❄️ "No Bow for You: The Icebreaker Trials of YK151"
Our Guardian isn't cool but he thinks it any way, Eris Morin says Give it to me YK, Give it to me YK
A Guardian’s Tale from the Bow War (3068)
Recorded by The Hidden. Archived under Restricted Access – Level Aureolin.
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EDZ, Winding Cove Outskirts – Earth, Mid-Year 3068
The wind cut across the broken ridge like a blade of Stasis. YK151 crouched beneath a fallen Fallen skiff, cloak drawn tight, visor dimmed. His breath steamed in his helmet, frost edging the outer plating of his Nightstalker armor. Above, the contrails of jump ships painted streaks across the evening sky.
Two Hunters passed overhead — Fractured Edge by their cloaks, jagged and matte-black, bristling with entropy-mod repulsors and bows slung casually over their backs.
Icebreaker Bows.
YK151 watched them fade into the trees. He didn’t hate them. Not entirely. But every time he saw one of those shimmering dark-light weapons, the envy scraped at his soul like Dreg knives.
Ten years. Ten years of questing, hunting data shards, decrypting Bray neural keys, passing Ikora’s damn crucible of self-denial, twice. He’d done the Rimeheart Protocol before most Guardians even knew it existed.
And every time he reached the final node, every time the echo of Clovis Bray’s neural engram whispered, "You are not suitable," — the ice in his veins deepened.
He’d been to Europa. He’d knelt before the Stasis obelisk. He’d held entropy in his palm and walked away with his soul intact.
But still — no bow.
Eva Levante had shrugged when he asked.
“Some Guardians just don’t... resonate,” she said, setting down a tray of lemon cakes. “Try a different shader?”
He’d tried thirty-seven. Including Golden Age Glacial. Still nothing.
"Fractured Edges"
A chirp from his Ghost interrupted the snow-crusted silence.
“Inbound contact. Light signature—Hunter. Unknown faction. Alone.”
YK151 stood slowly. There, picking her way over the ruins of a bridge, came a figure wrapped in red and gray. Her armor bore no faction markers, but the bow on her back shimmered faintly. Not standard issue. And not the mass-produced copies Drifter had tried to push.
No, this was authentic.
He stepped into view.
“Nice bow,” he said dryly.
She didn’t flinch. “Funny. Most Hunters open with a knife.”
He tapped his belt — no blades.
“Gave them up. Didn’t work on Braytech vault doors.”
She chuckled. “Still chasing the Rimeheart dream?”
He nodded. “Still being told no.”
The woman slung the bow off her shoulder. “Want a look?”
YK151’s heart caught. Was she offering a trade? A peek? A clue?
She handed it over, cautiously. The bow was light, colder than expected, and thrummed like a heartbeat in his hand. A living machine, laced with some essence he couldn’t identify.
But as he tried to draw the string — the weapon rejected him. Not with violence, not with force. It simply... ceased. A dead thing in his hands.
He handed it back. “Doesn’t like me.”
She nodded. “They say it only bonds with those who made peace with the ice inside.”
YK151 stared out over the snow-strewn EDZ.
“I made peace,” he said softly. “I buried friends in that peace.”
A pause. The woman studied him.
“Then maybe it's not about peace,” she said. “Maybe it's about letting go of the need to prove you deserve it.”
He turned toward her.
“That some New Monarchy wisdom?”
“Nah,” she said, knocking an arrow and vanishing in a blink. “Just something I heard from a guy who does have one.”
Alone, Again
YK151 sat on a rusted pipe, watching the snow collect on his boots.
He opened his quest log again. The final step still glowed red.
"Resonance Rejected. Try Again."
He laughed. A quiet, bitter sound.
His Ghost hovered nearby. “You could... stop trying.”
“And do what?” he asked.
The Ghost was silent. Then:
“You’re more than a bow, YK.”
He didn’t answer. Just stared at the distant mountains.
And somewhere, deep beneath Europa’s ice, the Rimeheart vault pulsed — watching, waiting.
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