Cain crossed the threshold and took the empty chair with unhurried ease. He had decided the terms of his own arrival and saw no reason to explain them. He settled into the seat, set the walking stick against the table's edge, and looked at Pantheon.
"Please," he said. "Continue."
King watched him for a moment without making it visible. The walking stick. The grey hair. The way Cain carried his weight to one side without quite acknowledging it. Ruin's Touch had done something permanent to him. That Cain had survived any contact with its effect at all said something specific about his constitution. That he still held a top ten ranking in his current condition said something else.
Pantheon looked around the table once, confirming the room was complete, then exhaled and began.
He thanked them for coming without excess, one sentence of acknowledgment, one of genuine appreciation for what the attendance had cost each of them, and then he moved directly to the subject without preamble.
