Gifted Conviction Share

Exotic Armor Focusing

Lore

The H.E.L.M. is quiet save for a few robotic sentries monitoring the systems close by. The tablet in Ikora's grasp beeps in response to her touch and a set of projections appears before her. She searches through the information on the Sol Divisive—models, weaknesses, radiolaria research, even Hidden-specific analyses of their habits and types. She glides her index finger over the screen until she finds a recording of a troop of Goblins being felled by a Guardian. It's quick—a couple of shots at most before they crumble to the ground in a puddle of radiolaria and the recording stops. The dim eye of the broken Vex catches her attention and she becomes so lost in contemplation that she barely hears another enter the room. She turns her head. "Mithrax," Ikora acknowledges with a small nod. "Ikora," he says, returning the greeting. "Has your research proven fruitful?" "Sadly, no," she answers. Her gaze returns to the screen, and she sighs. "I've spent hours investigating the factions most likely to support the Witness, but it all just feels like… a distraction. Like they're fodder for its end goal." Mithrax hums in agreement, his attention on the Vex Goblin she'd previously been transfixed by. "Why would the Sol Divisive consider throwing themselves into the line of fire for something like the Final Shape?" she asks. "Maybe… they simply have faith." "Faith?" Ikora huffs involuntarily, something akin to a faintly sardonic laugh. "We know the Sol Divisive are an anomaly among the Vex, but are they even capable of that?" "What else would convince one to commit life and death to a cause, if not faith in said cause?" Mithrax's tone is one of self-recognition, of understanding. "The idea of a better future." Ikora remains quiet. Her eyes find the single eye of the Goblin once more. "They chose their path for a reason that gives them purpose. Not unlike ourselves," Mithrax elaborates, hand gesturing to the screen. "Perhaps that is how the Sol Divisive believe they can achieve perfection." Ikora's head tilts up as she considers his words. His suggestion makes sense, and it is the sort of faith a Vex would embrace: the pursuit of total perfection. A natural feeling of defiance wells up in her at the thought. She's known the underlying gnawing of expectation in words like 'perfection' and 'faith.' The ideals that have driven her throughout most of her life, as she'd morphed into countless versions of herself in pursuit of them. Ikora swipes her finger across the tablet and the recording disappears, replaced with a new set of combatants. "It's never too late to re-evaluate your faith," she says.