Scars of the Zariman

by SylverStorms

Summary:

The Zariman has almost always been a battleground for survival, for as long as Yonta remembers it. But it feels even more so after a new Tenno team is assigned to guard it, led by a leader who is known to be downright -brutal-. Valkyr has no understanding in her cold heart, nor forgiveness for the Holdfasts. She is a terror, equal parts guarddog and punishment. And yet.

Yonta gradually finds herself drawn to the person beneath the guise, the heart beneath the rage. Of course, the irony is not lost on her; that here, amidst the ruins of their dreams and life, something so tender as affection could take root...

And blossom into love.

Chapter 1

Notes:

Hey guys! :D I am happy to introduce my new fic, which loosely follows my other Warframe story; 'The Aftermath of War', taking place directly after it. Reading that one first may give you a better understanding of some characters and events that have taken place (for example, why Lotus is currently back on Tau) but it is in NO WAY required for you to read through this fanfic and understand everything. I hope you enjoy <3

 

 

Eternalism; the theory that the future and past are as real as the present; and can theoretically be accessed by "changing the frame" of reference. Since making a choice cannot change a pre-existing future, it follows that all possible choice/chance events are simultaneously real in separate realities.

[Yonta]

 

You sit alone in the dim glow of your office, as you often do lately, deep in thought. The luxury around you has been preserved through time, a pretty lie for you to escape to, compared to the gutted ruin that is the rest of the Zariman. 

 

Still, even these intact walls hum with the subtle pulse of the Void, that otherworldly reverberation that stretches through every part of this cursed ship like a heartbeat –or an accusation. 

 

Ever since your rebirth under the rays of the Void, you have pondered endlessly on the concept of Eternalism. Tonight is no different. Here you sit, staring at the same blueprints for hours, the same numbers that once held such hope for mankind, as if looking long enough will let you see some flaw of the past, some hidden parameter that might have turned things out differently. Anything, anything at all, that could have made the warp-jump to Tau safer, that might have made you the hero of humanity and not– 

 

Not this. 

 

That’s what they say about Eternalism, isn’t it? That every choice you could have made exists out there in its own fractured sliver of reality, that every path you didn’t take simply becomes another branch in another universe. Every version of you exists out there in a parallel world, some who did things right, others who did worse.

 

But how much worse could I possibly have handled anything? You wonder. Among countless different versions of yourself, you have reached the conclusion you may just be the absolute worst of all.

 

Yet you still want to believe it, desperately, that somewhere out there lies a Yonta who didn’t turn the Zariman into this tragedy. Somewhere out there is a vessel that reached Tau, with intact hulls and smiling children and sane, clear-eyed adults tasting that foreign oxygen for the first time. 

 

The idea is soothing, in a way, to think that somewhere, a better version of you made different choices, braver choices. Worthy choices. That she was smarter, saw the pitfalls you overlooked, that she took a stand against the Orokin’s insane demands, and that her hands are clean. As much as you hate her, you want to picture that she lives on in that brighter universe, while you… you are here, a living ghost, in a ship that should have been your tomb.

 

A tremor runs through you, and you grip the edge of the console tightly, feeling its solidity, reminding yourself you are alive, and you are here for a reason. You have a second chance to make amends. 

 

Or… a dark voice in the depths of your consciousness whispers to you, to be punished for your sins…

 

–

 

–

 

Your eyes have long since drooped shut and your head is resting against your palm, your mind caught in a state between sleep and wakefulness. 

 

Everything is so quiet and you’re just so tired… you tell yourself a nap won’t do any harm as you start to give into the sweet serenity of Orpheus’ embrace. 

 

And then.

 

BAM!

 

Your whole body jerks as a violent crash reverberates from the deck below, shaking the walls of your office so hard dust spills from the vents. The force nearly throws you out of your chair, and in that instant, every sense snaps wide awake. You know, instinctively, that this isn’t just another malfunction, or the Void playing tricks. No, this feels far worse.

 

You’re on your feet and out of the office before you even realize you’re running, the metallic chill of the floor biting through your shoes as you sprint down the winding, narrow stairs. The ship is groaning around you, alive with something darker than the usual whispers, and as you get closer to the main plaza, the noise sharpens into a chilling, guttural screech, amplified until it fills the very air you breathe.

 

You are momentarily stunned to a halt, grasping at your head to fight off the sudden wave of nausea that threatens your balance. You know this sound and it’s enough to induce a shot of raw panic in your bloodstream; 

 

A Void Angel. 

 

But this one is different; its voice deeper, raw, and holds a venom you’ve never felt before.

 

When you reach the edge of the balcony, you stop dead at the sight. 

 

Below you, in the vast, open plaza, Quinn is nearly doubled over, his hands pressed to his ears as he staggers under the weight of the monster’s piercing wail. A hulking, warped figure looms before him, an Angel far larger than any you’ve seen before. With twice the size of a normal one, its grotesque wings are almost scraping the plaza walls and void-tainted plantlife, shimmering with the same dark energies that twist and pulse in the creature’s hollowed-out chest.

 

“Quinn!” you shout, your voice swallowed by the cacophony. 

 

He’s barely standing, knees buckling as the creature leans in closer, its eyeless face inches from him, its head tilting in that eerie, unnatural way. It isn’t moving for the kill –not yet. It looks like it’s… listening. Searching. A cold dread coils in your stomach as you realize that thing is trying to burrow into his mind.

 

Gunshots break the Angel's spell, coming from the other end of the plaza.

 

Cavalero and Hombast are running to Quinn’s rescue, unleashing a coordinated volley of fire. Yet the Angel doesn’t flinch. It seems almost… indifferent, as if the bullets are mere insects skittering across its skin. The monster leans further toward Quinn, and for a fleeting, horrifying moment, you think the gunfire will do nothing to stop it.

 

But the Tenno are here to put an end to the newly-awakened nightmare. 

 

Rhino dashes into the voidling at full speed, his armored frame bashing the beast away from Quinn. Nova then casts her energy forward to slow it down, keep it from rising again. Volt zaps between them like lightning, lifting a dazed Quinn up and flashing onto the balcony you’re standing on, to leave him in your care. He rejoins the fray and all signs point that they will get the situation under control.

 

Until… something in the air shifts.

 

Like the wind suddenly changes directions, you feel it. The Angel stops mid-step, its movements halting as if seized by some other awareness. Then, its head snaps all the way back, peering straight at you . You have what it wants, you realize with a start. 

 

You are the target.

 

The void-spawn's twisted, grotesque form leaps upwards and you stagger back instinctively as it crashes onto the balcony, its massive weight flattening the railing into twisted scrap metal. You see its form clearly now –too clearly, you see what you could have turned into– as Void energy seeps from its hollow face, filling the air with an eerie hum. The abomination inches toward you, and you brace yourself, mind racing, scrambling for anything that might save you.

 

Then, another chilling sound tears through the air; 

 

A roar. 

 

Raw and vicious, except this one doesn’t belong to any Angel. It is darker, sharper, brimming with fury. 

 

You look up, and through the cracked ceiling of the Zariman, a dark figure descends at dizzying speeds, leaping from ledge to broken ledge, then finally at the wall behind you, with the lethal grace of an apex predator. 

 

You barely manage to see its form; a sleek Warframe, coated in a steely alloy and veined with luminescent yellow lines that pulse like lava down its arms. In a blur of motion, it dashes straight toward the Angel, large energy claws snapping out from its fingertips.

 

It collides with the Void creature like a storm, claws effortlessly embedding themselves into the Angel’s grotesque body, as both crash onto the deck below. But the Warframe does not relent. It moves with an animalistic precision, slashing and tearing the void-spawn apart in relentless savagery. Pieces of the once-Angel fall away in shattered chunks, its haunting energy dissipating in sickly wisps until there’s nothing left but splinters and ash.

 

Wow… 

 

You can only stare, breathless, at your wild savior, this beautiful weapon made of steel and rage. The creature that terrorized you is reduced to a mere stain on the deck and finally, the vaguely female-looking Warframe stands to full height, its claws retracting, intense amber lights powering down to a faint glow. 

 

A hum of engines draws your attention, and your eyes shift to the broken bay doors of the Zariman, stuck permanently open. A small ship docks carefully, its lights casting a glow across the ruined plaza. Three more Warframes step out from its hatch, each different in design yet bearing the same lethal presence. Their armor glints as they descend from the ship, their stride steady as they survey the wreckage. Judging by these Warframes’ unfamiliar forms, you have never met their Tenno pilots before. 

 

As you descend the stairs, Quinn limping not far behind you, your heart pounds with something that’s part relief, part awe. You take a brief moment to compose yourself, to exhale, then walk up to greet your savior, the one that leapt to your rescue like a blade in the dark. She stands there perfectly still now, and you feel a strange, trembling gratitude well up inside you as you take a breath to address her.

 

“Hello. Allow me to thank–”

 

“No need.” She cuts you off, the voice beneath the still frame cold as ice. “If I had my way, I’d have arrived just a little too late.” Her visor tilts, four yellow lights assessing you with an utter lack of warmth. “And saved us all the trouble.”

 

The words strike you like a slap. You feel the sting of them, the venom beneath. The awe that had filled you just moments before withers under the bite of her hostility. You stand there, your mind scrambling for a response as she turns away once more. 

 

Volt steps forward, as if to defend you. “What the hell are you doing here, Valkyr?” Blake’s voice cuts through the silence, a mix of disbelief laced with bitterness, his hands clenched at his sides. “This isn’t some hit job. There are people to protect.”

 

“People.” Valkyr slowly repeats under her breath, scorn in her voice. “I think you’re mistaken about the mission, Volt. Not that it matters. Lotus wants your team in Europa, asap. The Zariman is our station now.” She cocks her head towards the rest of the newly arrived Tenno, who all nod their confirmation. 

 

Then Valkyr turns to address you Holdfasts. 

 

“As for you ‘people’... I got good news for you all!” she says, and something about her distorted voice beneath the Warframe makes your blood run colder in your veins. “The Angels waking up are the least of your worries now. I bet none of them want you dead…”

 

And to think you were eager to think of her as your shining savior in steel armor. Perhaps, you start to consider, not all Tenno made it out of the Zariman well. Because this one is… 

 

“As badly as I do.”

 

Psychotic.

 

–

 

–

 

With the new Tenno’s arrival, you now have to bid the older team farewell. But before they leave, Blake gathers the Holdfasts at the meeting board, wanting to warn you about his brethren. 

 

His usual gentle demeanor is replaced with a rare, somber intensity as he takes a deep breath. “Look, I’ll check in on you all as often as I can.” he says, his voice resolute. “It’s the least I can do. But you need to know what you’re dealing with from now on.” 

 

“You mean that nutjob with the claws?” Cavalero leans over the back of a chair, scowling. 

 

Volt can only give a hesitant nod. “Her name is Diane, but few are allowed to use her real name, so don’t call her anything other than Valkyr. Although I love all Tenno like my siblings, she and I… we never really saw eye to eye. Our Operator selves did, at some point, in the version of history where we fought side by side against the Sentients. We bled together, cried together. But ever since we returned from Duviri and took over in this timeline… well. Let’s just say I always found her methods too extreme. Too… severe.” he begins.

 

Severe is about right. you think, crossing your arms over your chest.

 

“When Lotus found out you were alive, the Tenno held a vote.” he explains, his voice softening just a bit at the memory. “Lotus wanted to know who was willing to help you out. Most of us were —I mean, of course. Nobody else needs to die on this Godsforsaken place.” His eyes darken, his hands curling into fists. “But Valkyr’s team? They voted to leave you without aid. She thought it was well deserved for what you did to us.”

 

A chill washes over you, and you can see the same ripple of unease run through the other Holdfasts. Memories swarm you of that time, the bleak awakening from death itself, when survival felt more like a taunt from the Void than a gift. The weeks when you had no choice but to scavenge in the shadows of your own broken ship for other survivors, amidst those horrifying Angel wails, wondering when you, too, would become one of them. The idea that anyone would wish for you to be left to this fate, deliberately, is…

 

Deserved. The word repeats endlessly in your mind. Perhaps, deep down, it aligns more with what you believe for yourself… but you refuse to linger on that now. 

 

Blake sighs, rubbing his hand over his face, as if struggling to make sense of it himself. “I don’t know what Lotus was thinking when she assigned Valkyr here. Yes, her Warframe is… effective. Lethal and to a large degree immune to the Void’s mindgames.” A pause. “But that power isn’t just for Angels to fear, and her team… remember that they’re loyal to her, not to you.”

 

“And she?” Hombask dares to ask. “What is she loyal to?”

 

“Without Kiran and Lotus here in the Sol system to keep her in check… very little, I’m afraid.” Volt trails off. Not much else needs to be said. 

 

“Just what we needed on our hands. Great.” Quinn sighs, shaking his head.

 

Then Blake’s gaze lands on you, his eyes steady, and for the first time, you see a real fear there. “Tread carefully around her, please. Avoid interaction whenever you can. Diane… she isn’t bluffing when she says she’d have let you die. Out of all my brothers and sisters, she is the most dangerous. And that Warframe –that beast of a frame– only fuels her bloodlust.” 

 

Your mind races, and you open your mouth to protest. A Tenno, no matter how dark, would never just kill someone without good reason, out of pure spite. Right?

 

Right…?

 

“One wrong word…” Blake says, “And Valkyr will hurt you.”

 

–

 

–

 

The sound of heavy knocks jars you awake. 

 

Your head immediately snaps up from the desk where you, once again, must have dozed off. For a moment, you blink in the dim light of your office, trying to remember where you are, what system time it is. Then, the voice of Atlas’ pilot booms from the other side of the door, steady and unyielding.

 

“Archimedean Yonta. You are summoned to the plaza.” he says. 

 

How odd, to think you once were the one summoning people to you. Still, you push yourself upright, steeling your nerves for what is to come. You can already tell you won’t like it…

 

By the time you reach the plaza, the other Holdfasts are already gathered, tension crackling in the air like an exposed wire. Quinn stands stiffly, his tablet clutched tightly in hand. Cavalero seems even more grim-faced than usual. At least Hombask somehow manages to upkeep her hopeful front. All eyes turn toward the armored figure standing tall at the center of the yard –Valkyr. The Warframe’s steely surface glints faintly in the ship’s dim light, her team a silent presence behind her.

 

“Good. You’re all here.” Her voice cuts through the stillness, stern and commanding. “Let’s make this quick.” 

 

She surveys you all, through that hollow, expressionless visor that somehow feels like a predator sizing up prey, deciding whether it is worth the chase. A chill runs down your spine as her head turns in your direction. 

 

“These are the first changes we will implement on the ship, effective immediately. Your access to the Zariman’s main decks and beyond is hereby revoked. You’ll remain in this plaza and the connected residential suites, but no further.” You see your fellow crew members’ faces shift in displeasure, and your own blood pressure begins to skyrocket, but you bite your tongue and hold it still.

 

You want to say something, to challenge her, to demand what right she has to take everything you've left from you. But the memory of Blake’s warning rings in your ears: One wrong word, and she will hurt you. You glance at Valkyr’s retracted claws, at the faint shimmer of energy lingering around them, and the words die in your throat. 

 

Is she doing this out of spite? Very possible. She looks like she hates the very ground you walk on. But is that the only reason…?

 

“A safety precaution.” Atlas explains, though that alone doesn’t say much. 

 

“Nothing personal, I assume.” Cavalero bites back. 

 

“If I got personal, you’d be standing no more.” It is said so easily, like a universal fact. The air itself seems to turn heavier as she speaks and it seems not even your crew’s battle-hardened mercenary is immune to this effect. “Moving on. That tablet, the Crystal Index.” she cocks her head subtly towards Quinn. “Hand it over. You’re no longer in charge of this ship’s systems.”

 

Quinn’s face goes pale. “...what?”

 

“I will not repeat myself.” she says, the Warframe’s hand snapping open. The pointed tips of her fingers grow slightly sharper, a warning all its own.

 

Quinn hesitates, yet his defiance crumbles under the weight of her stare. Slowly, reluctantly, he steps forward and so does Saryn, to receive the Index. She takes the tablet without a word, turning it over as if to check it is the real thing. They don't even trust you for this much. Once the inspection is over, she gives Valkyr a nod. 

 

Her attention shifts to Cavalero next. “Hydroid here will come to take all Incarnon weapons and adapters for safekeeping.” 

 

Cavalero stiffens, his jaw tightening as if he’s been struck. “What if–”

 

“You’ll keep the standard ones.” she interrupts. “Enough to defend yourselves alongside us, should the need arise.”

 

Cavalero’s hands ball into fists, but he says nothing at first, his shoulders heaving with barely suppressed fury. You turn to look at him and shake your head subtly, as if to say ‘don’t do it, don’t react’. Deep down, though, you know better than to think he will listen. 

 

“You think you can come in here, claws swinging, and take away everything we have?!” he barks. “Our weapons, our access, do you even know what these things mean to us?! We died for this ship!” his rough voice rings across the Plaza. 

 

But.

 

“No.” Valkyr denies coldly. One step forward, and the Warframe is now towering above him like an immovable mountain of steel. “You killed everything on this ship.” 

 

At first glance, Valkyr seems no more pissed than usual, her visage betraying nothing as she hisses the words out. But your keen eye catches something concerning; the way the Warframe’s tendons flex and pull back ever so slightly, like a spring wound too tight. Her claws twitch, and that micromotion alone is enough to set your nerves alight.

 

A deep, instinctive fear roots you in place. 

 

It feels like staring at a rabid beast barely kept on a thin leash, its fury simmering just beneath the surface. The way this Warframe moves –or in this case doesn’t move– feels wrong. As though the armor itself is fighting against some darker urge to reap. 

 

You feel it in your bones, if that leash ever snaps, there will be no stopping her.

 

Finally, after what feels like minutes of holding your breath, Valkyr’s gaze turns and settles on you. 

 

“Archimedean.” Hearing your own title in her voice, distorted and deepened from within that bestial frame, makes every muscle in your body tense at once. “I want a full explanation of how every system on this ship functions.”

 

The demand catches you off guard, and for a moment, you hesitate. “Every system?” you ask, carefully masking your disbelief.

 

She inclines her head slightly. “Every. System.”

 

You struggle to believe what you are hearing. The Zariman is more than just the compilation of your life’s greatest achievements; it was heralded, even by the Orokin themselves, as a quantum and Void mechanics wonder. The first of its kind –and sadly, after the tragedy that befell it and the Golden Lords’ fall, also the last. To even attempt to oversimplify its functions to the point someone with little to no such physics’ knowledge can understand is an affront to its engineering. But even swallowing your pride and leaving that aside, you are still not confident you can make her understand everything.

 

“Even in the simplest terms…” you begin cautiously, “This isn’t something I can just rattle off. It’s quantum engineering layered with a Void-powered core and hydrogen—” You catch yourself rambling and stop, taking a steadying breath. “It could take days to go through everything.”

 

“Well, then we better start right away.” Valkyr replies without a trace of hesitation.

 

The words strike at the last threads of patience you’ve been clinging to. You can feel every eye on you now, along with the Holdfasts’ silent concern, Somehow, you manage to shove everything you feel down for now, and nod curtly.

 

“Fine.” You say, turning on your heel and heading for the staircase. “Follow me.”

 

The climb back to your office feels endless, the tension between you and the Warframe behind you stretching like a taut wire. You can feel her presence, heavy and oppressive, with each step. The memory of her words to Cavalero rings in your mind like a taunt, and as you reach your office door, your resolve to keep calm is slipping through your fingers.

 

You know it. You feel it. 

 

Once inside, the doors slide shut with a faint hiss, closing you and her off from the rest of the world. You move toward your desk, gathering yourself as you begin to unlock the safe housing all of the blueprints and schematics on the Zariman’s systems. You grit your teeth as you pull sheet after sheet of data from within, letting the documents fall onto your desk in an unceremonious heap. 

 

Pages upon 3D-projecting pages of raw information that Valkyr probably has no use for. 

 

“This is all of it.” you say, your voice tight. “Every system, every subsystem, every redundant fail-safe. But let’s not waste each other’s time, shall we? Why don’t we just get to what you really want to know.” You look up, meeting those four amber eye-like lights dead on, daring her to contradict your next statement. “The Reliquary Drive’s core. The auxiliary force systems. The backup plans. Everything tied to power. Everything… that can move the Zariman.”

 

For a moment, there is only silence. 

 

And then, Valkyr laughs. 

 

It’s not what you expect. Not mocking or cruel, exactly, but hollow, sharp. It unsettles you, and yet, it’s the first time she’s made any sound that resembles actual emotion since she arrived. 

 

“An Archimedean indeed.” she says, with an almost grudging hint of respect. 

 

The words hang in the air, and though they’re meant as a compliment, they don’t feel like one. Her tone is dissecting, like she’s weighing your value against the supermassive failure etched into your past and into your very being. 

 

And it makes you boil over. 

 

“You don’t know anything about me.” you snap. “Not me, not my crew.”

 

Valkyr stays perfectly still for a moment. Then… “Archimedean Yonta, born and raised in the third smallest colony of Earth. Your first invention was an energy-efficient harmonic stabilizer that you made when you were fifteen years old, considered a revolutionary device for its time. You were awarded a scholarship on Lua, directly under Orokin supervision, for it.” Her head tilts slightly, as though challenging you. “No surprise you earned your first Nobel at twenty-three.”

 

You pause. Each word is a small electrical shock, as she keeps pulling trophies out of a forgotten shelf you didn’t think she had access to. Achievements, all of them, that seem like they are someone else’s now. 

 

“At twenty six.” She continues. “You were given the title of ‘Archimedean’. The second youngest in history. And then, one year later, assigned to oversee the ‘Zariman vision’. It took seven years of tireless work, designing and refining a ship meant to ‘carry humanity beyond our known stars’.” 

 

It’s the prettier way to put it, the way the Orokin would have people talk about the project. In truth, it was just a grandiose experiment to expand their rule to a different star system –and you were the lab rats. You just failed to see that in time, too swept by promises of your new place in Tau’s society.

 

She takes a step closer, and the air between you grows razor-thin. 

 

“You hand-picked much of the crew. Staff you trusted and people you gave power to, including Quinn. In a way, you built this. All of it.” The way she says it, it is an accusation of much more than you would previously guilt yourself for. 

