High above the Last City, tucked in one of the Tower's many alcoves, Cayde-6 thumbs through an old book. Plucked from the Speaker's library, it's become delicate with age, or so he assumes, taking extra care turning each page. His sense of touch is good; there's certainly enough circuitry in his metal fingers to pull off the most precise of shots. But even a hair-trigger touch might rip the brittle paper…

Cayde pauses on a page. "If sailor tales and sailor tunes, storm and adventure, heat and cold—"

Suddenly, a gust of surprisingly icy wind nearly rips the book from Cayde's hands. "To hell with this godforsaken ice cube!" he shouts, almost falling from his perch.

He steadies himself and inhales deeply. Hang on there, Cayde. You're not on any ice cube, godforsaken or otherwise. You're on Earth, in the Last City.

But the memory lingers, like the floating neon outlines seconds after a blinding camera flash. The snow-white plains of a distant moon, a sarcophagus of ice and iron.

—flash—

Yes, that's what Europa feels like to Cayde-1 as he loads crate after crate onto the bay outside the Exoscience factory. Even the sky has turned a flat gray, casting all beneath it in dull, deadening light. A warning sky, he thinks. Sailors had some kinda rhyme for it, didn't they?

Either way, it hardly makes for a motivating work environment. Cayde sits on one of the crates. "I'm taking a break," he announces. "Need to or not, this is when we used to have lunch. I refuse to work through lunch."

Next to him, Knox-4 sighs with relief and longing. "I miss lunch. I miss getting hungry."

Cayde grins as much as his mechanical face will allow. "Hmm…" he intones in his best Dr. Abrams impression, "So you would say… you're hungry for hunger?"

Knox bursts into guffaws. Cayde chuckles weakly. It wasn't that funny. But as his friend's laughter grows, so does Cayde's. Soon, they're both clutching each other and howling.

Then, gradually, their cheer fades. "What do you tell that shrink, by the way?" Knox asks. "You tell him about the whisper?"

Cayde shakes his head. Before he can snark about the uselessness of psychologists, the whisper rings in his metal skull. It's red sky in morning, sailor's warning. But you are no sailor.

A whimper squeaks out from the loading bay. A moment later, a short snowsuitted figure scrambles out, racing for the far end of the factory. Cayde and Knox shout, taking off after the eavesdropper. No sharpshooter yet, Cayde fumbles for his BrayTech-issued handgun, aims shakily and…

—bang—

Cayde-6 comes back to himself just as he stumbles into his hideout. He rifles through the piles of loot, until… "Aha!" He finds a pen. Cayde-6 isn't done yet. He flips open the book, no longer being careful with the pages, and starts scrawling.

"Spend time with an Exo who's been through it like we have and you'll see all the tells…"