They met in the slums of the mortal place called Urbs Hostiae, drawn to one another's promenia like the seas to the planets.

"You should not be here," the woman who was not a woman said. She did not look at the two of them but watched a mortal beggar flee from their presence down a narrow alleyway.

The other eidolon eyed her up and down, curious and frightened of the power radiating from her promenial form. This one was very young compared to it, and yet she made it feel uneasy. She must have held great power during her mortal life, enough so that she carried authority with her into the Caeles upon death and back out again.

It pushed the fear aside, though not without a mental nudge encouraging its companion to linger out of reach. Just in case. "You should not be here, either." It tilted its head in an approximation of the gesture mortals sometimes made to convey critique. "You departed the mortal realm two months ago, and I did likewise... somewhat longer ago than that. Yet here we are."

She arched a brow, and something told it that she had progeny. No, children. Mortals called them children. "I blend." The dry flatness in her voice sounded nothing like its own modulated tone. "And I know these people. Their ways. But you..." She trailed off, waving a hand at it to indicate its glowing pink and golden promenial form. Her own form better mimicked that of a mortal, though too glossy and indistinct along the edges where the magical particles she'd appropriated drifted.

What gesture did the mortals use to convey a lack of concern? Ah, yes. It shrugged. "I did not blend well back in my time, either," it said. The Neo-Romans had not welcomed the Sleepers and the knowledge they had offered. Not at all. "I made do then and I will make do now."

"At least try to look more like them."

It shook its head. "I do not want them becoming suspicious and hunting their own kind in some foolish attempt to find us. There has been far too much bloodshed in their history. Most of them cannot harm me. Let them face me as I am. This is a new world for all of us."

"A new world even for that?" she asked and frowned at its companion.

The daemon shrank back in fear, but irritation radiated from its promenial form and it glared. "I am a who, not a that."

"You are a daemon."

Its hair shifted from pink to electric blue as agitation energized the particles. "And you are an eidolon," it snapped. "Yet I do not treat you as a thing."

The woman looked mildly surprised, and the other eidolon could not blame her. The daemon's personality was stronger than expected. The entity must have interacted with mortals often in the Caeles. "Fine," the woman said. "What do you want me to call you?"

It froze, then shifted from foot to foot and frowned. At last, it shrugged and peered up at its eidolon companion. "You should choose for me," it said, its musical promenial voice shy. "Your former kind made the Caeles, and I am a child of the Caeles. But I am an Advice Daemon no longer."

It nodded. "I will give you a temporary name until you know yourself and can choose a better one on your own."

The daemon considered that for a moment and then smiled, its teeth like glittering diamonds. "Very well." It stepped forward eagerly. "What is my name?"

"You are a being of the Caeles given form. I call you Logos."

The daemon looked pleased as it beamed up at its eidolon companion. "And who are you?"

It thought for a moment. It remembered its mortal name, of course. But it had left that life behind long ago.

Then again, it had also abandoned fear and hope when it stepped through death's door and into the Caeles. Now, it had reclaimed the mortal emotions and made them new.

"I was Kaitlyn Byrd long ago," it said at last. "I will be again."

The woman gasped, liquid golden eyes widening. "You are an Ancient."

"Yes. Well, I was." It shrugged. "I am something new, now. More a child of the woman I once was than her. And who are you?"

She did not hesitate. Her mortal identity must still float close to the surface of her being. "Verita Adurere."

"Ah," it said simply. "I see why you returned." It did not particularly care about its descendants, at least not as such, but she was a very young eidolon. They tended to be sentimental and meddlesome creatures. No wonder she had fled destruction. Her children had been in danger. Now, one was dead--truly dead, unable to become an eidolon--and the other faced danger. It supposed she would be concerned about such matters. "My condolences."

"Thank you," she said softly and changed the subject. "And why did you return?"

"I didn't want to perish."

"We may still perish," she pointed out.

"Perhaps." It shrugged. "Perhaps not."

<>

Domi didn't know if he moved through a nightmare or a bizarre dream. Attendants dressed him for his coronation in the heavy ceremonial paenula, but he could barely feel their touches. He could barely feel anything at all. Their hands moved over his numb body, insubstantial as air, as they shifted his limbs this way and that.

He let them move him however they wanted and didn't bother to help. Helping took energy and besides, he felt disconnected from his limbs, as if they belonged to someone else. Just yesterday, his own body had been filled with pain, nausea, fever, and exhaustion. None of the sensations had belonged to him, not really, and they'd been unpleasant. But now they were gone, and he wanted them back.

He wanted Daedalus back. But his brother was dead. Domi's body knew it even though his mind couldn't quite grasp the shape of it.

Dead. Daedalus had been breathing. His lips had been moving. And then he was dead?

