Halo: Friends from the Stars

Location: Skyros, ????, ?????, ?????, Military time: ????

A deep, rhythmic hum filled his ears, pulsing like a heartbeat.

His eyes fluttered open, his vision swimming in an eerie blue glow. He gasped—except, there was no need to breathe. The thick, transparent liquid surrounding him cradled his form, slipping past his fur like an unnatural embrace. He felt weightless, yet bound, suspended in a polygonal tank that encased him.

Blinking, he forced his golden-red eyes to focus beyond the translucent glass.

A world of cold metal greeted him.

The floor beneath his tank was a light bronze, engraved with foreign, unreadable symbols. The walls gleamed silver, sleek and reflective, their smooth surfaces interrupted by arching supports that connected to the ceiling. Strange, floating objects pulsed with a soft blue glow, drifting with an intelligence of their own, the light at their cores flickering methodically.

His mind reeled. Metal. Bronze. Silver. The words came naturally, but something was wrong. They felt like echoes of knowledge rather than something he truly understood. He knew them—but what were they?

A shadow moved beside him.

Turning sluggishly in the fluid, he saw another form within the tank.

Another being.

The blue liquid swirled around its lean frame, distorting its features, but even through the shifting glow, he could see—it was like him. And yet… not.

Fur. Scales. Claws. A shape that felt familiar but undeniably foreign. His head ached at the sight of it. Had he seen something like this before? Had he seen anything before? The thought twisted painfully in his mind.

The being’s body was covered in short fur, its hues shifting unnaturally from deep violet to crimson along its limbs. Its front limbs ended in scaled, light-blue claws, while its hind legs, in contrast, bore dark brown goat-like hooves. A segmented, scorpion-like tail trailed behind it, curling lazily in the weightless embrace of the fluid, its black chitin gleaming.

And its face…

A dragon’s muzzle, but covered in fur rather than scales. From its crimson-coated head, two sleek, grey horns jutted backward. A cobra’s hood framed its mane, black on the outside, glowing lime green within. Its ears twitched, the insides the same light blue as its clawed hands.

And its eyes—deep black, slitted pupils—were open now.

They locked onto his, flickering with confusion.

And fear.

He tried to speak, but only a strange vibration left his throat, absorbed into the liquid like a thought lost before it could form.

His mind continued to unravel. He knew words—dragon, scorpion, cobra, fur, glass, liquid—but their meanings felt distant, disjointed. They existed in his thoughts but belonged to something else. Not to him.

Then—

A sharp hiss.

The fluid drained.

A sudden rush, spiraling downward into unseen drains beneath them.

The absence of the liquid left a void—a moment of weightlessness—before reality collapsed onto him.

Gravity took hold. The world became heavy. His body existed in a way it hadn’t before. His limbs trembled, his claws scraping against the smooth metalic bronze floor. The sensation was wrong. Unnatural. His fingers flexed involuntarily—one set sharp like a griffin’s, the other padded like a lion’s.

Beside him, the other being shuddered, slumped against the tilted inner wall of the drained tank. No longer suspended, it seemed smaller—vulnerable. Its body curled slightly as it trembled, its fur slick and darkened from the fluid. Its scorpion tail flicked erratically, droplets rolling off its segmented chitin.

For a long moment, it simply breathed. And then—

It looked at him.

But there was no time to process it.

A noise—sharp, mechanical—echoed from the world outside.

They were not alone.

Eight figures stood before them.

The first four were clad in seamless, white-blue metallic suits, covering them from head to toe. The clothing—or was it armor?—shimmered under the sterile artificial light, intricate lines running along their smooth surfaces. Their helmets bore a singular, featureless silver visor, concealing any semblance of a face. Each of them held a hologram like panel in their hands, glowing with shifting symbols, graphs, and statistics that pulsed with unreadable data.

But the other four… they were different.

