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MURAL ONE – THE HUMBLING

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URS – SANGHELIOS

To the Didact’s Hand:

The most gifted Sangheili blademaster starts as a humble hatchling. It is even so for the leader of the Prometheans. Before becoming the Didact, I was simply known as Shadow-of-Sundered-Star.

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My first impressions of Sanghelios were not favorable. As my teacher, Bitterness-of-the-Vanquished, and I left our vessel, I found it hard to breath through the dust and a miasma whose source I could not place. In the time before personal armor, I had read that Forerunner travelers would simulate the conditions of the worlds they would visit to adapt to them. Gravity, atmosphere, sunlight, even odors would aid them to be ready to face the planet upon arrival.

Even after the advent of personal armor, Warrior-Servants continued this tradition as a form of combat readiness. Yet I was not afforded this luxury by design. While I may have only been a youthful Manipular, I had aspirations to one day join the elite Prometheans. To do so was no easy task, even among Warrior-Servants the Prometheans were in a league all of their own. Bitterness often regaled me with stories of individual acts of heroism from her time within their ranks. I often imagined myself in her place, leading legions of warriors into everlasting glory.

It is with great shame that I look back at my youth and see no concern for the Mantle of Responsibility. The whole reason for the Kradal conflicts was because rebellious Forerunners ran the risk of upsetting the natural balance we as a species maintained in the galaxy. Those conflicts were no glorious crusade.

We must choose to recognize the past, however, and in my youth what talent I had was kept in check by arrogance and pride. Bitterness wasted few moments in reminding me of this.

Returning to Sanghelios, I recall Bitterness placing a gauntleted hand upon my shoulder and asking, “What do you think of Sanghelios, young one?”

My nostrils contracting from the lingering miasma. “It smells bad.”

Bitterness sighed. “As ever you focus on the redundant. Regardless, you will see the homeworld of the Sangheili still has much to teach you as I have.”

Eventually, the dust died down and I got my first good look of the surrounding area. We seemed to be in a primitive village of mudbrick dwellings, though of fine craftsmanship admittedly. The Sangheili who resided here seemed not to care about the landing of a Forerunner vessel or of our presence at all as they carried on with their day to day lives.

“On most primitive worlds the arrival of a Forerunner ship usually brings much more fanfare,” I remarked.

“We have a long history with the Sangheili already,” Bitterness explained, “We have Lifeworker outposts studying the native flora and fauna, Miners at work harvesting volatile minerals on one of Sanghelios moons. It is safe to say the novelty has been well worn-out at this point.”

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We continued onward further into the village. I observed all that they did from selling exotic foodstuffs and spices in the markets, children at play, simple creatures living their simple lives. Just what made Sanghelios a world that many a Promethean cut their teeth on in training eluded me.

This was the reason I was here after all. To be a Promethean required a true test of one’s own natural skills and capabilities at survival. Manipulars born into Warrior-Servant families who wish to join the ranks of the Prometheans must show their strength before attaining the artificial benefits of armor and the inherited ones of mutation. You were expected to go to a primitive world and under the mentorship of a native teacher. From there you undergo a series of trials and hardships for one standard year on that world. Among the Prometheans, the world of Sanghelios is regarded as the most perilous. The only education I had on the world was the language of the people and even that was more rushed than I would have cared for.

Still, we continued onward until we reached a central plaza where a Sangheili stood patiently against a fountain that billowed violet-crimson water. They wore a simple tunic of white with a red v-shape pattern running from their shoulders to their midsection. Hanging from a clip on their belt around their waist on each side were blades of curious design. They sported a curved handle attached to a blade that started as a crescent then terminated into an elongated triangular shape.

Bitterness walked up the swordsman and extended an arm towards them. She was much taller than the Sangheili, so they had to reach up slightly to grasp her forearm in a form of mutually respectful salutation.

Turning to face me, Bitterness set out to introduce the Sangheili to me now. “Shadow-of-Sundered-Star, this is Silket Pa’Urs, your Sangheili teacher whose word you will regard as law during your time here.”

Much like his world, my first impressions of Silket were unimpressive. Though still a Manipular, I stood a head taller than the Sangheili and was far more muscularly toned. Should we engage in a contest of grappling I felt as if I could easily come out on top. Such thoughts must have been unconsciously telegraphed by my demeaner for Silket unclasped one of his blades from his belt and handed it to me.

“The first lesson, now,” Silket said as he backed away and readied a combat stance. He placed his right foot forward and swept the other behind him. His right arm was extended outward while his left hand was then brought to rest around the right arm’s wrist.

“Real weapon training already?” I asked, somewhat puzzled.

“Blade’s only resin. Dulled. Won’t kill you, only hurt,” Silkat said, “A little.”

If the primitive wishes for a beating, I thought at the time, then I will provide it. Though my experience with melee implements was limited at the time, I felt the utmost confidence that I could win. Most forms of combat came naturally to me and what was one more to add to my arsenal? I did a similar positioning of my feet as Silket had done, but I pulled back my right arm to ready my blade for a solid thrusting attack.

I decided to attack first. I leapt towards Silket thrusting the sword right for his chest. He easily moved out of the way and gave a solid strike to the back of my head. Falling to the ground, I quickly rose back to my feet and glared at the Sangheili. He resumed his previous stance and beckoned me forward.

“Try not to be so obvious next time,” he sneered.

I made another effort at him, this time with a left to right swipe at his midsection. This time he managed to duck and roll under my strike, pop up behind me and hit the same spot of my head once more. I did not fall to the ground this time, merely stumbled forward. Just as I turned to face Silket he was on me. First, he hit my wrist which disarmed me of my blade. Then he thrust his blade directly into my chest, causing me frantically search for air. Silket then used his large saurian feet to trip me and force me to the ground.

I held up a hand in supplication, I knew I was beaten and the point made. Silket was not to be underestimated.

Silket holstered his blade and extended his four-fingered hand down to me. He helped me up, brushed the red Sanghelios soil from my body, and, surprisingly, nodded approvingly at Bitterness after a few silent moments.

“Arrogant, but shows potential,” Silket appraised.

“Do the humblings you give to our pupils ever bore you, Silket?” Bitterness asked with a trace of amusement creeping in her voice.

“A necessary step to separate the seed heads from the irukan.”

As I nursed the throbbing headache gifted to me by Silket’s first lesson, I quickly deciphered it’s main teaching and will pass it on to you now:

Underestimating your enemy, whether it is the world you stand on or the foe you face in combat, is the stratagem of fools.