!lettinggo

A eulogy for Destiny 2

***A soundtrack for your reading***

I bought Destiny 1 on a whim during the trip home from my first day of college classes. Stepping out of my tiny high school and into college was a daunting transition, compounded by years of yet-to-be diagnosed anxiety and depression among other mental health struggles. By this point, I had been staring down my father’s terminal ALS diagnosis for 7 years. He was given 18 months to live. It has been another 12 years since I inserted that PS4 disc and heard the music of the spheres. My father is still with us.

The grief of living with the terminal diagnosis of a loved one is a different kind of grief. It is harder to let go, because it is not gone; it won’t let you let go. The person’s slow decline, the care needed to keep them going just one more day is all a constant reminder of the inevitable end. It’s a sword hung over your head by a strand of spider silk. “This could be the last year we have together.” “Oh no, he’s in the emergency room. This might be it.” A call from mom out of the blue. “Is it happening?” And on and on, the cycle repeats.

Grief

That grief is a void that cannot ever be filled completely, but Destiny taught me ways to patch it and stitch it and learn to, in small ways, let go a little bit. To live.

“How will you live?”

My early days as a Guardian were messy. It felt good to wield that power, shoot those guns. Everything was pretty and looked cool, but why are we doing any of this? What’s the purpose of defending the Traveler? What even is the Traveler? Where are we going? I ignored most of it. I didn’t read item descriptions (too much work), I didn’t make an effort to synergize my abilities (I’m doing fine, why improve?). In short, I was a slacker Guardian. Every new release, I would check back in, blow through the campaign, and step back away. I was alone in this, always, save for the brief moments of connection with others in public spaces.

Destiny 2 released the year I made the decision to move out of the only home I’d ever known and onto campus. It was terrifying and disorienting. Likewise, flying through Destiny 2’s campaign left me confused. It was fun! But man, not much else there… aside from something in the end credits; a Pyramid, a shard, a glimmer of something greater.

When I returned for Forsaken, something just… clicked. The murder of Cayde-6, the story of Prince Uldren’s corruption, his inability to let his sister go, his seeking to use Light and Dark to enter an ascendant place of dreams, it was filled with symbols and ideas that spoke to my experiences and feelings. They spoke not directly, but obliquely, like shadows cast on the cave wall. I grasped at their meaning and they slipped away like smoke, but it was undeniable. There was something there, I felt it. My experience with Forsaken happened via a laptop on the living room floor of my brother-in-law’s apartment. I moved into that same apartment with my partner 8 years ago. From then until now, most of my adventures in the Sol system have taken place in this few dozen square feet. In that time, we have had four black cats. We have lost one, and I still miss our Mr. Kitty dearly. I remember him every time I summon my Ghost.

Shadowkeep is when I knew I was home. The surprise of finding the Lunar Pyramid, this object of mystery and terror, and the Unveiling texts that came along with it, gripped me. It had always been there, just under the surface. What else had we overlooked? My mind reeled, and my transition from Titan to Warlock began in the Ishtar Collective archives. And through Eris Morn, I saw myself darkly reflected, a picture of unresolved grief with no vision of a future beyond her trauma. But she grew. She changed. She became more than her grief. Then, so could I.

Season of Arrivals was the moment that Destiny 2 became my favorite game ever. As COVID kept us in our homes and society became harder to understand than ever, the Black Fleet arrived in Sol and loomed overhead. I felt a resonance. The following years of Beyond Light and The Witch Queen were filled with incredible stories of coalition building amidst uncertainty, confusion, and deceit. In this time, I found connection. Through the Old Site and Discord, I found a small but steadfast group of friends. We finally conquered raids, Grandmaster Nightfalls, our only limit was how committed we were to the fireteam. Our numbers and power grew alongside us.

Guardians gather in the Tower to mourn Lance Reddick, who passed away during the release window of Lightfall. The night before he passed, he was beside us playing through Lightfall on his Warlock.

