Toraline hung at Consul Matthew Albright's hip and attempted to allow the gentle rocking motions created by his long strides to soothe the tumultuous thoughts whirling around her mind.

Success, however, was elusive in this particular endeavor.

For untold generations, the fae of the Tutorial Tribe had guided Sojourners upon the face of Seroco. It was their sacred creed to aid the heroes of legend, those who would one and all attempt to unite the world under a single banner. And for untold generations, they had been faithful to that trust.

Their lot was that of Shepherd and Councilor. When Mighty Caesar had first stepped foot upon Serocco, dazed and confused, Toraline had been there with him. She had taught him how to survive in this world. She had shown him how to gather the resources he would need to craft a home for himself. She had guided him to monster lairs where he could test his mettle. She had sat with him on the long nights, when the Keth hounds howled in the distance, and listened to him tell stories of his homeworld.

And of glorious Rome.

She had stood beside him when he had first met the Sojourners of the other systems. She had hailed him as Caesar when he had joined himself to the System. She had pledged her loyalty to his cause as he took up his banner in his bid to unite all of Seroco. As was expected. As was her duty. As was her privilege.

She had fought beside him on the battlefield. Bled beside him in the infirmary. Stood beside him in the negotiation halls.

And she had died beside him, on the beach, on their final battlefield together.

She had been at peace with her decision. She had loved Gaius, in that way that a devoted servant loves their master. And she had loved him so with a willing heart. He had never once forced upon her anything, not his attention, not his desires, not his beliefs. Everything she had took up for him, everything she had pledged to him, she had done so of her own free will.

She had known that there would be enemies made. Ever was it so, with Sojourners. But she and her tribe had their sacred creed, and they would not shrink from it merely because it would be difficult. And she had been at peace, knowing she had done her duty and beyond, as the foeman's blade struck her.

And then she had woken up again, imprisoned within the very blade that had struck her down, and now wielded by the hand of a new Sojourner.

It was unheard of. Unthinkable. Once a Sojourner died, their Tutorial Fairy was never again assigned to another. How could they be? How could one pour out every drop of who one was into one Sojourner, and then hope to do the same again for another? Easier to ask a withered flower to bloom again, or a husk of a tree to once more bear fruit.

But the Sojourners were here, many of them, and with none of her tribe in evidence. So, difficult as it had been, she had taken up the mantle once more.

But this time it was… Different.

The Sojourners… The Albrights… Were not as others before them. They had no desire for conquest, no love for battle… They were a family, broken in their own way and healing in their own way, and that seemed to be the beginning and end of it. They merely wanted to survive and thrive in this new world as they were, and not attempt to bend it to their will.

She had been willing to wait, of course. They would come around. They must. Seroco would force them into it. For Sojourners were drawn here for only one purpose; to unite the world under their banner. It was in the histories, in the ancient tomes, it was written in the very bedrock of the world. They would come to understand that, in time. And Toraline, imprisoned in the blade of the sword that had slain her, could wait.

But with the coming of the elf, something had changed.

Toraline was not unused to enmity, to the sneers of enemy soldiers, the vitriol from enemy magi, the hatred from enemy civilians as the legions of Mighty Caesar marched down their conquered streets. It was merely the way the world was. In conquering, Mighty Caesar made enemies. And enemies of Caesar were, perforce, enemies of hers.

So the elf's ire had been nothing new. If nothing else, it had been almost nostalgic.

But what had come next had shaken her.

The battle against the Sentinels had awakened some form of bond between herself and Matthew, one that she had not anticipated and still did not know the full extent of. She could hear his thoughts at times, and send her own in reply. She could feel his emotions, taste his feelings, hear his unspoken words. Most of the time they were simply background noise, small nuisances easy to ignore.

But when the elf had spoken, and later when Matthew had asked Toraline about the edges of Mighty Caesar's plans…

His emotions had been a hammerblow to her soul. Raw disgust, naked horror, piercing rage… Her words had caused his heart to roar in outrage, and she felt every shredded second of it as if caught in a storm. Emotions as hot and razor-sharp as any Fae arrow, directed at Mighty Caesar.

Directed at her.

From an enemy, such things would have been as nothing to her. Chaff in the wind, to be blown away and ignored.

From an ally? From a Sojourner?

She had tried to make him understand. She had been following her creed. She had been aiding her lord, her master, her friend. They had been following the script that all Sojourners had followed for century upon century. Combat, warfare, conquerance and dominance. Even the Albrights were falling into the same mould, spreading their influence and seeking to dominate the island–albeit in much smaller pieces than she was used to.

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But… Even as she had the thought, even as she looked back upon her time with Gaius… There was a tiny piece of her that spoke up, shaking and quavering, but still there.

