he slips into the nectar, leaving his shredded clothes behind

Organization Torna skirts the Praetorium with alacrity for the first few centuries of their trawl, after retrieving Mikhail.

In terms of progress, it's prudent. The persecuted trapped within, doomed to emerge as distorted shadows too shattered to catalyze or even cauterize a better future, bring too much risk to be retrieved.

In terms of personal awakening, it's all but compulsory, until that day, uncountable years on, when truth becomes abundantly clear: Malos, never bound in space to Amalthus, now cleaves to Jin.

So this is being driven, huh?

To stand united in the halls of the Praetor is, truly, apotheosis.