"The Equations" A Grimoire Card for The Nothing Manacles

-Note: This story is similar to Vanquisher's and I would appreciate it if you would push that fact to the side. This was written on a phone, so forgive my grammar and writing. Also, some of the lore may be wrong. Forgive me. This is my first attempt at anything like this. I've been working on this for a while, and I hope you like it. ;) Thanks!- ________________________________________ There was once a young warlock. He was sent to forage an alliance with The Queen. Little did anyone in the tower know, much less himself, that the Reef was a war-torn battlefield, with heavy casualties on both sides. He was a knowledgeable warlock, and was quick to figure this out as he landed at the meeting point, an outpost labeled Castia-09. Awoken bodies littered the ripped steel floor of the docking chamber, and a strange liquid with a pulsing glow covered a large portion of the room. He had no idea who or what had done this, but he felt he would know soon. He put his finger through some of the thick, glossy liquid, realizing it was Awoken blood. Disgusted, he shook it off his hand and looked for some way to contact The Queen. It was then he realized how barren the place was. Not a single computer was in sight. Nothing on the walls. Nothing. Nothing was there but bodies and blood. As he continued his search, he thought he saw movement by one of the back sleeping chambers, but dismissed it as his imagination. Soon he had searched every room but the one he had thought he'd seen something by. All of them empty, stripped clean. He sighed and forced open the door. It was not empty. In the corner cowered a small Awoken girl, her lavender hair matted and singed. She curled up tighter as he approached, hiding her young face. He tried, but could not get her to stand, or even look at him. He had one last idea. He slowly approached her and removed his helmet, revealing his tanned brown skin and dark hair. The girl's eyes opened in wonder. She asked him if he was one of those "Humans." He replied with a yes. The girl told him that her mother used to tell her stories about Humans. The warlock stared back at her. He felt she trusted him now. He put his helm back on, and, after much effort, convinced her to follow him to his ship. He made course for the tower. He was flying out of the outpost when his comms were jammed. He tried to continue with his jump, and figured out his FTL was somehow jammed too. He pulled out an old Reef map he had retrieved from the Tower libraries and set a new course for a place called "Vestia." It was his last hope of getting home. However, without the FTL Drive, this would take weeks, maybe months. Over those days he taught the girl. He taught her about the ship's controls, from the FTL Drive to the Kestrel "Spindle Demon" Aeronautics. He also taught her the basics of Warlock fieldweave, from gauntlet neuromotors to mind anchors. They never exchanged names. Deep down, they knew there was no need to. In the warlock's mind, she was becoming more than just a girl. She was becoming a daughter. In the girl's mind, he was becoming more than just a guardian. He was her guardian angel. They were getting nearer to Vestia. But it seemed they were not quick enough. An unidentifiable Fallen ship, painted blue, revealed itself. The warlock knew it had been stalking them over the weeks, and he had moved for Vestia as quickly as he could. But it had not been enough. He also knew he had to face them. It was a rouge skiff, so there weren't a lot of Fallen to face, but he still knew they stood a small chance against that many. They landed at another outpost, this one simply abandoned, and waited. As they drew near, he told the girl to go and hide. He knew he would need all the power he could get, so he gave her his gauntlets, knowing the monitors inside would prevent power spikes, and he would need those spikes. The Fallen came. He fought vigorously, throwing as many grenades as he could, sometimes two at once. They scattered and looked to be doing the job. Just when it seemed all the Fallen were dead, the skiff dropped multiple captains and a pilot servitor. He had one last chance. He removed his helmet. All warlocks know this is dangerous in combat, and not just for physical reasons. The mind anchors are usually contained in the helm, and few warlocks can fight without them. He resorted to his nova bomb. As he hurled it, he could feel the sheer power flowing through his body. The captains and the servitor disappeared into the void light. His own body slowly disintegrated. When the girl finally stepped out, there was nothing left of anyone. Crying, she climbed into the ship and continued the course for Vestia. She attached prices of the scatter grenades to the gauntlets he had given her, weaving them into the neuromotors. On the inside was a note he had left her. It said something about balancing equations, but that didn't matter. There was nothing left of her guardian angel now. Nothing but the manacles in her hands.