 

You are left momentarily stunned.

 

But only momentarily.

 

Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of the upper hand, you square your shoulders and summon every ounce of defiance you have left. “I don’t care what you memorized.” You bite back, your voice steadier now. “I’m still not divulging my life’s work to some faceless suit! ”

 

Before you can react, there’s a shimmer; a ripple in the air that you barely register before something snaps out of Valkyr’s Warframe. Τhe movement is so sudden you stagger back a step. Right before your face, the ghost of a person is given flesh and blood within an instant.

 

You blink, stunned. You were expecting some grand and scary figure to lay beneath the armor, a battle-scarred wraith given flesh. But who stands before you is a woman no older than twenty seven years, with pretty lips and a singular scar running diagonally down her jawline, to her pale neck. Her hair is rich brown, falling wildly down to her shoulders, and her eyes… her eyes catch you. Hazel, or they might have been once, if not for the eerie glow spilling outwards from her pupils like molten lava brimming with the Void’s touch.

 

“Fair warning;” She says, her voice clearer now, unfiltered, and far too close. “You are safer when I’m in the suit. She keeps me... in control.”

 

You force yourself to breathe, to stand steady under her gaze. But then, you really see her.

 

Her face. 

 

It feels… oddly familiar. 

 

A fleeting memory swells in the depths of your mind, faint and fragmented, like a half-remembered dream clawing its way to the surface. 

 

You recall those same features, albeit softer, younger. A shy little girl with brown hair and the cutest hazel eyes, hiding behind her father’s leg during the Zariman’s grand award ceremony for young engineers. She couldn’t have been more than eleven at the time, clutching a model spacecraft in trembling hands, the admiration in her gaze as she looked up at you bright enough to outshine a star. You thought to yourself she would grow to be such a beautiful young lady one day, perhaps part of your very best team of engineers. 

 

Her father had nudged her forward, and she smiled, tentative, as she approached you on the stage set at the main square. You gave her that award and told her;

 

“You have a bright future ahead of you.”

 

You swallow hard as the memory crash-lands into the present and shatters into a million pieces. Because now, that shy little girl is gone. There’s no innocence in her gaze anymore. No admiration.

 

Only anger. 

 

Your throat feels dry, your voice caught somewhere between your lungs and your mouth. You want to tell her you remember her, but you can’t get the words out without making it even more apparent, the lie you told her. 

 

“You have a bright future ahead of you.”

 

No. 

 

No, she didn’t. 

 

And it’s your fault.

 

Notes:

Not all Tenno are the heroic, selfless types and Valkyr's pilot is living proof of that. If Kiran from my other fic is the perfect hero, then Diane is the perfect Antihero, doing whatever must be done with brutal efficiency and zero regard for others' feelings. But you'll see more of her next chapter ;)

Hope this appetizer helped tickle your interest~ 4 chapters are already posted alongside this one, if you want to delve further!!

Chapter 2

[Diane]

 

Finally. Some peace and quiet.

 

Since the moment you stepped onto this accursed ship, your head has been filled with nothing but noise. It’s good to be in the familiar –safe– environment of your ship again, even if it is still technically housed within the Zariman’s bay. 

 

The machinery around you hums softly, a subtle vibration that normally feels more soothing, as you sit in the pilot’s seat, your gun sprawled across your lap. You’ve stripped it down to its essentials –for the third time in a row– its parts spread out atop the container you’ve pulled closer as you work. Valkyr stands beside you, statue-still, the faint glow of the navigation console reflecting off of her metallic skin. In a way, it helps to have her near.

 

Your hands move on autopilot, cleaning rifle pieces, recalibrating, realigning. It’s not about the gun; it never is. It’s about keeping yourself busy.

 

Because if you stop for even a moment, the memories creep in.

 

You don’t think about the past. You don’t. Not the way the tiles of your modest home felt beneath your bare feet as a child, not the square full of people and happy classmates clapping for you at the young engineer awards, not the sound of your father’s screams over the void-static as it ate at this mind after the jump–

 

Gods, the fear, the fear–

 

Your fingers shake. The gear you intended to slot into place miserably falls on the floor, then spins around a few times before it settles there, cold and alone. You close your hand into a white-knuckled fist, forcing it against your chest as if ordering your lungs to expand and let you breathe.

 

A sharp chime cuts through the quiet, followed by the familiar crackle of an incoming transmission from way too far across the stars. Kiran’s name flashes on the screen, and any other night you may not have answered right away, but right now you’ll take any distraction you can get.

 

Although the signal stutters and the hologram is distorted at spots, a faint smirk tugs at your lips as Kiran’s figure slowly emerges through the messy data, Excalibur Prime a motionless white blur behind her. 

 

“Well, well.” you say, leaning back slightly, feigning indifference about seeing her alive and healthy. “Looks like I owe Saryn a couple thousand credits.”

 

Kiran rolls her eyes, though there’s the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of her lips. Or maybe that’s just more static. “Did you bet I would die in the first week here or what?”

 

“Your odds of survival weren’t the best.” You shrug.

 

“My odds of survival are never the best, it’s kind of my thing by now.” she replies with a faint huff.

 

“I do wonder how Lotus sweet-talked her kind out of killing their greatest fear on sight.” You say. 

 

Kiran’s grimaces. “Let’s just say she didn’t leave them many good options.” 

 

“I love it when we do things Natah’s way.” You grin, rolling a cylinder around your fingers.

 

“Mm. You would.”

 

“So.” You say. “Did you call to check on me, or to see if they’re still alive?”

 

Kiran shifts her weight. “You should know better than that, Diane. The fact that our methods differ doesn’t mean I don’t trust you.”

 

Your fingers pause, just for a moment, as her words sink in. It’s not like Kiran to say things like that outright –she’s always been the type to let actions speak louder. But then again, so have you.

 

“Trust me or not, you know this is the last place I wanted to be in.” you counter, an edge to your voice. Lotus sent you here, but you’re sure Kiran could have persuaded her against it if she tried. She’s always had an uncanny ability to sway her in a way nobody else could.

 

The blonde doesn’t answer immediately, her expression unreadable as the connection flickers slightly. “I know. It won’t be much longer now before we are back in Sol.”

 

“Just… hurry the fuck up.” you hiss.

 

A nod. “Take care of yourself.” she replies, her voice softer now, and the hologram fades away before you can reply.

 

–

 

–

 

A few system hours later, you are climbing up the stairs to Yonta’s office, bracing yourself for more time spent in her presence. It’s not easy, but you will make it seem effortless. 

 

You will make sure it’s even harder for her.

 

Valkyr can move silently if you wish her to, but right now you want the opposite; for every step to leave behind a resounding echo that the Holdfasts hear. 

 

The Archimedean was adamant last time about not explaining a thing to you unless you’re out of your Warframe, and you give her the illusion of choice, for now. Only because it serves you just as well –if not better– to leave Valkyr right there at her door, facing inward like a silent judge. A swift executioner, too, if you want her to be. 

 

Hers is an unmistakably dangerous presence, impossible to ignore. You know Yonta feels it there, you know she sees it every time she looks up from her desk or out of the corner of her eye. And that’s precisely the point.

 

It’s petty, yes. But you don’t care.

 

Not when you have to hold yourself back, every single moment of every damn hour, not to do worse to them. Even as you sit there across from her, your eyes fixed on the 3D projection of blueprints between you, you are battling your darker instincts, the side of you that demands vengeance. 

 

Her words spill out in a flurry of technical jargon, accompanied by gestures toward key spots of the projection. To her credit, she does stay true to your order to simplify things as much as humanly possible. You find that you can follow her well enough, and although you’d be lying to say you understand every single detail, you still get a good idea of how everything ties together. 

 

She’s very confident when she’s in her element, you note. Teaching you about these things that she made to work gives her power, albeit power she does not deserve to have. Valkyr’s shadow cast into her office takes her down a notch. You don’t miss the way her green eyes flick over to the threshold at times, when she thinks you aren’t looking, as if to make sure the Warframe hasn’t somehow inched closer. 

 

Good.

 

This is something you’re more familiar with, out of everything else in this nightmare of a ship. You’ve spent your whole life picking apart systems, finding their weak points, the faults that make them tick. Yonta’s no different. She’s a system, and you see every crack in her ‘poised Achimedean’ façade, every little tell that betrays the anxiety she tries to bury beneath all her numbers and diagrams.

 

“...and this,” She says, tapping a schematic. “Is the Jade Light storage system. But you probably don’t need further explanation on it, as it has been empty for centuries.”

 

That word catches your attention. Your eyes flick up to the chamber in question. “The Jade Light…”

 

“Yes, it… was another failsafe, a fourth reserve of power in case anything went wrong with the rest. A single cell could fuel the entire ship for days, stabilize the Reliquary Drive, or even…” Her voice trails off, and she looks down at the desk, her fingers brushing against the edge of the blueprint. 

 

“Even what?” you prompt, your tone sharp enough to cut.

 

She takes a breath, shaky and uneven, before continuing. “Or even… be used to further push the distance the ship could travel in a single jump.”

 

Your eyes narrow. “And let me guess, that’s exactly what you did, isn’t it?” You feel your temper rise. Red seeps in through the edges of your vision at the memory…

 

Her head jerks up, her face pale, green eyes blazing. “I did what I had to.” The hologram disappears from the space between you as she draws her hand back from the blueprints, leaving your gazes to clash and battle it out. “The Orokin didn’t know what they were commanding– there was no way to reach Tau otherwise!” She snaps, and for a moment, there’s something raw in her voice, something almost admirable in its defiance. 

 

Almost.

 

“There was no way to reach Tau. Fullstop.” You hiss, pushing forward in your chair now, your back tense. 

 

“There was. I know there was!” Yonta fights back. “With the Jade Light cells, it was supposed to work! I did all the calculations over and over again –everything checked out!” As if to say she wouldn’t have chosen to kill you all otherwise.

 

Your fingers curl strongly into the desk so they don’t curl around her throat. “Apparently not.” 

 

That seems to shut her up immediately. She bites her lip, saying “I… I used the reserves. All of them. And when the jump failed, the last one…” She hesitates, swallowing hard, her voice dropping to a whisper now. “The last one, I used on myself.”

 

You close your eyes, your pulse hammering in your ears, a drumbeat of rage that threatens to overwhelm everything else. Your nails dig into your palms, cutting deep enough that you can feel the slick warmth of blood pooling beneath them. Every instinct screams at you to make her pay for what she’s done, for the lives she gambled away. 

 

For your life, that she cast into the Void.

 

Your arm trembles with the effort to hold yourself back. You try to force the anger down, down, down, burying it beneath years of discipline and the faint memory of why you’re here at all.

 

Lotus.

 

And in the depths of your mind, an image from your Operator alter ego surfaces unbidden: an angelic face framed by golden light, lightless blue eyes staring down at you, accompanied by a caress on your cheek filled with the purest love. 

 

Margulis. 

 

Yet you come from a version of the story where you never met her, never had her. You lived through all your horrors alone, but you have the memories now of the timeline where she was there to soothe the burn of your trauma. Technically, you never knew her –a different side of you did– yet the name still cuts through you like a blade. It cleaves your anger in half, severs its hold on you.

 

Your fists slowly loosen, your breath coming in measured, deliberate beats. When you speak, your voice is low;

 

“...what’s it like?” you ask. 

 

Yonta looks up, her eyes wider, startled by the sudden shift in your tone. For a moment, she looks like she doesn’t understand the question. Then something flickers across her face; guilt, shame, something deeper that you can’t quite name. She hesitates, then stands, walking a few paces back and forth as though to find something to distract herself with. 

 

“It feels… warm.” she says finally, voice trembling. “Hot. And then… then it feels like nothing at all.” 

 

You thought that answer would make you happier, yet it settles in your chest like a stone. Someone like Margulis, so noble, so renowned, extinguished without so much as a whisper in a flash of heat and blood. 

 

“This is about… her, isn’t it.” Yonta says, an underlying edge to her tone. It’s not a question. It doesn’t have to be.

 

Your eyes rise to meet hers, both scorching and ice-cold. “You mean if I care about the pain of the Archimedean who nurtured us, rather than the one who burned us?” A pause. “The Jade Light was an honorable death for only you.”

 

Yonta pauses for the briefest of moments. Then, a hollow, bitter chuckle escapes her. “Is that right.” she replies. “You call me the devil while painting her a saint, but how well did you all know Margulis, really?”

 

Your eyes narrow, your jaw setting, as if to warn her. This is not a good subject to broach with you. Alas, Yonta looks like a knife unsheathed, all sharp curves and gleaming point ready to pierce. As fearful as she normally is of you, she does not look like she’ll back out of this one. 

 

“We went to the same academy on Lua, did you know that? And let me tell you, her ambition at one point could swallow the sun.” Yonta presses on. “Believe me or not, she wasn’t always as kind and nurturing as when you Tenno were brought to her. She knew what her research could do, what the Orokin could twist it into and she still developed it. Whereas I had to jump through hoops every day to make sure the inventions I shared with the world couldn’t be used as weapons!” she hisses. “But I guess her change of heart erased all of that, yes?!”

 

The rage that had been simmering beneath your skin erupts. In one powerful motion, you’re on your feet, your hands slamming against her desk, the sound echoing through the room. 

 

“She saved us all from them, protected us, traded her very life to stand up to the Orokin for us! Something you lacked the strength to do!” Your voice comes out in a deadly accusation. 

 

“I made a mistake! One!” she defends, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “All my life, I’ve created things to make people’s lives better! My work never hurt anyone, hers did. People suffered for it and the proof is right here!” She extends her arm towards the door, right at your Warframe. “So why the hells was her death enough to absolve her of all her sins but mine wasn’t?!” 

 

“Enough!” You snap. The fingers of your hand twitch at your side, at the same time as a chilling sound fills the room; 

 

A sharp, metallic shing, like a blade unsheathed.

 

Yonta’s eyes widen in horror and her face goes even paler, staring over your shoulder… 

 

You slowly turn your chin, seeing Valkyr’s claws extended on one hand, gleaming dangerously in the dim light. She is a step forward from where you left her, as if called to action by the spike of your rage. Your stomach twists, a cold dread settling over you. This is precisely why you have to be in control, even when you’re not piloting her. Maybe especially then. Taking a deep breath, you try to calm yourself, as if to show there is no danger here. 

 

“I didn’t… know they could do that…” Yonta whispers, voice barely audible, her breath noticeably shorter. You can practically feel her heart racing.

 

You hate that she has seen this, even this tiny hint of what lurks beneath Valkyr’s surface. Still, there’s no undoing it now. 

 

“I told you;” you say, your voice low and sharp. “You are safer when I’m in her frame.”

 

With that, you close your eyes and let yourself slip back. The familiar pull washes over you, and you meld with Valkyr, willing you both to remain calm, like pacifying a beast rattling its chains. The sharpness of her claws retracts, her stance returning to something rigid, controlled. 

 

You turn on your heel, silent as death itself. The door closes behind you, sealing the Archimedean in her office and you out of it. The dim corridors of the Zariman stretch ahead, and as you move through them, your thoughts churn. Like a mantra in your mind, you remind yourself why you’re here, over and over again. This is necessary, you muse. 

 

It doesn’t help. Not really.

 

The further you walk, the more the silence of the Zariman swallows you whole, and you disappear into it, just as soundless. 

 

Just as haunted.

 

–

 

–

 

The metallic groan of the Zariman’s ancient hull is a sound you will not soon get used to. And yet, everything is far less unnerving as you let Valkyr’s instincts guide you, her senses sharp and feral, tuned to the unnatural rhythm of the Void. The tang of ozone and faint energy trails pull you forward like threads, driving you deeper into the haunted recesses of the ship. You were once prey to the horrors that took place here.

 

Now, you are the predator.

 

Void creatures fall before your claws in rapid, brutal succession. Each kill is precise, a catharsis disguised as duty. Murmur shrieks pierce the air, but you relish the sound; it breaks the oppressive silence, drowns out the voices in your head, and keeps you from thinking.

 

Eventually, the halls grow silent once more. Valkyr slows, her predatory stance shifting, the claws retracting, her arms cooling. The anger in your chest ebbs slightly, though it never truly leaves. It waits, a constant ember, ready to reignite at the smallest spark.

 

And then you see it.

 

The hallway stretches out before you, its battered walls lined with the skeletal remnants of once-vibrant homes. This is not just any corridor; this… used to be your neighborhood. 

 

A chill rushes over you, and for a fleeting moment, you want to turn back. To let Valkyr pull you away, shield you in the fiery rage that keeps everything else at bay. But your feet falter, and something deeper forces you to stay. 

 

Your breathing slows as memories flood in, unbidden and relentless. The flicker of warm lights through frosted glass. The faint hum of your father’s voice as he tinkered with some half-finished project. The feeling of his strong arms pulling you into a hug after a particularly hard day, the smell of engine oil and faint cologne lingering in his shirt.

 

“I’m so proud of you, Diane.” his voice echoes in your mind, a ghost that feels more real here than anywhere else. “Your mother… she’d be so proud too. You know that, right? I’m sure she’ll be there with us, watching over us, even when we reach Tau.”

 

Tau. The word cuts like a blade. A star system you never reached, a dream shattered before it could even take form.

  

You close your eyes, and for a moment, the whole world spins around you. Valkyr is the only thing that keeps you steady, as her hand braces against the wall. Step after step, you are carried forward into a familiar threshold. To your dismay, the sliding door still works. It opens with a faint groan, as if to welcome you back. 

 

Back home.

 

Valkyr’s feet scrape against the floor as you step inside, and the first thing that hits you is how eerily untouched everything is. The small kitchen sits ahead, and to your right, your bedroom door stands ajar, revealing the faint outlines of the posters you’d plastered across the walls as a child.

 

On the shelf by the mirror, you see the ‘Young Engineer’ award, its golden sheen still bright despite the years. The memories hit you like a physical blow, and before you know it, you’re stepping out of Valkyr, tracing the edge of it with your own fingers.

 

Your eyes sting. Your vision blurs. 

 

Yet, you do not allow yourself to cry.

 

The walls close in, and the air feels thick, oppressive. You cannot breathe as you lower your body to one knee, gasping, clutching at your chest.

 

In your mind’s eye, the innocent child you used to be stares back at you from the reflection in the mirror. Her wide, curious eyes are filled with wonder and dreams of the future she never got to live. She doesn’t speak, but her scrutinizing gaze says everything: 

 

What have you become?

 

“Leave me alone!” you shout into the empty space, your voice raw and breaking. The sound echoes off the walls, unanswered.

 

She wants you to let go of your rage, to finally allow yourself to grieve, the way you never got the chance to, after the jump. She tells you to see what’s in front of you now, not what was in the past, the people here that hold genuine remorse over their past actions. She wants you to be better than this, to move on, to forgive. 

 

But you can’t. This anger is all you had to sustain your sanity in Duviri. 

 

It’s all you have left.

 

Your legs feel weak, but you force yourself to stand. You turn to Valkyr, her towering form imposing, fingers curled neatly at her sides. Slowly, you reach for her hand, your digits trembling as you guide it to your sternum. 

 

“You understand, don’t you?” you whisper, staring at her steely visage. 

 

Valkyr doesn’t move, doesn’t respond. She’s just as motionless as the walls, the furniture. For a moment, you almost wish she would. You almost wish her claws would extend like they did earlier with Yonta, would press into you, would end it all here and now, in the very place where it began. 

 

For her and you, fractured beings that turned your blood-tears into your rage and your rage into your strength, there is no other path forward. You are the same toxin you wield, a weapon of heat and fury. 

 

So… 

 

“Without it, what am I...?”

 

Notes:

A little peak into Diane's mind, and she isn't nearly the cold b*tch she pretends to be. Homegirl's just wounded and -just like her Warframe- she wants to hurt the world that hurt her. At least...for now ;) Maybe a bubbly Archimedean will change her mind, who is currently too stiff and cautious to actually -be- the sweeetheart Yonta we all know and love in-game. But we'll get there.

More Chapters already out!

Chapter 3

 

[Yonta]

 

The monitor flickers faintly in the dim light of your office, illuminating your face in pale blue. 

 

Its glow casts sharp shadows over the clutter of schematics piled around you, a distraction you’ve failed to focus on since Valkyr left. Instead, you watch her move across the hollow remains of the Zariman through a series of nano cameras you made sure to keep a secret from her thus far. Her Warframe roars mutely on your screen as it shreds shadows like an apex predator on the hunt, every motion precise, efficient, and unnervingly fluid for something bearing an exoskeleton of steel.

 

The way Valkyr moves still chills you. 

 

Every time you see her, you feel the same primal shiver crawl up your spine, an instinctual fear your rational mind cannot seem to suppress. At first, you thought that dread would fade with exposure to her. It hasn’t.

 

And then you see her in that corridor. The ecomony-class residential Sector C.

 

You see the shift in her stance, from huntress to a ghostly husk, as she walks into it. You note the manner she touches the walls with the very tips of her fingers, as though the marks there mean something to her. At the threshold to one of the homes, you witness her hesitate. 

 

She enters, slowly, as though the ground is filled with spikes. When she steps out of her Warframe this time, it is not a motion sharp as a thunderclap, but one soft as a whisper. The moment is jarring, and you can’t quite place why. For all the times she’s entered your office in that monstrous armor, the separation between Valkyr and Diane felt inconsequential. One beast simply wears the guise of flesh while the other wears steel, yet their essence is the same. 

 

Or so you thought.

 

Right now, watching her, you feel something shift in your chest, something cold and uncertain.

 

Her steps falter, her head turning as if caught in a memory. You cannot see clearly into the home through the cracked hallway camera, and the angle is awkward at best, but you catch the way her shoulders slump. The ever-present edge to her posture dulls, and she looks… almost like an entirely different person.

 

And then she just –breaks. 

 

Diane collapses on one knee like a fallen sentinel, not the terror you’ve known for the past days.  

 

You’ve seen grief before; you’ve felt it in ways you’ve buried deep, but this… this feels raw, unguarded, as if the mask she’s been wearing has slipped entirely for the first time. It catches you off guard, watching her like this, and for a moment, you feel a pang of guilt. Guilt for looking, for prying into something so obviously not meant for you to see. But you can’t look away.

