The campsite, a makeshift haven amidst overgrown ruins, offered a strange peace. A fire crackled, casting shadows on the remnants of walls. Cayde-6, in his weathered cloak and vest, stirred a pot of stew. His Ace of Spades, cracked with white light, hung at his side. His bright optics scanned the surroundings, ever vigilant. Suddenly, gunfire echoed, shattering the silence. Cayde’s head snapped up. “Definitely not Crow’s gun,” he murmured, rising and reaching for his weapon. “Guess we’ve got company. Let’s see who’s brave enough to crash our party.”