I see all sorts of things when I'm clearing my pipes.

Order is its own reward.

You three have done quite enough today: all of you and your feckless, treacherous god.

Every man's in his own hands, with a little help from his brothers.

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.

Tempus wanders eternally, bringing death to whomever loves him and being spurned by whomsoever he shall love.

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.