Mark of Shelter

The bar's still missing its roof, and the air smells like rain.

Cayde-6 sits in the bar with his chair tipped, holding a shot of something acid green. He looks at you, counts the beads of sweat on Zavala's mug, and sighs. "Are we doing this, or what? C'mon, I'm rusting."

Zavala straightens and clears his throat. "The Vanguard will continue until we are no longer needed, but I can foresee the day when you will…" He pauses, searching your face.

The moment drags. Cayde juts his chin forward. Ikora hides a smile, then lifts her glass to you. "When you will surpass us."

"Wait, what?" Cayde's chair drops heavily. He leans forward. "'Surpass' us? I didn't agree to that! This is a 'great job being a hero' party, not a 'Cayde is second-best' party."

Ikora winks at you. "It's always been a 'Cayde is second-best' party."