 

The monitor’s feed becomes spotty, static flickering across the screen. But you catch glimpses. Her fists slamming into the ground. The way she staggers, shouting at no one, at ghosts only she can see.

 

You should feel vindicated. This is what you’ve been telling yourself all along, isn’t it? Diane is no good, heroic Tenno. She is a danger consumed by rage, a wild animal clawing at the world in search of the next thing to destroy. But as you watch her there, unraveling like any normal human in the space she once called home, you feel… something you didn’t expect.

 

Doubt.

 

It creeps into your mind slowly, the way light filters through a crack in the wall, seeping into corners you thought were secure. You wonder if perhaps you’ve been wrong, or at least, not entirely right.

 

You, of all people, know well what it’s like to wear a mask. You’ve perfected it over years of necessity, slipping into the poised, calculated persona of an Archimedean, always in control, always capable. In the society governed completely by the Orokin, it was survival, just as much as it was a performance. It was a defence you built around yourself and then built yourself around, because without it you didn’t even know what to be, if you were anything at all. 

 

Now you can’t help but notice similarities in her.

 

The monitor flickers again, and for a minute, you lose the feed entirely. It is a good thing, too; you’ve already seen too much. When the footage returns, she’s standing still as a statue, one with her Warframe once more, as if the earlier moments were all but a glitch in the system.

 

Valkyr turns, silent and impenetrable as ever, and leaves.

 

You sit back in your chair, staring at the now-empty screen. For the first time since the new Tenno team arrived, you feel unsure. Your hands press to your desk, trying to ground yourself, but your mind won’t stop racing. Volt warned you about them, about her in particular, and combined with her best performance at being an absolute dictator on your ship you fully believed that’s all she is. 

 

A monster.

 

And in part, it’s probably true. But…

 

Monsters can have redeeming qualities to them, can’t they? You should know. Because Valkyr’s presence here reminded you what you had so conveniently forgotten; 

 

You, too, are a monster in someone’s story. 

 

Despite your best intentions, you did something unforgivable. That you regret it with every fiber of your being now does not undo your wrongs, or turn back time to erase them. That most of the Tenno seem to have forgiven you doesn’t mean all of them will.

 

You understand now why Diane unsettles you so much, in and out of her Warframe; she looks at you like she sees every part of yourself you’d like to pretend doesn’t exist anymore. 

 

The Yonta that sucked up to the Orokin, wanting to be like them. The Yonta that didn’t oppose the unsafe jump as strongly as she should. The Yonta that allowed Quinn to punish innocent people merely for protesting against it. The Yonta that pressed the button.

 

The Yonta that made Diane into Valkyr. 

 

–

 

–

 

You’ve learned to recognize it by now, the sound of her steps. Deliberately heavy, echoing up the staircase to your office like a warning. 

 

You take a steadying breath, force your muscles to relax, your fingers to unclench from where they grip the desk. You can do this. You've rehearsed this part in your mind a dozen times. Reality is no different. You just have to say this part inwardly enough times to believe it.

 

The footsteps stop. A single knock on the door, before it opens wide. As always, the Warframe stays outside, and Diane snaps inside alone.

 

She doesn’t greet you. She never does. Just strides in, shoulders squared, and drops into the chair opposite your desk with her usual stormcloud of an expression. You don’t let it shake you.

 

Instead, you put on your most casual face this time. You turn, meeting her gaze with the calmest one you can manage and ask;

 

“Coffee?”

 

Her head snaps up, eyes sharp, almost startled. For a split second, Diane just stares at you, as if you’ve spoken in some dead language long forgotten by time. A sense of satisfaction washes over you for catching her off guard. Her fingers twitch ever so slightly on the chair’s arms before she masks her confusion, schooling her features back into something unreadable.

 

You shouldn’t find her reaction amusing, but…

 

It’s almost cute. Almost.

 

Diane sits back in her chair, arms crossed, her gaze flicking between you and the still-steaming coffee pot. You think she’s going to refuse outright, but then–

 

“I’ll take some.” she says, voice even, like it’s some great compromise.

 

You lift an eyebrow, though you know better than to comment. Instead, you grab another mug, pouring the dark liquid into it, its rich scent filling the space between you. One of the last few luxuries you have left here on the Zariman. You set it down in front of her, wordless, smooth. A peace offering, if she chooses to see it that way.

 

Diane eyes it, then you. Then the mug again.

 

She picks it up carefully, the corner of her mouth twitching before she flashes you a grin. “So, what’s in it? Poison?” Honestly, the idea looks like it excites her.

 

You roll your eyes, exhaling through your nose, and just stare blankly at her. “Maybe.”

 

Her grin turns into a smirk. “You don’t have the guts, Archimedean.”

 

Archimedean. There’s weight to the way she says it, but for the first time, it’s taunting, rather than scornful. You sit back in your chair, swirling your own coffee lazily. “Don’t tempt me.” A pause. “Would poison even harm you? The way you act, I’d say you’d probably enjoy it.”

 

That earns you something unexpected; a chuckle. Short, an exhale of air rather than anything resembling a genuine laugh, but it’s still something. 

 

“I would.” Diane admits, taking a bold sip, as if to prove her point.

 

You watch her, studying the way her expression softens just for a fraction of a moment. So, she can find comfort in simple things, you think. For some reason, the thought helps you calm a bit around her. Then you catch yourself wondering if she’s ever truly smiled like a normal person, without that edge of darkness about her. What that expression might look like. The thought slips away as quickly as it came.

 

She sets her mug down, and just like that, the moment passes.

 

“Alright.” she says, shifting forward. “Let’s get on with this.”

 

And so the lesson begins.

 

For once, you don’t find it nearly as unbearable.

 

An hour passes. The session is nearly over when Diane suddenly stiffens. Her head tilts sharply, her entire body going rigid, as though something unseen has just whispered directly into her ear. You see her muscles tense up where the leather of her outfit hugs her skin.

 

There is barely any time to process what is happening before she bolts upright, her chair scraping violently against the floor.

 

“Stay put.” she orders, voice taut.

 

Then she’s moving, striding towards the door in a flash of motion, the ghost of her melding into Valkyr. The fusion is seamless, eerie in its ease—one second, a human, the next, a beast of war. She turns and leaps over the railing without hesitation, vanishing from sight.

 

Your stomach twists.

 

Then– gunfire erupts from the square below.

 

Cursing under your breath, you rush to the balcony, heart hammering against your ribs. A gasp gets stuck in your throat as you see her land below, boots hitting the ground with a resounding thud . She barely has time to straighten before another figure comes sprinting in from the docks;

 

Saryn’s pilot.

 

“The Murmur–!” she calls out, breathing hard. “They’ve stolen the Crystal Index!”

 

Your heart drops. 

 

“Be on guard here. I’ll handle it.” Valkyr replies.

 

You don’t even register your own legs moving, rushing down the staircase, the world around a blur as adrenaline sharpens your senses. By the time you reach the ground, Valkyr is lowering herself into a crouch, claws sinking into the smooth flooring. She’s focusing, her entire frame coiled tight like a bowstring, like a runner waiting for the signal to bolt.

 

“Wait–!” you start, stepping forward to warn her about how to handle the tablet–

 

But a hand grips your wrist, yanking you back. 

 

“Don’t.” Saryn holds you firm, eyes locked onto Valkyr. “When she enters Hunt mode,” she explains, voice low but urgent, “It is very unwise to distract her.”

 

You swallow, a chill running down your spine. “...What do you mean?”

 

“The Warframe will not stop until the set target is dead. You do not want to be in the way.”

 

The Warframe, she says. As if the armor itself has a will of its own. As if the pilot inside directs it, rather than commands it. You wouldn’t dare look at these things from an engineer’s perspective, and you don’t dare wonder how they function on the inside, although you’re pretty sure you already have an idea of how they were made. And the image that knowledge paints is grim. 

 

Your eyes focus on Valkyr. 

 

Like a shot fired from a gun, she launches forward, disappearing into the Zariman’s shadows.

 

–

 

–

 

The silence between you and Saryn’s pilot is thick with tension. She stands next to her Warframe a few ways to your left, while Atlas and Hydroid patrol further beyond, searching for Murmur tunnels that allowed one of them to slip past their defenses and straight into their ship. 

 

Meanwhile, you hover near the square, watching the spot where Valkyr disappeared into the darkness. You’re not sure how much time has passed since she left, but it feels longer than it should. To distract yourself, you steal a glance at the woman near you. 

 

She notices immediately, and without preamble, she speaks up; “Bela.” is said simply.

 

You blink. “What?”

 

She shifts her gaze to you, green eyes cool and assessing. “My name.” she clarifies. “Since you’re alive a lot longer than I thought you’d be, you might as well know it.”

 

You hesitate, not expecting that. Names among the Tenno are… tricky. Some give them freely, some guard them like a state secret, using only that of their armor for others to address them with. She’s the first of her team to have told you her real name and expected you to use it. You try not to read too much into it, but deep down in your heart, you feel a bud of hope threaten to bloom. You wonder if this means something, if the image she had of you Holdfasts has shifted, if perhaps she sees you differently now than when she voted to deny you aid. 

 

On the outside, you give a simple nod, masking your thoughts. “Yonta.”

 

“I know.” She replies, a hint of amusement slipping through her otherwise flat tone. “Don’t read into this. I don’t forgive any of you for what you did. But…” She exhales sharply through her nose. “I can respect that you haven’t cracked around her yet.” 

 

She doesn’t have to say who.

 

“Or at least…” She adds, tilting her head slightly, studying you. “You don’t show it.” A pause. “I wonder if your Archimedean poker face holds up so well alone in that office with her. After all, even many of our fellow Tenno cannot hide their fear, at times.”  

 

At first, you consider lying, or saying nothing at all. But, for some unknown reason, you find yourself replying; “It would be no good to tremble around the people sent here to protect our cause. We are on the same side. Whatever information I share about the Zariman, I don’t do it at gunpoint.” 

 

That surprises her. It’s subtle, but you catch the way her brows twitch upward for a fraction of a second.

 

“Valkyr is intimidating, certainly. But she’s also… dedicated.” you continue. “Brutal, yes, but… disciplined. Though I may not agree with her methods, I acknowledge this much and I’m grateful for your aid.” You have to stop and wonder how much of what you said you actually mean. 

 

Why defend her at all?

 

Bela turns, looking at you with something closer to interest now. “Dedicated.” she repeats. “You have no idea how much. Many see her and think only of madness. But they don’t understand the sacrifice.” she says. “The price of being Valkyr.”

 

You stay silent, waiting for her to elaborate.

 

“You know Kiran, right? Our leader?” she asks, continuing after your nod. “Kiran was hailed as a hero for doing what no one else could. For piloting Excalibur Prime. And Diane?” She lets out a humorless chuckle. “She does the exact same thing, but they call her dangerous instead.”

 

The words settle like a stone in your chest.

 

Bela shakes her head. “Short-sighted fools.” she mutters under her breath, more parts disappointment than actual venom. “The only thing our team has in common with them, other than our past… is wondering why the hell Lotus sent us here.”

 

Honestly, it does feel like Lotus sent one of her best and worst at the same time. Except, perhaps the reason is not to punish you, as you originally thought. Perhaps, instead of being bitter about it… you can trust her judgement.

 

It will make all your lives easier in the long run.

 

The sound of distant doors hissing open catches your attention. Soon, a familiar steely figure walks into the plaza, the tablet glinting in her left hand. Relief floods your chest and you let out the breath you weren’t aware you had been holding. Then you take a closer look at the Crystal Index as she approaches. 

 

At first glance, it appears intact, the smooth, crystalline surface unmarred. But the screen flickers violently, static dancing across the interface. That is not a good sign. The parts most susceptible to Void damage are not fried if it’s on, which hints at a much more targeted sabotage. Even if you print the parts required to repair it, recalibrating it alone will take days . 

 

And until then? Gone is your remote access to most of the Zariman’s systems.

 

“Can you fix it?” Diane’s voice comes deeper from within the Warframe, dropping the Index into your hands.

 

“I won’t know until I open it up.” you admit, turning it around, already assessing the damage beneath the surface. “But the vandalism seems… targeted. Like someone wanted it to remain physically intact, but corrupted from within.”

 

Then another set of doors slides open from the side, and Atlas and Hydroid step outside, both of them covered in dust and grime from the maintenance tunnels. Hydroid is the first to speak.

 

“We found something.” he announces, shaking debris from his shoulders. “Two Murmur eyes in the vents. They were overlooking our ship.”

 

Bela straightens beside you. “That means they’ve been watching us. Tsk, of course they have.”

 

“We’ll need Sentinels patrolling the vents, from now on.” Valkyr decides. “And Leo’s Kubrow for sniffing out abnormalities in the square.”

 

You glance at her. “You think they’re planning something?”

 

She turns her helm slightly toward you. “The Void is always planning something.”

 

Atlas nods. “We’ll be ready when it makes its next move.”

 

After a brief reevaluation of their patrol duty around the square, the others disperse quickly, their exhaustion evident in the sluggish way they carry themselves. They trust Valkyr to keep first watch, or maybe they simply know better than to question her orders. 

 

You, however, linger.

 

Something feels off.

 

At first, you can’t put your finger on it; Valkyr still stands tall, still holds her presence with that same unwavering stillness, but when she shifts, when she takes a step forward, you see it. The lack of grace, the weight in her movements. Her Warframe looks almost… heavy.

 

That makes no sense to you. You’ve seen Valkyr fight; she is graceful, light on her feet, a swift blade cutting through flesh and shadow alike. But now? Now she moves like her limbs are carrying the weight of the whole world.

 

Your feet move before you’ve fully processed the thought.

 

“Valkyr–”

 

“No.” A hand is raised sharply between you, palm outward, fingers stiff, lightly twitching. The warning is clear. “Don't come any closer.”

 

It’s not a threat. Not quite. But the edge in her voice is honed to a razor’s point, enough to make you freeze. A part of you bristles at being ordered around in this manner, but something in the way she stands, the way she breathes, tells you this isn’t about you.

 

So instead, you shift tactics. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

 

She exhales harshly, a sound that is more frustration than relief. “If you want to help…” she begins, voice tight, “Then leave. Stay out of sight for the next two hours.”

 

Okay, that strikes a chord in you. Here you are, foolishly attempting to help, extending olive branch after olive branch her way, only to come right around to step zero. You’re being cordial, trying to make coexistence on this accursed place easier on all of you, and she won’t even let you. 

 

Your brows knit together. “You can hate me and still allow me to help, even just a little bit.” you bite back.

 

She lets out a dry, humorless chuckle, then turns her head just enough to face you. “This isn’t about me.” 

 

You open your mouth to argue, but then she continues; 

 

“I had to activate Hysteria to get the tablet back.” she speaks, voice strained. “And though the Hunt may be over… its effects are not. You look and feel like an Orokin.” 

 

The words sink in, cold and heavy. You swallow thickly, your own body stiffening despite yourself.

 

“You’re triggering her.”

 

The words are clear. Not ‘me’. Her. 

 

Not Diane… but Valkyr. 

 

Instinctively, your breath catches in your throat. For all the fear you’ve shoved down, for all the careful neutrality you’ve tried to maintain around her, you are not foolish enough to stand any closer now.

 

So you nod, and step back.

 

Diane doesn’t move from her spot until you’re out of sight. 

 

Her words, however, haunt you. They play on repeat in your mind on your way back to your office and the connected living quarters behind it. The doors seal shut behind you with a quiet hiss, yet you find no solace here. Familiar walls close in around you like a cage. 

 

Your steps take you in front of the mirror.

 

It’s an ornate thing, sleek and polished, reflecting back the image of a woman who has worked her entire life, day and night, to make it here, to be surrounded by this luxury, at the very top of a world that never came to be. You take yourself in with critical eyes; the coiffed wavy locks, the pristine ash-and-gold dress draped over your frame, the intricate golden trim that adorns your sleeves, your shoulders, your belt –every inch of you crafted for presentation. And then, the finishing touch: the headpiece.

 

Your fingers reach up before you can stop yourself, grazing over the cold metal.

 

You remember the first time you put it on.

 

You were young, standing in the grand auditorium of the Academy on Lua, too-bright lights cast on you as you stood beneath the balcony they observed the ceremony from. The Orokin, the purebloods, their shiny eyes watching, waiting for the little scrappy girl from the outer colonies to falter presenting her work. But you didn’t. You had worked too hard to trip and fall there at the pinnacle of your studies. You adapted. And when you donned the golden laurels of an Archimedean, you swore to yourself it wouldn’t change you.

 

But now you wonder if that was ever true.

 

The person staring back at you is not a child of the colonies. She is not the girl who once scorned the Lords of Sol.

 

She… is one of them.

 

Your stomach turns.

 

A dark part of you in the back of your mind rears its ugly head now to whisper; Didn’t you always envy their power? Didn’t some part of you jump at the opportunity to wield it yourself? When the Zariman became your new world, when Tau became your new dream, didn’t you revel in the fact that you had the tools to shape both with the authority given to you?

 

Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. That is what you are; 

 

Corrupted. 

 

You hated the Orokin, and yet… you let them shape you. You let them change your appearance to whatever suited their tastes at the time, then you let them change your inventions to what they needed them to be, rather than what you intended. That is how they always did things, isn’t it? You saw it happen with Margulis when Ballas approached her and scoffed at it, but who were you to judge, when you fell for the very same trap? You willingly drank their poison and allowed it to become sweeter every time. All their false praises and deceitful promises and an abundance of finery that didn’t make you happy… you lost Yonta amongst them.

 

A chill skates down your spine.

 

Valkyr’s instincts don’t lie.

 

She sees past guises, past all the careful layers of composure you wrap yourself in. She sees you , stripped bare of pretenses, who you are right down to the very core of your being. And what she sees–

 

“You look and feel like an Orokin.”

 

It terrifies you. Because it’s true.

 

Your breath is uneven as you tear the headpiece from your crown, tossing it onto the floor with a clatter that sounds far too loud in the silent room. The weight of it is gone, but the feeling remains, a phantom pressure against your skull.

 

You turn sharply, moving to your wardrobe. The doors slide open at your presence, revealing row upon row of immaculate robes, each tailored for the role you’ve played so well until now. But your fingers push past them, searching, seeking something real.

 

Finally, your hands find fabric that doesn’t shine with excess. Dark, simple.

 

You strip the pristine robes from your body, letting them pool onto the floor, and pull the new clothes on; sturdy, practical, the kind of outfit you haven’t worn since before you knew what being an Archimedean was really like.

 

You glance back at the mirror.

 

The woman who looks back at you is unfamiliar.

 

But maybe… to truly forgive Yonta you have to find her first. 

 

Notes:

Baby steps, okay? At least Diane hasn't clawed her pretty face off yet. At least there's that. But, seriously, I am so very curious to see what you guys think of this :)

More on the way~!

Chapter 4

 

[Diane]

 

The darkness presses in, thick and suffocating, the air heavy with the sterile stench of antiseptic. 

 

You can’t move. The cold metal beneath your back bites into your skin, a cruel reminder that you are trapped, helpless. The glint of gold catches your eye –too bright, too sharp, getting too close– and you feel the sickening pinch of a needle piercing your flesh.

 

A voice slithers into your ears, oily and vile, dripping with cruel amusement. You hear not what it says, but the shadowy figure sneers, its blue skin gleaming under the harsh lights. A mad grin stretches impossibly wide, as fingers adorned with gaudy, gilded rings click together in delight. 

 

The needle sinks deeper, and pain blooms like fire beneath your skin. 

 

It burns, it burns–

 

The scream that reverberates through your head is not your own.

 

You wake with a start, heart pounding against your ribs like a war drum, your breath ragged and uneven. The familiar confines of your quarters feel too small, the walls pressing in, the shadows crawling over you as if they’re hungry. You press a trembling hand to your temple, the dull ache there throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

 

Willing yourself to move, you nearly stumble out of bed, coming face to face with the mirror. You are not a pretty sight right now. Skin too pale, drops of sweat drying on your temple, one of your eyes, rimmed with red, a reminder of the nightmare that lingers even as you try to shake it off.

 

You opt for a cold shower to make yourself look presentable, bracing your hands against the navy wall, pushing the images that haunt you to the farthest corners of your mind. Listening in to the constant hum of the Orbiter helps, somewhat. 

 

Once dressed, you push yourself out of your room, to the navigation console. Bela is there, hunched over the Sentinel feed, eyes narrowed as she watches the vents for any signs of the Murmur creeping back into your domain. She glances up at the sound of your approach, her expression shifting from boredom to concern in an instant.

 

“You’re up too early.” she says softly, though you can hear the tension in her voice. “You haven’t rested nearly enough.”

 

You lean against the console, focusing on keeping your breathing steady. “I won’t be able to.” you admit, fingers digging into the edge of the metal until your knuckles ache.

 

“Another nightmare…?” She hesitates, then speaks again, worry creeping into her words. “You’ve overused Valkyr these days.” Her voice drops lower, almost pleading. “Diane, you need to stop…”

 

“Don’t.” you warn, without any real bite to your tone. “You sound like Lotus.”

 

Bela’s lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t argue, doesn’t push the way you half-expected her to. She just nods, her eyes lingering on you with a kind of quiet resignation.

 

“Speaking of her…” you continue, your tone forced into something almost casual, “Please report everything is alright for me. If she asks about me, I’m on watch duty, and we are all fine.”

 

Bela’s gaze softens. She nods again, turning back to the console. “Understood.”

 

You roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering weight of your nightmare, but the tension refuses to leave. Instead, you focus on something else; “Where are Jake and Leo?” you ask.

 

Bela doesn’t look up. “Leo’s right outside.” she replies.

 

You step closer to the reinforced glass, peering out. The sight that greets you nearly makes you do a double take. Leo stands in the dim light of the station, talking to Cavalero. But that isn’t the strange part. The strange part is the way they’re both grinning like fools, chuckling as Leo’s Kubrow rolls onto its back, kicking its legs in the air. Cavalero crouches to scratch its belly, and the creature seems to enjoy the attention, long tongue happily lolling out.

 

You rest your arm against the glass, huffing. “Do my eyes deceive me…?” You tilt your head, watching the way they interact. “Is he best buddies with the mercenary now?”