The first three were rigid in structure, their bodies composed of sharp-edged, polygonal segments. Their heads lacked visors—instead, a single glowing blue orb pulsed in the center of their smooth, featureless faces. They stood unnervingly still, save for their right arms, which ended in long, slender contraptions. Their left hands held onto them carefully, as if the devices were weapons, waiting.

And they surrounded one being.

It was similar to the first four, but more intricate.

A flowing white cloak draped over its shoulders, edged with gold embroidery. Beneath it, the same silvery-white armor covered its form, but this one was refined—more ornate. More… deliberate. Its helmet, unlike the others, bore a golden visor, polished to a mirror-like finish, gleaming under the sterile lights above.

And then, it moved.

With grace, the golden-visor figure stepped forward. The other beings parted, making way as it approached.

It stopped only a few feet before them.

Then—

It spoke.

"Rise, beings."

The words, though soft, carried a weight that pressed into his chest. A command. A statement of authority.

He hesitated, but his limbs obeyed before his mind could argue. He pushed himself up, his legs unsteady, his body trembling beneath a weight he couldn't name.

Beside him, the other being hesitated longer. Its cobra hood flared slightly, not in aggression but instinctive wariness. But it too obeyed, rising slowly, cautiously.

The golden visor figure observed them in silence. Then, it raised a hand.

A pulse of light emanated from its hand, forming a glowing blue holographic symbol in the air. As the figure raised a single finger and pressed it against the symbol, a low mechanical hiss filled the chamber.

The glass of the containment tank shuddered before retracting in segmented layers, folding seamlessly into the ceiling. A rush of cold, sterile air replaced the lingering warmth of the drained liquid, sending a faint shiver through his damp fur.

Then, finally, the figure spoke again.

"You have awoken as expected. I hope everything went well during your part of the growth phase."

His chest tightened. He didn’t know why.

Beside him, the other being shifted uneasily. Its black eyes flickered toward him, searching. Then, after a moment, it turned its gaze back toward the figure.

And then—

It did what he hadn’t found the courage to do.

It spoke.

"Who….... Who are you?"

The golden visor figure tilted its head ever so slightly. Considering. Measuring.

Then, it answered.

"We are your makers."

Location: Skyros, ????, ?????, ?????, Military time: ????

The chamber was quiet, save for the gentle hum of unseen mechanisms woven into its structure. Soft, ambient light pulsed faintly along the silver walls, illuminating a vast room devoid of the sterile formality of a laboratory. Instead, it was almost tranquil, its metallic surfaces bearing the faintest etchings of patterns resembling constellations. This was a space for private conversation, far from the prying eyes of scientists, soldiers, and synthetic constructs.

Here, two figures stood in quiet contemplation.

One was tall, imposing, wrapped in pristine silvery-white armor adorned with gold trim. A long, regal cloak draped over his shoulders, and atop his head rested the unmistakable golden visor—smooth and reflective, obscuring his true expression. The figure stood with his hands clasped behind his back, unwavering in his presence.

The other was smaller, yet no less commanding in her own way.

An Alicorn, her pristine white coat marked with the faint shimmer of light reflecting off her silvery metallic suit. Unlike the figure, hers lacked embellishment—purely functional, covering her form seamlessly up to her neck. A red mane and tail cascaded from her, their gentle waves adding warmth to her otherwise cold and practical attire. Her turquoise eyes, sharp yet weary, flickered with restrained concern.

Her voice broke the silence first.

“So… has it gone successfully?”

The Figure turned his head toward her, nodding. “Yes.” His voice was steady, deliberate. “The scientist triple-checked themselves for any complications. The results are stable.”

A long, slow sigh left her lips. She turned away for a moment, letting her eyes drift across the chamber as if the weight of his words had yet to settle. Then, after a pause— she spoke.

“You know, Didact… when you first told me about this idea, I thought you were merely joking to keep our hopes up.” A small, humorless chuckle escaped her. “And yet, here we are.”

Her gaze turned back to him, a mix of admiration and disbelief shadowing her expression.

