It is upon each soul to recognize its limit.
Each soul has its appointed doom. How is it you dare to raise a mortal boy so high - high enough to flout the gods? Bring godhead where a man may reach out and take it? growls Enlil, and lightning splits a clear blue sky.
Gather the shards of your courage. Patch together what resolve you can. We'll find this thing - and kill it.
I can start the rain. Bring thunder. Bring lightning. Want to see?
There is no mercy in trading life for life. And certainly no righteousness. Mercy, once given, cannot be taken back.
Niko's angular face caught a flicker of firelight and Tempus saw his future there: sharp purpose, discipline, and power in perfect balance; love of man and gods, and mercy transcending all. If war ever wore a more humane face, this one would make it so.
A wise one determines his own fate.
Honorable battle sustains a Sacred Band.
Fury from the heavens; fury at the gods - inseparable.
I don't want to be any closer to the gods than death will bring me.
Niko knew death like a sister - she was his true partner in the phenomenal world.
For Tempus...was a dozen storm gods' avatar; no army he sanctified could know defeat; no war he fought could not be won. Combat was life to him; he fought like the gods themselves.
I...keep trying to be perfect. For you. So you'll notice me.
Tempus would be protected, better shielded from whatever the Stepson thought threatening, if love could heal and save.
We know. We've seen it all before.
Don't forget, Riddler, how I love thee. Or all we shared together. Or that this sea and all other seas can lead you back to me.
Something awful is always going to happen, Arton. It's Sanctuary. You're a Stepson. Awful is a big part of your job.
What is needed is never to be had without price.
Bandara was not an easy place to return to: it could hide from the common worlds whose periphery it inhabited. But Bandara never had, in all its years, completely disappeared.
When the balance is restored, people get hurt.
Men are fools who forget what really matters while time goes by.
It's all right. Things as they once were will never be again, but it's all right.
You're not one to take lightly, to love of for an evening and leave of a dawn.
Reasons never matter, once Death comes cold and bold and takes the living by the hand. You count up your dead, every one.
Die never for a god, Nikodemos who should know better - not your soldiers' god, nor any other.
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