 

Bela chuckles under her breath. “They have a shared passion for Kubrows, apparently. I swear, ever since Leo took his pet with him on patrols they’ve been acting like idiots.” She leans back in her chair. “I’ve been spending some time with Hombask myself. Helping around the agriculture department in my free time.”

 

That catches you off guard. “You?”

 

She shrugs. “Don’t look so shocked.”

 

A frown crosses your features. “I thought you didn’t trust them.”

 

“I didn’t.” Bela admits. “Still don’t, entirely. But they’ve surprised me at times.” She hesitates, then adds; “Yonta said better things about you yesterday than I’ve heard from Tenno, who are basically family.” A pause. “Maybe we should give them a chance.”

 

A slow, simmering irritation coils in your chest. You push off the glass and turn to face her fully. “You wouldn’t be saying this if it was your parents Cavalero rounded up and made an example of.” You say, voice colder than you intended. “Or if Quinn turned them into Cephalons. Or if Yonta didn’t stop the execution. Or if Hombask just stood there, watching it happen, acting like she had no blame in it at all.”

 

Bela doesn’t flinch, but something flickers in her expression, heavy, resigned. She takes a slow breath, meeting your gaze without wavering. “We know what happens in every timeline now, whether Kiran takes the Void’s deal or not.” she says. “There isn’t a single universe without Tenno.” She leans forward, resting her arms on the console. “Which means there’s always someone to round up the protesters. Always someone to press the button. Even if their names aren’t Cavalero and Yonta.”

 

The words settle in the air between you, sharp as blades, cutting through the spaces you’d rather leave untouched.

 

“We were doomed the moment we set foot on this ship, Diane.” Bela continues, her voice softer now. “All of us. All of them.”

 

The anger in your chest smolders, but it has nowhere to go. You want to argue, to tell her she’s wrong, that things could have been different if they just acted like people, rather than indoctrinated mini-versions of your Orokin oppressors. But you don’t. Because deep down, you’re not sure you believe that anymore.

 

You shake your head, letting the conversation with Bela die before it becomes an argument. There’s no point. No resolution to be found. You can agree to disagree and your team is free to believe whatever they like, interact with whoever they wish. You have never and would never impose your views onto them.

 

Instead, you turn away and walk towards the Helminth section of the ship. A brief scan of your iris and the doors slide open, the ghastly interior greeting you like an old friend. The air in the chamber is thick, warm, pulsing with life both artificial and organic. The walls shift with a slow, rhythmic breath, the infestation’s ever-present whisper curling at the edges of your hearing. 

 

Your focus shifts to the two Warframes stationed at opposite ends of the room.

 

Saryn, in her usual elegant lethality, stands like a statue, tendrils of the infestation curling around her armor, seeping into her systems to mend what battle had broken. Despite the grotesque nature of the process, she appears serene, comfortable, even. A deadly flower at rest, waiting for the moment she will be called upon again.

 

And then there’s Valkyr.

 

You take a slow breath, your gaze settling on the tension in her muscles. The Warframe is stiff, as though expecting an attack, even here in the relative safety of the Orbiter. She doesn’t settle into the infestation’s embrace like Saryn does– she bristles against it, claws flexed as if ready to fight even when there’s no enemy in sight.

 

Something deep in your chest twists. 

 

You approach your Warframe in three long strides, resting a hand on her arm. “I will come pick you up soon.” Your voice is quiet, a whisper, a promise.

 

The moment lingers, and then… A memory surfaces, unbidden, from the haze of exhaustion.

 

You are standing in the dim, ruined corridors of your ship, your entire body screaming in protest, Valkyr’s rage still burning in your veins. It’s the familiar aftershock of battle, of pushing too hard, for too long. Your knees buckle beneath you, but you catch yourself against the wall before you can collapse completely.

 

Lotus steps up to you.

 

Her presence is steady, unwavering, as always. You don't need to look at her to feel her concern radiating through the space between you.

 

“You need to stop this.” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “You are pushing yourself too far, Diane.”

 

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself upright. “I’m fine.”

 

“You are not.” She takes a single step closer. “We have many spare frames. Take another to battle for a while.”

 

You turn to her, sharp and stubborn, the fire in your veins refusing to cool. “I won’t leave her.”

 

Lotus exhales softly, watching you with something deeper than simple concern. Even past her helmet, you feel her sorrow. “I know all of you are tied to your Warframes in ways that transcend my understanding.” she begins carefully. “But please, see this for what it is. She is destroying you.”

 

You straighten, ignoring the way your body protests, ignoring the ringing in your ears, the exhaustion clawing at the edges of your consciousness. “Isn’t it a good thing I can’t be easily destroyed?” You meet her gaze, sharp. “She has been with me for an entire lifetime. She was with me even when you left. I didn’t abandon you. I sure as hell won’t abandon her .”

 

Silence stretches between you, filled with unspoken words, unresolved wounds. Finally, Lotus sighs, lowering her gaze.

 

“Some things are beyond fixing. Diane, don’t let her nightmares become your dreams.” 

 

–

 

– 

 

You make your way to Yonta’s office, the weight of a sleepless night pressing into your muscles with every step. The memory of your dream still lingers at the edges of your thoughts, like a dull headache you can’t shake. You shove it aside. There’s work to do, you tell yourself.

 

This time, you knock.

 

A small pause, then: “Come in.”

 

The doors slide open… and both of you hesitate, eyes locking in a brief, unreadable exchange. For a moment, it feels like you’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up running into someone else. 

 

Yonta is… dressed down, casual in a way you’ve never seen her before.

 

The gold is gone. No intricate headpiece, no cape, no regal embellishments. Just a fitted jacket over a plain shirt, pants that actually seem suited for an engineer rather than some pretentious dignitary, simple leather boots. The shift is subtle, but it throws you for a moment. She looks vastly different.

 

For a second, you almost think it’s a good look on her. A thought that is shoved down immediately.

 

As for her surprise, you realize Valkyr isn’t with you. No looming, armored shadow standing guard at the threshold. Just you.

 

You take a few steps inside and clear your throat. “How’s the Index?”

 

Yonta turns back to the equipment on one side of the room, her fingers flicking through several holographic projections of diagnostic scans. The crystalline tablet hovers in place, various readings running in parallel, data scrolling in precise columns.

 

“It’s not at its best, though it could be worse.” she replies. “The internal damage is extensive, but the encryption is still mostly intact. That’s the good news.”

 

You fold your arms. “And the bad?”

 

The redhead exhales, tapping at one of the projections to highlight several corrupted sectors. “The core was tampered with. Some parts were deliberately altered, not just scrambled. If I work alone, I can have it functional in three days, maybe less.”

 

Your brow furrows. “That’s assuming the damage isn’t progressive.”

 

“Exactly.” She glances at you, something in her expression shifting. “It would go faster with help.”

 

You know where this is going. You shake your head before she even has the chance to say it. “Engineering isn’t my forte.”

 

A beat of silence passes between you. Then, Yonta states; “Isn’t it.”

 

The way she says it, the slight tilt of her head, makes something click in your mind. She remembers. Of course she does. The award you won when you were just a kid on the Zariman, that she personally handed to you. The realization makes your chest feel too tight.

 

“Not anymore.” you say, your voice flat, cold.

 

Yonta gives a tiny shrug. “You can give it another try, though. Do you have anything better to do?”

 

You hold her gaze for a moment, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

 

Then, without a word, you step forward and glance at the diagnostic projections, scanning over the layers of corrupted data. “Give me a run-down.”

 

Yonta’s lips twitch –not quite a smirk, but close. She gestures to the screens, and there’s a certain smug satisfaction in her voice when she starts explaining. She looks too damn pleased with herself. 

 

And it’s not as infuriating as it normally would be. 

 

Yonta explains how everything should work, then slides a fresh chip over the desk toward you, her fingers tapping against the projection as she explains. “Burn these pathways, carefully. If you cross any of the secondary circuits, the entire thing’s useless.” She pauses, then adds; “Can you do that?”

 

“Sounds simple enough.” You pick up the chip, roll it between your fingers, and get to work.

 

It’s almost muscle memory. Your hands move with precision, calibrating the burner, mapping the pathways in your head before making the first incision. The faint smell of scorched polymer alloy lingers as you carve through the necessary connections. The process is methodical, mechanical, something you've done before in the dead of night when your ship's navigation system decided to short out on you.

 

Less than five minutes later, you slide the chip back to her side.

 

Yonta blinks at you, clearly expecting you to take longer. “I can't believe you did that in under five minutes.” she says, tilting the chip under the light to examine your work.

 

You shrug. “Had to repair similar chips in my ship’s navigation console a few times. Certain long jumps tend to fry them and diagnostics don’t show shit.”

 

Something shifts in her expression akin to interest. Her pale fingers drum against the desk, deep in thought for a moment... “Sounds like an auxiliary support momentarily overloading, if it only happens during long jumps. My guess is a faulty energy stabilizer under the console. If you’ve already tried changing that, then the whole nav needs wiping and calibration all over again.”

 

You hesitate, but that would make sense why your ship’s systems can’t detect any faulty circuitry. “I… hadn’t thought of that.” you admit. 

 

“I could take a look sometime, if you want.”

 

“My ship, my repairs.” You state, to which she raises her hands in acquiesce. 

 

Yonta turns her attention back to the scanning parameters, but her voice carries an air of casual curiosity when she speaks up next; “So. How come you didn’t bring Valkyr this time?”

 

You don’t even glance up from the new circuitry in your hands. “Why? Do you miss her?”

 

The Archimedean exhales softly, a sound caught between a scoff and a laugh. “Almost. I don’t think I can work properly anymore without that intimidating presence looming over my head.”

 

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. “Warframes need to recharge too.” you explain. “And we Tenno also have limits. We can’t stay linked forever, not without problems.”

 

That gets her attention. She looks up from her work, brows raised. “You mean there’s a cap on how long you can use them?”

 

“It’s not that simple.” You exhale. “Every Warframe and every Tenno are different. It depends on how much energy you burn through. Movement, combat –those are minor drains. But the moment you start using their major abilities? It adds up. Fast.”

 

“And that add-up has side effects?” she inquires, earning a curt nod. Yonta hesitates for only a second before asking, “Is that why your eye…?”

 

Her gaze flickers to the reddened sclera of your left eye, which you had hoped your healing factor had cleared by now. You don’t respond immediately, and that gives her just enough time to lift a hand toward your face. It’s an instinctive motion, one she likely doesn’t even realize she’s making, but before her fingertips can brush your skin, you tilt your head just enough to evade the touch.

 

Yonta catches herself, fingers curling inwards as if she only now registers what she was doing. You don’t comment on it, but something about the genuine concern in her green eyes makes you feel exposed. Only a couple of people in your life have looked at you like that; and the one that most vividly comes to mind now is Margulis.

 

Wrong Archimedean. You chide yourself. Don’t ever make that comparison again.

 

“It happens.” you reply sternly, as though that’s enough explanation. It’s the truth, in any case.

 

Yonta lowers her hand back to her side, biting her lower lip in thought. Then, with a quick “Wait here.” she turns and disappears into the next room, which you assume to be the hallway to her private quarters, leaving you standing there, unsure of what to make of the sudden retreat. She returns moments later, holding a small vial between her fingers. Without preamble, she pushes it toward you.

 

You glance down at it, then back up at her. 

 

“Eye drops.” she says, as if that much isn’t obvious. “Since you and rest don’t seem to get along too well. This will help a lot with the irritation.” 

 

“Rest and I get along perfectly.” You lie with a completely straight face. 

 

But Yonta doesn’t seem very convinced. “Is that right?”

 

“Aren’t you asking too many questions today, Archimedean?” 

 

“You can ask me something yourself, if you want to even the score.” Yonta leans her hip against the counter you’ve been working on for the past hour, her eyes twinkling with a challenge.

 

Accepting it, you glance around the room for something interesting. Then your gaze drifts to the electronic board mounted on the far wall, featuring a riot of equations, scribbled in luminous green against a dark background. Beside it, a small projection of the Zariman hovers in mid-air, coordinates scrolling beneath it. At the top, red letters blink insistently: ERROR, CRITICAL FAILURE. Eyes narrowing, you can’t help but wonder what dark secret she is cooking up in that corner.

 

“Hm...” you feign nonchalance that you’re not entirely sure you feel. “What’s all that about, over there?”

 

Yonta’s lips press together for a moment, as if that is the last thing she wanted you to inquire about. “It’s a… personal project.” Comes the reply, and you don’t detect any lie in it, only hesitation. “Don’t worry; these machines only project simulations. Nothing on the ship I haven’t already told you about.” As if knowing you’re not entirely convinced, she shifts her weight uneasily, her gaze downcast. “I need it to keep myself sane. You understand?”

 

You don't reply immediately, but of course, you understand. Long ago, in the fiery landscape of Duviri, you’d scavenged scrap metal and fashioned little contraptions out of it just to keep the madness at bay. There was a certain thrill in creating something singular in a world where everything was the same, something that looked like nothing else around it, as if you were making some big ‘fuck you’ statement to whatever forces conspired to trap you all there, separated in different Spirals.

 

Maybe saying you’re not into engineering anymore is the biggest lie you ever told. Maybe you simply wish that were the case. In truth, it has been your biggest love and the source of your greatest pain for centuries now.

 

Being here in this office, talking to Yonta in a manner that is almost civil… you can’t help but recall a different version of you, that would have loved to be in your shoes, if only for an hour. The little kid you once were, who had idolized ‘Archimedean Yonta’ as an engineering heroine hailing from your very own colony. 

 

Her name had been the pride and joy of your city, growing up. She had been their closest living proof that even under Orokin oppression, even under those Seven that controlled everything like gods, humans could also rise to great heights. That hard work and dedication and genius could still provide someone with a good life.   

 

Back then, like many kids from your colony, you had dreamed of working with her, building things that might one day change the world. Now, standing here in the cold light of the Zariman, you are not sure if it is her you hate, or the Void, for twisting yet another childhood dream into something unrecognizable.

 

You want to remain angry at her. You want Yonta to be responsible for everything that went wrong on the Zariman, because she’s something you can hurt back, while the Void feels no pain. 

 

You shift towards her, eyes sharp as steel, but whatever accusation lingers at the tip of your tongue dies there at the haunted look she’s staring at those letters –Critical Failure – with. 

 

“I… understand.” is all you end up saying, instead.

 

–

 

–

 

It takes you both an entire day of tireless work to get the Index back online.

 

Finally, after what feels like ages, you see only green lines across the diagnostic screens. A sign that, for now, everything seems to be running smoothly. You take a deep breath, your muscles relaxing for a moment… but Yonta’s voice cuts through your relief like a cold knife; 

 

“We’re almost there…”

 

“But?” It definitely sounds like there’s a ‘but’ adrift there.

 

“But… the tablet still needs to synchronize with the Reliquary Drive.” she says flatly. 

 

Jaw clenching, you turn to her slowly. “So… synchronize it.” you say simply, although you can already guess this won’t be quite so simple.

 

“Sure. If you take me there.” Comes the dreaded reply. “This is the only thing I can’t do remotely.”

 

Great, you think. Just your luck, that the last damn step can only be achieved by taking her to one of the most dangerous areas of the ship; a sector notorious for drawing in Angels and Murmur like flies to shit.

 

To make matters worse, you’re the only one who can get Yonta that far into the heart of the Zariman; your team needs to rest, to recover. The added strain of venturing into that perilous zone isn’t a burden you’re willing to place on them right now. 

 

Making your decision with a firm nod, you tell her; “Gather what you need and meet me at the plaza below in five.” Your tone brooks no argument.

 

Without waiting for a reply, you turn and exit her office, heading back to your Orbiter. The dark corridors echo with your measured steps as you navigate your way to the arsenal, where Valkyr awaits. 

 

The transference into her is second nature by now; you can feel the familiar prickles along your void body, the darkness that once filled you with dread. But now, it feels almost like an embrace. A wry, reluctant smile tugs at your lips. “Good to be back.”  you whisper softly.

 

Then, with a burst of speed, you leap out of the ship’s lowered ramp, landing soundly in the plaza below. It takes the Archimedean about three more minutes to join you, and you begin your journey without another word. 

 

You and Yonta tread carefully through the ruined corridors of the Zariman, the Void’s sickly mist swirling around you the deeper you head. Though the redhead’s face remains impassive, you can sense her trembling beneath her calm veneer; Valkyr’s instincts already tell you as much, picking up the way she instinctively clings closer to you. For now, you let her. 

 

You silently hope that by keeping your emotions in check, the way all Zariman residents were always trained to, you won’t stir the Void into action. Thankfully, your team’s diligent efforts have pushed the Murmur back, so you allow yourself a small measure of relief and perhaps the hope your trip could be uneventful. 

 

“Talk, if it makes it easier.” You speak up, turning your helmet slightly towards her. “Just don’t let wherever you’re feeling get any more intense. The Void could react to it.”

 

“I know, I know.” She huffs. “It’s just– I’m not exactly eager to be back in that place. Working there in the past was… a haunting experience.” A pause. “You know that feeling of being watched?” 

 

“All too well.”

 

“If I spent more than an hour making calibrations in that room I’d have nightmares the whole night. Even while working, it was like I could see myself out of the corner of my eye… grinning.” she whispers, rubbing at her biceps. “My crew of scientists all reported seeing different things in there and I told them it was just the frequency of the device I had built affecting them, but in reality… it was what’s in it. I just didn’t want to think about that at the time. I still don’t.” 

 

She’s talking faster now than you’ve ever heard her –nothing like the measured breaths and steady tone she’s been keeping up until now– and the thought the Archimedean persona falls completely when she’s scared shitless almost makes you want to chuckle under Valkyr’s guise.

 

“When the Orokin first showed me what I would be building the Drive to house, I didn’t think much of it. I thought it was some kind of weird relic they created in the unique morbid style they found so fashionable.” she continues. “But then they said Entrati found it during his studies. And from the looks of it, that thing was part of a whole –statue? Or structure?– that was somehow cut off.” Yonta takes a deep breath. “Okay, this is the point where talking about it does more harm than help. I’m good now.”

 

“Are you.” Even without Valkyr sensing exactly what she feels, you would seriously doubt that.

 

“Let’s say I am and leave it at that.” She forces a nervous smile.

 

After that, it is a slow, tense fifteen minutes of navigating the labyrinthine halls, until you finally reach the Reliquary Drive. The massive doors stand glitched open, suspended between greenish light and deep shadow. You step forward first, using Valkyr’s sensors to scan the area. No Murmur. Not yet, at least. Still, you can feel the immense power of the Void pulsing around you like an ebbing tide. There is an overwhelming, ever-present force here that makes the very air seem to tremble.

 

Your eyes focus on the dome of the Drive, the pristine surface that seems to swirl with nebulas within. Something inside you recoils. A warning to step away, that you sadly cannot heed if you are to complete this task. 

 

Yonta’s voice, low and cautious, breaks the silence. “I’ll have to open the casket of the Drive.” she says, as if this is the part she dreads the most. “Are you ready?”

 

“I know what’s inside, I won’t be shocked.” You assure. “Get it over with.”

 

The casket slowly hisses open… 

 

And your breath catches in your throat at the sight. The severed finger of the Man in the Wall lies there, its surface a sickly beige, lifeless like a broken statue, yet pulsating with eerie, undeniable energy from within. Even though you’ve known this power before, the feel of it here still sends a shudder through you. You take a step back, turning to face the door as a cold dread ripples down your spine.

 

“Something’s coming.” you murmur, your voice low. “Archimedean, don’t panic –I’ve got this.”

 

Before you can finish, a torrent of Murmur bursts from the far hallway corner. In an instant, you leap outside, your Warframe a blur as she rends the creatures apart before they can edge toward Yonta.

 

Valkyr’s innate ability to tell true from fake shields you from the maddening illusions that plague most Tenno in similar situations, but you can also sense that Yonta’s defenses are failing. As she ducks near the Drive, fingers tapping restlessly on the tablet, you feel her anxiety spike. Soon, disembodied voices –fragments of her psyche– bounce off the walls in chaotic dissonance.

 

“Hey! Get it together!” You call over your shoulder, narrowly dodging a Murmur’s claw and sinking yours into its belly instead. 

 

“You know it; she wants to kill you. Part of you wants to let her.” you catch one of the clearer whispers in Yonta’s voice –albeit colder, distorted– and you instantly know it is about you . “You ruined her life once with your lies, you’re going to do it again~”

 

“Just finish the job, don’t listen!” you say again, slashing at more voidlings skittering your way.

 

“Sir, that… that is way too dangerous. We have to turn back. We have to return. The Zariman wasn’t designed to jump to Tau in one leap! It could disintegrate right inside that wormhole!” 

 

Those words make you halt. They strike at the part of you most vulnerable and you can hear the desperation in her voice. A series of ‘please’ and ‘I can’t do it’ and ‘don’t make me do it ’ reverberate endlessly beneath the louder, clearer words.  

 

“No. You will not come back, and that is final. To return is to disobey the Will of the Seven.” A deep, authoritative voice replies to Yonta in the fragmented memory. You recognize it… and your Warframe immediately goes rigid on the spot. “Figure it out, Archimedean. Make sure the jump succeeds. For the people there… and for your family on Earth.”

 

Executor Tuvul. 

 

As soon as the thought registers in your mind, you feel a lurch; as though sharp incisions open all across your body. Your skin burns. A violent, blood-curdling scream is ripped out of Valkyr’s frame, that you’re not even sure belongs to you. She thrashes like a feral beast grown completely out of control, sweeping you along with the force, overloading your head with howls as you feel her body smash against the nearest wall. Try as hard as you might to reign her back in, you are losing her.

 

The transference bond between you bends and bends and bends–

 

Until it breaks.

 

“No!” You shout as you are forcefully ejected from her frame, into the opposite wall, using your Void powers to conjure chains that keep her there, making sure she stays unmoving. 

 

You blast at the two last Murmur you see running towards you with a targeted beam, before flashing back into the Reliquary Drive, smashing your fist into the button that shuts the casket. 

 

Your hand lands heavily on Yonta’s shoulder, shaking her out of the haze and dragging her up. “Yonta! We’re leaving now!” you command, urgency spurring you onward. 

