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Smoke. Dust. Ash.
Sublimation: the transition of a substance directly from the solid to the gas phase without passing through an intermediate liquid phase.
This definition held purpose. Tenno killed hard and fast. So imperceptibly powerful, that when a target is attacked, it dies within seconds. No one could stand against the sheer power and form. Gifted tenno were a force of awe. Hale new this. It's not everyday tenno of such caliber were born, and rarer yet was a tenno that lived through the advanced training he went through. Master, Executioner, Death incarnate. Words and unnecessary phrases that would whisper to his ego, only to be shut down by the discipline he so gruelingly worked for.
Jealousy doesn't exist among tenno. Those feelings of pettiness would never suffice. Admiration and respect is all you got. For it didn't matter whether you were skilled in archery, marksmenship, melee combat, or special tactics. You were tenno, and you respected each other without discourse.
Ash. Such importance is placed on this word. Enemies would fade away to it if an Ember warframe was in sight; if a Rhino warframe stomped you into the very ground; if a Banshee warframe warped sound into a weapon and the body you so dearly loved faded. Ash warframes had the honor of being named after such a monumental material. The very nature of ash held much importance to Ash warframes. Your only goal was to turn enemies into the beloved substance. Hale loved the name of his warframe.
So much so it was practically his own body. You killed in your warframe, occasionally slept in your warframe (only when training and for long missions), ate in your warframe. Died in your warframe. Too often did this happen to the others. Tenno could be killed (even if they were regarded as the "ultimate" force in the solar system), you just need many times their numbers. Because of this, Hale took great care in his warframe.
Hale wasn't particularly strong like a Rhino, or fast like a Loki. He had no special mastery of the elements. He held one thing so many of his kin seem to deem worthless. Stealth. Slipping in and out of an enemy stronghold, objective complete, no one alerted, nothing misplaced or broken. Satisfaction is such an ineffectual word for the elation and effulgence you feel afterwards!
The best feeling by far . . . ? Fear. That look in the eyes of that special someone you so effortlessly let your guard down for, just so they could see you, hate you. Fear you. That look that says, "Why?" right before they die . . . ecstasy. Pure and great and wondrously delightful ecstasy. Some would call him insane, crazy, homicidal, sociopathic, (genocidal, if you're feeling uptight or fancy). He didn't care. It's what made him such an important asset to the Lotus. Nothing could see him slip away into a massless field as he teleported from one target to the next. Nothing could hear the soundless, custom-metal shuriken gliding so expertly and gracefully through the air. Nothing could live through his endless torrent of rapture as he slipstreamed from one target to the next, bringing sword or dagger in to contact with bone.
When he was sent to do something, it was accomplished with rapid, startling success. So powerful, it was as if transferring from solid to gas without any liquid ever seen. He was sublimation. He was dust, smoke, and ash.