Cain's brow furrowed as Tiramisu's words sank in. He was not the sort to be shaken by another's talent—uncontrollable envy was a childish thing, unworthy of those who aim at eternity. What unsettled him was not the Crimson Exarch's brilliance, but the fact that his own mastery of The Flow was not truly born from himself.
Yes, he had refined and evolved it through endless training, years of blood, silence, and solitary struggle—but the foundation, the primal principles that allowed him to harness its power, had come from fragments of memory carried over from a past life.
He clenched his jaw, forcing the distraction away. Questions churned like storms in his mind, but this was not the time for introspection. His voice, when he spoke, was calm and direct.
"What is the name of this person? And how strong is he?"
Tiramisu regarded him in silence for a moment, her eyes unreadable pools of light. Then she spoke.
