EARTH // LAST CITY // DETENTION FACILITY // The Warlock Shayura kneels on a pillow, eyes closed and head bowed, hands folded in her lap. The soundscape of city noise punctuated by the melody of birds and the whistling wind surrounds her. But there is no grass beneath her pillow, only cold concrete. Four holographic screens encircle Shayura, providing a semi-realistic depiction of the gardens at the center of the Last City; a place of calm serenity situated in the shadow of the Traveler. "I exalt our forebearers," Shayura says softly. "I exalt my fireteam." "I exalt my truth." "I exalt my heart." "I exalt humanity's capacity for love." "This above all else, I hold true." The words feel like thick syrup in her mouth. Guilt makes it taste bitter. Her jaw trembles and throat tightens, her mouth too dry to swallow. "I exalt our forebearers." Her voice wavers, just a little. "I exalt my fireteam." Her jaw trembles. "I exalt my truth." She can feel the warmth of tears on her cheeks. "I exalt my heart." Her voice cracks. "I exalt h-hu-human—" She breaks. Recitations turn into sobs, and Shayura slides from pillow to floor. Her shoulders heave, and she pulls her knees to her chest, crying against her legs. Dead Guardians stare with hollow eye sockets when she closes her eyes. They beg for their lives. She trains a gun on them. And exalts her truth.