[The climax isn't one he expects. There is no riotous claim to victory had by Lucius' own hand, nor utter decimation wrought by anything more than the finality of a battle won. In some ways, it's poetic—war is not always like the ballads say, with grand heroes and epic monologues. Sometimes it is nothing more than beasts heeling to greater beasts, made to submit with the end of life itself. So, in a sense, this ending is also more satisfying than he had imagined.

As Eridanus is pulled up, closer to that grinning waxen mask boasting its confidence and pride, his own visage cracks with a fond smile. In the end, what he knew to be true was just that—Lucius rose above all the rest, and proved himself to be the king among fools. Now, if only he could see himself as greater than that pestiferous gene-father he goes on about, then he and Eridanus would truly be in agreement.]

Once more your glory is known. How the eyes of your brothers opened to that truth that day is a most glorious tale, my beloved. [He traces the scarified ridges of Lucius' visage with reverent glee, his claws nicking the deadened skin with the haste and carelessness of his excitement. Behind him, his tufted tail whips through the air, and within the thin space between their faces, his eyes gleam ecstatic.] What great honor was awarded to you? Surely you received some prize for your triumph?