“Death is terribly funny,” Persias told the corpse. “Not to you, I’m sure, but I’ve found it to be so over my life. Not its inevitability, not the suffering and pain that so often accompanies it, but the sheer randomness of it.”

The corpse said nothing, the Silver and violet of its eyes glassy and unfocused.

“We tell ourselves a story, a myth, that heroes are invincible, that the focus of the tale is safe from all danger until the end, otherwise why tell the tale at all? But life is not a story, and the good die young, the great fall before their time and we don’t always get what we want. I don’t always get what I want, unfortunately.”

The corpse didn’t move.

“The legacy of a man is a humorous thing as well. It should emerge as a natural thing, equal and equivalent to the glory and acclaim of he who perished in battle or to time or to treachery, but yet it is not, has never, and will never be that fair. Whether a man’s deeds will be remembered and be etched into history, whether his cruelties and flaws will be forgiven, whether his name is as immortal as the gods depends entirely on the actions of those in power in the moments after his passing. Do you understand?” Persias asked.

The corpse was as dead as it had been for the past three days since Diokletian Claudion had stuck a divinely cursed blade of ice into its heart. There had been a small funeral, kept private and secure.

“I thought you might. I always thought you were cleverer than you presented. Shrewder and more calculating. I wouldn’t have supported you early on if I didn’t understand that. So many of the others… well, they saw only a warlike beast or an idealistic fool. Something to be taken advantage of, to be pointed at enemies.” Lord Fulvion said.

He brushed a strand of hair out of the corpse’s face, moving it back into place. So young. Only seventeen. It was almost like looking at a fifth son, though at least he had the consolation of knowing Adrias Lucion hadn’t gone to Tartaros like the clones, no, he surely had ended up in Elysium with all the other idols of man except Achilles.

“I do understand why others would disdain your intelligence. The recklessness, the instability, that uncivilized and uncouth Lavinian accent that you never quite managed to rein in. Most think its an intentional choice, that you want to be underestimated or to seem more relatable to the lesser Paths. Quartias told me the truth though. Yes, I know your secret.” He said.

Once more, there was no life to the body, which irritated him given the revelation at least deserved something of a reaction from the young divinity. He reached out a hand and pushed heat into the corpse. Adrias’s face tensed and the eyes refocused, the violet irises glowing from within and golden light softly emitting from the flesh. Cold weakened Adrias Lucion, had killed him in conjunction with divine attack, and in reverse heat strengthened him. The powers he had tapped into had permanently changed the boy so much that enough warmth would appear to revive his corpse for a brief time. Nothing of the mind remained, but it was impressive enough to those who had seen already. Persias Fulvion drew his hand back and the body receded back into a stiff, lifeless state.

“He overheard the mutated giant Servus say that you used to be one of them. I didn’t believe it at first, but I did some digging, tracing your path from Iulius to Sunburst Station to Lavinius and to a small mining town where records existed of a Lucion family with a boy named Adrias and where the earliest reports of an Imperator matching you existing. I don’t understand how you transformed yourself, but I’ve seen photos of your original face and I must say it’s convincing.” Persias said.

Persias had ordered the staff to dress the body in very specific ways, bare chested so that the death wound could be clearly seen. He had gotten pushback on this but had insisted upon it.

“Don’t worry, I never was going to tell anyone. It would have been good blackmail, and moreover, I don’t terribly care. What you were born as doesn’t matter to me when compared to what you became.” He said.

Lord Fulvion had three briefcase containers at his feet as he sat next to the hoverslab bearing Adrias Lucion’s body. He opened the first and took out the Governor’s signet ring that had been put on a necklace chain and put it on the corpse.

“Why didn’t I kill you and take the throne from you? What do I want? Both excellent questions. The simplest answer is I wish for something interesting to happen. The others throw diagnoses and medical terms at me, call me remorseless and unfeeling, psychopath this and sociopath that, but the truth is that I’m simply bored. This universe of politics and squabbling and plotting bores me as much as I’m good at it. As a child, I wished for the old days to come again, for heroes and villains and monsters and gods as fantastical as the stories my mother told me to stride across worlds and fly through the void in this modern age. The ancient past reskinned in contemporary times.” Persias said.

He opened the second briefcase to reveal a laurel wreath made from white Jovium and purple amethyst crystal, and carefully placed it on Adrias’s body. The corpse was secured to the hoverslab by black straps.

