Classified Item
Bungie has the ability to expose information in the API that, for whatever reason, is not yet ready to be seen. We call these items "classified".
Sometimes classified items eventually are revealed to be real, in-game items. However, they are usually just junk data that made it into the API that isn't intended to be seen.
We include these items in the database solely to provide a complete view of what is in the API files. You should not take the presence of this item as a guarantee of something coming in a future update or attempt to analyze its presence too deeply. Doing so likely will only lead to disappointment.
This item is categorized as classified because:
- It is a dummy responsible for generating items purchased from vendors or obtained from opening engrams.
Exotic Perks
Puppeteer's Control
Stats
| Defense | 0 |
Curated Roll
Lore
Abeyant Leap
After each ascent, the fall.
What Rohan wants to remember, more than anything, is her laughter. That booming, firmament-shaking, bone-rattling laugh.
It rings out now, as she leans down to deposit her core into the Chief Archivist's hands. Nothing discourages Cloud Strider Tramontane from laughing at her own retirement ceremony—not the Chief Archivist's attempts to hush her, and not the way her breath rasps in her chest afterwards.
The Chief Archivist slots Tramontane's core into the plinth. Nanites swarm up from the core, layering themselves systematically into the shape of her monument. The attendees burst into thunderous applause.
That moment is suspended in Rohan's memory: Tramontane, larger-than-life, head thrown back in laughter in front of her own memorial.
But so, too, is this: Tramontane, cradled in a nest of wires and tubing. As her implants break down, her body follows suit, each failure cascading into the next. She is withering to nothing in front of his eyes.
There is no crowd here; Rohan's only companion in his vigil is a single pouka, hovering over his shoulder. The doctors overseeing her palliative care duck in and out, without a word. Rohan listens to the beeping monitors and hissing machines pump blood through a faltering heart, but the room is unnaturally quiet.
Tramontane had stopped laughing when her lungs would no longer inflate on their own.
Her hand, shriveled to bone, is barely strong enough to twitch. Rohan takes it in his own and leans close. If she mouths words, he can still make them out by the shape of her breath.
But at the end, there is only silence.