The door clicked. He looked up dully, hoping to see Valens or better yet, his ma. He needed her, but it wasn't her, and it wasn't his aedificans either.

Princeps Buccina stepped into the dressing chamber, her scarred face solemn. "Are you ready?"

What did that even mean? Everything had changed. What part of it was he supposed to be ready for?

After a moment he just said, "Yeah."

He half-expected to hear a cleared throat from the shadows. But Comitas wasn't here to nag him about grammar anymore. Comitas was dead.

Princeps Buccina didn't correct him, either. She didn't need to, after all. "I will be with you the whole way," the mindholder said. "It won't be loud, just a little whisper. All you have to do is repeat what I say."

He was to be like a puppet on a string, dangled before the masses in a parody of a coronation. Fine. It would be easier than memorizing anything. He could barely remember his name. Though maybe it was better that way. He wasn't supposed to use the name Merula gave him anymore.

Princeps Buccina rested a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing soothingly. "Let's go, Basilicus."

A double ring of Regis Electi surrounded him as he and a retinue of strangers processed from the staging point at the capital's marble walls down the city's grand central tree-lined Via Pomosus. Domi plucked winter apples from the branches and handed them out to the Pyrrhaei crowds. He passed a deer nibbling on the broad black odoratus leaves growing beneath the trees, something about the sight making him frown before Buccina urged him along. They entered Arx Luminosa and proceeded through the palace complex's winding corridors to the Western Odeon.

As Domi entered the massive chamber, the voices of the Regis Chorici echoed in the temple, singing,

"Eternal Radiance,
Thy chosen feet
stand at Thy gates.

With each step
may he bring
Thy blessings.

Upon Thy world
may he bring
Thy generous rain.

Upon Thy earth
may he bring
Thy bountiful fields.

Upon Thy people
may he bring
Thy plentiful fortune."

Princeps Buccina's voice rang out, augmented by promenia. "O people, I present unto you Laetus Adurere, the Eternal Radiance's chosen, Keeper of Heaven and Earth, Dignity of the Promethidae Race."

The Pyrrhaei crowd cried out the ceremonial response. "Eternal Radiance, protect and preserve the Keeper of Heaven and Earth!"

Domi flinched as trumpets blared, then stilled as a familiar and yet intrusive voice whispered between his ears, Go to the Throne of Solitude, Domi.

He gazed up at the dais, quailing as his eyes landed on them.

The Rex, regal upon the Throne of Regret.

The Princeps Lifeholder, seated on the Throne of Sorrow.

Daedalus's killers, enthroned next to the Princeps Forgeholder.

His eyes found the black Throne of Solitude, empty but for the laurel-leaf onyx crown resting on a silver velvet pillow. He trembled and forced himself to walk down the aisle toward it, toward them. If his eyes weren't open, he'd be convinced he pushed his body through molasses.

The Rex rose as Domi approached, and the old man accepted the onyx crown from an attendant. "Basilicus, are you willing to make your vows?"

Domi could have laughed. Could have screamed. When had any of this been about what he was willing to do?

I am willing, Buccina whispered in his mind.

"I am willing," Domi forced out.

The Rex offered a chill smile. "Do you solemnly swear to govern the affairs of Aquarius's sea, earth, and sky and all worldholders as my loyal vassal and beloved subject?"

I solemnly promise to do so, Buccina whispered, and Domi repeated the words numbly.

"And should your sacred quest to restore the Trellis bear fruit, do you solemnly swear to hold and preserve the Trellis, as your ancestors did before you?"

"I solemnly promise to do so," Domi whispered with Buccina.

The Rex inclined his head and then extended the onyx crown. Domi gritted his teeth as its weight settled on his head, platinum and obsidian leaves biting into his forehead. At Buccina's prompting, he ascended the steps to the dais and, sitting down on the Throne of Solitude, turned to face the crowd.

The Rex's voice rolled across the temple. "It is my right and pleasure to present unto you Basilicus Laetus Adurere Viarius Penna Igneae, your crowned and enthroned Princeps Worldholder."

<>

Torchlight flickered in the shack, etching deep shadows in the weathered face of the man crouched across from Merula.

He removed the thick wool scarf he'd wound around his head, revealing the baldness these Vola Apertus Pullati preferred. "Why should we give you the time of day?" he demanded, tossing the scarf into a massive pile of discarded garments. If he ran his gang as Merula ran hers, the mess would be sorted by elders for washing and mending and ready for pick up by the next evening's salutatio.

Merula added the sack of tunicas and paenulas she'd brought from the palace to the pile and nodded for the children with her to do likewise. "I was the Rex Pullati of Urbs Hostiae. Now I am the Rex Pullati of us all."

