Sileon strode through the halls of Krona unescorted and unimpeded; there was a bit of movement around him here and there discernable to him, but it was not something he took note of. The flaming wings gave him away; a young man with wings of flame was Sileon, and Sileon was an object of fearful legend in Krona. Aroesus, before he started to lose his mind, often called upon his fire deity of a brother to enforce his will, before Aroesus became unbalanced and hubristic. That was what Metanoia outlined, though Sileon saw touches of it from time to time -- it was as if Aroesus stopped trusting Sileon to carry out such tasks. It was a sad thought, really, to think that in the end, Aroesus thought himself alone but for some catamite of a demigod, intent only on the power of a patron.

 In the days right after Ventu died, Krona was always the realm of Aroesus, though it grew in power as he did -- even from relatively humble beginnings, it was a place where the other deities, family at first, gathered and planned. Sileon was never quite a part of the creation of plans as he was the one carrying them out -- Svanus was often the one who worked with Aroesus, as they sought to build and protect and tend. Krona had always been perfect, a symbolism of the calm rule of Hevas, though it was also a place where violence was done, the seat of power once Aroesus strode to claim the mantle of King from the various pretender pantheons that came before. His power animated this place, and that was rapidly ebbing away without replenishment. The garden, oddly, seemed more intact than other parts of the palace. [i]But then, the garden was a thing of Svanus, and he ensured the survival of such things by breaking off pieces of himself to infuse them with that divine essence.[/i] That was, of course, the suicide of Svanus -- a slow thing, as he gave of himself into other things, so that they might bloom eternal. Sileon had never understood his older brother, but it seemed that the legacy of Svanus would outlast that of Aroesus.

Speaking of legacies, Sileon knew that Aroesus had heirs and that the others in the Pantheon would be ready to fight over the power -- it was the way of things, for the gods did not share power easily and the hierarchy was an imposition of force. Freed from the authority of Aroesus, until another established it, there would be a war for dominion, fiercely contested. These were things to ask about, these where some of the many questions he had. And these were on his mind as he strode into the throne room to confront Mysia, the dowager Queen of the Gods.

Some court attendants continued as they always had, scurrying about. Spirit servitors, even demigods, but no one stopped to impede the progress of Ventu's youngest son, to halt that strong stride of his across the cracking crystal floor of the throne room -- he took in the ragged drapes and the smudged has-been splendor of the place as the light filtered through with a scowl as he looked for the face he was seeking.

"Mysia!" he called out, "It is Sileon. I would speak with you." 

Many of the hangers on, the courtiers of the late reign, the sort of yes-beings that Aroesus surrounded himself with scattered at that announcement -- everyone, apparently, was expecting a war, and these were Aroesus' closest companies in the late stages of the King's life -- friends of Lyrikes grown fat on the patronage of the upjumped demigod, the one who had infatuated Aroesus to distraction. They revealed their character in their little stampede.