 

Panicked green eyes glance at the Crystal Index –the synchronization now complete– and she quickly taps in a code at the Reliquary’s console. A small drive ejects from the mechanism, which she clutches to her chest like a lifeline.

 

Still reeling from the violent ejection, your senses aren’t as sharp as they normally would be. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a blur too late; a Murmur leaping high toward you, its claws extended. There’s no time to fully dodge. In a split-second decision, you twist your shoulder into the oncoming attack, using your own body as a shield to protect Yonta. Then, with a surge of amber Void energy, you unleash a focused blast that shreds the creature into splinters.

 

You feel your blood flow hot down your back and shoulder, but the adrenaline keeps you from feeling any pain. Yonta gasps, her hand rising instinctively to check the damage, but you grab it mid-air and pull her along. “We have to go!”

 

At the threshold, you pause beside Valkyr, your heart heavy as you refuse to leave her behind. The once-proud Warframe now lies slouched against the wall, a broken marionette with limbs limp and unresponsive. You glance over at Yonta, whose expressive eyes widen in dismay. 

 

“What happened?!” She asks, voice trembling with a mixture of concern and disbelief.

 

“I'll explain later.” You reply curtly, your voice low as you steel yourself against the weight of your next decision. 

 

A swift motion of your hand undoes the chains of Void energy that keep Valkyr bound. Every second feels like an eternity as you leap back into the battered shell of your Warframe. The transition is less seamless than usual; you feel sharp pains in every joint as Valkyr’s form shudders and slowly rises to her full height.

 

Without a moment's pause, you steady yourself, then swoop Yonta into your arms. She gasps but understands the necessity of the gesture, as you make a desperate run for the plaza at full speed. Each second that passes, you pray Valkyr doesn’t break down on you like earlier again. 

 

It is a massive relief when you make it back to relative safety, the doors sealing behind you. You know the smartest decision would be to head straight for your ship, to get Valkyr into the Helminth segment. But you don’t want your team to guess what happened and tattle everything to Lotus. Not now. 

 

So you dash up the stairs to Yonta’s office, put her down, then position Valkyr against an empty wall, before phasing out of her, and re-binding her with your energy for maximum safety. 

 

Then and only then… you allow yourself to drop onto one knee. 

 

The world spins on its axis around you. 

Notes:

Don't worry guys, she's got a bona fide Archimedean there to take care of her, Diane's gonna be fine ;) I wanted to release all of these chapters together to leave you guys waiting for more at an interesting point in their developing relationship (if it can even be called this yet).

As always, stay healthy, hydrated, moisturized and see you on the next ones!

Chapter 5

[Yonta]

 

Your heart still pounds inside your chest as you watch in silent horror.

 

Diane falls to one knee right in the middle of your office, her top rapidly darkened by the fresh blood streaming from the wound on her shoulder. The wound she got… protecting you. 

 

Without hesitation, you rush to her side, fingers gentle at her belt as you help her up, supporting her as you guide the two of you across the room and into the next hallway, then the adjoining luxurious quarters. The smooth carpet and muted lighting offer a fragile sanctuary as you lower her onto the edge of the bed.

 

After easing her there, you slip away to retrieve the med-kit from the bathroom cabinet. When you return, you pause in front of her, uncertainty slowing your movements for a moment. In the quiet, your eyes lock with her pained, amber-glowing gaze, somehow still as intimidating and defiant as when you first met it. 

 

You approach slowly now, nothing like your earlier urgency, your digits hovering near the zipper of her top in silent question;

 

May I…?

 

“What, never done this before?” she teases through her hurt, a wry smile at her lips.

 

The pun hangs in the air, both an allusion to your slow ministrations and a dig at the idea of undressing someone. You let out a soft exhale –willing yourself not to blush the entire time– and take her words as permission. 

 

“Don’t worry, it’s not my first time.” you reply softly as you slide the zipper all the way down. The leather garment eases open to reveal planes of fair skin beneath, marred by abstract stains of crimson and far too many jagged little scars. 

 

And– it shouldn’t come as a surprise that she’s this fit, with corded lines of muscle and taut skin across her arms and shoulders, a very nice toning at her midriff that you can’t help but notice. For a fleeting moment, you find yourself captivated, unable to tear your eyes away, before you mentally shake sense into yourself. 

 

Yonta, you scold yourself. Focus.

 

The cool air brushes against her flesh as you clean away the blood with gentle, practiced strokes. To your surprise, you notice that the wound appears to already be healing on its own, its edges knitting together as if the fraction of the Void inside her is mending the damage. Once you’re done wiping the excess blood, you extract a small vial of salve from the open med-kit and begin applying it to the injury, keeping each touch light as a feather. She’s already in enough pain because of you.

 

To her credit, she hides it admirably, lets you take care of everything without so much as a grunt of protest, but the tightness of her body and shallow breaths betray the truth. 

 

As you finish tending to Diane's wound, your gaze lingers on the scars scattered across her exposed skin. There are so many of them, some small, others more pronounced, and you can only wonder what kind of toll her body has endured before becoming near indestructible. 

 

Part of you aches with curiosity. What could possibly cause so many cuts, each one so deliberate in its cruelty? But even as the question forms in your mind, you know better than to voice it. It’s not your place. So you choose to fill the silence with something else instead;

 

“This should take the hurt away immediately.” You speak in a quiet, even tone. “Though some muscle soreness will likely remain.” 

 

Diane lets out a low chuckle despite her discomfort. “I know. I’ve been through this process before.” she admits. “It’s only going to be annoying for a few hours –and I’ll be smelling like a forest for the rest of the day.” 

 

You seal the wound with bandages, then meet her gaze once more, the concern in your own deepening. “What happened back there?” you ask, hoping it’s not overstepping some unknown boundary.

 

For a long moment, silence envelops the room, punctuated only by the soft hum of distant machinery. Diane seems to be debating how much information to disclose to you, then takes a deep breath. 

 

“Warframes are tortured beings.” she begins, each word heavy with regret. “Some, more than others. Mine, far more than all the rest.” A pause. “She has endured unspeakable things to become what she is now. Even in ‘death’ or purgatory, what remains remembers.”

 

Something in you freezes at the words. 

 

You watch her face, a mask of stoic determination barely hiding the raw pain behind her eyes. She continues; “The man who oversaw her project is the same bastard from your memory. Valkyr tore at his mortal shell during her initial transformation and nearly destroyed him. He barely escaped her claws, scrambling away like a rat. When he took a new body, he redefined torment.”

 

You bring a shaking hand up to your lips. The idea of what an Orokin disrespected to that degree could do makes you sick to your stomach. 

 

“I went to hell and back trying to ease Valkyr’s madness, to control her rage. But even I can only do so much. Lotus said she’s too far gone, beyond saving. Yet… other Tenno thought the same of me once, after Duviri.” Diane says.

 

Bela’s words about her come to mind; ‘the sacrifice of being Valkyr’. The intensity of Diane’s loyalty to her Warframe shakes you. From an outsider’s perspective, Lotus might be right; it does seem like an abusive bond, as though Diane is clinging to something that’s slowly devouring her. But as an engineer, you understand that unyielding devotion, the relentless drive to make something work against all odds.

 

The thought strikes you that you’d be happy in life if someone ever loved you with half that intensity. 

 

Softly, you reach out and lay a hand on Diane’s bicep, the contact warm and grounding. “You should get some rest.” 

 

“It’s your bed.” She makes to stand, but you move faster, on your feet now and lightly pressing at her good shoulder so she stays put. 

 

“I hardly ever use it. Plus, I have work to do.” you say quickly. 

 

Diane looks up at you with an unreadable expression, but you clasp your hands together and step back, as though telling some unruly puppy to ‘stay’. Part of you says it’s bad that you’re beginning to think of the big bad wolf in that way, that it’s dangerous. But you swiftly silence it as you turn around, the sliding doors opening and hissing shut behind you. 

 

You walk back to your office, your eyes immediately drawn to the motionless Warframe bound to the far wall. You don’t dare get too close after everything you’ve seen and heard, but your scientific curiosity refuses to quiet. You study her structure, her arms and claws… and for a moment, you allow yourself to imagine the punishment they delivered on the person who threatened you with your family back on Earth for years.

 

In a way, she is your righteous vengeance, and that of all the people he hurt. Even inactive, she certainly looks the part. 

 

The wraith who humbled a god. 

 

“My heroine.” you call her. 

 

–

 

–

 

For the next few hours, you are blind to the rest of the world.

 

You remain hunched over your desk, the fluorescent glow of your screens reflecting off scrawled equations and hastily scribbled notes. Part of you wants to pull your hair out as you obsess over the data retrieved from the Reliquary Drive, each number and variable a silent piece of a puzzle whose full image still eludes you.

 

It feels impossible, trying to pinpoint exactly where everything went wrong, where you miscalculated the leap through the Void. The thought torments you day and night. By all your calculations, you should have made it.

 

Then, the hallway doors slide open quietly behind you. You don’t need to turn around immediately to sense who it is, as Diane’s powerful presence fills the room. Reluctantly, you straighten up and turn to find her standing there, studying the mess you’ve made of your desk with a curious gaze. 

 

She already looks remarkably healthier, a flush of regained color warming her cheeks. The only problem is… her top half is still dressed in nothing more than a sports bra and the bandages you neatly wrapped around her injured shoulder, and that short-circuits your brain for a second. 

 

The sight is honestly breathtaking –the irony is not lost on you that someone so cold can simultaneously be this hot– and despite every ounce of your resolve telling you it’s wrong, a fleeting blush threatens to warm its way up your neck. You quickly dismiss the reaction as nothing more than a bodily reflex, something trivial that doesn’t deserve your attention.

 

“What are you working so furiously on?” Diane asks. One step closer and she’s resting her hands on your desk now, leaning her weight on them. “The ‘personal project’?”

 

For a second, you hesitate. A lump forms in your throat as you consider lying, shielding the raw, painful truth of your calculations. But you see the way Diane’s eyes slightly widen at your uncertainty, and as she starts to take a step back, you stop her with a quiet, insistent; 

 

“Wait.” You lower your voice to a whisper, as though afraid the secrets might shatter the fragile civility that has built between you the last two days. “The drive I retrieved from the Reliquary chamber… you deserve to know what it is.”

 

Your thumb subconsciously brushes over the sleek, dark surface of the drive, a sort of black box that has recorded the tragic moment when the Zariman failed to pass through the Void. The device holds every reading, every heartbeat of that catastrophe, a silent archive of what should have been a miracle. 

 

“Not a fun project, then…” Diane breathes out. 

 

“I’m afraid not.” You nod, eyes downcast. “The drive contains every reading from the moment of the crash.” It’s weird, how saying it out loud lifts a weight off your chest. You take a deep breath and continue; “It’s like a curse…  Every parameter of the ship shows that we should have made it. But there’s a gap, a miscalculation that I can’t reconcile. Some outside force that I hadn’t taken into account, growing with each second spent within the Void wormhole, enough to eventually push the Zariman back.” Your eyes almost tear up from the strain. 

 

You remember your initial models: the Void’s gravitational pull was expected to be fierce, but based on the smaller jumps the Zariman was designed for, you only accounted for a moderate strain on the ship’s systems. Instead, the drive’s data revealed that once inside the wormhole, the gravitational forces were magnified in a way you never anticipated. Every single second of exposure imposed triple the strain on the ship’s systems and shields. 

 

Diane walks closer to the blackboard projecting the drive’s information, studying it silently for a moment. “It makes a lot more sense now, why even Sentients have to sustain damage to pass through the Void with their technology. The more an object resists it to pass through, the bigger its pull gets.” 

 

As far as you know from past conversations with Tenno, Sentient ships are required to disable their shields completely for the seconds it takes to enter a Void tunnel. It is this very act that irreparably destroys their reproductive system.   

 

But even if you knew this back then, even if you applied this knowledge to the Zariman’s protective shields, you would have killed everyone instantly. Yes, theoretically, the ship itself could have made it to Tau, but the crew would all be dead from radiation. 

 

And then a crazy thought strikes you.

 

Unless… 

 

Unless you disabled every safety in a very specific sequence. 

 

First removing the cap of the engines, overloading them with the Jade light cells… then redirecting all spare power to the assisting thrusters… then lowering the outer shield, for the time it would take the ship to pass into the tunnel of the Void. At that point, you could activate small inner barriers around select inner sections, like the classrooms, the homes and the bridge, just enough to protect the people for the next moments within the wormhole.  

 

Heart pounding, you rework your models, recalculating if that would be enough to survive the warp jump with the exact same settings you attempted it in the past. The numbers twist and shift in front of you until… 

 

Is this it…?

 

Your fingers tremble as you input every new variable into the simulation you’ve built over countless sleepless nights. The digital interface processes your revised formula, the numbers flickering and coalescing on the screen. Then, in a moment that seems to stretch into eternity, the simulation flashes in bold, luminous green letters: 

 

Success. 

 

Void Leap Complete.  

 

A long list of warnings across pretty much every single system flashes below, but the damage –although extensive– isn’t critical anywhere, which means it would be fixable. 

 

For a moment, you can’t even come to terms with what you’re seeing.

 

Diane, too, stands frozen next to you, her lips parted soundlessly as she stares at the screen. “So it… was possible after all…” A breath, barely audible, escapes her. 

 

Yet it draws you back into the present, proves that what you’re seeing is not some figment of your sleep-deprived mind, but real.  

 

A wave of overwhelming emotion crashes over you. 

 

The realization that your calculations were correct after all, yet thwarted by an unknown variable, both vindicates your work and shatters you with its implications. You press a hand to your chest as if to keep your heart from breaking, and before you know it, your vision blurs. 

 

You were so close. So damn close.

 

Rather than liberate you, the realization makes you break down. 

 

You collapse to your knees, the ‘could have been’s of your near triumph and the trauma of your greatest failure all mingling together into a deep, anguished sob that rattles your frame. Tears burn an acidic path down your cheeks and neck. 

 

Does this absolve you of sin, you wonder? You didn’t know the Void adheres to its own twisted laws of physics. It doesn't even make sense that a resistance proportional to time on smaller warp-jumps would end up growing exponentially on that mad leap. How could you have known, when it had never been attempted before? 

 

You thought the truth would set you free. How naive. Here you are, lost in the sea of your guilt, drowning in it. 

 

Until a warm hand catches your shoulder and brings you back up for air. 

 

“Yonta.” Diane calls you by your name for what feels like the very first time. “Nothing can change the past. Accept it. Don't let it break you.” 

 

Her free hand hovers in the air in front of you, waiting, palm-up, to assist you when you find the strength to stand despite the weight of your emotions. 

 

Get up, a part of you says. This is unbecoming of an Archimedean.

 

But what does that word even mean anymore? What does it matter, when every Archimedean is dead…? 

 

More than ever before, you feel like a relic adrift in time, out of place. Purposeless. 

 

Exhausted, both physically and mentally, you place your hand over Diane's just so you won't keep her waiting longer. And– she instantly pulls you up with such strength you almost crash into her. A faint gasp of surprise leaves your lips, but her gesture has the intended effect of shaking you out of your downwards spiral. 

 

Unconventional, but effective. That's her in a nutshell. 

 

Diane hands you a tissue from the nearby box casually, without another word. As you accept it, salvaging what's left of your composure, you murmur, absent thought; “You are terrible at comforting people.”

 

A husky little chuckle escapes her. “Lies.” she replies in a light tone.

 

As your vision clears and your mind steadies, your gaze meets her iridescent one. Until now, you hadn't noticed the hazel beneath the eerie glow was this visible, human… warm.

 

Despite your all-over-the-place emotions, a small, fragile smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

 

–

 

–

 

“Did you want to play the hero, Archimedean Yonta…?” You hear their cold voices in your sleep.

 

You wake with a start, your heart pounding as the remnants of your nightmare still echo in your mind. The hollow, disdainful gaze of the Orokin, their verdict a death sentence –for you and your loved ones both– that sears into your soul. The terror lingers in your system, and your hands tremble as you run them through your hair, hastily getting out of bed. You pace across your quarters, every step heavy with the weight of a judgment you can’t escape. Standing on trial beneath them in the blinding light of their audience chamber used to be your greatest fear. It’s painfully clear now that death hasn’t changed this. 

 

Minutes pass, but you don’t feel any better. Not in the slightest. 

 

Unable to bear the silence of your room any longer, you hastily pull on a jacket and descend the staircase outside your office, desperate for any human contact before your thoughts spiral into madness.

 

In the quiet of the plaza, you spot someone on watch duty. Diane is striding through the square with an Incarnon rifle casually held in her hand. Valkyr is nowhere in sight –likely still recharging within the Orbiter– and you guess the other Tenno are sound asleep as well. You cannot believe you think this, but you are so relieved to see her.

 

Diane turns as you approach, her tone slightly teasing. “Allergic to sleep, are we?”

 

You sigh, approaching her instinctively, as if she will save you a third time from whatever currently haunts you. “I wasn’t able to sleep well even when I was ‘alive.’ My mind’s always too busy with one thing or another.”

 

“You’re alive now.” It's a simple reply, in that matter-of-fact way of hers, yet the words catch you off guard. 

 

You hesitate, staring off into the dim lights illuminating the square. “I’m not too sure about that.” you confess quietly. “It doesn’t always feel that way.” Living and existing are two very different things.

 

Diane is quiet for a moment, resuming her walking but keeping her chin angled towards you, as if expecting you to follow. “...Nightmares?” she inquires after several steps.

 

“Mm.” A simple nod. 

 

“...huh. It must be bad if you’re not talking my ear off...”

 

You halt abruptly, your jaw dropping open in feigned offense as you turn towards her. “What’s that supposed to mean…?” Your hand snaps forward, lightly hitting her bicep, but her being a cute jerk still makes you chuckle. “If you must know, I saw the Orokin.”

 

Her lips press together at that. 

 

“All seven of them, high up in their godly golden thrones, looking down at me while deciding how painful -and how public- my execution would be.” you say, rubbing your hands together, your body remembering the anxiety of stepping into that eerie chamber. 

 

“If it helps…” Diane begins, “There was nothing godly about those bastards when we finally turned on them.” A cruel smirk curves her lips at the memory, fitting and attractive in a way it probably shouldn’t be. “They ran like worms from a bird. You should have seen the horror in their eyes, looking up at Excalibur high in the sky, about to descend on their Empire like a falling star. That moment of realization there was nowhere to run…”

 

Knowing Excalibur’s Tenno, it’s hard to think of someone as gentle as Kiran capable of near- planetary annihilation. Then again, it’s also a testament to how far a good person can be pushed, before they break. 

 

As if reading your thoughts in your eyes, Diane smirks. “What, didn’t think she had it in her?”

 

“It just… feels much more like a you-thing than a Kiran-thing to do.” You reply candidly. 

 

“Oh, absolutely. I would… if I knew I could survive what she did.” She says. 

 

“What do you mean?” You glance at her profile curiously.

 

“Well, if I ever unleashed Valkyr like that…” 

 

You almost dread to hear the rest of that sentence. 

 

“Chances are she would kill me.” 

Notes:

Where are those eyes straying, Yonta...? Our Archimedean is starting to take a biiiiiiit of a liking to her feisty heroine and we *all* know how darling Yonta gets when she likes someone <3

Thank you all for the Kudos and love, it means a lot! See you in the next chapters! :)

Chapter 6

[Diane]

 

Cold, metallic panels line the walls around you. A cockpit designed for efficiency, rather than comfort.

 

In a sense, this has become home by now. Not that you ever had a real one to begin with. Convoluted timelines and ages all blur together in your mind, obscuring what was once a clear image of your childhood house on Earth’s small western colony. 

 

Looking outside the reinforced glass panel of your ship, beyond the broken bay of the Zariman, you see only the vast, dark expanse of space. A fitting view for you; this isolation, this quiet emptiness that mirrors the hollow space you sometimes feel inside, even if you’d never admit it aloud. Beside you, Valkyr stands still, illuminated softly by the array of flickering consoles and glowing readouts. 

 

The stillness does not last long.

 

Soon, a transmission crackles to life, shattering the silence. 

 

You brace yourself with a steadying breath, expecting the familiar, cool tone of Kiran. Instead, Lotus’ hologram materializes before you, making you freeze mid-inhale. You haven’t seen her since the day she left for Tau –weeks that feel like years, somehow. Since she assigned the Zariman’s protection to you, the last person who should be protecting anything.

 

She stands there framed by her sleek, gleaming Sentient exoskeleton, silver eyes luminous and sharp, yet at the same time imbued with quiet concern. “Diane.” she greets you, softer than her appearance would suggest. “How do you fare?”  

 

The way she says it, it’s almost difficult to stay angry at her. But the bitterness lingers. 

 

You pause for a moment, before putting sentiment aside and reporting on your station. “Everything’s under control.” you reply, forcing steadiness into your tone. “The Void is pushing and prodding now that you and Kiran aren’t here in the Sol system, but it’s not accomplishing anything significant. The Zariman’s readings are stable.”

 

Lotus’ visage remains unchanging. “That isn’t what I asked.” she chides quietly. 

 

Your gaze hardens. “You still do that old thing.” you say back. “Where you expect answers but aren’t willing to provide any yourself.” 

 

That seems to get to her. Finally, something that does. 

 

“How do I fare?” you continue. “The people are still alive so I guess better than most of my Void-siblings expected! But I’ve yet to understand what I’m doing here instead of literally anyone else.” you hiss out. 

 

“Objectively, your Warframe is most effective against the Void.” Yes, that part is true, which is why you should be in Deimos and not here.

 

“Objectively, my Warframe’s talents are wasted in this place.” you bite back. 

 

Valkyr needs to be out cutting things, tearing them apart with her claws. She’s not suited to walking around and around on patrol with nothing happening. She’s not built for this kind of thing. It’s not easy to control her violent urges –Gods only know how hard it gets– but at the same time, you cannot say this to Lotus. Not without inviting more suggestions and talks about switching Warframes.

 

“I want an explanation.” you say, firm and to the point. 

 

To your surprise… Lotus seems to acquiesce. Her irises glow softly in the darkness, and her tone is measured as she replies; “I watched you suffer too long, Diane.” Your breath catches at the words, before more come… “Your operator version, drowning in both Valkyr’s rage and your own torment for years. It’s only grown worse since you returned from Duviri.”

