Duronaht's procession, some one hundred and fifty thousand infantry and cavalry, rode into Methrangia in grand style. Horns blaring, drums beating, banners waving. It was his command that the entire city should shake in the glory of his triumph. Duronaht had waited for well over a week before formally marching into the capital to ensure that his brother's forces were many miles away and no threat to him. His impatience during that time led him to plan the most ostentatious of celebrations to relieve his frustration.

At the column's vanguard, Duronaht rode atop a beautiful white and gold horse and was flanked by the angels Omonrel, Parlon, Jagreth, and Gorondos. Empress Torhess followed just behind him with a heavy guard. She was just weeks away from giving birth to their son and he would tolerate no risk at all to her or their child.

Parlon sang in rapturous joy as he floated next to Duronaht, his charming voice overwhelming the instruments and echoing all throughout Methrangia's cramped and winding streets. Enthralled by the spectacle of Duronaht's triumphal march, the citizens packed the roads in innumerable thousands, cheering at their liberator. On the city's wealthy eastern side, the praise was especially effusive.

"Duronaht! Savior of Methrangia! Avenger of Zarmand! Ruler of the world!" a plump little man squealed at the top of his lungs to adoring cheers by those clustered around him.

Even as he smiled at all of the adulation, his mind became marred by the memories of how he slew his father. The image of Emperor Covifaht's empty eye sockets burned into Duronaht's eyelids. He could even hear his father's screams as he neared the city center, which itself was a grisly sight to behold.

No effort had yet been made to clear all of the rubble of Solnaht Citadel. His whole life, Solnaht Citadel had stood imposingly over Methrangia, soaring into the sky, its crystal dome glimmering on sunny days. A chill swept through him and his hands shook as he now looked upon the broke stone and shattered glass. He saw the citadel fall to the ground and yet it still was something out of a nightmare.

"Take the Empress to Heldraht Palace," he muttered to one of the Solnahtern. "I'll join her there this evening."

"Very good, Your Imperial Majesty," the guard said, his voice muffled in his thick metal helm.

Once the Empress and her escorts departed, Duronaht dismounted his horse and silently gawked at the remains of the erstwhile crown jewel of the Methrangian Empire. The city had quieted enough that he could now hear the gentle currents of the Keldras River as it flowed through the city's center. While he continued to wrestle with memories of when he murdered his father, Omonrel floated up alongside him and motioned toward the ruins.

"I can build a new citadel, greater than what came before it, if you so desire," the Sculptor said with palpable self-satisfaction. "I always felt that the old citadel could have used some improvements. Your father turned down my offers, as did his father. If..."

"Please, don't mention my father again," Duronaht blurted.

Omonrel recoiled and bowed graciously.

"My apologies, Your Imperial Majesty," he intoned. "Do you I have your permission to proceed? It should only require two days at the most."

"Very well. I trust your judgment," Duronaht sighed. "As grand as you want to make it. But please don't disrupt the crypts."

"Because of your father's remains?" Omonrel asked with a hint of mischief.

"No. My mother's," the Emperor angrily retorted.

The angel nodded respectfully.

"With that in mind, I shall proceed at once."

On his journey to the city's west side, Duronaht tried to push all of the painful thoughts related to his father's demise out of his head. Every time they reared up, he could still hear the dissonant music Parlon sang during that gruesome affair. Whenever he heard it, his horse veered toward one side of the road or the other. He had to jolt himself out of it each time. The Solnahtern around him, stoic as they were, betrayed concern at his veering.

"Don't mind me," he chuckled. "I'm just very tired."

There was a hint of truth in that, but only a hint.

Once he arrived at Heldraht Palace, he noted Elaous's presence just outside the entrance. The Guardian floated just above the ground, his hands folded just behind his back, and stared silently eastward without giving Duronaht's approach even the slightest notice.

Angered by the fact that Elaous had frequently disappeared in the prior few weeks and had chosen this, of all moments, to appear, Duronaht dismounted his horse and stormed toward the Guardian. Elaous's metallic skin glinted with an orange hue in the afternoon's fading light.

