I stared at the blindfolded Muse, swathed in adamantine bindings, affixed in a way that reminded me of a dead butterfly pinned to a board. Somehow, this seemed like a greater crime against Heaven than attempting to kill Zeus himself.

“Why haven’t they retaliated yet?” I said, shaking my head. “How can the Olympians stand for one of their own being tormented like this?”

“First, they don’t know that she’s here.” Thrax said. “And second-“

“How can they not know where she is? There’s nine of them and he’s been at this for at least half a year.” I said.

“There’s nine Olympic Muses, but they are not the only ones. There are other Muses. Ones less noticeable when missing, ones less aligned with the Skyfather’s reign and therefore unlikely to give Regnators a spiritual tie to the Olympians.” Thrax said.

I had never heard of such a thing, the only Muses I had known of were the ones that sang each time I moved up a Metallic Rank.

“And the second reason, you were saying?” I said.

“The second reason the Olympians haven’t intervened if they do know about the mechanics of the generation of my people is that Zeus has forbidden travel to the mortal world. Any action done has thus far been minimal.” Thrax said.

“Why? Why couldn’t they cause a distraction, light up the palace with fire and fury, and run? Are they really so weak?” I said.

“Olympus’s current state is a fragile safe haven. It cannot be reached by mortal means, but the departure of one of their own to and from our reality leaves a temporary rift. If the gods dared to leave such a weakness in their defenses here in the palace, Augustas would seize it.” Thrax said.

“He said he wished to draw the gods out of Heaven.” I said.

“Yes. Only when there is no other choice will Zeus allow my Creator a path to the throne room.” He said. “The coward will only shed his protections when pushed to the brink.”

And this was my grandfather’s way to do it. In the hands of someone else, if another had made this place and etched its designs into blueprint paper, I would have said that it was a crude solution. In many, I would have said it was cruelty that drove the construction’s use of the minor goddess, in some others, it would only be desperation and incompetence.

From the Regent’s mind, I knew it was what it was not out of cruelty nor desperation and certainly not incompetence. This is what the mind of a man who could conquer the heavens found as the most efficient path to his goal. If she suffered, when she suffered, it was not for his pleasure, but for how it raised the calculated odds of victory.

It didn’t remove the foul taste from my mouth though.

“Would you like to see a Regnator made?” Thrax said.

“Yes.” I said.

I could leave now, but that wouldn’t change the fact that this place existed and what happened here went on, it would only ease my conscience. If this truly was necessary, then the least I could do was bear the weight of what was done to the Muse with my grandfather.

And if Augustas felt nothing, then I would bear our sins alone.

A stitched together body of synthflesh flooded with injections of genetic material and veins filled with titan blood was moved closer to the center, pausing only for a brain to be placed inside the skull and the bone fused.

“Every brain is handmade.” I said.

“Yes. The Creator designs a model with specific neural connections and components. We wake with memories we have never experienced.” Thrax said.

“Never a blank slate.” I said. It was not even that the Regnators had been brainwashed as I had believed from the outset, their brains were just made to physically match what a mind would look like if it had come to believe and know certain things through decades of experience.

“Why be blank when you could be awoken as a masterpiece? Why leave performative excellence up to luck and flawed self-discovery when it can be manufactured?” Thrax said rhetorically.

Because there’s beauty in choice. Authenticity in struggle and character in flaws. Because one can only break when they face a circumstance they weren’t designed for and never had to adapt or abandon their principles for new ones. I kept those thoughts to myself though.

“Just show me.” I said.

The lifeless body, beginning to stain itself with color as Kronos’s blood worked its eldritch effects, was wheeled on its table to the center and locked in place. Technicians worked at feverish pace.

“24368-A is cleared for twenty percent.” One said.

“Twenty percent of what?” I said. There was a wind picking up impossibly in this sealed underground chamber.

“Twenty percent of a directed Awakening thunderstrike.” Thrax said.

A storm cloud was materializing out of thin air in the center, just above the soon-to-be Regnator and just below the chained goddess. It deepened and darkened, swelling with rain that made the space around the miniature storm warp, and swirling with patterns that burned into my retinas long after I blinked.

“Bringing the Catalyst out of tranquilization in five… four… three… two… one!” The same technician said.

I saw the minor goddess shift and heard her chains clank against each other.

“Initiating melodic enhancement!” Another worker said, twisting a knob.

The Muse got the beginnings of a scream out before the embedded wires took hold of her and forced her body to sing. Flashes of lightning danced in the localized thunderstorm, intensifying as each second passed, her song rising to a lofty crescendo.

The corpse’s heart beat once.

Then twice.

Then thrice.

