dumpster fire.

nihlus, saren, her—they’re the very same, in most ways. ghostly apparations traversing space. shadowy figures looming, threatening, ending. bloodied hands washed and scrubbed in the bathrooms just outside the council’s hallway; and if anyone sees, or smells, or breathes so much a word, they don’t see the citadel for a while—or much of anything, anymore.

they are meant to be hidden, subtle, leaving and entering through back doors and alleyways.

until they don’t. until it’s halle withering and screaming and rousing attention to the broken beacon burning at her brain; until it’s saren’s hand gripping, tugging her towards the ship known as sovereign, geth at his heel, reaper threads at his fingers; until it’s nihlus barging into the prisidium with loud and inconceivable claims for all the galaxy to hear.

spectres aren’t supposed to be the centre of attention or be the ones to dictate the fate of the universe as they see fit.

until they are.

Not many were surprised that the kid who crawled out of Akuze alive and still breathing was the first to become a Spectre among her species. Nevertheless, what did shock most was when Spectre Nihlus Kryik took the then Major Halle Shepard under his wing sooner than anyone expected, and none were more displeased than Saren Arterius.