient to rebuild a person even from the smallest sample of DNA left behind. When they found a sample with the qualities they were looking for, it was done. Sometimes it might take a Ghost a few weeks to find a match but that was unusual- any longer was rare enough to be unheard of.

This Ghost had been Seeking, nonstop, for six years now. Such a search had only happened a few times before; perhaps four in the entire history of the Ghosts. Each time, the lonesome Ghost had continued its Seeking for years until it seemed to give up and shut down, its Light returning to the Traveler. That is, if it wasn't destroyed by accident or attack in the meantime. There were many out there, the Fallen included, that would destroy a Ghost on sight if they could.

This Ghost was not yet ready to give up, but over the last few months it had grown more and more despondent- or as close to despondent as such a thing could become. Were it organic, it might have been called 'depressed'.

A true understanding of this was beyond the Ghost, but it knew that it had something very specific it was looking for, some requirement that didn't apply to the other Ghosts and the ones they Sought. There was something very important the Traveler wanted (inasmuch as the Traveler could 'want' anything anymore). The Ghost had a strong sense that its predecessors- the ones that had fallen into despondency and returned to the Source- had been looking for the same thing. Perhaps said predecessors had even been carrying the same Light inside them that it now did. Perhaps they could even be said to be this Ghost's previous incarnations.

It didn't know. Ghosts were highly intelligent and privy to all sorts of information and abilities, and they all remained connected in some way to the Traveler- but as to the Traveler's mind, intentions, or motivations, they neither understood nor could explain. If they got anything directly from the Traveler, a rare event indeed, it was usually no more than impressions. Something an organic might call 'a gut feeling' or 'intuition'. The Traveler itself was deceased- or so close to it as to make little difference. Its construction and distribution of the Ghosts seemed almost a reflex action, the equivalent of an unconscious kick of a foot or twitch of a hand in an organic who was otherwise braindead.

The raging storm seemed to have calmed further, the wreckage that was the Ghost's shelter not rocking or groaning so violently now. Opening its oculus wide again, it carefully moved once more out of the glove compartment and tentatively surveyed the outside scene. It was still snowing heavily, the clouds still low and threatening, but the wind had died dramatically and the blizzard itself seemed to be over. Now no longer at risk of being blown madly a thousand miles in any direction, the Ghost abandoned the wreck of the car and once more began to Seek.

Still mindful of being spotted by the Fallen, it remained low among the twisted graveyard of endless cars, constantly scanning for any hint of DNA (or the shell signature of an Exo which often also suited Ghosts, though it would be very surprised if it came across an Exo here). Whenever a hint of sentient organic residue was found, it was carefully evaluated and then, inevitably, discarded.

There was quite a lot of DNA here, which is why the Ghost had come here to begin with. During the end of the Golden Age, this had been Russia, one of the thriving sanctuaries of mankind on Earth. It had been all but a paradise, and a massive staging area for the colonies and interstellar travel.

This particular highway went to one of the largest Cosmodromes that had been in operation at the time. As that paradise had been torn apart, millions had fled along this highway toward the Cosmodrome, hoping for escape, for survival. Very few had made it. The graveyard of cars stretched nearly six hundred kilometers, and were strewn inside and out by the bodies of the dead.

Of course, time and the elements and wild beasts had left little of those bodies still intact. Rarely, the Ghost would find an actual bone or skull, or even an entire mummified corpse hunched in a back seat, but only a single sample of DNA mattered for its purposes. A single hair, or cell would be enough, and those kinds of remains were all throughout this devastation.

Moving slowly, taking its samples, the Ghost wove along only a foot or two above the ground. Occasionally it lifted and dipped into a car before emerging again, but more often than not it could enter through the open trunk without rising too high and risking its light being seen further on than it wanted.

An hour passed, then two. The night grew thick and still. The snow fell in heavy curtains, and with no wind now to clear it away, it was starting to heap up on the broken concrete.

The Ghost searched.

A broken section of the road had sent several cars and blocks of stone and concrete tumbling into a frozen gully a dozen feet below. The Ghost descended, examining every inch of this gully over the next hour, before it reluctantly rose again to the opposite side of the break and continued on.

Then, out of the dark, the looming humps of much larger vehicles had appeared. Old trucks that looked almost like troop transports lay on their sides or sagging on their broken rims. A few scraps of canvas still clung to their frames. There was a slight clear space between the last of the cars and these trucks, and here the Ghost found two old and broken femurs, some teeth, and quite a lot of bullet casings. From the scorches and holes in both the trucks and the cars they were blocking, it seemed clear some kind of firefight had occurred here.

The Ghost carefully scoured over the troop transports and the bone fragments hopefully. The remains of someone who had been military was far more likely to match its search than a civilian- but it was to no avail. Reluctantly, disheartened once again, it moved to the cars and almost half-heartedly scanned. After this, it would pass the troop transports and continue along the end of the freeway and into the Cosmodrome-

-….

-this could not be!

The Ghost's scanning beam had passed over the grill of one of the cars pitted with gaping holes, its bumper sagging and so rusty it had formed thick stalagmites that nearly hung to the ground. As it had, the Light inside the Ghost seemed to leap and burn with sudden heat.

