There are too many ways to kill someone who needs killing.
Cayde-6 spends the first night of his rebirth staring at the man who murdered him.
The prince he once knew as Uldren lies with his back to Cayde, head on his arm, cushioned by soft grass. Under a sky without stars, granite boulders are scattered like vast marbles, nestled among the tall prairie grasses; a safe, silent valley born in the moment of their arrival. Time had grown oily without the familiar cycles of Earth, and after hours of half-conversations and stunted questions, the other man had excused himself to rest.
Uldren sleeps soundly. Vulnerable.
Cayde leans back against a boulder, arms crossed in the half-shadow of the fire between them. An impulse curls through him, dark and wild.
It would only take a moment.
He could put a shot straight through the Ghost's shell. Then improvise a garotte with a handful of prairie grass and strangle the man while looking him dead in the eye.
Or crush the Ghost with his hands, to stand tall and powerful over the sleeping figure, and relive his own death from his killer's perspective.
Better yet, he could capture the Ghost, set the man free, and hunt him in furious pursuit—
Cayde flinches and looks up to see his murderer's Ghost hovering in place, watching him, illuminated by the flickering coals of a dying fire. A motionless, protective stance.
Cayde narrows his eyes. His hand slowly moves to his gun.
Ghost and Exo stare through one another. The man beneath the Ghost stirs but does not wake.
Then, in a fluid motion, the Ghost glides past his Guardian's cheek, silently approaching Cayde. It draws close.
"I'm sorry about Sundance," whispers the Ghost.
Cayde stills at her name. His hands and his gaze drops to the ground, pinned there now by a heavy shame.
"Thanks," is all Cayde can muster.
He looks at the sleeping man nestled on the grass of the inside of a god and sees nothing of Uldren.
Crow, Cayde reminds himself.
That's Crow.