Bartholomew lay naked in his bed- staring at the unmoving, tall, locked doors. His sheets had a filthy feel to them- saturated with his bodily greases, lubricating oils and the bodily fluids of nearly every woman on and beyond Titus’ employ. Days had passed since he saw the eagle fly off from the orrery- carrying the vital message towards Capita, but he was yet to receive any answer- any news from outside those walls, at all. He should have expected it- being trapped in his chamber for having broken into his brother’s bedroom, but at least he had sent his spiteful message before his entrapment.

Numerous, empty, green bottles lay next to his bed, but even in its cluttered state, the bedchamber was pristine in comparison to the horror that had been Titus’ quarters- a scenery that still haunted his every waking moment. He could still smell the weeks-old, rotting feces and the soupy corpse in the corner of the room... thinking about it made his stomach squirm with nausea. He sat up on the side of his bed and let the morning rays shine through the window to warm his ruined back. He donned his pants and cautiously navigated the jungle of empty bottle to stand over by the window. He lay his palm up against the glass and with a low brow, looked out across what had once been a vibrant city.

Out there, the silent morning streets now looked abandoned. The ones who had not starved, were either hiding or searching for food and had already proven they would stop at nothing to survive- as he had. As Asrael had... Looking at the barricaded and burnt buildings, he pondered whether the citizens of would ever be capable of returning to a civilized life. Once the gates opened up again, would they be able to move forward and forgive their neighbors who scarred them so, or had Pilta forever been cursed by Titus’ crazed decisions? He, of all, knew that scars never truly healed. For hours on end, one might forget they existed, but as soon as soft cloth, cold or even warmth would grace once-wounded flesh, it would always bring with it the horrors that inflicted the damage and tear open the healing laceration.

Heavy knocks sounded on the door, but whomever wished to visit did not wait for Bartholomew’s acceptance, instead, the heavy metal doors’ locks clicked and swung open to reveal a flabbergasting, beautiful, golden form. Titus- and it truly was Titus. His straight back, his pristinely clean and shaved chin, his well-polished golden armor- his Brother had returned in all his glory. Had it not been for the still-green eyes, he might’ve suspected the wretch had been a product of his nightmares... alas... that look in his green bulbs lingered.

“Fantastic news, my Brother- the day has finally come!” Bartholomew remained by the window in a continued state of shock at the sight of his beautiful, neatly cleaned-up brother. Titus smashed through the bottles with his arms widely to his sides and wrapped the scarred Sargerrei in a tight embrace.

“Tonight, He will give me his blessing- all will go back to how it used to be. Will you come behold the Sights, Bart? Will you be there with me, when we accept His Gift?” He sounded like Titus, he smelled and felt like Titus, but... Bartholomew could not shake the sensation that this was not the rusty-haired man he had grown up with. Still. Who was he to not return the embrace of the Duke?

“I still haven’t a clue what you are talking about, Titus, but if it would get me out of my room, I would agree to anything.” Bartholomew braved a bitter chuckle. The golden Sargerrei tapped Bartholomew’s scarred back and sounded a profound, loud laugh.

“I apologize, but I cannot let anything befall you, not when there are so many enemies around. Even beyond our walls, the Piltan filth cannot be trusted. This has all been for your own good, but once Petrus returns, you may freely roam under his protection!” The two parted for Titus to shine a wide, benevolent grin at his brother and stroked his cheek lovingly.

“You will stay safe in here until tonight. I’ve only come to ask you to prepare your finest suit- no... prepare your armor. Once this is all finished, I will need my General back- that is when our true work commences. We’ve a world to turn to His Light and I will need you for it!” Titus’ hands painfully pressed on Bartholomew’s scarred shoulders as he spoke.

“Who is-” Before the wayward Sargerrei could question the Golden Duke, Titus shook his head and repeated:

“You will see him tonight. Perhaps he will offer you his Boon, as well- he might heal those scars of yours. Say, is Kerras around? I wish to invite him- Lita demands it. He could prove a valuable ally to our cause! A charisma such as his cannot be lumped in with the rest of this filth...” Titus threw a spiteful glance towards the window, before releasing his brother from his grip. ‘Oh, I do not think you could stop him if you wished to...’ Bartholomew pondered and watched the Duke step over to the window, where he seemed to struggle to resist spitting on the glass as he looked out over his empty streets and the calm, undisturbed river in the distance.

“The Sheep will feed us wolves, Bart. And tonight... we will feast.”

As much as he would’ve liked to understand the cryptic message, reaching out to Asrael took priority. Whatever this event was, Bartholomew did not like the sound of it.

“Titus... I should speak to Kerras, myself- invite him here on this glorious occasion. I know where he is, but I cannot leave my room with the legion you have posted at my door.” Bartholomew’s courage faded as Titus turned around to glare at him.

“Yes... I suppose he is out there with the beasts. Worry not- I am certain Lita and her patrols will find him. You, my beloved, will remain in here, where you are safe from them... at least until we can have Petrus back. He can keep you safe against them.” Bartholomew could not help but take a step back at the intensity in Titus’ glare. Nodding, he accepted that whatever was to happen was beyond his control... he would have to trust in Asrael and his companions- wherever they were. Seeing his brother’s servility, Titus reached out and grabbed Bartholomew by the back of his head and brought him close to kiss his forehead and ruffle his hair.

“And have a shower, Bart, you reek.”