In the crypt that was Draco's nest of chaos, Cain had been... Napping, perhaps, was the wrong word. Ever since it had seen the forces gathering in Ursa, it had rarely felt a true sleep. Instead, it lingered between twilight and alertness, half-resting in the way only a feline was particularly suited for.

The hallowed cries of a Caller, screeching at the Forge for aid, drew its attention. It stepped out from its den, wings unfolding as its scarlet eyes locked upon the singular crimson of the bird.

The urge to take it by the blood and impale it on a spike was momentary and fleeting, driven by an emotional reaction of annoyance. It overcame that simplistic, animistic urge with a snort, ears swiveling forward to listen more intently to the words it was crying over.

Exhaustion was smothered by adrenaline as realization hit the Overseer. A hiss escaped its throat, and it did not waste a single moment: it leapt from its perch on the cavern wall into a swift dive. Its wings beat in practiced motion, swooping past the Opal and the bird. Its destination was Canis, and as its body went into autopilot back to its birthplace, it's mind reached to a familiar, powerful Master.

Vargas, the thought was simple and urgent. Send reinforcements to Canis. I will inform you of the situation further when I arrive.

It had a gut feeling, one that could have perhaps been foolish to follow so blindly. Still: if it was a trap, then let whoever wished to harm the Forge try to catch it. The Overseer would lead the charge, and it would make sure the path was clear. Whoever would follow it, Cain would ensure they would have the advantage.