“The chances of this succeeding were so minimal that anyone with a shred of reason would call us insane.” She shook her head slightly, her wings shifting at her sides. “And yet, even still… this was far better than the other one.”

The Didact nodded slowly. “I agree.” His voice, deep and unwavering, carried a weight far beyond the present moment. “But it will only get harder from here.”

She let out another sigh, but this time, it carried more resolve than weariness.

“Have you given them names yet?”

The Didact was silent for a moment, as if savoring the significance of what he was about to say. Then, he answered.

“Yes.” His golden visor caught the light as he tilted his head slightly. “The male Draconequus has been named Discord. The female—Cosmos.”

She absorbed the names, rolling them over in her mind before nodding in quiet approval. “It suits them.”

“It will take a few more years before they are fully trained to complete their objective.” The Didact’s voice was calm but firm, his mind already anticipating the trials ahead.

Her expression darkened slightly, but she nodded nonetheless. “I agree. Hopefully, we can hold off the parasite until then.”

A long silence stretched between them. Neither needed to say the name of the enemy they fought against. The parasite. The horror. The thing that consumed without remorse.

The Didact, perhaps sensing the weight of the conversation, shifted topics.

“How has your family been?”

She blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden change in subject. But she quickly softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“They’ve been well. My husband, McCracken, has been trying to keep me happy—he’s been taking care of Luna and Celestia whenever I’m too busy with work.”

The Didact let out a quiet chuckle. “Aren’t you always too busy with work?”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “Well, yes, but for good reason.” Her eyes narrowed playfully. “You’re just as bad, if not worse.”

“I never said it was a bad thing.” The Didact’s tone was almost amused, though his posture remained ever formal. “Ruling a galaxy is always busy work, especially in times like this.” He let out a quiet breath, as if the very thought of their shared burden weighed on him. “I’ve barely seen my own wife, Mary, as well.”

He glanced at her. “And what about the one you recently adopted? What was her name…?”

Her ears flicked slightly. “You mean Opaline?”

The Didact nodded. “Yes, that was the one. How has she been doing?”

The warmth in her expression dimmed slightly. “She’s been doing well… but she’s still scared. After what happened to her original parents, she’s…” She trailed off, her eyes briefly distant.

The Didact’s voice was quiet, measured. “It will take time.”

She nodded in agreement, exhaling softly. “I know.”

For a moment, the two simply stood there, the weight of all their responsibilities pressing down on them. The galaxy, the war, the parasite, the experiments—they bore it all, each in their own way.

Then suddenly a beep echoed from the Didact’s wrist.

He glanced down, raising his arm slightly as a soft blue glow materialized from the device embedded in his armor. A holographic interface flickered to life—lines of data scrolling too fast for most to comprehend. Within the shifting streams of information, a new projection emerged—an unknown figure, its form blurred by interference.

The Didact exhaled, tilting his head slightly before closing the projection with a simple tap of his fingers.

“Duty calls.” His voice remained steady, unwavering, yet there was something else beneath it—a quiet weight that never truly left him.

She gave a small nod, her expression shifting into something softer. “Of course.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no need for elaborate farewells—both knew they would meet again, bound by duty, by responsibility, by the delicate thread of their shared purpose.

Then, finally, she offered him a small smile. “It was nice talking to you again.”

The Didact regarded her for a brief moment before inclining his head. “You too, Faust.”

He turned, taking a slow step toward the exit before pausing. His golden visor gleamed under the ambient light as he glanced back at her.

“Remember Faust—being the Librarian is just as important as the role of the Didact itself.”

She chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “I know.”

Then, with nothing more to say, the Didact strode forward, disappearing into the corridors beyond.

Faust watched him go, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air. The galaxy moved ever forward, an unstoppable force neither of them could control.

And yet, there was hope.

Small. Fragile. But hope nonetheless.

Discord and Cosmos.

A gamble. The second last resort. Perhaps even their greatest mistake.

But it was too late to turn back now.

The pieces were already in motion.