[i]SING, O Muse, of the [b]fury[/b] of Nero—
daughter of the virgin goddess[1], who brought upon her home
ruin. Many a noble man found himself cast down,
made a meal for the red jaws of her hounds.
That was good feasting they had at Hades’ table[2].[/i]

Her hair is up, wrapped around the iron wreath. Red Saber lies naked on her lap; despite the name, it is a wicked-tipped flamberge, gleaming like blood in the low light. Her armor is layered; the ornaments and gilded tabard belying the mail and padding below. The [i]Ianuspater[/i] attends to its functions admirably: perimeter scan, war archival (entry: [i]Ridenki, agri-world, supply lynchpin, subversion priority Alpha, theater ongoing for forty days, Theater Commander: Daimyo Mengekai.[/i]), aetheric receptor (entry: [i]Demeter immanent. Hades, Athena in attention. Arrival: Artemis, among your commanders.[/i]), and second eye, burning bright when she looks at herself in the mirror and looks again because she is something between the Empress and the Princess. She is younger than she had thought. Mothers are ancient forever, unassailable, impossible to catch up to.

She twitches back a curtain, not quite trusting the [i]Ianuspater[/i], that thousand-fold jewel. Conversation outside stops, all eyes turn to her, and Redana panic-shuts the curtain again. But what is she doing? Like Mom would have been caught dead peeping out and second-guessing herself! Be the Nero you pretended to be, Dany[3]!

So the Director pulls back the curtain decisively and puts on her game face, looking down upon the assembly. “Daimyo Mengekai,” she says, one hand resting on Red Saber. “I have waited long enough. Present your proposal.” And Mengekai turns[4] to face her, Artemis by his side.

***

[1]: almost certainly artistic license. The only grandparents that Redana knows about with any certainty are the Castrate and the Sicklekeeper. The origins of Nero Claudius are a great sweep of imperial mythology, and the truth lies at the bottom of those waters.

[2]: the iconic opening lines of the [i]Neroiad[/i], composed three centuries post-Declaration by Avernon Septimus, Poet Laureate of Tellus. The uncharacteristically dark tone was made at the subject’s request; the sweep of the poem depicts Nero as receiving the blessings of the Olympians, and through each blessing, becoming worthy of rule.

[3]: “Come, Daimyo Beylaketan! To the Southern Reach!”

[4]: oh [i]Stormfather[/i] he [i]big[/i]. Resist the urge to challenge him to sparring right now. Or give him headpats[5].

[5]: we do not give Ceronian Daimyos headpats, Dany!!