Lore:Rites of Passage

"And my vanquisher will read that book, seeking the weapon, and they will come to understand me, where I have been and where I was going."The following is a verbatim transcription of an official document for archival reasons. As the original content is transcribed word-for-word, any possible discrepancies and/or errors are included.

Rites of Passage is a Lore book that was added in Season of the Witch. Entries are unlocked by progressing through the "Bladed Path" questline during Season of the Witch. It follows a number of characters and their perspectives during Clash of the Hive Gods.

Process

Saint-14 and Osiris sat across from ecch other at the rough wooden table, focused on the array of wires, struts, and braces spread out before them. Mithrax had mentioned that his Splicer Gauntlet had been causing his arm to go numb, and Saint's overeager offer of assistance had turned into an evening of frustratingly meticulous tinkering. Mithrax had politely excused himself hours ago, but and Osiris were so focused on their discussion of Savathûn's bargain they hardly noticed.

"We don't have a choice," Osiris said, threading a wire through the lacey frills of a tiny Ether converter. "The future the Witness is crafting beyond that portal is more terrible than we could dream. Anything is preferential to that."

"Anything but her," Saint grumbles.

"Even her," Osiris said defiantly. "If Savathûn knows how to pursue the Witness—and there is little doubt that she does—we must work with her. There is no other way."

With an Exo's patient precision, Saint straightened a row of metal pins. "I do not know how you can say that. After everything."

Osiris raised his eyebrows. "I am a beacon of forgiveness," he said, but the words sour on his tongue.

"So you forgive ber?" Saint didn't need to look up from his work.

"No," Osiris said quietly. He aligned a metal tab with its slot and pressed it into place, waiting to hear a click. It didn't come.

"The trurh is," Osiris said, "I hardly think of her at all."

Saint looked at him flatly, but Osiris shrugged, his face open. "I know how it sounds. I have acknowledged what happened and… moved on, I suppose. I am here. Alive. With you. They say that's the best revenge, don't they?"

Saint coiled a stubborn spring and prepared to slide it into a support brace. "Is it revenge to allow the violator to avoid accountability?"

"The 'violator' is dead," Osiris said wryly.

"And will live again if Eris and the Guardians fulfill this prophecy or prediction—" the spring shot from between Saint's fingers "—or whatever Savathûn wants to call this new trick!"

Osiris heard the spring clatter in the corner near the kitchen and rose wordlessly to hunt for it. Saint sighed. "I do not know how you can so calm," he said. "You sometimes act as though you do not remember what she did to you."

"I remember it all," he said softly, without turning away from the corner. "I remember being… helpless." The words caught in his throat.

Saint pushed his chair back and stood, but Osiris was already back at the table, a dusty spring in the center of his palm. "There is still fury inside me," he said, "fury that I will probably carry forever. I acknowledge it, but I do not let it consume me. I control it, and take strength from that."

Osiris placed the spring on the table and sat back down. Saint moved to his side. "Denying your emotions is not strength," Saint said carefully.

"I admit that, if I could, I'd change what happened," Osiris said. "But not if doing so changed where it led me." Osiris reached out and gave Saint a half-embrace around the hips.

"Have we finished talking about this now?" Osiris asked, and Saint heard the rawness in his voice.

Saint kissed the top of Osiris's head and sat back down. It would have to be enough.

A Matter of Distrust

As Ikora neared the console in the H.E.L.M., a voice cried out from the shadows as a figure lunged for her.

Ikora's hands moved reflexively to deflect the blow and deliver a killing strike, but she stopped after recognizing her attacker. She allowed Elsie to grab the front of her robes and shove her against the bulkhead.

"Were you even listening?" Elsie screamed, her hands shaking in frustration. "How many reports, Ikora? How many times did I tell you what I saw?"

The pain in her voice tore at Ikora.

She knew the stories almost as well as Elsie at this point: the Exo had traveled back from a future where Eris Morn held dominion over everything and even bent Savathûn to her will. It had not ended well.

Elsie pushed away and began to pace, furious.

"Elsie," Ikora said gently, "I know the future you came from. But that is not this future."

"I have seen what happens when Eris Morn has unchecked power," Elsie hissed. "I have smelled the corpses."

