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.

For me, myth is the 'common' language of us all.

Everyone prepares for battle in his own way.

Death is a doorway, Niko, that leads to an adventure greater than any you have ever known.

Nature has a surer plan than mortals can devise.

Sometimes the cost of winning for all the right reasons is so great that spirits die and hearts grow cold.

And personally, I've lost my thirst for vengeance.