Aroesus was dead; perhaps more was expected out of Sileon, or no less -- he processed the information, but gave little indication as to what he thought of it. He didn't stop to ask questions when the grim tale of lust, seduction and treachery was unfolded in words to him by a deity that hardly knew him. There was an unsettling, serenely focused intensity to him as he stood still and heard. 

Even Sileon could see that Aroesus was becoming more unsettled in the last days, but he was never one easily swayed by words. In acts did he find his solace and truth. And so there were no vows of vengeance, or even howls of despair. Things died; Sileon saw his father pass, one brother and then another. The Dreams thought they were eternal, and were perhaps right, but Sileon always knew on a visceral level that his flame would go out some day. It was the cycle, the same cycle they'd subconsciously imposed on the world they stood on. The stuff of death nourished the rebirth. 

"The first thing I should do is to go to Krona." Sileon didn't plan past a certain point, and he didn't generally say a lot, and so much of what Metanoia thought was true -- he was the son of Ventu least suited to deal with this problem. Another being would say, 'go see Mysia, if not her, Lathunis' and so forth, but Sileon was like the flame indeed-- he knew where he'd go next, but not what would come after, or after, or after. He never did plan beyond the immediate future, or dwell beyond the immediate past.

And it was true, he had no actual plan for how to deal with humanity, or even an interest in doing so. Svanus and Aroesus, humanity was their labor of love. Like a younger brother, not quite understanding the play, Sileon tagged along, always curious, but eternally a child in this regard. The intricacies escaped him. The cities sprouted and humanity flourished, but Sileon played only the parts that came naturally to him.

"Thank you for telling me this, Metanoia." 

Sileon didn't pause to consider whether or not there was an agenda behind telling him this, and there were no flowery formalities to stand on; the form of a young man one moment, the flight of a bird the next, and then, the arrival of Sileon on the platform before the gates of Krona, the marble cracking and smudging for the first time that he could ever remember. His entrance was not subtle; he was a being of flaming wings and a savage litheness, and yes, an object of long-held fear. The inhabitants of Krona, from the few lucky mortal spirits made eternal servants to the lesser beings that made up the court, all knew that Sileon was going to wake up sooner or later, and they knew what Metanoia knew and feared; they were entering a time of incredible strife and upheaval. They knew that when the Herald walked the halls of Krona that it was never good tidings...