Rose petals. Pocket. String. One of my created alternate personalities whispered to me as it collapsed back in. I inherited from him a single thread of invisible connection that he had been holding.

It really was remarkable how quickly sadness seeped away from my brain the moment I had purpose again. And with purpose, I now wanted clarity.

A long time ago, well, a long time for a more mortal being than I was now, I had spoken to an Oracle.

“Three sons of gods lie ahead of you, their knives at each other’s throats. Only one may you help. Choose wisely, for while all will know your vice, only one will bring you your virtue.” Alsig recounted for me.

An enemy claimed with some fragmented information that gave him credibility that my grandfather planned an extinction event of the universe. Was Nero lying? Was he telling the truth? Was it some mix of it?

If Nero was speaking facts to me then it completed another part of the puzzle that was the prophecy, giving a reason why I would even remotely choose to follow the other two demigods over the Regent who had transformed me and claimed me. If the conniving Gold was lying, then either the prophecy was wrong or something else was going to come up that shook my faith in Augustas.

All in all, feeling empty about the unknown didn’t help. I needed concrete action and careful planning to uncover what was really happening.

“Careful planning like how you let Clodias’s body leave your sight?” Alsig said.

Careful planning like figuring out how to track these annoyances from spitting in my Golden senses’ metaphorical face.

“You’re keeping things from me. Hiding away from my interfacing with a decoy copy to take your place.” She replied.

Obviously. I thought back. In fairness, I’m doing the same thing to me apparently.

Her only response was silence, either thinking I was lying or making a joke. If she was physical, I wouldn’t even be having this conversation at all, Nero needed to think I was still moping until I was out of a Bronze Imperator’s range of hearing. He was walking so slowly too.

“Why can’t you make a dome of silence once more? Call out for it with a stolen voice as you always do.” Alsig said.

I don’t want him to be curious about why I’m immediately trying to hide something. I’m waiting until he’s moved a sufficient distance. I replied.

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“He could use however he hid Clodias’s body. What Persias uses. Wait undetected for as long as he wants. Nero could be standing right outside the door.” Alsig thought to me.

He wasn’t though. Nero had certainly engaged his little witchcraft, but I knew where he was.

“How?”

I had been thinking of splitting sections of my nervous system off as making temporary servants in the image and likeness of my psyche while the one remainder was the real Adrias Lucion. On the surface, that was the mechanics and function of the ability. Below the first glance though lay something more profound. They really were me. And just because we ultimately would come back together into one identity didn’t mean squat to them when they decided on something against the main consciousness’s plans.

After all, when had I ever followed rules I didn’t like?

We all took up different roles whenever a split occurred and just because one took up the position of acting as a seamless connection from division to reconnection that did not translate to the others feeling like they weren’t Adrias Lucion.

While the majority of my mind was reeling from the revelations, one self had been observing Clodias’s body for trickery, and had devised a mission to deal with our shared annoyance of Imperators sneaking around.

Nero had been plucking petals off a rose when I had first entered the bedroom, most of which he had dropped on the floor.

Most. But not all.

A few had gone in Clodias’s pocket, Nero possessing an odd sense of sentimentality perhaps. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had those petals.

“And?” Alsig said.

Vines gathered around my wrist.

And, voila.

A rose sprouted explosively upwards in a rich flash of red. A gift from the remnants of being a Servus. Phytokinesis. It was something entirely new to me, an ability I had never seen before. Were all Servi capable of this and it simply was not taught? That seemed unlikely. Perhaps my advancements as an Imperator had let me do what others could not. Or maybe there was a deeper reason I was missing entirely.

Whatever the cause of it, the organic life I generated was an extension of myself, an extra limb. Sneaking it into my enemy’s pocket was risky, but it seemed to have gone according to plan.

“You can’t have known you would be able to track it once it left this room.” Alsig said.

Judging the distance was sufficient, I spoke aloud to her.

“The part of me knew that it would trackable once he cut it from my body and moved it subtly with telekinesis. Worst case scenario, he catches me and wonders why I’m putting a rose petal in his pocket.” I said.

I needed to explore phytokinesis along with the physical and magical abilities that had come with Gold. It was time to stop playing around. Time to start training for defeating Nero and Vespasias.

One more thing remained though. An issue within me that I had to solve in order to move forward and win. A cancerous thought that I needed to cut out before it spread to the rest of me. I let the dark emotion swallow me up once more to expose it.

I took one last long look at that sad boy in the mirror. Stared deep into the bottomless violet and shining Gold.

“Go fuck yourself.” I told him, smashing it to shards with the tiniest fraction of my strength.

I didn’t know what version of the future was true, if any at all, but above all else I knew one lesson that the depressed zombie-like possibility of me had clearly forgotten.

“I’m not weak.”