[ He flops. Right back down onto the ground, casting hair and limb into a heap as Dimitri continues to offer the proverbial olive branch, to extend a metaphorical hand. Trying to get to know the war god, trying to understand him — why was it so easy for humans to do that? How could they get it in their head that he was in any way something that could be understood? For a long moment, he is quiet; his hands resting upon his bare stomach, eyes staring up — far up, unblinking into the sky. Into the sun above Alenroux, without even needing to squint. Inhuman. ]

I took the throne from my brother. Ruled my lands, abused my authority. I slaughtered humans for centuries, generations upon generations of them. Not one god stood against me, until my older sister and her son returned to claim what was 'rightfully theirs'. As if authority is passed down through lineage! It belongs to those who prove themselves!

[ Welcome to 'this is the myth that sets up the structure of inheritance'! ]

— I lost our competition. Mine and Horus's. I was banished. I was told to atone for my crimes, and I cannot atone if the land and people I harmed are gone. I have to restore it, even if I do not... I do not care. [ He cares a little. It's hard to tho'. ]