May this message find you, Guardian.
If it does, then you have once again learned just enough to be dangerous, and you are no doubt seeking guidance.
I must preface all I am about to say by asking for your empathy. I have dedicated lifetimes to studying the infinite permutations of reality. I have lived longer than any other Guardian by orders of magnitude, much of it outside what you experience as time. But with the loss of Sagira, the time I have left in a Human lifespan is infinitesimal; less than a mote in the vast sands of time. All I have of value—my insights, my discoveries, my reputation—they are all rooted in my past, and I do not have the time left to accomplish more. Not on the scale we need to survive.
There are few beings in this cosmos who have seen time from the same depths as I have, and fewer still with the intellect to appreciate that perspective. Which is why I have made my deal with the devil.
I have willingly submitted to Savathûn and allowed her to take my place among the Vanguard.
The Vanguard have fought like trapped animals for too long. They hoard secrets; every fact they learn gets crammed into the barrel of a gun and fired at the heart of our newest target. We are losing this war despite individual, pyrrhic victories, and what pitiful harm Savathûn can inflict with our limited resources pales against the value of this opportunity. The Witch Queen sits on a throne of secrets accreted over a billion years. While she huddles in the crumbling ruin of our city, I am left alone in her storied halls to learn all she has seen.
Zavala and Ikora are dear friends and noble souls, but they are adventurers. They see immediate problems and crave immediate solutions, and their compassion blinds them to what can be won through sacrifice—particularly from a man who is, on the scale of Guardian lives, already dead. They would stop me, which is why I entrust only you with this knowledge. Keep my secrets and keep humanity safe with this unexpected ally.
Do not let my sacrifice be in vain.