 

You swallow hard, something deep inside your chest aching.

 

“I ran endless simulations before arriving at the conclusion this was the best way to deal with the issue. I put you there to keep the Void at bay, yes, but also to have you confront your own demons.” Lotus continues. “I will not allow the Zariman to haunt you any longer. Or the people in it.” 

 

…what are you saying…? You look at her, eyes wide. 

 

“If you cannot reconcile with the Holdfasts, then you have my permission to be their final reckoning.” Natah doesn’t beat around the bush, and her ways are far more ruthless than the ‘Lotus’ of the past, but even for her, hearing this shocks you. “One way or another, what ails you will vanish.”

 

For a long, silent moment, you stand there, absorbing her declaration. The bridge feels colder, the hum of machinery now a distant whisper against the storm raging within you. The tension mounts and mounts…

 

Until it escapes you in the form of a disbelieving chuckle.

 

“You really are different after the New War.” A statement, one you already know many of your Tenno brethren would not eagerly accept as truth. 

 

“In a way, many things are clearer.” Lotus replies, although something in her voice implies just as many things are a mess inside her head. “So. I hear you helped Archimedean Yonta get the Index running again. Good work. She hasn’t lost her engineering touch, it seems.” 

 

Your brows draw together at that. “Very ‘Margulis’ of you. And yet, a birdie tells me those two never really got along.”

 

“Not really, no. But you have to understand the Archimedeans’ relationships among themselves were always stained at best. An underlying, subtle rivalry, Orokin-cultivated. Divide the best and brightest, and conquer.” she explains. “Despite this, Margulis recognised who Yonta is as a person.” A pause. “She has a good heart.”

 

It’s that last damn part that gets you. Ninety percent of you wants to refute it, to counter it somehow. It grows so very spiteful at the other ten fucking percent… that secretly admits it’s true. Every time she reached out, only for you to slap her aid away… every time she tried to approach you despite you showing your absolute worst self…

 

Why would someone even do this for a stranger? 

 

But you have to remember. You have to. This is the same woman who condemned you to this cursed fate. And what difference does it really make if you got fucked over by a good person rather than a bad one?

 

“A good heart, huh. …As if I would care about something like that.” 

 

Yet even as you say it, the words come out bitter, rather than angry. 

 

–

 

–

 

With the Zariman’s functions finally explained and the Index fixed, you’ve had no reason to seek Yonta out again. 

 

For the past day or two, you’ve been content to keep to your duty. You pass your free time tinkering with spare parts, catching up on the latest galactic news, and losing yourself in Nora Night's Nightwave station. Yet today, something pulls you out for a long walk around the plaza. Perhaps you’re growing as restless out of combat as your Warframe. 

 

As you stroll through the vast, echoing space, you notice a floor panel missing entirely, a gaping wound in the once-pristine surface. Before you can ponder it, a flying cylinder hurtles toward you. Reflexively, you snatch it out of the air before it can hit you square in the face. Leaning over the edge, you catch sight of Yonta in the narrow, cluttered space beneath, her back bent over a bulky piece of machinery in the dim light.

 

“Death by pressure regulator. Would be an interesting way to go.” you speak dryly.

 

At your words, Yonta’s hand flies to cover her mouth. “I– sorry!” she stammers. “The lighting modulator of the square is malfunctioning; it’s causing erratic fluxes of either too bright light or too little.”

 

“So? Who cares.” you ask.

 

Yonta offers a small, rueful shrug. “It’s a good excuse to keep me off my head.” Yeah, you can understand that much. A brief pause, where you can clearly see her mind working, her hands playing nervously with a small piece of metal. “Say, would you… want to give me a hand again?”

 

You want to say no. You should say no, because you keep getting drawn into these situations where you have to work with her and this ship has long since sailed and sank for you, centuries ago. 

 

But at the same time, you do have the annoying engineer itch where you want to fix things, and you just can’t seem to shrug it off. With a deep breath and a roll of your eyes, you begrudgingly agree. 

 

“You can step here and here.” 

 

Yonta directs, pointing at two thick cables strung across the gap like makeshift stairs. It’s almost comical, as if she’s forgotten you’re a machine of war with myriad other ways to get where you need to be. You could easily levitate using your Void powers, but you just shake your head at her and crouch low, gripping the edge firmly. In one smooth, practiced roll, you maneuver your body into the narrow space, landing with a barely audible thud.

 

“Or…yeah, that works.” she says, waving a hand in mild approval. You imagine a faint red hue creeping over her face in the dim, terrible lighting. Probably from the heat of this confined space. “Ahem. Very… athletic of you.”

 

A wry smile tugs at your lips as you raise an eyebrow. “Did you really think I could only pull moves like this inside my Warframe?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your tone.

 

Yonta lets out a little giggle, her expression momentarily playful. “No, I’ve seen your–” A light gesture accentuates her words, as if pointing at her own stomach, but then she claps her hands together and instead says; “I– I mean you look like you have the muscle for it.”

 

You eye her suspiciously, the corners of your mouth threatening to twitch as you reply “Thanks…?”

 

“Yep! So.” She then motions towards the machine in front of her. “I haven’t been able to get all these slates to open, I could use a bit of your strength here to further identify faulty parts.”

 

You step closer, easily removing the parts she couldn’t, your eyes narrowing as you peer at the circuitry laid bare beneath the machine. The worn mess of wires and components tells its own story of damage: one segment is charred and overheated, while another remains eerily cool to the touch, as if starved of energy. You run your fingers lightly over the exposed panels, noting each flaw with the detached curiosity of an engineer who’s seen too many breakdowns.

 

Together, you and Yonta get to work, removing malfunctioning components and swapping out the damaged parts. The rhythm of your labor is interrupted only when the lights in the square begin to dim, flickering out one by one until emergency illumination bathes everything in a harsh, red glow. The sudden darkness casts long, eerie shadows across the room, and for a moment, you feel her tense. 

 

“Scared of a little darkness?” you ask. 

 

“I am generally not fond of dark, crammed spaces.” she admits. 

 

Which is weird, considering your old colony hometown was exactly this. Badly illuminated, borderline depressing, some alleys separating the homes being less than a pavement long. She should be used to the feel; you both grew up in it, at least until a certain age. Then again, perhaps she was desperate to leave for something better. All the things you blame her for… this isn’t one of them. 

 

“Relax, would you?” you tell her. She looks ready to fry a synapse herself. “I’m the scariest thing around here for at least a hundred meter radius.” Your senses don’t lie; there really isn’t a soul or monster anywhere near. 

 

“You look way too comfortable in this red light of death.” Her hands rise up to rub along her biceps, a nervous habit you’ve caught twice by now. 

 

“I spent endless years under a similar light in Duviri, so yes. I’m right in my element.” you retort. 

 

“Duviri. The land inside the Void, is it?” she asks. 

 

“The Hell inside the Void, more like.” you correct. 

 

“Fascinating. Every Tenno that talked about that place described something different…”

 

“Yes, the Indifference made sure we stayed separated in different Spirals. Different worlds, or I suppose world cycles, each one based on an emotion and guarded by its respective orowyrm. Can you guess my poison?” You force a smirk onto your lips you doubt she can even see in this setting. 

 

You, on the other hand, can see her fine features perfectly. You can see her lip tensing, almost curling around the right word before she stops herself from saying anything. So you say it for her;

 

“Anger.” The same anger that has been your only companion for ages, that kept you alive and tormented you in equal measure. “Anger towards the Zariman, you, the Orokin, the Void, the world.” A pause. Then, in a quieter tone; “Myself.”

 

That burning desire to tear apart everything that ever hurt you, that simmering rage beneath your skin, are things only Valkyr could understand. You are birds of a feather. Beasts, both of you, feeding on destruction to sustain what’s left.  

 

Perhaps you’ve already told Yonta too much. So you huff, busying yourself with removing cables to get to the parts beneath. 

 

Yonta studies you silently for a moment before resting her hand on the machine next to your shoulder. “That sounds… so lonely.”

 

Lonely. The word hangs in the air as your fingers hover among the tangled wires, halting their work. You feel a tremor deep inside, an echo of the same sensation that has haunted you since Duviri. Even now with the memories of a timeline where you fought alongside others like you, that sinking void has never fully left you. You wonder silently if ‘lonely’ is even the right word, or if something inside you is irreparably broken.

 

Yonta’s gaze lowers to the machine as she continues, her voice soft in the dark that cradles you. “I don’t understand fighting dragons, but loneliness… Well. The life of an Archimedean is a gilded cage. Luxury, empty and cold. Rivalries that have you isolated, people who drift in and out, leaving you with nothing real. As they say… it’s cold and lonely at the top.” 

 

As you process her words, the cramped space seems to close in. She feels… closer, somehow, even though Yonta hasn’t moved an inch. Too close. The realization sends an unexpected jolt through you, and you instinctively try to create distance. In your haste, you yank your hand too sharply from an angular component. A sharp sting flashes across your skin as you realize you’ve cut your finger lightly. 

 

“Ah.” Yet part of you is almost thankful for the pain.

 

Yonta reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a small tissue, her movements careful as she wraps your injured finger with care. The cool fabric hugs your skin, and she holds your hand tenderly until the bleeding stops. You try to tug it away, but your strength falters, and instead your joined hands just drift closer to your shoulder instead.

 

“Stop that. You’re being too nice.” you say, your voice quiet and entirely devoid of the bite you’d intended it to wield.

 

Yonta tilts her head lightly, her green eyes searching yours. “And that’s...bad?” she asks softly.

 

“Yes, actually.” you reply. “That we work together now, that we talk more casually –it doesn’t change how I feel about everything that’s happened.” In your mind, a quiet, persistent whisper wonders; are you sure…?

 

Her fingers tighten gently around yours. “I know.” Yonta confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. “But… even so… I can’t help the selfish part of me that wants you to like me.”

 

As the words sink in, the vulnerability in her tone disarms you. 

 

In that moment, cut off from time and the rest of the world… you catch yourself wondering if her lips were always this expressive, her eyes such a stark shade of green. 

Notes:

You're right Diane her eyes are very -very- green~ (guys don't tell me my crush on Yonta is showing-)

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and you're all staying healthy out there. See you on the next update <3

Chapter 7

[Yonta]

 

You pace back and forth in your office, the clack of your boots on the metal floor echoing in the silence.

 

Ever since your last interaction with Diane, nothing feels the same. Not even you.

 

Or maybe it's not that you're different –it's that you're exactly as you once were. That old self you thought you’d left behind on Lua. Every moment with the brunette replays in your mind; the way your heart clenched when she described her life in Duviri, the unexpected surge of tenderness in your chest that made you lean closer, the perfect excuse when she cut her finger so you could touch her, so you could take care of her. It doesn't even make any sense how you got to the point of wanting that so bad, and yet. Two days without speaking to her feels like you’re going through withdrawal.

 

“Gods... What’s wrong with me?” you wonder under your breath, fingertips pressed to your temple.

 

Deep down, however, you know the answer. You realize, with a quiet, painful clarity, that you’ve been magnetized and caught in her orbit for a while now, more than you should be. Way, way more. 

 

You know what you’re doing, you chide yourself. It’s exactly what you always did; you see something beautiful but broken and you want to fix it.

 

The irony isn’t lost on you. For years, your engineer’s mind has led you to be drawn to all the wrong people. To damaged individuals that you believed you could mend. To those elusive, unavailable souls that fascinated you for reasons they shouldn’t have. You’re haunted by the pattern; how you would ignore every red flag, every glaring sign of incompatibility, fixate on them, let them in, and inevitably find yourself isolated inside your ivory tower once more, emptier than before. Rinse and repeat.

 

You hoped that death had changed those destructive habits. But here you are, pacing because you’re itching to see Diane, the very person you should be content to be away from. Part of you is desperate to know how she is, to find any reason to be near her without it being too obvious. It’s as if young Yonta never learned the lessons of heartbreak at all. 

 

Your mind churns, yet a single truth pierces through the haze;

 

You have a crush on her. And Gods help you, it’s not a small one.

 

Alas, the first step to solving any problem is realising its roots. 

 

And now that you have, you need to let this attraction die quickly. You cannot nurture it, nor endorse it, and you absolutely cannot afford to feed it further interactions. You’re older, wiser now; you’ve seen the error of your ways from when you were ‘alive’ and vowed not to repeat the same mistakes.

 

So, what do you do?

 

…Well.

 

You proceed to ignore every bit of common sense left inside your brain and go right back in the narrow hatch where you and Diane fixed the plaza’s light regulator. With a heavy heart but steady fingers, you reach for a certain core valve and deliberately set it to a completely wrong setting. Even for you, this is surely a new low; breaking something you created, only for its temporary death to serve a greater purpose. 

 

I’m so sorry, you inwardly say to the machine as you hear the first telltale, heartbreaking sounds of it cracking apart from the inside. I’ll have you working soon, I promise.

 

In hindsight, you expected your little sabotage to do less damage. But a chain reaction ensues, one wire bursting and taking two more with it, and within moments, the entire regulator is bricked.

 

The bay and the square plunge into utter darkness, the emergency lights flickering in a disjointed, unreliable staccato. Oops, you think bitterly, your mind churning with regret, although it’s too late for that now. 

 

The tense silence that follows is interrupted by the sound of blades sliding out of their sheath. You snap your head up only to meet four chilling amber lights staring right through you. Your heart hammers in your chest as you flinch, instinctively snapping backward. You collide hard with a protruding piece of machinery, the shock of the impact jolting you.

 

“Ah–!”

 

“...Yonta?” The voice that says your name is familiar, although deeper and slightly distorted beneath layers of metal plates. 

 

Fear overrode your senses, but now your mind clarifies; this is just how Valkyr’s visor looks in the darkness. As if she wasn’t already intimidating enough in the light. 

 

You press your hand against your wildly racing heart and exhale slowly. “...Yes?”

 

Valkyr leaps down into the hatch beside you, her powerful form landing with controlled precision. Once, all her edges so close to you would have activated your fight or flight instinct. Now, you feel oddly safe with her here, even as she rises to tower over you.

 

“I thought this was a Murmur sabotage.” she says, her tone edged with disbelief. “Didn’t we fix the issue here?”

 

There is no time to wonder if this reckless act was truly the answer to your crushing loneliness, or just another mistake in a long line of them. You have to come up with something believable on the fly, while also true enough that her senses and Warframe won't immediately detect your bullshit. 

 

“It… was my bad, actually.” Very true. “Seems we didn’t quite get to the root of the problem last time.” Very false. “I still don’t know what caused a chain reaction this bad, though. It’s safest to replace the entire regulator, at this point.”

 

“I see.” Diane huffs. “What now?”

 

You glance at the Warframe, then back at the bulky machine. “Since Valkyr is here and all… I don’t suppose you could scoop the entire thing out, could you…?” you trail off. 

 

“Are you sure you want me to cut it out?” she asks. 

 

“Yes.” you say firmly, not allowing doubt to seep in. At this point, she can’t make it any worse than it already is. “I’ll make a new one from scratch, I just have to print all the parts in the Foundry first.”

 

That is all the confirmation she needs. Diane moves without hesitation. In a display of raw strength, she extends Valkyr’s claws and grips the malfunctioning regulator at each side. You watch, transfixed, as she rips it out of its sockets in a single, fluid motion, with an ease that is both mesmerizing and utterly terrifying. Then, looking up, she tosses it out through the open hatch, its battered form vanishing into the darkness with a heavy, resounding clang.

 

You can’t even bring yourself to feel sorrow for the destroyed device anymore. Instead, a quiet admiration swells within you as you turn to look at her form, all sleek muscle and thorns.

 

Valkyr leaps up first, crossing her arms as she waits for you to join her. The thing is, climbing out of here is not as easy as climbing in, especially without the regulator here for you to step on anymore.

 

“Ahem.” You say, looking up at her. “Some help would be greatly appreciated.”

 

Diane’s body language shifts, almost imperceptible at first. Her crossed arms open slowly, as if surprised by your request. Something seems to flicker in Valkyr’s stance. 

 

Carefully, she leans down, lowering herself enough to extend her hand to you, flat and open. There's something almost gentle in the way she offers herself, like she may be more than the wild, furious creature she seemed to be until now.

 

You see the sockets of her retracted claws, the faint yellow lines of energy that lead to them down her arms, but they don’t bother you anymore as you place your hand in the metallic coolness of hers. It is a lot easier than you expected, probably because you no longer see a monster when you look at her; you just see Diane.

 

Besides, you reason, she’s the one who fills this armor, who wills it, who breathes life into it. Even if its base instincts are to tear and maim and destroy, she has done nothing but rescue you so far. She has earned your trust. 

 

Diane pulls you up with ease, lifting you in something akin to a dance move. You register only a small pull and your body instinctively follows the motion, no awkward strain to your muscles, nothing forced. As you step onto the plaza and steady yourself with a hand on her bicep, you can’t help but notice how quiet Diane has grown now, how much more still she has become. 

 

You want to ask her what’s wrong, yet, at the same time, you can’t bring yourself to break this silence. The amber ‘eyes’ lean closer to you, and the red hue of the square’s emergency glow radiates on her, catching details you hadn’t noticed before. 

 

You swallow, and for a fleeting moment, the reality that you’re standing so close to her feels almost like a dream. Valkyr’s visor is inches from you, unchanging and imposing, but the pounding in your chest isn’t from fear –it's from something else, raw and deep. It is a feeling you can’t quite name, but it afflicts you with a sudden sense of vulnerability. 

 

And then she speaks, her voice low, softer than it has ever been inside that armor; “Are you… really not afraid?” she asks, her words lingering in the empty space between you two. “After everything you’ve seen…?”

 

You hesitate for a moment. “Why do you ask?” you murmur. 

 

“All these years, the only one who ever touched her claws… is me.”

 

“But you wouldn’t give me her hand if you knew I was in danger, would you?” you ask. “You already stopped me from approaching you once.”

 

“You’re always in danger around us.” Diane counters. 

 

Feeling reckless today, you let a daring thought slip past your lips; “Want to test that theory?” 

 

Before she can protest, you take Valkyr's hand in yours once more, this time deliberately orienting her clawed fingers so they point into your palm. The gesture is dangerous –strangely intimate– and you feel your heart hammer in response.

 

A chuckle escapes Diane as she turns the Warframe’s hand around yours until her fingers wrap gently around your wrist. “Weren’t you a scaredy cat? When did you get so brave?” she teases.

 

A small smile curves your lips. “Something must have rubbed off from all the times you saved me.”

 

“Don’t get used to it,” Diane warns lightly. Then she sighs and shifts her focus, letting go of your wrist. “Now, let's go fix that thing. Seeing it broken down like that annoys me.”

 

–

 

–

 

You lean against your desk in your office, the soft hum of the Foundry providing background noise as you wait for the necessary parts to print. 

 

Your mug of coffee is cradled between both hands, warming you as you try to distract yourself from the swirling thoughts in your mind. Diane sits on the couch across from you, her glowing gaze calm as it studies the steam coming off her own coffee. 

 

Dim red lights flicker every few minutes.

 

Breaking the calm silence, you ask with a playful lilt; “So, do you know how to dance? Because that move you pulled back there… it felt like I was weightless for a moment.”

 

Diane swallows hard and glances at the corner of the room as if to ensure everything is still in order with Valkyr, before her eyes return to you. “No, I… I’m not really a dancer.” she replies, her tone betraying a hint of something she refuses to tell you. “The only grace I have is during combat.”

 

“Hmm…. Still, I feel I have to thank you for the help earlier somehow.” you say, looking around your office until your eyes settle on the food dispenser, and you remember yours is the version that can print all kinds of sweets…

 

You step up to it, typing the command and waiting for a few cubes of tiramisu to drop onto the plate below. Then you turn, leaving the plate at Diane’s side, before returning to your position against your desk. 

 

Diane pops a cube into her mouth with a resigned chuckle. “As good as this tastes, I’m sick of cube food around here. I’d give anything for some real dishes again.” She says. “Thankfully, Lotus will be back from Tau in three weeks –tops– and we can all return to our previous stations.”

 

Her words hang in the air, filling it with a newfound weight. Your heart sinks just a fraction and you try to keep your face from falling along with it. “Oh.” you murmur softly, hopefully keeping your disappointment to yourself. “Where was your team operating before?”

 

“On Jupiter. It was the perfect hunting ground for us, especially Valkyr and I. Nothing but endless corrupted Corpus to fight, no real restrictions. Except for the few times a year when scientist groups flood in and we have to be more careful.” 

 

Jupiter. That’s… far. Half the system away. 

 

Not that there was any chance she would visit you even if she was stationed somewhere close, like Europa. Once again, reality rises up to slap you right in the face for a bad call. Serves you right for the people you go and develop these kinds of doomed, hopeless crushes on.

 

“I thought you’d be happier to have the old team back.” Diane comments, so some of what you feel must have shown on your face. You hope not all of it. “I hear Volt was asking about you guys, all worried.”

 

A small smile comes to your lips that fails to reach your eyes. “Blake is like a sweet puppy.” You say, nails tapping lightly against your mug. 

 

Diane chuckles sardonically. “Matches the puppy crush he has on you. You should see the glare he aimed at me when I said everything in your office was ‘deathly quiet’.” You don’t doubt she did it on purpose either. 

 

No wonder her fellow Tenno seem to think she’s borderline psychotic and unpredictable. She’s playing the part well, but you wonder why. You’ve caught glimpses of what lies beneath the act and she’s… good. She can be. So why does she insist on pushing everyone away? 

 

“That’s evil.” you state. 

 

“Just evil? I must be losing my touch.” Diane smirks. And godsdamn her, it should not look that sexy. “But, seriously, he likes you. In a few dozen years, he may even summon up the courage to say it.”

 

“That’s… flattering.” you begin, biting the corner of your lip for a moment. “But Blake is… too sweet for me.”

 

Diane seems surprised at that. Her eyebrow raises, a grin forming behind the rim of her mug. “Yes? Puppies aren’t your type…?”

