[b]Skotos![/b] Hera shakes her head. "I do not come in Hestia's place," she said. "I do not come in Aphrodite's. I do not come to talk of motivation and wishes and dreams. I do not tell you to trust in your heart, for it is broken, or your mind, for it is simple. I come to talk about of decision." She took a deep breath. Like some part of her didn't want to do this. She still does not like you, Skotos. "The lives of mortals are beyond their control for so much of the time. They follow destiny, duty, inertia, day after day with not a single choice passing through their minds. Kings and slaves both live their lives without change. They follow their hearts, and are at the whim of their hearts. They follow their social caste, and so are enchained by their society's expectations. Gods, too. I lived for many years with an anger I did not choose. It grew into a hatred I did not want. It became cruelty I never intended." From behind her unfold the feathers of a peacock, a thousand gemstone eyes. "I!" she cried, voice as the stampede of cattle. "Even I! Who defines Hera, Queen of the Gods? Who can make her into something she does not intend? I am not the shadow of Zeus, I shall not throw my identity on the pyre of her neglect! I realized then my true power and true domain. I am [b]Choice![/b] The ability that lies within the soul of every mortal to stop. To declare themselves unsatisfied with who they are and where the path before them leads. To [i]transform[/i]." She took a deep, slow breath. The radiance around her slowly began to dim. "In XIII... in Bella, I saw a younger version of myself. Someone trapped within the radiance of another, letting her soul fester if she thought it was for love. Where I sat enchained by my pride, though, she was imprisoned by terror and that was a more terrible chain by far. For her the choice was between prisons, one physical and one metaphorical. No wonder her soul became jagged, too hurt to see the choices even when they came." "And... I do not hate you for your neglect. Though you tempted me many times," said Hera. "You owe no one your love. I do not hate you, for once you saw the shape of the problem you determined to cut it out at the source. I cannot fault your heart, as much as I might wish to, just as in the end I could not fault Zeus. You are a good person, Skotos." And then she seizes you by the neck with taloned hands and slams you against the wall. "But you [i]do[/i] owe her an apology," she hisses. "Chose as you will. Chose to shrink from your duties, your morals, that pure heart that started all this. I do not care. But if you abandoned your childhood friend for a cause you no longer believe in, knowing the suffering you caused her, then the least you can do is look her in the eye and confess your shame. Leave this story [i]if you must[/i] but do not leave a hole in that girl's heart. If you confess, I will turn you over to the protection of Hestia. If you ghost her I will ensure you regret it." [b]Alexa![/b] Something is wrong. You are wrapped in coils. You have a strength, a talent for enveloping people in your arms and keeping them helpless. This is what it is to be on the other side of that. You're trapped, the Azura's breath on the back of your neck, her fangs against your marble spine. Athena stands over you impassively. Her face doesn't have respect, pity, or contempt. She should have at least something, surely. Even she is not so cold hearted as to - You freeze. [i]That is not Athena.[/i] None of this made sense as a battle. It's something different. She produces a pocket watch from her silver suit pocket and glances at it. One, two, three - A sphere drops down from above. Seated enthroned upon a velvet throne is an aged Azura in robes of highly respectable sky blue. Upon his head rests a three-pointed hat, as magnificent as a crown. One of the Azura technologists, a member of the Shahrak Society - though the Hermetics always called them the Tricorns. And on his withered hand is a [i]command seal[/i]. The same as the one Redana wears. It's not attuned to you yet, but the intent is terrifyingly clear. [b]Vasilia and Dolce![/b] A chill walks up your spine, like a flower sprouting on the soil of your grave. You've dealt with con artists before. You've met Azura warbands in the dark before. You're familiar with their narcotic of choice, those eerie cigarettes they call senth. And the smell from the smoke Thelis Thist blows in a long, satisfied cloud from her nose smells [i]nothing[/i] like senth. It smells... if anything, like the power wielded by that priest of Hades, Ivory Smile. Thist looks at you with heavily lidded eyes. The cigar in her hand smoulders in dark promise. It's the chill of spotting the yellow stripe running up the back of a serpent you were about to pounce on. A lot of your ancestors had to die for you to build up a fear like this. "... no, you're not the assassins," said Thelis Thist, fangs tracing swirls in the smoke that rolls around her. "You're the victims. [i]Excellent[/i]." She shoves a pot aside and leans in over the stove, resting her elbows in the open flames. The flames surround her from below, burning away the rest of that cigar in a sudden and violent cloud of billowing smoke. Amidst the haze, up to her neck in fire, Thelis Thist looks suddenly more like a devil - though her cheerful, oily patter continues without hesitation. "Sir," she said, "ma'am. You are being hunted. Sagakhan, the Telluric assassin, has once again decided to brave my realm to keep her own in order. Once again she sends children to fight me. I swear, they get younger every year..." She smiles, smoke coiling around the edges of her mouth. "If you'd like, I will help you. You will have to follow my instructions without question no matter how illogical they may seem. We are up against a foe who works in prediction and it would take me months to explain the complexities of the plan in motion." She offers her card again, unburnt despite the fire that wreaths it. "And don't worry about my fee," she said. "I'll take what's mine from the assassins." [b]XIII![/b] Of course the first thing you see in the hall is Redana. How could you miss her? She looks... good. She looks better than she ever has, actually. It's been so long since you've seen her but at last she's come into her own. She looks like her mother. Dressed in white with a golden wreath upon her head, golden hair done up in a braid worthy of Mynx. Perhaps being away really has been good for her... And then her glance meets yours across the hall and there is no warmth in it at all. That is an expression you've never seen on her at all. It's serene and steel, determined as ice as it breaks the boulder. She's surrounded by her retinue; Hermetics, battlecrabs, Alcedi, an a small army of retainers in organized array and full grandeur. Surrounding her even further are the Azura; hundreds of their great and good, conveniently sorted by colour in relation to the spectacular Satrap upon her throne. Your nose twitches. You can smell the smoke from Thelis Thist's office somewhere, though you can't see her. Some of the other Azura in the galleries are also smoking, but whatever they're using is... different from what she used. Your name is announced. The Satrap gestures, and Redana is drawn aside as you are called to stand before the apex of the Azura's society-wide dictates on colour. You have no orders from Beautiful here, she must be relying on your instincts.