Cain's jaw tightened. Images flashed unbidden through his memory—Nebula's blades, the resonance that tore through the battlefield, the sensation of something inside him stirring in response. He had ignored it then. He wished he could ignore it now.
He leaned in. "If the Fallen want me, then why send you?"
"Because," the envoy said, voice cracking around pain but carrying a thread of pride, "I volunteered."
"Why."
"Because bringing you back alive… earns an audience. A place. Power." His expression twisted. "You think you're the only one whose life was rearranged the day the sky opened?"
Cain said nothing. The envoy continued, breath shallow.
"You want answers, Cain? Then go to the source. The pillar at the edge of the world—the one that appeared when the skies ruptured. That's where your kind came through."
"My kind," Cain repeated flatly.
"Not human," the envoy whispered. "Not anymore."
Cain's hand curled slowly into a fist.
"I'm done with your riddles."
