"Help when you can. This is best, most simple way to become hero." —Saint-14
Saint-14 followed the trajectory of the Hawk as it plummeted. He reached the crash site several miles out.
The Legion patrol that arrived soon afterwards had come prepared to confront a few injured civilians. Not Saint-14. While the crew huddled under his Ward of Dawn, Saint hurled his shield at the field commander's rifle, then charged.
Even battle couldn't silence his thoughts entirely. It was unkind of him, to wish for Osiris to be here beside him, trading blows with the enemy. Osiris was no longer helpless, but neither was he unchanged. If he were here, Saint would have asked that he stay inside the Ward's shield with the others.
But Osiris had run off to Neptune, where Saint could do nothing for him but wait.
Saint punched through a Phalanx shield, tore it from the Shadow Legionary's grip, and brought it down repeatedly onto the Legionary's head.
When Saint was finished, he extended a hand toward the nearest civilian.
"Come. Geppetto and I will lead you back to the Farm."
The woman was focused on cutting at her scarf with her knife, working with the determined focus of someone performing a ritual. He looked at the faded violet cloth in her hand, and the familiarity of the moment washed over him.
Saint sank to one knee and waited patiently as she tied the strip of material to his armor.
Things had not changed so much. He could be patient. He would tell Osiris this story, too, when they were face to face once more.