“Don’t I already have that? No, no. You don’t understand. We wield technologies and cultivations of spirit and flesh far beyond those who came for us, but there’s no passion. Theseas Claudion was merely a man, and not a terribly enthralling one at that, for all his strength and wealth. But you? You were fascinating. You alone slayed the dragon, you alone burn with Heracles’s pyre flame, you alone speak with the voice of a god. Why would I want to kill you when I could get you to give me all the control I want over the solar system’s politics, and I could see something glorious and impossible walk these mortal realms?” Persias Fulvion said.

Finally, he picked up the last case, revealing silver bracers for the arms.

“I saw the shining god as did others before your assassination, but only I alone still see that divinity. Your followers forgot your burning light as soon as it winked out. But don’t worry, Adrias. I won’t let them forget. Your legacy will burn forever.” Persias said, walking out of the room, the hoverslab following him with a hum as it levitated above the ground.

He walked out onto a stage that had been thrown together in a day, one built to amplify his words for the audience. He looked out to see the stands teeming with countless numbers of warriors and support staff. Everyone had been invited and those on Amatius of their forces who weren’t present were surely watching via the live broadcast. Some applause came when Persias stepped into view but that was quickly cut short once the hoverslab carrying the body followed. He had kept information spread limited and no doubt those gathered were wondering what this was. A funeral? A declaration of Persias’s reign? An order to surrender and beg for mercy from the Claudions?

“Some of you wonder whether Adrias Lucion was a fraud.” Persias announced, technopathically signaling the hoverslab to tilt so that the body was fully visible and almost upright.

The crowd went silent as the grave.

“Some of you wonder whether we were deceived, some of you wonder whether we’ve willingly fooled ourselves.” He said.

Doubt was spreading on the faces of the crowd once those words had been seeded in their minds if they hadn’t already been there.

“Let me assure you that you were not. Nothing human could have wielded the powers Adrias Lucion did. Nothing human could have butchered Subgovernor Marias Maxion. Nothing human could speak with the voice of a god.” Persias said, though he could tell those moments were already becoming faded memories even days or weeks after.

“I understand that those events seem distant, I understand because you have not been blessed as I have.” He said.

There was interest and murmuring at that.

They needed something tangible. Something visible. And Persias Fulvion would give exactly that. He stripped off his shirt to reveal the handprint shaped burn over his heart.

“I willingly took this brand used to punish the other Silvers because I understood our lord and master did this as a blessing, not a curse. Nothing human could have branded a Silver Imperator permanently and I am reminded of that every time I take off my shirt!” He yelled.

Applause came, but he could tell he hadn’t won them all over yet. Love of Adrias wasn’t enough, but hatred of another was a strong motivator.

“Bring out the traitor!” Lord Fulvion called out, turning his head offstage.

Strapped to a board, heavily chained and gagged with materials rated to resist a Bronze Imperator, Diokletian Claudion was brought out. He had survived the fall, but that fact had been hidden as well.

Boos and hisses and catcalls came from the crowd, but Persias wanted more.

“Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!” He yelled, starting up a chant that the whole audience took up.

“Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!” They repeated in a frenzy, even those who had been on the fence being taken over by herd mentality and the pressure to fit in.

He raised his hand for silence, the crowd taking time to restrain themselves. Those closest to the stage looked like they were about to rush the stage and murder the Claudion boy themselves.

“Now, I must admit. I am of two minds about this traitor’s fate. On one hand, he deserves our righteous wrath. On the other, Lord Adrias had expressed the desire to temper his strength with mercy…” Persias said.

“Kill him!” One man said.

“Rip out his heart!” A female Imperator called out.

Persias kept a solemn expression, hiding a smile, as he patiently waited for the bloodlust to reach its peak.

“You know, when I am in a moral quandary, I like to look to the divine for the answer. Who wishes to know what Adrias wants for his killer?” He asked the people gathered.

Their confusion was clear.

Persias kneeled next to the hoverslab, closed his eyes, and touched Adrias’s arm.

“Oh, Great Prince, Lord of Fire and Light, my god and my master, give your humble servant a sign if you wish for Diokletian Claudion’s death.” Persias said.

He waited three long seconds and then invisibly pushed heat into the corpse with his thermokinesis, making it seem alive again and glow fiercely with light.

The audience was overcome with shock and emotion. Persias stood and went to the prisoner and wrenched off Diokletian’s head. He grabbed it by the hair and raised it aloft to the crowd.

“Avenge your god! Destroy his enemies! Kill the nonbelievers! Adrias Lucion calls for a crusade! A holy war!” Persias roared and the stands shook from the cheers.