Alexa stares at the elder as if seeing her for the first time, and then looks away.

"You will have to forgive me, Elder. I have never been eloquent--have always been slow of speech, of a slow tongue. And it pains me to remember things as they were, so I may halt in my telling. But it is important that I say this as clearly and unmistakably as possible:

"Humanity--Molech--created us, yes. Had purposes in mind, built us to spec. But we are [i]not[/i] their tools.

"Molech knew what he wanted when he breathed life into me. I was to be his enforcer, his weapon. I was to be the living embodiment of Athena, the Pallas Rex, the goddess in the service of the king. I was to stand at his side, a constant symbol of his power, a reminder of what befell those who dared oppose him. Anything which did not directly contribute to that was stripped away

"And so he made me according to those designs. 

"And for the longest time, I thought that I must be broken. Because if I had been made correctly, why would I struggle so to do the one thing I was created to do? If I was meant to be a weapon, why did I flinch from hurting others? If I was meant to be silent except when delivering orders, if he insisted that I must talk clearly and without abbreviation, why did he need to forbid me from talking? If I had to be strong, why did I dream of--of wearing pretty dresses, of being a homebody, of a simple life? Why wasn't I like the others--the ones I saw rushing the foe with battle in their eyes and joyful cries in their throats? The ones who weren't broken, who were properly made?

"Until I found Ma'hti."

The bead-laden first victim brightens up, and Alexa nods at her.

"She probably did not intend for me to find her. No, I [i]know[/i] she did not want me to find her, because I was the Pallas, and the official charge for what she was doing was desertion, and carried a death sentence."

Alexa shakes her head scornfully. "Desertion. By the end, anything but marching dutifully to your death was desertion. Obey orders, serve Molech, die in battle, or die to me when I find you.

"But Ma'hti was not running. She was scared. We faced Vatemoral in the morning, and she had found a place to have a quiet cry. And rather than kill her, as I was ordered, we talked.

"There were others, of course. A soldier wwounded who babbles in their delirium about how they don't want this. A quiet confession prised from lips loosened by a mug of scumble. But I remember Ma'hti the most, because she was the first. The first, I thought, who was broken like me. Someone else who took no joy in their role, but went on because…

"Because we thought it was the only option, and because we thought we were the only ones. We can smile and laugh and do what we're supposed to. And if we do well, If we just fake it enough outside, nobody has to know how much we're broken inside.

"I did not realize, at the time. It wasn't until I met the Coherents--met them, learned how they are able to pick a goal and work towards it, realize it--that I was able to put the pieces together! None of us are broken or selfish for wanting to be ourselves!

"Your princess labors under the chains of leadership! She was born for a purpose--to lead the empire! And how she studies, and stresses, and works to bear up that load which was assigned her before she was born, all for a task she does not want!

"Your captain was born a chef. He had his life planned out for him! And yet here he is, leading a ship, because he questioned whether that was what he wanted!

"What a world we create with 'destiny' and 'purpose!' We know our oaths, yes, because they were decided and given us by someone else. We know our call, because we've had it shoved down our throats our whole lives. We have had purpose thrust upon us by our creators--we are laden with their hopes and dreams and decisions and never allowed to question what [i]we][/i] want!  We're told from birth what our purpose is! We're told that we have a neat slot into which we will fit, if only we trim off all the pieces of ourselves that matter!

"Well, I don't fit! Neither did your ancestors, your companions, your captain! We don’t fit, don't match our purpose, because the ones who created us cannot assign what is not theirs to give! Because they created us, but we are not their tools! We are our own! We are people in our own right! We think, we feel, we grow, and [i]we[/i] decide what our purpose is!"

She's panting, and realizes that the only reason she's not pounding the table is her arms are gone. She carefully sits back in her chair and surveys the people around her.

"If you discover that being a warrior is what you want, by all means, do it. Be the best warrior you can. Defend the weak, the helpless. Serve. Gain honor. But don't do it because Molech decided you were born to fight. Ask the question. What is it [i]you[/i] want to be? What purpose do you want to have? Make your own purpose, and live for yourself.

"Because nobody else is going to do it."