Almost tentatively, it passed the scan beam over the same spot, and immediately the Light burned again. Were the Ghost organic it would have been shaking. As it was, it was so taken aback by the discovery of what it had so long searched for that it did absolutely nothing for several minutes but hover, light affixed to the bumper. Around it, the snow billowed gently and continued to fall.

Then, as if it were a mouse creeping up on a sleeping predator, the Ghost inched forward slowly. As it drew nearer to the bumper, its light narrowed and moved, searching. There was no visible sign of organic material. No mummified body parts, no smear of what had once been blood. Perhaps…perhaps that single spot among the rust, which seemed slightly darker?

Carefully, it focused its scan beam once again and pinpointed it on that spot. The Light burned once again, such a hot and vibrant leap of joy that the Ghost darted back and up into the air, spinning madly for a moment. A sound much like a giddy laugh escaped it. While all Ghosts were perfectly capable of talking- in many different languages- this was the first time it had ever used its voice. As if some kind of electronic dam had been broken, the words came out in a rush.

"It's you! I found you! I found you! Oh…oh, let me think. I must think…yes. Too cold here, you'll need shelter, some clothes. Won't do to bring you back and have you freeze-"

Its light beaming gaily, the Ghost darted into the night, zipping through the vehicles. Capable of fabricating many simple things digitally so long as it had a sample of workable material, it quickly scanned the remnants of the canvas, leather, and musty cloth clinging to both the trucks and the insides of the cars.

Inside the bed of one of the military trucks it found some empty metal boxes that had been looted of their contents years ago. In fact, it was a bit surprised the boxes themselves had not been taken, but no matter- this would suit its purpose.

Heading back to the car bumper, almost afraid it would scan this time and there would be nothing, it gave another little spin of joy as the Light inside it danced again.

Focusing on the spot and doing the equivalent of an organic taking a deep breath to prepare, the Ghost narrowed its beam.

"All right…let's get this done."

The sound of cracks rang through her head, deep in a thick darkness. Muffled voices, echoing shouts. They were there and gone again.

Cold. Slowly, achingly, she became aware of incredible cold. It seemed to congeal through her flesh, seeking her bones and encasing them in ice. With a convulsive motion she shuddered violently, arms winding around her torso, her knees drawing up.

"It's all right, you're all right. Take it easy."

A voice was speaking. It sounded male, comforting, but she could not understand the words. She shook her head once, still shuddering violently, and something stringy whipped over her face. Remembering she had eyes, she opened them.

Strands of hair crisscrossed her face like cobwebs. It was dark around her. There seemed to be only a single light, bobbing up and down a bit in front of her. The wind was blowing and it was like claws made of ice digging into her skin. She was sitting on the ground- which was cold and wet- with her back against something that was also cold and wet.

Where...what….?

"You're all right," the man said again. She thought he must be holding a torch on her, and that was the source of the light.

"Ya vas ne ponimayu," she said through her madly chattering teeth. She was wearing some sort of thick leather vest over a shirt that felt almost like…canvas? On her feet were heavy rubber boots that seemed clunky and nonfunctional somehow. "Kto ty? Gde ya?"

"What? Oh, I forgot!" he said, and then suddenly she could understand him. "You would be Russian."

Russian? Was she? She couldn't think of what 'Russian' meant, but at least now he was speaking words she could understand.

"Who are you? Where am I?" she repeated. "It's so cold-"

"Yes, sorry. I did what I could with the clothes. Can you walk? There is shelter just over here. Warmth."

Warmth sounded like such a good idea at the moment that her confusion could wait. Still shivering, she tried to get to her feet. Her legs felt weak and shaky and halfway through rising her head began to spin. She stumbled and nearly fell, sagging back to her knees with her hands braced on whatever it was she had been sitting against.

"It's all right," the man said gently. "Just take it slow, the effects of regeneration will pass shortly."

Effects? Pass?

Warmth. It was the only concept she could focus on. Bracing her hands on what she could now see was a rusty old scrap of a car, she pushed herself to the clunky, shapeless boots. The wind whipped her hair into her face again and stung like a dozen needles. She hugged the leather vest around herself and hunched. The torch was bobbing a few feet away as if the man could not hold it still. As she started toward him, he retreated backward into the gloom.

"In here," he said as they reached an old truck half listed on its side atop another crushed wreck. With some effort she climbed up into the pitted bed. The high sides of the truck cut down on the wind but it was still dreadfully cold. She hunched against one side, hugging herself tighter as she did so. A few feet away an old metal box had been tossed.

As the torch approached it she saw it wasn't being held by a man at all. Instead, it was a little machine, hovering on its own in the air. It neared the box and then turned to her and blinked.

"This should warm you up," it said cheerfully. She watched as it turned back toward the box. Some kind of beam came from its aperture, and the metal of the box slowly began to heat up, soon glowing red, then orange.

The heat was so strong and welcome it was almost painful. She shifted closer to it, holding her hands out toward the box and rubbing feeling back into her fingers. As they began to throb and tingle, her brows knit and her rubbing motions slowed to an almost exploration as she looked at her hands.

"Who are you?" she asked after a moment, looking from them to the little machine. Her brows knit tighter in confusion. "And who…am I?"