I thought we'd die there, quarrels in our backs, you for what you did and me for bearing witness.

To the death with honor, shoulder to shoulder, and no one gets closer to a Stepson than his partner.

And what do the Theban hoplites see in this extended rending of the sky, this white-bright glory of Enlil's lightning? The future, but not theirs: paired cavalry fighters; formed ranks of armored death; grim men on their tall horses with lightning limning weapons tailored to the task; men spoiling for a fight if the gods allowed - the Sacred Band of Stepsons, out from shadows and the dark.

Look around you. It's an honor to fight beside you. Today we choose to fight. For the freedom to fight on other days. So we remember what's worth fighting for.

You count up your dead, every one. Always. Recall them, each and all - every face, every heart.

This was what men fought for, what men died for: a chance at life, and to fight on other days - the battle of your choice, of the body, or the heart, or the soul.

Life to you, Riddler, and everlasting glory.