On the day Lightfall released, I began a three day course of medical training. My father was going on a ventilator after grazing death’s touch once again, and as one of his in-home caregivers I would need to know how to operate this delicate equipment. Since my mother needed to sleep at the hospital to be my father’s voice, I needed to house-sit for three days. They live an hour from my partner and I, and we had just adopted a new kitten named Seven the day before. We didn’t choose the name, it was fate.

When a Human being commits an act of great cost, we know this as injury, as muscles torn and bones broken. It requires rest; frequently, it requires intervention to heal. As simple as the helping hand of another to lean on, or as complex as deep surgery: the constant theme that it cannot be done alone. Even to rest safely in quiet requires another to take over the matters of life that cannot be put off, which do not pause themselves simply for the fact of being asked kindly.

Lightfall is unfairly maligned, and I will always stand by that. Armageddon beginning with the discovery of a new and mysterious power of Darkness that seemed gentle and kind was fascinating to me. There were symbols and ideas all around that begged to be grappled with, rotated in your mind and shaped into meaning. For those three days of ventilator training, Neomuna was my escape; in the weave of that place, I felt free. Central to this was Strand, the strings that connect all living things. It wasn’t a power that could be controlled by sheer force, it was one that flowed and, in turn, required its users to flow with it. This was Osiris’s struggle, as he attempted to move past the loss of his Ghost, Sagira, and his Light. His thesis on Strand, ultimately, was simple; to control it, one must let go.

When we think about controlling something powerful, it’s easy to assume it takes strength. Determination. A force of will. But what I’ve learned is that we cannot control every facet of nature. Instead of tightening our grip, we must open our palms. Accepting the ebb, and the flow. Letting go in the face of grief, in all its shapes. Through failure, through loss… we can overcome the impossible.

Neomuna is also where we discovered what was exuding Strand: the Veil, an enigma we still don’t have answers to. The Black Heart we destroyed back in 2014 was a mere mimic of it. It is synced with the Traveler and is a manifestation of pure Darkness. It whispers to those near it in an electromagnetic language no translator can comprehend. It became my obsession, as it had become the obsession of The Witness and Maya Sundaresh. Both peered beyond the Veil and saw something. I felt I had too. This beautiful thing, kaleidoscopic and fungal and mysterious, was the key to the Witness’s plan, but it became a sort of key to how I saw Destiny as a whole. That’s the thing about the Veil; it’s everything, everywhere. Where minds exist, so too does the Veil. And in Strand and the Veil combined I found a powerful message; we are all connected, and we all end. That knowledge can swallow you whole, or it can set you free. Your fate is made in the choosing.

The Final Shape was a beautiful finale. In the Traveler, the cast of Destiny came to terms with the memories of their past and the greatest loss in recent history, Cayde-6. Our Guardians learned to transcend, to become Prismatic by leavening Light with Darkness and Darkness with Light in perfect harmony. The social dynamics of that moment in time, of playing that campaign, then the raid, and finally the 12-player Excision activity, can never be replicated. It is one of the greatest stories I’ve ever experienced, and it took 10 long, well-earned years to build to it.

At a campfire beside a river and a memory of Zavala’s old home, the Vanguard and the Guardian reunite. Cayde, having experienced katabasis more times and in more ways than any of them, has a clarifying moment. “Life isn’t about holding on forever,” he tells his friends. “Eventually… You have to let go.”

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Today, Bungie announced the end of live service for Destiny 2. Its June 9th update will be its last, despite the previously announced year of content. I loved the Edge of Fate which connected me with friends new and old, introduced new storylines surrounding the Nine, and brought us a new favorite character in Lodi. Renegades did interesting things with the Star Wars inspiration, using the connection to build meaning rather than simply reference while returning to the idea of the Dredgens and Praxic Order, particular favorites of mine. I was electrified by the potential of Shattered Cycle and the Alchemist, the former of which was likely to bring us to Old Chicago and the latter which, by title alone, promised to be steeped in lore and enthralling imagery. That’s all gone now.