Ikora wanted to comfort Elsie, but knew that any attempts at camaraderie would push her further away. Instead, she straightened her robes. "The Eris in your timeline was corrupted by Darkness," she said coolly. "We bow understand how to wield the Darkness without becoming lost in it."

"Eris Morn was corrupted by POWER, Ikora," Elsie said. "The same power you're encoraging Guardians to—to—" she nearly choked on her words, "—to tithe to her through Hive rituals! And you think that's somehow BETTER?!"

Ikora took a breath. "I hear you," she said with quiet authority. "And while I trust Eris, I will not lose my objectivity. If actions must be taken, I will take them."

Elsie shook her head. "I wonder if you said the same thing before your body was buried in the wreckage of the Tower."

Ikora waited. One cannot speak when the other is unwilling to listen, Osiris has once told—

"It's in her voice," Elsie said. She sounded small. She sounded truly afraid, Ikora realized. "You can hear it, even through her Hive transformation. When she speaks, she's smiling."

Elsie took a careful breath. "When she led her troops from the Scarlet Keep. When she attacked the Traveler. When she turned us against each other and I was forced to…"

Ikora reached out a hand to stop her from having to say it.

"To kill my sister," Elsie whispered, pleading for understanding. "To kill Ana. Eris was smiling that same smile."

Ikora laced her fingers together and looked at the floor.

"I won't watch it happen again," Elsie said, and her voice was ice.

Auspices

Drifter sidled through Eris's Athenaeum, poking at her occult doodads. Many of the unidentifiable objects were covered in one type of grime or another: wax, tallow, machine grease, or blood. Hw shook his head with affection, amazed that someone so sharp could be so sloppy.

He spotted the Deck of Whispers spread haphazardly across Eris's lectern and strode across the room, gathering them into a clean pile. He'd had so many fortunes and misfortunes over his many lifetimes, he doubted another one would tip the scales either way. Drifter cut the deck fearlessly and flipped over the top card with a flourish.

THE HARBINGER

As he stared into the card, the magnitude of Eris's undertaking loomed large in his mind. "Don't worry, Moondust," he muttered. "You got this."

He casually back on top of the deck. "And when you're done, I'll be waiting."

* * *

Zavala eyed the Deck of Whispers warily. He had been touring Eris's base of operations when the cards caught his eye. They seemed to draw his attention with silent insistence.

The commander had never been one to seek omens or portents. It wasn't that hw chafed at the idea of cosmic forces influencing his fate; the far-reaching effects of the Traveler on his life had long put to rest his hubristic sense of self-determination. Rather, he distrusted the riddles that such ocular devices employed. Be had heard too many of the Witch Queen's half-truths to trust anything but hard evidence anymore. And yet…

Zavala picked up the deck and immediately sensed its power. It felt heavier than the weight of its materials. As he hefted it in his palm, a card slid from the middle of the deck, as if pulled by an unseen hand. Zavala watched gravely as it fell face up at his feet:

LAMENT

He gave a plaintive chuckle. Perhaps the oracles were not so difficult io interpret at all.

* * *

"Ikorakel?" Mithrax called out to the Athenaeum. He had come looking for the Warlock Vanguard on City business, but having found the space empty, he paused his search to scrutinize her latest operation. Mithrax had strong objections to Eris's use of Hive magic, but knew the Vanguard was not his House to command.

He perused the esoteric artifacts littering the space with mild distaste. They reminded him too much of the relics of Nezarec, which had plagued his youth. As his gaze came to rest on the Deck of Whispers, he felt a familiar numbness spread throughout his chest. Though the sensation had become more prevalent in recent months, he'd told no one.

As the Kell picked up the deck with his upper-right hand, he felt his Splicer Gauntlet pulse with energy. The cards were clearly imbued with a power beyond his experience. With his lower-left hand, he delicately withdrew a card and placed it face up on the table.

ASCENSION

Nithrax pondered the omen gravely. It reminded him of all the tribulations his House had suffered in coming to the Last City. Their ascension had been a volent and sorrowful one, filled with detractors. Yet the peace and security they found among the Humans had justified their risks. Now it was Eris who walking into the sanctum of her mortal enemy to her people.

Mithrax shook his head in self-rebuke. Perhaps he'd been too rigid in his opinions regarding Eris Morn's mission. He owed her the same grace that the Vanguard had extended to him.

He slid the card back into the middle of the deck and felt the numbness in his chest recede once again.