A Family Theater, Basically
+++End of Volume One; here's an extra unrelated to the main story+++
"Konrad's behavior was always so absurd. Why did he have to repeat to everyone those prophecies of his that had long since detached from reality?"
Quiet fury drove Peturabo onward. He passed through the gates of Lokos, found a stretch of open ground in the wilderness broad enough to accommodate his giant frame, and sat down. For the moment, he removed the many data bundles linked to his nerves and rested beneath ancient, somber trees after the dim sunset, with no one around.
"Is this how you treat a guest, Peturabo?" Mors stepped out from behind a tree.
Peturabo shifted the position of his legs slightly and said in a deep voice, "I invited my brothers to Olympia not to listen to one of them disparage my character."
"Disparage? You're redefining the word." Mors said, "Konrad often merely used his particular madness to reveal another possibility that truly existed. Tell me what he said was wrong with you."
The five fingers resting on Peturabo's knee twitched, then curled into a fist, leaving no space to grasp anything.
"He said nothing of any value. Every fact clearly contradicted the ravings from his mouth," he said as calmly as he could, though his voice was dry in his throat.
When Peturabo lowered his head, his huge figure took on the air of a tragic sculpture: rigid, lost, his eyes fixed on the earth as he sank into distant contemplation.
Mors leaned against the tree trunk and patted the giant's shoulder with his left hand, making Peturabo abruptly look up at him.
"Decades ago, I heard a fool's prophecy," Mors said. "You were its subject, though I could glimpse a sliver of my own fate within it.