The shape and nature of how Destiny has fit into my life and the stories it told have helped me cope with grief and loss. Those themes are always close at heart when I read or play. I’ve been living with the specter of losing my father for 20 years now, and Destiny has been there at pivotal intersections of that journey. So to have that same experience I’ve had with my father — the expectation of inevitably losing something important to me but never knowing when — and then to actually have the bell toll on the one that helped me through the other, is a grief that layers on thick.

What I’ve seen on socials and group chats is nothing short of collective mourning, not just of a game but of a third space and of the potential it held. My favorite Destiny Youtuber, Datto, cried on stream reading the article. A notification just popped up from a friend; “Bungie planning layoffs.” Nothing can last forever, but especially not in the face of decay and corruption and the ever grasping hand of capital which will ensure this industry shrinks and shrinks until there is nothing left but bones. This world can and will take it all from us, but it can’t take our memories.

I’d like you to think about the thousands of people at Bungie who have touched Destiny over the years and, in turn, touched you. About those who will soon be laid off, their work becoming frozen in time in a calcified final shape. Think about their hopes and dreams and what they could achieve if only they were given just a bit more time, just a little more grace. If they, if we, didn’t have to fight for every second of survival. What kind of a world would we live in if it were filled by gardeners and their guardians, not dominated by winnowers with knives in eager hands? I’d like to see that world. I’d like to be a part of it.

“All things come from the river, and all return to it. The river may split and meet again. Other things may fall into it and change its course, but nevertheless it continues. In time, even mountains are worn down before it.” — Osiris

As I write this, I sit by the river while it gently flows. I can see the moon above as the sun sets. Two osprey fly overhead and call out. They have returned to their nest on my street every year since I’ve lived here. Each year they raise a chick and send it off into the world. This year, my partner has actively sought them out, and in some way they seem to recognize us. A connection has formed. They swoop low and slow down as if to say, hello. One year, they will not return. But for now, we embrace the intersections of our lives and cherish them with grace and memory.

Eyes up, Guardians. Be brave. We’ll always be starside.

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Recommended reading:

• Constellations
• The Books of Sorrow
• The Book of Unveiling
• Aspect
• Letters from a Renegade, The Book of Unmaking, For Every Rose a Thorn, Nothing Ends
• The Singular Exegete
• Inspiral
• Triage
• Achilles Weaves a Cocoon
• The Hidden Dossier
• Warp and Weft
• Purpose
• Entelechy
• The Rubicon
• Chirality
• Sintering

Third Iteration

The first with congruity

Alone in his tent, Louis undresses until he’s down to his underclothes and his old man’s watch.

Even now, magnetism is buzzing in his skin, achingly far from Human. (Did the prior two Emissaries feel this way?)

He misses visiting his mother in summer, in the town whose name he borrowed. He misses fishing with his brother. His sister-in-law’s paintings, his nephew’s jokes, his niece’s smile, the baby who shares his ears. Most of all, he misses returning from the lake for a meal that could only be made in their house, that could only be made by them. No one but the Yeros know the preciousness of walleye ceviche.

Louis sits with his face in his hands. They are gone, qué Diosito los tenga en su santa gloria, and he is here.

Grief and eternity ringing in his ears, his eyes lose focus, and briefly, he Sees.

His niece and nephew are playing in a yard full of fireflies. He hears Ben’s laugh intermingling with his own. A loon wails in the distance, and leathery smoke curls into the air.

Louis bolts to standing.

A thousand years ago is also right now, and in this infinite heartbeat, his loved ones are dead, and they are also alive. ‘Time is not linear,’ sing Louis’s electrons. ‘You will always be with your family on a patio in July.’

The vision ends, and Louis lets out a long shaky breath, filled with awe. As he does, his feet silently lift off the ground.

He startles for a moment, then surrenders, a mad grin on his face. There are miracles at intersections. Nine and Human. Dead and alive. Lime and pike.

He leans forward for his glasses and pants and puts them on in midair, every atom in his body searing neon, and drifts out of his tent into Kepler’s indigo night. Light catches on Louis’s glasses as he rises, his bare feet a meter from the ground, and he tilts his head toward the stars.