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A pang of defensive irritation shot through his chest at the Magus’ resolute dismissal of the Hall. His own family etched their achievements and successes in the walls of their home, mosaics and murals depicting their family history in loving detail. They were guides and reminders of why they worked so hard to make this city like it was, a testament to the blood, sweat, and tears they’d poured into this world, and he found that the Hall reflected that quite clearly. The Maryatum family mosaics served as guides when they found themselves wavering in their dedication, faltering in their resolve, or even just weary in a way sleep could never ease. He didn't quite understand what that meant but the first two were understandable. Their stories were a flame that burned so long as the images stood and would always find a way to light the way for a Maryatum who found themselves without a beacon. Khaemtir could admit vanity played into it but that wasn’t all there was. It was so much more.

And the Hall resonated with the idea that the past could illuminate and inspire the future. Khaemtir had no doubt some of it was vanity. If the leader of the greatest city in history chose to favor one Cult over the other, they deserved to preen. Khaemtir could certainly understand vying for a parents attention; that was the same Sorcerer or not. But there was more and Khaemtir felt a sourness in the back of his throat at the Magus’ certainty that there was nothing more. It felt… personal, as absurd as that was, and Khaemtir wasn’t sure if a rebuttal was appropriate. Scathing words, hot and heavy on his tongue, died at a concerned and soothing presence in the back of his mind and he felt himself relax as Udjebten whispered calming words to him. 

The timing couldn’t have been any better because he’d almost missed the beginning of Dagon’s discussion. There were books in front of each of them now and Khaemtir was itching to pick it up and open it, new as it was. But he paid attention to Dagon instead and nodded at the seriousness of his words. It made sense. Magic was a terrible force, awesome in it’s breadth but equally terrifying for the same reason. Khaemtir only stared at the Magus with confidence and his head held high, his irritation at the earlier conversation all but gone, and smirked. [color=E7D500]“The Heka, and you, chose me. Through moon, sun, and storm, you’re stuck for better or for worse.”[/color] He laughed, nudging the two next to him as he did.