The streets of the Last City were filled.

 

Merchants screamed prices for goods that Ikora would’ve chased off the street in an instant. Customers yelled back, hoping with enough perseverance, their target would cave. All while the thump of a thousand footfalls filled her ears; like a group of Hive thralls finding a source of light to feed off. On any other day, Ikora would’ve taken a step into this hellhole and swiftly return to her quarters, slamming her door and locking it with no less than four bolts so that she may rest alone in peace.

 

But this was not any other day.

 

It was an anniversary. A yearly event that, by all accounts, should’ve been one of Ikora’s most hated. Nothing about it was for her. In fact, it appeared to be, by design, the opposite of everything she would’ve tolerated, much less enjoyed. But after recent events, she honestly counted down the days to when she could celebrate this occasion.

 

Oh how times had changed.

 

After several minutes of squeezing through the crowds, she had finally come upon her destination. A small, austere store sitting against a metallic back wall. It was dwarfed by the two gigantic wooden buildings that flanked it on either side, and the only two things that told anyone it wasn’t a decrepit structure was the row of five red stools at the front and the neon sign that hung above.

 

It read ‘Devil’s Ramen Shop’.

 

“Ikora!” Amanda said, raising her hand to draw her attention.

 

Ikora smirked and strolled forward. She took a seat between her and Zavala, who was inspecting the menu with squinted eyes.

 

“We were beginning to think you weren’t gonna show up!” Amanda said, resting her head softly within the palm of her hand.

 

“Now, why would you think that? Have I ever missed such a celebration?”

 

“Well, no,” said Amanda. “But you were late. And you’re never late.”

 

“Heh,” Ikora smiled. “Sorry. Things are getting hectic up there.” A sudden spark of inspiration appeared within her mind. It wasn’t like the usual ones she would get during strikes or missions when leading other Guardians. But it was equally as satisfying. “Plus, seems only right to be late, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Amanda burst out in unrestrained laughter. Through the corner of her eye, Ikora could see Zavala’s often stoic expression fade into just the slightest smile.

 

She couldn’t even remember the last time she had seen him wear anything but that emotionless stare, a poor mask for the worry that had wrecked him ever since the event that had set this celebration in progress in the first place.

 

“The usual?” asked the exo looming over them, standing on the other side of the half-wall that separated the trio from him.

 

“Yup!”

 

“As always,” Ikora nodded.

 

“I had wanted to try something new,” Zavala lowered the menu. “But the usual sounds delightful.” The exo nodded and spun around to the kitchen.

 

And now came the part Ikora loved the least: waiting. Time allowed the happiness to fade, replaced instead with bitter memories that harbored painful resolve. Time was not their friend. It never had been.

 

If he were here, he would’ve made time tick by as if it weren’t there. He would fill the air with laughter, awkward jokes and take their mind off whatever plagued them. ‘Look, I didn’t come here to mope. I came here to have ramen. So don’t ruin this for me!’ he would say. And she would smile. But she would not laugh. Oh, she definitely would not laugh. The last thing she needed was to stroke his ego, and hand him another thing he could hang over her head for the year.

 

“Ahem,” Zavala said, the silence no doubt having gotten to him. “Have you heard? Shaxx is thinking of starting a new league.”

 

“Uh huh. S-saw the adverts. Think it’s a good idea?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

The air around them grew thick. Maybe it was best they didn’t say anything at all.

 

He would’ve made the league into a joke.

 

That was what she had wanted to say. He would bring up her own crucible days, a long time ago when her powers were used, not for maintaining the peace, but for disrupting it. He would have laughed with her, prodded her upon her shoulder with his elbow, cold metal touching flesh. She would have made fun of him. And he would laugh. These were what she had wanted to say.

 

...Why didn’t she?

 

The years had grown weary on them. Zavala’s shoulders sagged with weight, and not from his shoulderpads.

 

“How does he even keep them on? Why are we giving our Guardians guns from Shiro? Just find the people who made those straps! They would be a~ma~zing!” 

 

Their bones ached and their mind tore on, injuries that no amount of travelers light could fix. Amanda still smiled, but only if there were people around. Ikora had watched that false expression fade in time; on particularly long nights, where Amanda would take breaks exactly where he would stand: on the now vacant spot in the hanger.

 

All of these and yet, they treated his name like poison. Like Oryx, which they had banished. Or Ghaul, which they had seared and ushered into a new era for the people. He was more than that. He was a friend.

 

And he deserved better.

 

“I know Cayde would’ve joined it, once.” 

 

The mention of his name drew a shocked stare from both of her allies.

 

“Ahem, right. Well, he can’t. He knows that vanguard leaders are not allowed to participate in the Crucible.”

 

“Ain’t ever stopped him before,” Amanda added. Zavala met the words with a squint of his eyes. “O-oh, he ain’t ever told you? ...Oops.”

 

“Cayde not telling Zavala something before doing it? What a surprise.”

 

“Yes, well, I suppose his methods may have been against protocol. But one can’t argue at their effectiveness.”

 

“Like that time he snuck a Guardian onto the Dreadnaught?” said Ikora.

 

“Using Eris’ ship!” Amanda laughed. “Hoo boy, you should’ve seen the look on her face when Cayde has to tell her her ship got blown up.”

 

The memories were warm. And so was the company.

 

Before she knew how much time had passed, the exo appeared at the window. “Order’s up!” he shouted, placing a large bowl of noodles under each of their noses. The aroma of long-simmered broth, mixed with the glistening slices of meat on a bed of stringy noodles, was like a jolt of joy.

 

When they had first come here, after Cayde’s endless pestering, he had promised her that she would like this place. Even making bets to himself that, if she did not, he would take over patrol watch for a month. An empty bet, really. Considering he was scheduled to do so anyway.

 

First impressions were never Cayde’s strong suit. The busy, bustling area made Ikora uncomfortable. But, she had to admit, she was back here.

 

“Ahh,” Amanda said, after taking a sip and chomp of a small group of noodles. “Ain’t nothing like this.”

 

He had asked her a few more times after that. And she always declined. She didn’t want to boost his ego, and didn’t think she deserved a break, not when there was so much to do.

 

“A good reminder to what we are fighting for,” Zavala muttered.

 

"That's so Zavala." Ikora could hear in her head.

 

As she sipped the rich, salty soup, memories flooded back into her. But with them, came regret. For that’s all they would ever be. Memories. From days long gone. For a future without him. When one lives a million lifetimes, it is easy to forget that most only get one. 80 years seems like a minuscule number now; a dot of paint on the canvas of her life. But now,  as she sat with her friends, laughing about the old days, she wished she had taken up his offer. And not be afraid to tell him.

 

He was right.