A bolt of lightning that made my nerves burn slammed into the Regnator on the table, existing for only an instant before the storm cloud boiled away to colorless vapor. The Muse’s voice cut off in a screech and the newest of my grandfather’s creations opened her eyes for the first time to reveal completely metallic eyes just as Thrax had.

I noticed, however, that they did differ in at least one way.

“Her eyes are duller than yours.” I said to him. They were an impure shade of gold.

“24368-A was given twenty percent of the bolt. The amount given is allotted based on how we will serve our maker.” Thrax said.

“How much did you get?” I said.

“Four hundred percent of the standard output.” He replied. “Shall we go, Spearbearer?”

“Yeah-“ I started to say, before pausing as my augmented perceptions picked up on the eerie sensation of being watched. I turned to look for the sensation and met the blindfolded eyes of the Muse. Regardless of the cloth’s enchantments, there was no doubt that she saw me and that I saw her in turn. The spear hummed in my hands.

Even as the tranquilizer washed back into her, she held my gaze until the very last moment before unconsciousness claimed her.

I stood still, feeling as if the weight of the world was on my back.

And if Augustas felt nothing, then I would bear our sins alone.

No, not the weight of the world, that was too light. The weight of my grandfather’s ambitions.

This new Regnator was model 24368-A… In other words, at the very minimum without the lettered variants, there had been over twenty-four thousand times that the Muse had been forced to sing. Over and over again. What was the right decision to make? Freeing her out of some sense of impulsive righteousness wouldn’t undo what had happened, but it would kneecap the spawning of the army we needed to win and create a rift between the Regent and myself. From there, either Augustas would reclaim control over the situation by recapturing the Muse which would make this pointless or we would be left vulnerable by my actions.

War was an ugly thing, but it was easier to manage such dark matters when they were trying to kill you or when they were accidental casualties. Accepting this would be accepting that I was willingly allowing something terrible go forward to someone who was probably entirely innocent, solely because it gave my side better chances. Even though I had the power to stop her suffering now and clear my conscience.

“Spearbearer?” Thrax said.

“Can’t you use my name?” I said. Being reminded of my role and the spear’s nature wasn’t really what I wanted to hear right now.

“I have been forbidden to use your real name.” He replied.

What? Why? Why was he forbidden to say my name?

“Let us go on to the armory.” Thrax prompted me again.

“It just seems unfair that she was the one who has this fate.” I said.

“It had to be her. Arkhe is the Elder Muse of Beginnings, her specific traits and lack of connection to the Skyfather makes her irreplaceable for the genesis of my kind. The conquest requires this.” Thrax said.

“I know. That doesn’t change that this isn’t a hard choice for me.” I said. It was so much easier when there was at least a hint of moral justification.

Thrax put a silver gauntleted hand on my shoulder.

“Mercy is no virtue, Spearbearer. We need to continue production, set her free and all falls to dust.” Thrax said.

I felt distant from my body. Muted and drifting through a gray haze. I did not even bother wondering where exactly the Regnator had learned those words, not when I could focus on hating myself for speaking them. That was an easy proclamation for a child to make when avenging his family by killing the man responsible for their deaths.

What would sixteen-year-old Adrias have made of this situation had he been forced to confront a dilemma that was more complex than him being entirely in the right and the other person without a redeeming value in his eyes? Of a conflict that wasn’t decided on whether I was strong enough but on which of the consequences of my actions I could live with the most.

I laughed to myself, which seemed to fascinate Thrax. The version of me that had first put on the ring would have folded before this task.

“Don’t use that phrase again.” I said.

“All falls to dust?” He asked.

“The one about virtues.” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Excellent. Would you like the briefing about our first target now?” Thrax said as we left the genesis chamber.

I was glad to leave the room, a fact that brought me shame in equal part to relief.

“Hit me with it.” I said.

“The primary agents of the gods in the mortal realms are the Golden Demigods, Akhillos and Orpheas, and they are of the biggest threat to the great mission of the Creator. Augustas will go to deal with Orpheas, but he wishes for you to slay Akhillos with the help of our army. And myself, of course. He thought it was fitting that you should face this particular godspawn.” Thrax said.

“And why is that?” I said.

“Because beyond being born of Zeus and named for the ancient Achilles, he was born to a Servus mother and was the origin of the Servi uprisings across the Dominium.” He said.

I remembered keenly the monstrosities that alchemy had made of my former Path’s members.

“Tell me where he’s holed up.” I said. It would be good to be back to killing something I felt no qualms over.

“Akhillos has a fortress in frozen wastelands of Terra’s southern pole. We call it the Silent Citadel.” Thrax said.

I lifted the spear’s tip, gazing into the obsidian spearhead.

“It won’t be silent for long then.” I said.