> Watching him interact with the lady was like watching a lioness stalk a kill, only to find it had teeth and claws far beyond her own capability. His supreme confidence even in the face of overt hostility to his ideals was unfaltering. How did we not see the truth, even then? How did we not realize what he was? Looking back on it now, I feel ashamed of my own ignorance. There stood a titan, a god, a deity made flesh—and we assumed him a man. A rare breed of man perhaps, but a man no less. Now all of the Humanosphere hangs on the faint hope of his mercy, and we are powerless to do more than watch. Watch, and pray. Gods help us all.
Arthur stepped out of what he’d been informed were officially his ‘apartments’ within the Leos’ palace twenty minutes later, and Arthur took note of both Endymion and Perseus standing quite conspicuously silent outside the doors, with a freshly changed Circe.
Gone was the pseudo-maid ensemble, and in its place she wore a black peplum dress down to her knees, with her arms bare and braced by two golden bands around her biceps. Her hair fell in two luxurious waves down her front and in a third, far broader one to the base of her spine—and she completed the look with a pair of criss-crossed sandals extending up to her knees.
When he moved forward and she joined him smoothly, both Kidemónes fell in behind.
“So.” Arthur said with a glance at Circe while they walked. “The Lion Maiden?”
“That is my moniker among the nobles.” Circe said conversationally, and with a slight blush of embarrassment. “I didn’t coin it, and I certainly didn’t embrace it immediately, but it is not as awful as ‘Sword Saint Menelaus’ or ‘Lady Cassandra the Lion’.” she said with a subconsciously embarrassed brushback of her blonde-streaked black hair.
The immediate empathy he felt toward her momentarily took Arthur by surprise.
Even knowing it was happening, the subtle pressure to apologize of all things, and to ask forgiveness, was stunning. Circe’s psionic charisma was intense, and it actually took him a momentary act of focused willpower to suppress it.
Arthur actually found himself having to keep at least half a mind on the passive effects of the woman’s aura, much to his surprise. For her to be affecting him, she truly was gifted.
Not surprisingly, the Kidemónes were less able to deflect the effects.
“I did not intend insult.” Endymion said in a chagrined tone. “It will not happen again.”
“Oh that’s quite alright, Kidemónas Chloros. I am rather used to the silly title by now.”
The implied vulnerability to high density psions was still quite an interesting concept to Arthur, who considered the implications of soldiers as elite as the Kidemónes being susceptible to such passive manipulation—until he realized almost in the same moment that individuals with the capacity to affect such an influence on them were probably one in a hundred million at best.
Even in Graecia, the Eidolon pilots that did exist were likely all too weak to have as profound an impact as Circe’s. By all accounts of what he’d been told, she was something of a prodigy.
“How long was I asleep?” Arthur asked into the silence that followed.
“Thirteen hours.” Perseus answered from his right and behind. “We’re in the final quarter of the day cycle on Hellas. The time is currently… 3942 hours, as reckoned by the Hellenic timescale.”
“Forty-eight hour days are going to take getting used to.” Arthur admitted.
“The nights are more manageable.” Perseus assured him. “The pseudo-suns help. Mix that with painstakingly light proofed housing and you find ways to get used to it, despite the natural human proclivity to twelve hour cycles.”
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“I suppose it would be worse for the lower class citizens that lack the gene-tailoring of the Aristocracy.” Arthur said thoughtfully.
Circe glanced at him in surprise when he said it, and her dark eyebrows furrowed.
“You speak so casually of that, Ser Magellan.” She said with a questioning and mildly critical emerald gaze. “Are such topics not considered taboo in the Aurelian Star Kingdom?”
“Deferring knowledge of the obvious for the sake of social niceties has never appealed to me, my lady.” Arthur responded without remorse. He had no use for obfuscation regarding the matter, after all, given he was likely more gene-tailored than anyone present.
Not that he intended to share that fact. It was amazing how different he felt after the return of his memories, especially knowing how much of his personality had been wrapped up by Nataliya.
The Inquisitor had not just locked away critical information, she’d been as good as her word and locked fundamental parts of his identity away. The more of Zacaris that re-emerged, the more aware Arthur was of exactly how different and vastly opposed his worldviews had been when compared to his new companions—or even, he admitted, his new self.
“I am sorry if I offended you, Circe.” Arthur said a moment later for the sake of politeness. He was not going to apologize for speaking his mind, though adhering to some measure of social decorum seemed warranted given it was her home, and he was to be spending a whole week in her company with only a few hours apart.
“You… did not.” she said as if considering it. “I was simply taken aback, I suppose.”
“By the truth?” Arthur asked while following her when she turned left upon reaching a colonnaded balcony, and descended down a set of wide marble stairs.
“Gene-tailoring is a necessary practice for the advancement of mankind, and for the survival of the species.” Circe answered conversationally. “That has been understood since the geneticists triumphed over the transhumanists and scoured every notable trace of the techno-cultists from the nascent Humanosphere, but for you to so glibly talk of it…”
“Ah.” Arthur said with only a mild amount of challenge. “So you were surprised that I don’t consider eugenics a point of reverence?”
“You state it with such contempt, Ser.” Circe observed with a look at him that said she knew exactly what he was doing. “Does the pursuit of human evolution offend you so much, despite you yourself clearly benefiting from the process?”
“She’s got you there.” Perseus said from his side.
“Well struck, Lady Circe.” Endymion rumbled in agreement.
“Traitors.” Arthur said absently while he considered a proper response, and Circe laughed appreciatively.
“I suppose,” Arthur said a few moments later, “that I cannot be hypocritical and say I entirely disapprove of the idea of gene-tailoring thanks to the very accurate assessment that I myself have benefited from it, though I assure you it was by no choice of my own.”
“No one ever chooses it outside of micro-tailoring, Ser.” Circe said with a very unladylike snort of amusement. “It’s done in utero for a reason. How are pre-sapient babies supposed to have a say in anything?”
“And that doesn’t strike you as unethical?” Arthur asked with genuine interest.
“Ethics and morality are subjective, no matter what anyone says.” Circe replied while they crossed the halfway point of the marble staircase. “Do I think it denies agency? Of course I do, but the benefits cannot be denied. If given the choice, I cannot say that being able to live longer, having inherent immunities to almost every known form of illness, possessing the ability to control my fertility, having the durability to withstand all the world could throw at me, and being gifted with strength enough to crush metal is a bad thing.”
“That’s a very positive way of looking at it.” Arthur said conversationally. “But what about the other side? What about being designed to appeal to the vainglorious societal ideals of beauty rampant upon whichever planet you’re born, only for those standards to change on a dime at random moments and leave you looking like a living example of outdated fashion?”
“So, you really are a bastard son of nobility?” Circe asked with a bluntness that surprised Arthur, and forced him to reconsider her insights when they reached the bottom of the stairs and entered a spacious foyer.