Nothing powers hate better than embarrassment.

I see ranks ready for battle, stretching out. Five, six horses across, ranks in formation. Endlessly.

Gods colliding, ethos and mythos trying to combine. The Sacred Band caught up in a whirlwind not of any god's devising: he and Niko had wanted to save twenty-three pairs of fated Theban fighters. Now everything feels fated and fighting oversweeps its boundaries of time and place and plane.

Tempus never left a problem for another to solve. Tempus never let the pain or difficulty of an undertaking persuade him not to pursue a resolution his heart thought was right. Tempus never gave up.

It's all the same - no good without evil, no balance...no maat. If we lose one, we lose the other. It's just life, that's all.

Gods and men honor those who have fought in battle.

Stop grieving. Start giving thanks to me. You live to fight on other days.