"I regret that I failed to protect Zarmand," Elaous rumbled as Duronaht approached. "I knew that Forynda's wrath would be terrible. Yet I did nothing."

"Why... Why are you speaking of this now?" the Emperor asked, exasperated.

Elaous turned his attention firmly toward Duronaht and gradually approached.

"I will lead your armies into battle. I will not fight alongside Parlon or Omonrel, both of whom I believe are leading you astray. I will, however, protect this city and others from harm. Forynda's power is diminished, but when she returns she will still be a grievous threat," the Guardian warned. "Those mortals who have cast her off will be in danger."

"What harm do you see in Parlon and Omonrel?" Duronaht laughed awkwardly. Parlon's song from the day he slew his father still tickled his mind as he invoked the angel's name.

Elaous formed a deep scowl and looking toward the city center, where Omonrel was already hard at work erecting a new grand citadel for Duronaht.

"There is something terrible lurking in their souls. Something I have never seen before," the angel rumbled. "Theirs are motives I do not understand. I do not care to be party to their designs. I sense in you the machinations of Parlon. He forced your hand to do terrible things."

Duronaht jolted back at the accusation.

"What I did... I have complete control over my own actions!" the Emperor insisted. An uneasy pause followed where Elaous glared at Duronaht. "What I did to my father, I intended to do."

"A lie," Elaous countered.

"It's the truth!"

"No."

In a huff, Duronaht turned his back to Elaous and tried to recompose himself. He knew it was pointless to match wits with an angel or to bluster his way through a confrontation with one. Before he could summon a cogent response to the Guardian, Elaous spoke again.

"Fool that he was, Nethron may have had the only viable path forward," Elaous lamented.

"He betrayed me!" Duronaht spat, his blood roiling even thinking of what the erstwhile Aura Keeper had brought upon the world.

"Nethron simply did what he wished and the consequences flowed from that. He did not betray you. Not by his intent," Elaous offered. "I am not certain he even thought much about you."

"That's pretty obvious," the Emperor sighed.

"He did not care who sat on what throne," the Guardian continued. "What you see as betrayal was merely disinterest."

Duronaht shook his head even thinking about Nethron's staggering irreverence. Thinking back on it, the fact that Nethron would be such an unreliable ally should not have surprised the Emperor. There was never any indication that he would have been steadfast behind Duronaht's cause.

"So, I assume you're telling me that you, just like Nethron, won't be loyal to me, either," Duronaht sighed and rubbed his hand through his hair.

"I never suggested I would be."

Duronaht turned to face Elaous, who stared back at him with an entirely serene countenance.

"When I win this war, we'll have to figure out what your permanent role in this world is going to be if you're not going to be loyal to me," the Emperor declared, puffing himself up as though he was a wild animal trying to impress a foe.

"You are mistaken if you think we are anywhere near this conflict's end," Elaous said solemnly. "Even more dangerous is to presume you know its end."

"And I suppose you do?" Duronaht asked defiantly, trying to hide his unease with what the Guardian suggested.

"No," the angel replied plainly. "There is no soul in Ceuna or the mortal world that knows. Only the Progenitor and the Progenitor never reveals anything besides that which is intended."

"What exactly is it that you're telling me to do with all of this?" Duronaht scoffed, tossing his hands up in frustration.

"Try to be a wise ruler," Elaous commanded. "And be skeptical of what Omonrel and Parlon offer you. You err greatly if you believe your ends align with theirs."

Elaous departed just after offering that guidance, leaving Duronaht standing before his brother's former palace. While seizing it should have given him a burst of joy as a tangible sign of his swelling triumph over Rohmhelt, his dark memories and the grim words of Ceuna's Guardian robbed the Emperor of that much. Instead, formally seizing Methrangia left him depleted.

I should probably get some rest, he grumbled to himself. At least my nightmares can't torture me as much as the waking world does.