 

You clear your throat, your mind stirring with old memories of you, crying alone over stacks of blueprints, utterly unhappy. “No, I… I tend to be more into bad wolves than cute puppies.” The words spill out, a lot more honest than you intended. “I always find myself charmed with the opposite of what I should be. It’s like playing Russian Roulette with myself… so no wonder it ends with a boom.”

 

Diane’s expression softens unexpectedly. Her lips press together, and then, without a word, she stands and moves closer. Your heart stutters when she leans in, and her arm extends, gently pushing the plate of tiramisu onto your desk next to you. It’s as if saying ‘you need this more than me’ or ‘have something sweet instead of those bitter memories right now’.

 

And then, as if she already didn’t mess you up enough, she gazes into your eyes with sincerity that takes your breath away. 

 

“I'm sorry to hear that.” she says. 

 

You feel a blush of warmth radiate through your stomach that you cannot and do not allow to climb higher than your throat.

 

To make matters worse, Diane continues; “When the war with the Void is over, we will undoubtedly ask the Sentients for help on how to safely move the Zariman. You won't have to be stuck here forever. Think of where you want to be after. A new start, on everything, if you want it to. I hear there's good people on Cetus.” Her voice is unexpectedly warm.

 

These are the most words you’ve heard her string together in weeks. You can hardly believe the woman talking to you now is the same one you dreaded walking through your door. 

 

Coyly, you slide your hand into your wavy hair and chuckle softly. “What, you'll set me up with a good local?” you tease, your tone light, though your heart hammers in your chest.

 

Diane grins, the faintest arch of her eyebrow hinting at mischief. “The Earth is Kiran's station –she'll be your wingwoman. Or even Lotus, provided Tenno are out of the question.”

 

A silent beat passes between you.

 

Then a slow rueful smile tugs at your lips as you reply;

 

“I didn't say Tenno were out of the question.”

 

The emergency lights flicker off again. When they come back online, Diane seems closer than before, her silhouette framed by the faint red glow, softening the angles of her pretty face, her void-illuminated eyes twinkling like stars. You notice, with a shiver of liquid desire, that if she extended her other arm to touch the edge of the desk on your right side, she would essentially be boxing you in. And, despite knowing you shouldn’t entertain such thoughts –that it’s wrong– part of you craves that closeness. 

 

Everything between you now feels still, and charged, and hot.

 

“Aren’t they.” Diane says quietly, her voice low and dark like a caress against your ear.

 

“No.” You murmur back, barely audible, your own voice trembling with unspoken longing. Your fingers ache to reach out, to trace the diagonal scar along her jawline –so delicate, so captivating– wondering if she would allow it, if she would be gentle or rough with you after. The thought sends another dangerous blush of heat down your stomach. 

 

With deliberate slowness, as though approaching a wild creature, you raise your hand between you, almost daring to brush your fingertips against the curve of her chin. For an instant, time seems to stretch, the tension between your locked gazes vibrating in your bones. 

 

Without warning, the glitching lights plunge the room into prolonged darkness again. In the absence of sight, you can only feel her –her body so firm, so achingly close– every breath, every heartbeat echoing in the gap you yearn to bridge. The sensation is heady; a mix of heat and vulnerability that leaves you trembling. 

 

And then– 

 

A sudden, resounding thud from outside shatters the spell, followed by a loud curse from Cavalero.

 

“Damn it! Yonta, can you fix this shit?!” his gruff voice booms as the emergency lights sputter back to life.

 

You take a breath. Proceed to exhale a soft, resigned huff, trying to steady the storm inside you. “Working on it!” you reply, your tone crisp and professional, even as your mind reels from the past minute.

 

Diane silently turns toward the Foundry, her attention flicking over the printed parts with the cool efficiency of someone who’s used to getting the job done. You can only bite your lip, trying to dispel the lingering taste of what almost was, only to find that the sensation refuses to fade. Your fingers are still tingling from where they almost brushed against her skin. Yet the further she walks from you, the more it feels like the previous moments with her were but a dream dissolving in the light of day, a possibility that never really existed.

 

It is in this silent moment, amidst the steady rhythm of the Foundry’s printing and your own thoughts, that you finally confront the truth: you have it worse than you thought.

 

You are not just fixated or mildly infatuated…

 

You have it bad.

 

Notes:

Can you guys tell I love writing sexual tension between my characters? No way it shows, right-

Anyways, she has it bad ;)

Feed me your comments/thoughts, they sustain us writers like you wouldn't believe :) See you in the next update!

Chapter 8

[Diane]

 

Everything is a mess inside your head. 

 

Not that it is anything new; this has been the case for the majority of your stay aboard the Zariman, but right now things seem especially bad somehow. And that is saying something.

 

You shouldn’t feel this way. You are a soldier. A survivor. A blade tempered in the Void’s cruel forge, honed to cut away weakness, sentiment, doubt. 

 

And yet, your hands are shaking.

 

You stare at them, fingers deftly dismantling your sidearm, piece by piece. Not because it needs maintenance. Not because you don’t trust it. But because you need something to do, something precise and mechanical, something that isn’t thinking about what happened.

 

What almost happened.

 

The lights overhead are steady now, bright and unwavering, unlike the flickering, red-hued dimness of before. Unlike the moment you keep circling back to.

 

The darkness of Yonta’s office. Her pretty face close –too close. The whisper of her breath, warm against your skin. The way she looked at you, soft and inviting, waiting –and the way you had leaned in.

 

Gods, why did I even do that? You berate yourself now. 

 

If not for the interruption, you would have crossed a line that can never be uncrossed. You would have ventured into downright uncharted, dangerous territory and you don’t even know what you truly feel for her. You don’t know what you feel about anything on this cursed relic of a ship anymore.

 

She was once your hero, the Archimedean whose brilliance you aspired to. Then, she was your most bitter regret, a source of anger, betrayal and blame, wrapped up in a single person. A few weeks spent together cannot so easily erase ages’ worth of resentment inside your heart. She was the one who pressed the button. For the longest time, you thought of her –of all the Holdfasts– as the very people who killed you.

 

And now?

 

Now she looks at you with those intense green eyes as if you are something warm and magnetizing, and you don’t know if that makes you want to run or stay. When you told her you’d be leaving soon –finally leaving this haunted place behind– you thought she’d understand. That she would be happy, even. 

 

You didn’t think she’d look at you like that. Like a physical blow was dealt to her that landed right home, like you said something that hurt her. Like she didn’t want to let you go.

 

But, worst of all… you didn’t think you’d care that she doesn’t want you to go.

 

You scowl, working through the motions of dismantling your firearm. Piece by piece, you take it apart and lay it out in careful order. Again.

 

The sound of the bridge doors hissing open breaks through your thoughts, but you don’t look up. You don’t need to. Bela’s stride is easy to recognize; light and confident, even when she’s tired from patrol.

 

A pause. Then a low whistle.

 

“This is the fourth time in a row you take it apart.” Bela comments, leaning over the back of the nearest chair with crossed arms. “Usually after three, something’s seriously troubling you.” A beat. “Anything you want to talk about?”

 

“Nope. Everything’s in order.” The lie rolls easily off your tongue. 

 

Bela huffs, then leans forward even more, staring at you like she can pull the words straight out of your skull. “I get not being able to talk to people, okay? I’m guilty of that too. But at least talk to someone. Get it out of your system. Meditating with Saryn helps me.”

 

A grimace overtakes your stoic expression. “How Zenurik of you. You’re starting to sound like Kiran.”

 

Bela scoffs, tipping her head back. 

 

“Also, if by ‘meditating’ you mean bitching to Saryn, Bela...” You smirk. “It doesn’t work like that between Valkyr and I.”

 

“No wonder it doesn’t.” Bela throws her hands up. “I bet even she doesn’t know what you’re feeling when you’re piloting her! How’s anyone else ever to figure you out?”

 

You click the last piece of your gun back into place with a sharp click. “Has it crossed your mind that maybe nobody else is supposed to?”

 

Bela groans. “You Madurais are all the same. All aggression and fumes. No wonder you’re the prime representative.”

 

You shake your head, exhaling sharply as you shove your weapon back into its holster. Bela sighs, but she doesn’t push further. She knows you well enough to let you retreat.

 

And you do.

 

Your quarters are dimly lit, the hum of the ship softened here, quieter, more distant. Against the glass part of the walls, Valkyr’s form is knelt before a massive display, a floor-to-ceiling projection of the ocean at night. Deep, endless water, shifting under a moonless sky. The illusion flickers subtly with the ship’s movement, making the waves feel real.

 

You step inside and close the door behind you, shutting out everything else. Valkyr’s chrome-plated form remains motionless, her head slightly bowed, as if in prayer.

 

You don’t really know if she likes the ocean. You don’t even know if she sees it the way you do. But leaving her to stare at the nothingness of space felt cruel, so you set this up instead. A horizon that never ends, a place that isn’t a cage. Your feet carry you to kneel beside her, resting your palms on your thighs. Your eyes travel over the rolling waters, letting them soothe the nerves still buzzing in your chest.

 

“And if I talk, will you even listen...?” you murmur.

 

The Warframe doesn’t respond. Of course she doesn’t.

 

She never does. Not even in your head.

 

Your hands clench against your legs. You should meditate with her. You should close your eyes, reach out, and see; through her sight, through her mind. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re too terrified. 

 

Because what if you do, and all you find there is hate? What if she sees you as nothing more than another oppressor? A necessary evil, no different from the ones who caged her, tore her apart, reforged her into this brutal, hysteric thing? What if she doesn’t see you at all?

 

Your jaw tightens. You know what it’s like to be on the wrong end of her claws. You learned the hard way how to command them before they carved more than your face. The scar along its edge burns with the memory crawling up your spine…

 

The dark corridors of the Orokin tower are cold under your thin shoes. You see, through memories that belong to a different version of you, how they shine, the way only Orokin halls can, flawless and indifferent.

 

Executor Tuvul’s grip on your shoulder is light, deceptively gentle. A handler leading a behaved puppy to a beast’s cage, to either appease it or be devoured trying. Grand chamber doors loom ahead, lined with containment seals, pulsing with golden energy. The cage they built for her.

 

You know why you’re here. You, the Tenno unable to connect with any other frame, the one that’s left… you have to make yourself useful somehow. Your brethren are out fighting Sentients or otherwise serving the Orokin, while you are only an added weight in their pristine halls. Margulis stopped them from taking you here once before. You imagine she couldn’t do so a second time. 

 

In your psyche, as you tentatively reach the wall, you hear growls –screams?– from behind the seals. You cannot see anything, but you feel something dark stirring in there. And it’s so very angry .   

 

“Calm it down.” Tuvul orders. His voice is sharp, clipped. No patience. No concern.

 

You reach out with your mind, expanding beyond flesh and bone... into the beginning sensation of transference—

 

And find bleeding thorns blocking your way. It hurts to push through, but you have to, you force yourself to squeeze in through the gaps, into a grand space that looks much like a stage, with a statue of chrome curled in on itself at the center. You don’t want to be here, but you have no other choice. You don’t want to be here, but you have to try…

 

The instant your mind brushes hers, it burns .

 

Snarling, ragged fury. A mind shredded to ribbons. A bloodcrazed thing that knows nothing but pain, nothing but hatred, nothing but the need to tear and tear and tear—

 

You gasp, crashing back into your body, phantom pains and cold sweat breaking across your skin.

 

“What–is that–” Your voice wavers, small, shaken. You step back, eyes wide, throat tight with something between fear and revulsion.

 

And then– Part of the seal opens to reveal the same monster from your failed attempt at transference. 

 

A hand lands on your shoulder.

 

Not gentle. Not patient.

 

Pushing you in.

 

You don’t know how long you stay there, kneeling beside her. The ocean display shifts, waves rolling in an endless rhythm, their soft, distant crashing the only sound in the room. You stare at the waves, watching them lap at the shore of a place you will never visit, if it even exists, and press your fingers against the scar at your jaw.

 

Finally, you exhale, running a hand down your neck. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” you mutter. “It feels so awkward...”

 

Maybe Valkyr hears you, somewhere deep inside. Maybe not. Still, you continue…

 

“The truth is, I don’t know if I can keep controlling you.” The words come quiet, but they taste sharp in your mouth, like something dangerous you shouldn’t have spoken aloud. “For a long time, it worked. We worked. Because we were angry.” Your hands curl into fists on your lap. 

 

Anger was what made you strong. It was the fire in your blood, the edge in your voice, the thing that sharpened your transference like a blade. It was the one thing that let you reach into Valkyr’s shattered, screaming mind and not get torn apart.

 

But what if you’re losing it?

 

What if you’re growing too weak?

 

Your breath shudders as it leaves you, and you hate the sound of it. “I tell myself to be mad.” you say, voice low. “I tell myself to walk out there and be as cold as the day I arrived.” You let out a bitter laugh. “And then she goes and says something nice. Does something sweet, and suddenly I feel–”

 

You swallow.

 

“... Weak.”

 

A pause. A deep breath. 

 

“I hate it.” You dig your fingers into your palms, grounding yourself, keeping the thoughts from spinning too far out of control. “I should be angry at her. I was angry at her.” 

 

But you heard how Tuvul threatened Yonta with her family back on Earth. Really, in her shoes, what would you have done?

 

“But… we both see through your senses. We see lies, we see people for what they are. It’s so impossibly difficult to hate someone so good.”  

 

More silence. 

 

“I wonder. If someone can touch my heart past my armor of thorns… doesn’t the same apply to you…?”

 

-

 

–

 

You don’t know why you’re doing this. It isn’t smart.

 

Yet your feet move before your mind catches up, carrying you through the bay of the Zariman, past the familiar gleam of Orokin gold and mockery of plantlife, each step underlined by the distant hum of machinery. You’ve spent years resenting this place, this ghost of a ship that refuses to die, yet here you are, walking deeper into it by choice. The old Diane would be disgusted. 

 

And that’s what unsettles you the most; how much you’ve changed. 

 

You pause at the door to her office, hesitating, before knocking once. For a second, there’s no sound. And then…

 

“Come in.” It’s almost a drawl, the voice lazy, distracted. She isn’t expecting you.

 

One press on the wall panel and the doors slide open on command. Yonta is slouched at her desk, entertaining a half-empty glass of whiskey, the rim pressed to her temple as though the cool condensation might chase away whatever thoughts are knocking around her skull. Blueprints and designs are spread across her workspace, faint golden light illuminating their details. She doesn’t look up at first, still scanning the papers… until you lean against the threshold. 

 

That’s when she blinks. Straightens.

 

A little flush creeps onto her face, something almost coy in how she clears her throat and hastily gathers up the designs, stacking them aside as if they’re suddenly the least important thing in the room.

 

“Hey.” she greets softly. “What… um.” Her gaze flickers over you, as if searching for something, some kind of injury or sign of trouble. “What happened? To what do I owe the visit?”

 

You shift, stepping into the office, trying to be casual about it. “Nothing important. Just checking on you.”

 

Her lips part slightly. For a moment, she doesn’t speak. You do worry you’ve fried her brain. Then she strides closer, crossing the room almost without thinking. The whiskey glass in her fingers tilts, briefly forgotten as she lifts her free hand toward you.

 

Cool, elegant fingers graze your forehead, light and searching.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks. “Are you sick?”

 

You don’t move. You don’t flinch. And that is not normal for you. 

 

After the accident, you always recoiled when people reached for you. Even Margulis. Unlike your fellow Void-siblings, you were thankful that Lotus didn’t seem to favor touch as a way of expressing her care, that she read your stress levels and body language to know when you would allow it.  

 

But here, with Yonta? You don’t pull away from her fingertips against your skin. Instead, your own hand comes up, lightly, deliberately, and guides her wrist down.

 

“I’m not sick.” you assure.

 

Yonta lets out a breathy little laugh. “You sure? This might all be a fever dream.”

 

“Of all the things on this ship, you think I’d hallucinate you?” Your lip tugs in the slightest smirk. 

 

She presses a hand against her chest, mock-offended. “Ouch. I may need a drink after that line.”

 

Your eyes fall to her hand. “You already have one.”

 

She glances at the whiskey between her fingers, then back at you with a sheepish grin. “...Point taken.” Silence stretches between you, not quite awkward, not quite comfortable. Then, softer… “You really just came to check on me?”

 

“Is that so hard to believe?”

 

Yonta tilts her head, studying you with something unreadable in her eyes. The blush lingers on her cheeks, faint but there. “Well.” she murmurs, voice quieter now. “Kind of.”

 

Yonta watches you for a moment, then exhales, rolling her shoulders back. “Anyway… since you’re here and apparently some great catastrophe isn’t underway, you might as well make yourself comfortable.” She lifts her glass slightly, offering it to you. “Want a drink?”

 

You arch a brow. “Are you offering because you’re being polite, or because you’re hoping it’ll make me more talkative?”

 

A small, cute shrug. “A bit of both?”

 

You hesitate for only a moment before reaching out and plucking the glass from her fingers, then carefully take a sip. It burns a bit, not unpleasantly, the taste smooth and rich. Your gaze stays locked with vibrant green the entire time, watching as something flickers behind those eyes. Surprise, maybe. Something else, too, deeper and darker, that settles low in your stomach in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

 

Yonta exhales, barely above a whisper. “Huh.”

 

“Didn’t think I could handle your drink?” you ask, tilting your head.

 

“No.” she murmurs, touching the edges of her wavy hair. “It’s just… unexpected you took it.”

 

“You offered, didn’t you?”

 

“I did.” 

 

Her tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip in a way that seems entirely unintentional. She doesn’t even seem to notice she’s doing it, but you do. The way her teeth catch the plush of her lip…

 

Your fingers tighten slightly around the glass. For a brief, reckless moment, you think about pressing her against the nearest surface, just to see what she’d do. Just to see if her breath would hitch the way you think it would.

 

The thought is much too dangerous. You promptly shove it aside.

 

Slowly, you turn away from her, toward the desk where she’d hastily gathered her blueprints. Curiosity tugs at you as you move toward her chair, the one she’d been occupying before you arrived, and lower yourself into it, leaning back in its luxurious embrace like a queen upon her throne. It’s plush, well-worn in a way that suggests she’s spent far too many hours in it, far too many sleepless nights.

 

You shift, adjusting your posture, then lift the whiskey glass to your lips again, cradling it in your palm as though you’re some pompous royal lady. “Well.” you smirk, tilting your chin up slightly. “This definitely helps with the whole ‘Archimedean’ flair.”

 

Yonta huffs. She steps closer, towering over you now, arms crossed as she looks down at the sight of you sprawled in her seat, with her drink, all too pleased with yourself.

 

“I don’t suppose I could have that back?” She gestures vaguely to the glass in your hand.

 

You take another slow sip, then meet her gaze.

 

“No.”

 

Yonta presses her lips together –in a way that shouldn’t look so darling– exhaling sharply through her nose like she’s weighing her options. Then she moves forward, shifting to perch on the edge of the desk, just enough to block your reach from the blueprints you’re eyeing.

 

“That’s a… new personal project.” she says, leaning slightly sideways, as if to obstruct your view further. “One I’m not ready to reveal yet.”

 

You raise an eyebrow. “Always this strict and secretive with your associates and assistants?”

 

There’s a flicker of something across her face, like she wasn’t expecting the question, or maybe she was, but wasn’t prepared for the way you said it. A faint hue dusts her cheeks.

 

“…Not all of them.” she admits, after a beat.

 

Your eyes narrow slightly, scrutinizing her. “No?”

 

Yonta’s fingers drum against the desk. She looks at you, expression unreadable, before her lips quirk into a small, soft, almost guilty smile. “I had a softer spot for some more than others.” she murmurs, gaze lingering. Then, quieter still; “And… I’d have the softest spot for you.”

 

You stare at her. 

 

She must realize what she’s just said, because her blush deepens slightly. But she doesn’t look away.

 

Tilting your chin slightly, you ask, “Why?”

 

Yonta blinks, like she wasn’t expecting the question –like she thought she could just say something like that and not have you pick at it. She hesitates, long fingers tightening ever so slightly where they rest against the desk. “Why… what?”

 

Oh no, you don’t let her play coy. “Why would I get the softest spot?”

 

Yonta exhales, lips pressing together in something like contemplation. For a moment, she looks almost tempted to deflect, to laugh it off as another one of her throwaway comments that she doesn’t have to elaborate on. But something in the air between you keeps her still.

 

“I don’t know.” A very obvious lie. 

 

The way her eyes linger on you suggests otherwise.

 

“I know me, so…” she starts, voice softer now, more thoughtful. “I know I wouldn’t be able to resist your eyes, especially on this ship.”

 

You swallow, caught off guard by the confession, the sincerity of it.

 

“Perhaps…” she continues, gaze distant, “Perhaps I would have had you working in a different department just so you wouldn’t distract me, at first. But, in reality…” Her lips curl slightly. “I’d find every excuse to check on you.” She pauses. And then, almost imperceptibly…  

 

She shivers.

 

It’s brief, fleeting, but you catch it as clearly as you would any other motion. It sends something dark and warm curling right in the pit of your stomach. You can tell she’s imagined it before, the same way she’s imagining it now. There’s no hiding from your eyes; and perhaps part of her doesn’t even want to.

 

Urged by your gaze, by the heavy atmosphere between you, she breathes out, barely above a whisper–

 

“Gods, it would be so wrong, but… I would love to have you working under me.”

 

Your breath catches.

 

She’s looking at you now, truly looking at you, her eyes dark with unabashed, barely-restrained desire. Her hand moves, slow, deliberate and you don’t stop it. You let her fingers rest beneath your chin, tilting your face up, her thumb resting at the corner of your lips with a touch so light it makes your pulse stutter. As if it takes all her willpower not to feel them more directly.

 

Out of all the attacks you’ve ever sustained, this is the one move that manages to paralyze you.

 

And the way she looks now, like she’s balancing on the edge of something dangerous, makes you wonder what would happen if you leaned in just an inch closer.

 

If you made her fall.

 

You watch the way Yonta’s breath hitches, the way her fingers twitch against your chin as if barely resisting the urge to tighten their hold. A slow smile curls at the edges of your lips.

 

“Under you, hm.” You state.

 

Yonta inhales sharply, her pupils dilating ever so slightly. “Don’t do this to me…” she whispers, almost like a plea.

 

You tilt your head, gaze steady. “Elaborate.”

