Chapter Text
The Zariman Ten Zero was an Orokin colony ship bound for the Tau System that disappeared into the Void when a Void-Jump Accident occurred. After the incident, its survivors received mysterious powers from the Void and later became the Tenno that control the Warframes and fight for the Origin System.
That’s what the histories said.
They did not care about the one that remained in the Drifter’s version of reality.
There was a gaping wound where the Zariman was for the Drifter, and her memories of the colony ship streamed out faint tendrils, words and dreams and fears that slipped away over centuries of disuse. All she remembers is suffering. That is not all the Operator remembers.
In the Operator’s universe, the handshake that an innocent Operator shared with the Indifference finally gave those last holdouts of Zariman children their unstable Void powers, the ones that let them execute the last memories of their parents. The crazed, half-dead adults of the Zariman were no more, eviscerated at the hands of their loving children.
In some strange twist of fate, the Zariman fell out of the Void, and its remaining inhabitants were able to be rescued. Each and every one, including the Operator, whose hand still echoed with the feeling of a four-fingered grip.
Margulis embraced them, cared for them afterward. She was the only one to see them for what they were. Not weapons, not entities. Terrified children.
The Operator salvaged her childhood on the Zariman. Clutched the last shreds of it and hightailed from the Derelict, the ribboned edges of her youth trailing after her like a bloody cape in the wind. It was a mark of her responsibility, but also of her own innocence. She was allowed, for a short while, to mourn her family, mourn what she had been forced to do to Mama and Father and her sister, who used to braid her hair and read her the Tales of Duviri before she had been able to read herself.
It wasn’t the same for the Drifter.
Hence, the Dark Refractory.
“You do understand that once you’re in, there’s nothing you can do to change anything,” Loid fixed his withering gaze on the Drifter. “You’ll experience it just as you did as a child. Anything you do will be a reflection of what you have already done.”
“I understand,” she murmured, sinking into the waters of the Dark Refractory slowly. It was cold. Words replayed in her mind, The Duviri Tales, the book on emotional regulation. It hadn’t worked for her in the Void, it had actually played out quite poorly, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking.
“The Fearful Conspirator," the Drifter thought to herself, feeling rather like Sythel.Cowardly. “One haunted day in Duviri, Sythel awoke with a thought: if I could destroy what I fear, I wouldn’t have to fear anymore!”
“I still don’t understand why it’s necessary for you to put her in this kind of danger,” Loid turned his disapproving stare on the Lotus. “Surely, we have enough information—”
“Afraid to go outside and afraid to be shut in, Sythel lived a timorous life. Usually, she was too scared to act… but not always.”
“It’s not enough,” the Lotus cut him off, sinking into the waters alongside the drifter. “We must know everything there is to know about our enemy before we engage him like this. Tenno presence will incite action, and the Wall’s Other Face will surely attempt to launch an offensive. In order to destroy our enemy—”
“Sythel looked in horror upon what had been done in her name. Surely there would be consequences!”
“We must understand our enemy,” Loid finished with the Lotus. “Yes, I’m well aware. But are we sure that subjecting her to this again is the right course of action? It could cause more detriment than good, and—”
“Loid,” the Drifter interrupted softly. “It’s okay. I agreed to this. We need to do this. We have to know. And as it stands now, it’s all… hazy. Like a dream. We should try to figure out everything we can, shouldn’t we?”
“Like the first rumblings of a landslide, the ominous consequences of Sythel’s actions began to build.”
Loid didn’t look convinced at the Drifter’s pitiful assurances, but didn’t push further. The Drifter appreciated it. She lowered herself up to her neck, continuing her acclimation. The water was no less cold.
“Another might have taken courage from seeing the things she feared exterminated, but not Sythel. Sythel’s fear spiraled. The more she tried to be bold, the greater her fear of being found out.”
“It will be difficult to remain within your memories if you do not concentrate,” he said as he shuffled through the control panels of the Dark Refractory. “That will help, however, if you decide it is too much and need to end the memory early. I can offer you that much.”
“Her brutal actions had consequences. Like a deadly pestilence, Sythel’s fear spread across Duviri,” the Drifter whispered to herself, staring down at the water that looked ready to consume her.
“What was that, Drifter?” Loid glanced up, fixing his stare on her again.
“Sythel left fear in her wake. Doors were closed and windows barred, and voices spoke in whispers.”
“Nothing important. Thank you, Loid,” the Drifter finally settled on as she closed her eyes, leaning into the water. “I will… keep your words in mind.”
She would not, and Loid knew that. But it was a nice fantasy.
“Fear ruled Duviri… and yet Sythel, the embodiment of fear, was more afraid than ever.”
“Are you prepared?” the Lotus's voice came through, sharp and clear. There was none of the gentle nurturing she offered to the Operator, only cold determination.
“All Duviri now lived in terror of Sythel. What a long shadow this scrawny little figure had cast!”
“No,” the Drifter bit back a sharp intake of breath. She leaned back in the water. “But it’s necessary regardless.”
The Lotus stared down at her, expression unreadable.
“Sythel was afraid to go on, but she was even more afraid to stop. Her fears were allying against her now.”
“Thank you, my champion,” the Lotus brushed a hand against the Drifter’s cheek, her voice muffled. The water was beginning to drag the Drifter away from reality. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Even as her plans led to disaster after disaster, Sythel was more afraid of what might still come to pass.”
She let out a hum that sounded close enough to acknowledgement, and slowly, faintly, she began to hear that damning ringing. Beep, beep, beep.
“For an instant, as she shed her pitiful human form, Sythel was no longer afraid, for she had become fear.”