The bar is a somber place. There's a jukebox, yes, and sometimes it's nice to take drinks outside and watch ships dock and fly out. The later we stay, however, the quieter we get.

We're very lucky that the Traveler did not rob us of the ability to get drunk when it plucked us out of death's sweet embrace. Being drunk makes things better for a while, and I don't feel as apprehensive to talk about my dreams. My first mistake was letting that particular nugget slip out in the company of a titan and a hunter. They gave me a look and quickly finished their drinks before departing.

It was a fellow warlock who was the first one to take the time the listen. Fellow members of the Order always are the most helpful in these matters. I told her what I saw in my dreams, and she listened.

I told her of the city laid to waste with the Traveler, healed and glowing, slowly floating away. I told her of the Void surging through my hands and the ecstasy of power that I felt in every inch of my body as I killed. I told her of the metallic expanses of a strange world. I told her of tombs and graves, of great fires and a green haze in the sky.

She listened, and whispered she had seen the same. It was the first time I had ever seen Ikora Rey look truly troubled. She took a heavy draught of her drink, and ordered me to never speak of these things again in such a public place. I suddenly wished that my glass was not empty, and rose to fix that.