He scoffed but sized her up. Their kind thrived on big words and the audacity to back them up, and his eyes and the eyes of his watching gang assessed her. "Oh, are you?" He opened the bag Sidus handed him and emptied it before him, blinking at the crystalline consectura tumbling across his filthy straw mat. But he ignored the winking boy, instead turning back to Merula. "Says who? You?"

She relaxed back against her hands. "Says anyone who chooses to follow. We need to organize for survival. And we need to do it fast." Already the world was chilling and soon food would grow scarce.

"Yes, but not with you." He gestured at the gathered crowd, and she saw more than one slender knife glint in the torchlight. "We don't know you. We don't trust you. And I'm the Rex Pullati here."

Merula and Radix paid the knives no mind, and she gestured for Edera and Sidus to relax. No one would hurt them if they had nothing to steal and offered no violence. This was just a display of power, but there was one thing the Pullati respected more than sheer bravado.

"If you don't want to do it under my authority, then fine," she said, "but it needs to be someone, or millions of us will die as the upper classes scramble to survive. You think they'll look out for us, too?"

She allowed her voice to crack, for the grief to bleed free. "They just murdered a child to appease the Eternal Radiance, who never wanted child sacrifice and always sides with the most vulnerable. These are the kind of people in charge. Do you think they care about us?"

She looked around at the gathered gang, aware the leader wasn't the only Pullatus she needed to convince. "Do you think they'll lift a finger to help us survive? They won't." She patted her chest. "But I will. I fed and housed twenty thousand in Urbs Hostiae." She drew a deep breath, then took the risk. "And as Legatus of Pullati Affairs, I gave job opportunities to ten million Pullati around the world."

Silence engulfed the shack. As the now permanent Germinating wind rattled the thin wooden roof, Edera and Sidus exchanged glances.

"You're her," the man said, his voice a low hiss. "The Pullatus foster mother of the new Princeps."

"Yes."

"They're looking for you. Offering a hefty price for turning you in, too."

She tilted her head. "Pity coin won't buy much soon. And are you going to turn me in? And these kids? Is that how the Vola Apertus Pullati survive?"

His eyes narrowed at the trio of youths. "They're Lightholders," he said, gesturing at the children. "Laurels under the tunicas?" Sidus and Edera looked away and he shook his head. "Thought so. Not a speck of dirt on them. Or you. Why should we help you people, let alone listen to you? Legatus?" He spat on his dusty floor. "We didn't get to do diddly squat with those fancy job opportunities you gave us before Trellis Descent, Legati."

"True," she agreed, leaning forward. "But we have people in every single city on the planet. We now have a Collegium Pullatorum in every capital. And we have years of experience and expertise in keeping people fed, sheltered, and alive in dire circumstances."

"Not in an apocalypse!"

She smiled. "This may be the first apocalypse the rest of the world faces, but it's not our first." She looked around the shack and found many eyes regarding her with wary hope now. They needed to believe they could have a future. "Our people face the apocalypse every day and find ways to survive. Now, the Eternal Radiance is calling us to use our knowledge and expertise to help everyone survive this."

"Why should we help non-Pullati?" one of the gang members demanded. "It's not like any of them ever helped us."

Edera clenched her fists, eyes narrowing as she took a step forward, but Merula held up her hand and the girl stilled. "Because," Merula said, "it was wrong of them to abandon us. But we have always managed to survive because we abandon no one. We will not let this challenge turn us into them."

He looked at her, doubtful but not scornful. "You think you can save everyone? Really?"

"No," she said, sadness a hard stone in her chest as she thought of Domi's brother. "Not everyone. Even the Lightholders can't. But I think we can help keep resources moving to where they're needed so more folks can live than would otherwise. This is what our people do best. So let's do it."

The man fell silent, thinking about it for a moment, and then glanced at his gang. Only then did he turn back to Merula. "What do you want us to do?"

Relief surged through her but she did not let it touch her face. "I need to know who your four hundred most skilled leaders are. We're sending one to every capital on Aquarius."

He nodded slowly. "And what should we call you?"

"The Rex."

He frowned. "The Rex Pullati?"

"No," she said quietly and met his eyes.

He sputtered as his gang whispered. "That's... that's treason. That's blasphemy."

"The Lightholders had their chance to rule," she said, anger tightening her muscles, her voice. "They exploited the Pullati and countless others, claiming that their oppression was necessary, just, and divinely mandated. Now the world lies in ruins. The Eternal Radiance has spoken. Lightholder rule is illegitimate."

"Your own foster son is a Lightholder," the man pointed out. "The new Princeps Worldholder."

"Yes," she admitted. "He is. And I do this for his sake above all." The heat of fury swept up her spine as she remembered all the ways the Promethidae had hurt her child. Were still hurting her child. Her eyes narrowed. "Never again will we bow to Lightholder rule."