And it said that Gaius had not followed the script exactly like the other Sojourners.

True, the rest of her retorted. He had gone further. He had gone greater. He had found success in ways no Sojourner before him ever had. His armies had been unstoppable, his power insurmountable. As nation after nation fell to him, his strength only grew. Until finally he stood at the pinnacle, the first Sojourner since the dawn of time to actually have a chance at unifying the entire world.

Until the treachery. Until the other two had banded together against him. Until they broke the rules of the grand game, coming together not to unite but to overthrow and cast down. They could have bent their necks, bowed their heads, surrendered themselves and become part of the empire. They could have completed the task.

Instead they had rebelled and resisted, and as more and more flocked to their banner, as the empire started to suffer defeat after defeat…

Well.

Every story must have an ending. And Mighty Caesar's came on the shores of this very island, in the heart of his empire, where it had all first started. At the hands of traitors and rebels who should have known better. They had cheated, and the world had paid the price for it.

She had mourned, when first she woke up. Mourned the loss of Mighty Caesar, and his Rome, and their dreams. She had raged against the trators who had struck him down, who had wrenched the world back from the edge of peace and prosperity and forced it back down into blood-drenched madness. And through the whole time she attempted to guide the Albrights, she prayed that they would take up Caesar's mantle. She prayed they would take up his cause, fly his banner, and perhaps once more lead conquering armies to this time unify the world. Just as the ancient texts demanded.

Now she knew they would not. Not after what she had felt from Matthew when she told him the details. Not when he had recoiled from the very ideals that Gaius had embraced.

A part of her wanted to castigate him as a fool. To chasten him as a laggard. To dismiss him as incompetent, soft-hearted, useless.

Except those very same things she had felt from him prevented her from doing that. For they had revealed his character to her. In those unguarded moments of sheer horror, he had been naked before her eyes, and she had seent he heart of him.

Flawed, broken, cracked in a thousand places, damaged in a thousand more.

But at his heart? A good man.

And, said that tiny quavering piece of her soul, a good man had recoiled from what Caesar had wrought. Recoiled as though the gates of hell itself had opened up before him and the demonic hordes had come charging at him to consume his soul.

She shoved the voice away. Matthew Albright was naive. He was from another world. He did not understand. Mighty Caesar had required power for his legions. Power to conquer. And more than that, power to safeguard Rome from her enemies. He was a noble man. He never once conquered without having offered his Pax Romana. Submit, fly the flag of Rome, tithe to your emperor, and know the peace and stability of residing within the great Empire. It was as generous offer as ever a Sojourner had offered to his enemies. Not once, in all the histories, had ever a Sojourner attempted such a thing.

Some had acceded. Some had joined Rome. Some had flown her banner, joined her ranks.

Others had fought. So many others. And the legions of Mighty Caesar had advanced and crushed them in the true way of Sojourners.

Except no Sojourner ever used anything like the rendering facilities, said that quavering voice.

Except that the other two Systems had not banded together until after they had learned of them.

Except.

She had no body, but was suddenly overcome with the need to shake her head violently, to try and clear away the voice and to dam up the sudden rush of emotions that slammed into her not from Matthew Albright but from deep within her own self.

It… It had been necessary.

The Legions had required power to conquer. The Legions had needed strength to protect. Rome had many, many enemies. Mighty Caesar required all the tools he could muster to keep his empire safe and secure. It had weighed upon him. He had worked so hard to protect those over whom he ruled.

The empire and those within it were not the same thing, said the voice.

Nonsense. Caesar had bled for his citizens. He had bled for Rome. He had died trying to spread his Pax to the world. He had died protecting his empire from those who would have torn it down and seen it burn. Caesar loved Rome.

Caesar loved Rome.

Did he ever once claim to love its people?

* * *

Matt blinked as a spike of… something… shot through his awareness from the sword on his hip. He glanced down, raising his eyebrows, and looked at Toraline. The sword was buzzing softly, but was not saying anything.

Toraline? he asked, reaching out with his thoughts like he'd done with the Sentinels. You okay?

For a long moment there was no answer.

I… Am unsure, Consul, the reply finally came. And with it came a whirlwind of emotions that felt like having his skin sandblasted for a split second before it all suddenly cut off like a switch had been thrown.

Listen, he thought, glancing around at his family as they marched towards the Dilligaf, Maybe I was a little hard on you before. It was a shock, but–

We can talk about it later, Consul, came the reply, firm and unyielding. Then, softed, almost desperate. Please. I… Need time to think.

Matt nodded. Alright. But when you're ready, I'm ready too. Okay?

Toraline did not answer, but the buzzing against his hip continued, and did not stop until they reached the yacht.

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