 

For a moment, she doesn’t move– just looks at you like she’s at war with herself.

 

And then… she does.

 

She moves quickly, with intent, her glass abandoned on the desk as she climbs into your lap, thighs settling firmly on either side of yours, the weight of her pressing down like something inevitable. You barely have time to react before her lips crash onto yours.

 

There’s nothing shy, nothing hesitant about the way she kisses you. No trace of her usual nervous, bubbly demeanor. This is raw want.

 

She kisses you like she’s afraid she’ll never get another chance, like she wants to commit every single second of this to memory. Her fingers slide up to your jaw, tracing the angle of it before tangling into your hair, gripping just enough to make your breath stutter. You freeze, stunned for the briefest moment…

 

Then you kiss her back. Hard.

 

With just as much passion, just as much hunger. Your hands find her waist, gripping tight as you pull her closer, pressing into her until there’s nothing left between you but heat and the way your breaths mingle.

 

Yonta lets out a small, shaky sound against your lips, something between a gasp and a sigh, that sends an electric sensation down your spine. She tastes like whiskey and something that’s uniquely her.

 

And you find that you can’t get enough.

 

You feel her tilting her head to deepen the kiss, fingers tightening where they’re buried in your hair, the tip of her tongue slipping over yours to taste you. Her body presses greedily against your own, trying to eclipse any distance, and you feel the slight tremor in her thighs where they cage you in, the warmth of her seeping into your skin through your layers.

 

It’s overwhelming. Intoxicating.

 

Now you finally understand people’s obsession with this sort of thing. 

 

Neither of you really needs oxygen, breathing mostly a habit after the Void reshaped you, but you have to pull slightly apart to gather your bearings. And that is when hesitation strikes. 

 

Her breath comes fast, shallow, her eyes searching yours. She looks undone already, pupils blown wide, pretty pink lips swollen from kissing you. They linger close enough to test you, your control, in a way not even piloting Valkyr ever has. 

 

“I…” she starts, then stops, swallowing hard. “Should I apologise…?”

 

Any other situation and you would reply that people apologise when they accidentally run into someone, not when they pin them down and kiss them within an inch of their life. “Why, are you sorry?” 

 

Yonta hums, her fingers tracing absent patterns at the nape of your neck, apparently determined to ruin you irreparably today. “No.” A whisper. “Not really.”

 

A strange weight settles between you. You hold her gaze, and as much as you know this isn’t smart, you should accept that fake apology and move on –play it off as curiosity, so it doesn’t hurt you both more than it likely already will– you also cannot summon the strength to lift her off. Hell, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from pulling her back in , the way she’s touching you. 

 

Then, softly, her hand slides down your neck, settling upon your chest, right over your fast-beating heart. It’s funny, because you had almost come to believe this part of you was frozen over, not functioning as it should anymore after the Zariman.  

 

“Diane.” she murmurs, your name shaping itself on her lips like a prayer. 

 

Gods, she’s making you feel too much.

 

“Just… stay like this for a bit.”

 

You shouldn’t.

 

But you do. 

 

Notes:

*Smashes Yonta and Diane together like action figures* Now kiss.

You guys can probably tell how much fun I had writing their time together ;). And thank you all for your wonderful comments both here and on Tumblr, full of love and support for all my works <3

Chapter 9

[Yonta]

 

The renovated Agricultural department is beautiful underneath the sun lamps you recently repaired. A testament to new beginnings. 

 

You like being here, among the sprouting seeds and shy little blossoms, struggling to make a place for themselves even in the less than ideal environment. Survivors, all of them, just like you. Hombask is walking one step behind you, describing the progress, how your inventions helped her breathe new life into the barren spaces of the past. 

 

Everything is calm as you tread along the neat rows of freshly planted vegetables and flower buds, until your eyes settle on something unusual; there, in the far back, lies a bloom with deeply saturated amber leaves and yellow-tipped thorns, so vivid it steals the spotlight from everything around it. 

 

“Be careful with that one.” Hombask warns, her voice measured. “Its extract can enhance other flora’s resistance and growth, but it is highly poisonous.”

 

Of course it is. You’re always drawn to dangerous things, aren’t you. Things you have been warned not to approach. No wonder this flower reminds you of someone, all sharp edges and deadly allure.

 

You bite your lip as a memory flickers through your mind; a recollection of what it felt like to kiss such a gorgeous, highly poisonous thing only yesterday. For that one perfect moment, you had it all. Everything you thought you lost, like the intensity of life, the high, the freedom, the taste of pleasure. 

 

Your body warms just thinking about it.

 

Before you can lose yourself entirely in the memory of Diane, Hombask steps up beside you. “Where’s your mind at?” she asks, gentle concern underlying her words. 

 

“Nowhere in particular. Just… proud of what we’ve built here.” You are quick to offer the dismissive lie, far from ready to expose the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

 

With a soft, knowing smile, Hombask adds: “You look happier lately. It’s good to see.”

 

That one takes you by surprise. A light frown creases your brow as you turn to her. “I… do?” 

 

“Mhm. It’s as if you’re finally moving on from what happened, not carrying the Zariman on your shoulders anymore. I’m happy for you, Yonta. I watched this ship gnaw at you long before it was even built.”

 

Your lips press together. She isn’t wrong. An entire lifetime, it feels like your life was not your own. Your choices, always influenced by some higher force, often with a hidden threat attached. You couldn’t do the things you really wanted, and you had to convince yourself you wanted whatever you were doing at the time to be less miserable. All that, only to carry your worst mistake well into your second chance at living. 

 

Gods, you just wanted to be free of this pain. 

 

But now…? Maybe you’re only now realizing that you can be. 

 

You find that you don’t feel it when you’re with Diane. Your mind doesn’t turn against you, your body isn’t suffering from chronic anxiety. When your hands shake and your breath hitches, it’s not in a bad way. She has become a steady force around your broken pieces, her presence anchoring them together. 

 

But, the creeping fear of her departure weighs heavily on your heart. What will happen when the one thing making you truly smile right now leaves you behind?

 

Without you, will I fall back into darkness once more…? 

 

–

 

–

 

The minutes crawl by at an agonizing pace. 

 

You sit at your desk, fingers idly tapping against the polished surface, but your mind is anywhere except on your work. You can’t even pretend to look at the blueprints in front of you anymore, let alone think about them. Every so often, your restless gaze drifts to the door, as if sheer force of will might make it swing open and reveal the one person you want to see most.

 

Diane is still out there, one deck below, finishing her patrol –probably looking mighty hot doing it– and you know better than to interrupt. Although you haven’t discussed it yet, you get the feeling she prefers to keep her affairs, especially ones of this sort, private, away from prying eyes. You respect that. You really do.

 

And yet, temptation gnaws at you.

 

You can’t help but imagine stepping out into the corridors, tracking her down before one of her teammates has come to take her place. She will probably be standing at a vantage point, arms either crossed or on low alert at her sides, claws retracted, expression unreadable beneath Valkyr’s impassive helm. Maybe she’ll sense you long before she sees you, smell you long before she talks to you, though you love to think you can creep up on her. And maybe… if you play your cards right, she’d let you pull her away, let you steal her from duty’s grasp just a little earlier than planned...

 

But that isn’t how this works. Diane operates in a space apart from the rest of the world, and she chooses when, how and for how long to let others in. 

 

So you wait.

 

Anticipation simmers beneath your skin, skittering warm. You wonder if she’s thinking of you too, if her mind drifts to the same yearning that has you gripping the edge of your desk just to keep yourself steady.

 

When the door finally opens, you are already on your feet, smiling.

 

Diane steps inside, still piloting Valkyr, and tilts her head just so, an unmistakable, almost playful gesture that makes it seem as if the warframe itself is smirking.

 

“Wait long?” she asks, voice smooth but carrying the slightest edge of teasing.

 

You let out a soft breath, shaking your head, but the truth is written all over your face. You did wait. It felt like forever.

 

Without hesitation, you step forward, drawn to her like a magnet. Your arms are slightly forward, as if to reach for her, to pull her out of Valkyr’s metal frame yourself. 

 

She doesn't resist. In fact, she meets you halfway, void energy unraveling in a whisper of light as she emerges, no longer an untouchable phantom but finally tangible, real.

 

Mine.

 

You don’t give her a moment to think. The second she is fully here with you, your hands slide around the curve of her nape, fingers threading through the soft brown strands at the base of her skull. You pull her in and kiss her, warm lips moving together gently, unhurried, like savoring something long-awaited. She always feels so good, so solid and powerful beneath your hands. You could get hooked on this –no, that’s a lie; you already are– and as much as it could hurt you in the end you’re already in too deep to do anything but indulge this craving. 

 

Diane exhales softly against your mouth, just enough for you to feel the way she melts for you despite herself. You can already sense the lingering tension in her muscles softening, fading away. When you pull back, your smile stretches even wider at the sight of the faint, darling little blush dusting her cheeks.

 

“Is this how you plan to greet me when I come to see you now…?” she asks. 

 

Little does she know, you’d have her like this all the time if you could. When she comes to see you, when she’s working on anything that keeps her stationary, when she’s sleeping. After so long in the cold vastness of space, and the cold vastness of an uncaring world before it, you’re quickly growing addicted to this warmth. To the feel of something so achingly beautiful in your arms, looking at you in a way that makes the rest of the room disappear, thawing further at your every caress.   

 

“Do you mind?” you ask, half teasing and half genuine, thumb running lightly over her cheek. 

 

She doesn’t reply, but her lip tugs in a way that clearly says ‘no’. Still, you let your hand trail down her neck and back to your side, careful about touching her too long, too intimately. The distant memory of an old partner who called you too much is burned into your psyche, even if you can no longer recall their face. Even if you never had the courage back then to ask too much what. Too touchy, too expressive, too loving, too soon…?

 

“I didn’t say you could do that.” Diane chastices.

 

“Do… what?” You ask cautiously, old traumas making your voice smaller than you’d like. 

 

“Did I say you could lower your hand…?” 

 

It’s not even said in a particularly assertive way, but something about it just makes you instantly break into a blush. A weak chuckle leaves your lips in a single breath, and you step closer again, moving one hand on her collar and the other back to her neck, guiding her into you until your temples are touching. 

 

You, darling, will be the death of me… 

 

Diane leans against you, and for a long, quiet minute, you both stay unmoving. The more you touch her, the more it feels like she needs this comfort just as much as you do, as if both of you are discovering it has the strange power to mend old scars you thought would ache forever. 

 

Slowly, you disentangle yourself, only to guide her over to the nearby couch. You sit pressed up against her side, gently guiding her to you until her head rests on your chest. Your fingers move softly through her hair, careful and tender. Even though your body heats with downright sinful ideas at her touch on your waist, you push them back, simply enjoying the closeness you never really had. 

 

“You seem tired.” you begin softly. “Was it the Murmur again…?”

 

“No. They’ve been oddly quiet the past few days.” Diane replies. “But I’m sure you’ve heard Valkyr isn’t the easiest frame to pilot. Some days, this is truer than others.”

 

You look at the Warframe, motionless and deactivated right past the shut doors of your office, eyes following her arms, all the way down to the tips of her claws, then to the scar on Diane’s jaw, tracing it absently. A mark left on her by a thin, too-sharp blade, slightly curved, that no doubt sliced deep. Although Valkyr matches the description, surely, it can’t really be… 

 

Diane’s hand closes around yours. “Did you figure it out?” she whispers. You’re sure she can feel your heart rate picking up speed. “That’s right. The Orokin threw me into a cage with her and expected only one to come out.” Your fingers go still in her hair. “A warning would have been nice. I didn’t even have time to phase into my Void body before her claws reached me.”

 

And yet she still speaks with such deep love about that frame that you don’t understand. 

 

“Technically, I never lived through that horror, this version of me being in Duviri. Alas, the scar comes with the merging of two timelines into the form you now see.” A pause. “I don’t mind it, really. I choose to think of it as the start to our ‘relationship’.” Her lip quirks up with the word. 

 

Part of you wants to tell her this doesn’t exactly sound like the healthiest relationship to be in, but you are quite literally the last person to judge on that. As if sensing your apprehension, Diane adds; 

 

“It wasn’t her fault. If you could see into her mind like I have, you’d know.”

 

“But, why. Why would they even make such a thing…?” But you know that is a pointless question when it comes to the Orokin. The answer, often, is: ‘because they could’. 

 

“Because they needed something that could destroy Excalibur, should she turn against them.” Diane explains. “The first frame they created, built for mass destruction. And their last… the perfect single-target annihilator.” A pause. “They succeeded a bit too well on both ends. So well, in fact, they didn’t even dare name her, when they realized what they’d made.”

 

“You named her…” you breathe out. “Why Valkyr?”

 

A soft chuckle leaves her lips that brushes over your collar. “It was the alias of my favorite superhero as a kid.” Thinking back, you can more or less recall the comic she’s talking about. ‘Never fear, Valkyr is here’. “The claws matched and, well… I had to convince myself I didn’t fear her in order to control her.”

 

You hold her a little tighter as the words settle between you, bodies still folded into one another on the couch like puzzle pieces that finally found a place to fit. Your heart twists painfully at the thought of what she must have endured to become what she is.

 

An antihero carved out of fire and blood, tempered in anger until her gentleness was burned away. No wonder she wears the role so well, even among her own kind.

 

You shift just enough to see her face, gently cradling her head in your hands. Void-glowing eyes meet yours, guarded still, but softer than before. 

 

“I’m sorry for everything you went through.” you say, voice low, almost reverent. “I wish I could make that cruelty go away.”

 

Diane blinks, tensing in the way she does when she’s caught off guard, and for a moment she looks like she might pull away. But instead, she lets out a breath, slow and faint. 

 

“You can’t fix everything, Yonta.”

 

But I can try, you think.

 

Instead of saying it, you stroke your fingers along her neck. “Oh, I know. You’re far too complicated a system, even for an Archimedean.”

 

Then again… overcomplicated systems happen to be your specialty. 

–

–

 

The other Holdfasts keep telling you you’re smiling more. Each of them, in their own way. They say they’re glad, that it’s good you’ve found some measure of happiness in the bleakness of your existence.

 

The truth is not that simple. Because in reality, you’re not sure you even know how to be happy. That emotion always felt like something fleeting, something you were too clumsy to hold onto, always slipping between your fingers like liquid, no matter how carefully you cupped your hands.

 

But calm… that is what she gives you.

 

And it is something you have never known. Not as a child, when every breath felt shallow with nerves in that claustrophobic colony. Not later, with the Orokin Lords breathing down your neck, their expectations like spikes suspended overhead you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried. Even here, in this graveyard of a ship, surrounded by ghosts, you thought that restless panic was simply your natural state.

 

But when she’s near?

 

The noise stops.

 

For the first time in your life, there isn’t an endless array of thoughts hammering through your skull, no desperate need to move your hands, to keep them busy so you won’t unravel.

 

When she’s here, your hands only want to do one thing anyway; touch her.

 

And you do. Sometimes lightly, a brush of fingers over her arm, or the curve of her jaw. Sometimes more desperately, clutching at her as though she might slip away.

 

And yet, no matter how you tighten your embrace… she will leave, won’t she?  

 

Rather than wallow in sadness over the inevitable, you press a little closer to her back in your queen-sized bed, savoring this warmth while you have it. Your tablet is perched on the opposite edge of the mattress, playing some random action movie, its sounds lightly muffled by the sheets pooled around the speaker. 

 

Diane’s breathing is steady, her pretty face turned toward the dim screen, highlights and shadows dancing on its contours. You let your fingertips trace over her bare shoulder, following the pattern of the scars engraved on her skin, the pale ridges that speak of stories you’ll never fully know. The faintest shiver runs through her.

 

She stirs, turning her head toward you, amber-lit eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.

 

“You watching a different kind of movie?”

 

You smile, leaning closer. “Of course. The one I’m watching has far better visuals.”

 

Her lips twitch upwards, though her voice comes firm as ever. “Stop touching me like I’m made of glass, Yonta.”

 

The words strike deeper than she could know. Because sometimes, when you look at her, that’s exactly what you see; steel on the outside, forged and hardened by years of survival, but something fragile underneath. 

 

Before you can answer, she moves, pulling you over her –effortlessly, you may add, a strength that always startles you no matter how many times you see it– until your weight presses into her front. Her hand slides up to yours and leads it to her neck, intent, urging, almost demanding. Your breath hitches for a moment at the tingly sensation blooming across your skin, everywhere.

 

“Come on.” she murmurs, her gaze locked on yours. “Squeeze. You’ll never get another chance like this. Make the most of it.”

 

And the power trip is tempting, you of all people know its siren call well. Deep down, whether you would admit it or not, you have always been drawn to the same authority you despised as a child. Come to think of it, the unquestionable power she embodies is probably part of the reason why you were initially so attracted to Diane. Your wolf in human skin.

 

Instead of taking the offered leash, though, you tilt your head, and let your thumb graze her collarbone. “I don’t need the illusion of control.”

 

“You shouldn’t let someone like me unleashed where it matters.” A warning if you’ve ever heard one. 

 

Does she think she will hurt you if things between you progress further? That she will break you? 

 

“You see yourself as a dangerous beast.” you whisper, breath warm against her cheek, “But I don’t believe you need a collar.”

 

Her voice brushes against your lips, rough and low. “You may come to regret those words.”

 

The whisper hangs in the air for only a heartbeat before it dissolves into raw heat. Then there is only the press of lips and bodies together, equal parts tug and friction. Your world narrows down to the sound of her breathing, the scent of her skin, the feverish quality of this moment you never thought you’d experience again.

 

The movie plays on, forgotten, as the dark folds in around you…

 

–

–

You are falling into darkness.

 

It stretches forever, cold and suffocating, until you can’t even feel the ground beneath you. You are suspended in shadows, suffocating, and your body trembles though you don’t know why. Or…perhaps you do. You are not alone here. Something is around you, behind you, looking at you.

 

A flicker of movement. A shadow, rippling across the void, until you recognize its shape;

 

Your own.

 

She steps forward as though peeling herself out of a mirror, but her eyes… her eyes are hollow sockets, rimmed with madness. And her smile –wide, broken, a rictus grin that twists your stomach.

 

“You’ve always been drawn to dark things.” she croons, her voice a mockery of your own, slick with venom. “But this one…” The edges of her lips curl further, sharp enough to cut. “…this one takes the cake.”

 

Your throat tightens. You try to speak, but the words die before they reach your lips.

 

She circles you, sizing you like a predator. “Beautiful, deadly Diane.” A mocking chuckle. “Do you really delude yourself into thinking she could love you? ...You? The one who doomed her? The one who set all her suffering in motion?”

 

Her laughter scrapes like metal on glass. “You know it, don’t you? Good intentions don’t cleanse the blood from your hands, Archimedean. But your own blood just might.”

 

You flinch, because it’s true, isn’t it…? 

 

No matter how you try to forget, or to make up excuses for yourself, there is only one truth at the bottom of it all; You were too afraid to stand tall, too afraid to face public ridicule and see your family paraded as an example before your execution. So you chose the easier cowardice –everyone else’s sacrifice, not yours.

 

And she knows. Diane knows what you are, the same way her Warframe senses what lies at your core; 

 

A coward. 

 

You are no Margulis. 

 

“Attraction is skin-deep.” your double sneers. “A distraction at best. But do you know what lies at her core? Rage. And rage will always devour.”

 

You clutch at your chest, gasping, but the darkness presses in tighter, cold and endless. The shadow leans close, her whisper dripping like poison into your ear;

 

“You yearn for a reverie, but your fate…”

 

A pause, and that broken grin splits impossibly wider.

 

“…is a nightmare.”

 

The void swallows you whole.

 

–

 

–

 

You wake with a start.

 

The nightmare clings to you like oil, thick and choking. Your chest heaves, breath jagged as you glance wildly around. But the room is calm. Quiet.

 

Diane lies beside you, her chest rising and falling softly. No thrashing, no clenched fists, no echoes of torment dragging her through the dark. Just deep, even breaths, like she’s at peace.

 

Relief punches through you so hard your hands shake. Carefully, slowly, you ease yourself from the bed, biting down on a gasp when the mattress creaks. Thankfully, she doesn’t stir. You silently pad barefoot through the corridor, fingers buried in your hair, tugging just enough to ground yourself.

 

The walk to your office is short, but your heart is already hammering by the time you reach the door. And when you step inside, you nearly collapse.

 

A shape looms by the doorway. Tall. Angular. Watching.

 

Your heart stutters, every nerve shrieking –until memory slots into place.

 

Valkyr.

 

Right. Diane left her here earlier. A sentinel at rest, deactivated but no less imposing, her silhouette half-swallowed by shadow.

 

You let out a shaky exhale and force yourself forward, cautious steps bringing you closer until the sleek chrome catches the dim light. You’ve seen warframes before, from electric Volt to radiant Excalibur, but there’s something different about this one. It almost causes you a sense of… unrest. 

 

Your eyes trace her streamlined plates, the cold elegance of the exoskeleton. You know what lies beneath: infestation, agony given form. But even so, you can’t help the strange awe curling in your chest. 

 

Tentatively, you reach out. Your hand hovers for a moment, trembling, before finally making contact. The metal is cool beneath your palm, unmoving, indifferent.

 

“I envy you, you know?” you whisper, voice rough from the sob that never made it out of your nightmare. “For the love she has for you. She… adores you.”

 

No reply. Of course not. Just silence, thick and heavy.

 

Your fingers splay against the warframe’s chest, pressing harder, as though you could will the words into her.

 

“Please…” you murmur. “Protect her. Keep her safe, okay…?”

 

The warframe doesn’t stir, doesn’t so much as hum. But the weight in your chest eases, fraction by fraction. 

 

“Keep her safe.”

Notes:

Yonta is absolutely wife material and you cannot change my mind on this. (Yes, this entire chapter is shameless self indulgence on my darling Archimedean but it does also have plot significance. Trust me. It does.)

Hey guys :D sorry for the long wait, but life is super hectic and doesn't really allow time for writing. But! That being said, I AM back to finish this story and give it the conclusion it deserves :) Thank you for all your love and support in the comments, it means a lot <3

Notes:

Leave a lil comment with your thoughts, it goes a long way to make a writer happy their work is appreciated <3