Lore:Constellations: Difference between revisions

The clinicians at BrayWell call it "interplanetary relocation maladjustment psychosis": a psychobabble catch-all for mental disturbances that they can't explain. Other people, searching for certainty, call it "prophecy." But all I can offer is a loose, tangled connection that I painstakingly unravel when I dream.

The Traveler is a force of benevolence.

I am the Speaker who witnesses the end of the world.

I am the first Speaker to see a Ghost.

The greatest surprise isn't being captured; it's being captured by a Dreg.

In the end, when they drag me, tied and bound, into a damp cave miles out from my settlement, it's three Dregs. I look around for a Kell or a Priest—someone in charge—but we're alone. There are no Pikes or Ether tanks, no banners, no Servitors. I sit on a rock and look at my captors, more perplexed than afraid.

I am the last Speaker.

I am the child of two self-exiles, and I live in a settlement in the shadow of a looming mountain. There are about three hundred of us, and we've lived here for nearly seven years. When we first arrived, we were under the jurisdiction of a Warlord named Cathal. He offered us protection for a high price, requisitioning a third of our supplies and conscripting nearly half our people to his cause. The actual protection he provided was limited. The Warlords used our valley like a battlefield, crashing through like giants who couldn't see the lives they were ending. But they could. They saw us. They just didn't care.

The Iron Lords drove Cathal out nearly a year ago, and we've lived in comfortable independence since then, with little oversight from our Risen saviors. Our people voted for that. The Iron Lords saved us, but they would be no different from the Warlords if they also wished to rule us.

Now I sit in negotiations with one of them, a woman named Lady Efrideet.

I am the last Speaker, and I sit at a table with the Vanguard while the City around us fights over nothing.

"We built this City to find some kind of unity," Tallulah says. She has her hands on the table and is leaning forward, like she might jump over it. "We're breaking apart from the inside."

"What does the Traveler say?" Saint-14 asks, quietly. Everyone looks at me.

"That was the direct result of creating us," Osiris says, leaning back in his seat. He is stone-faced, as always. "Violence. Does the Traveler truly know what it wants?"

"Well, then we've got to get rid of Echelon South, for one," Tallulah lists, counting on her fingers. "And those Binary Star idiots, too. Trinary? Binary? Whatever. Anyway, there are plenty of fingers pointed at this new group, too. Monarchy something."

We vote. Osiris is the only no. Then, after an inquiry into the violence, we form the Consensus.

I am the last Speaker, but I have been searching for the next. I stand on the balcony of my small apartment with Lady Efrideet, who wishes to leave the Last Safe City of Earth.

Something terrible is going to happen.

So I go on as if nothing has happened. I attend Consensus meetings. I discuss Hidden intelligence with Ikora. I receive reports and news from our scouts outside the City, and I consult with Zavala. People come to me with questions, as always. They ask how to cope with loss, and change, and fear—all daily realities of this life. They ask how to cope with doubt.