He’d never been to this part of the ruined city before, but this time it drew him, mapped out by shadows and uncomfortable dreams that left him tired and poorly rested. Bad dreams were nothing new, but even vague and unclear, these had a… he wasn’t sure how to put it. A weight. There was more to them than the ghosts of twisted metal and screams that still crept into his sleep. These had something more to them that was like the long drawn out scream of warning that were the dreams of another future, though he couldn’t have said exactly what the parallel was. There was no clear and defined warning of a victory for the dark, just an uncomfortable feeling that he needed to get to his Wonder. That he needed to be here.

It had been beautiful once, this temple. Of all the things on his temple it seemed to have held together almost better than anything else, and the closer he had come to it, picking his way through the dusty ruined streets, the more you felt this place. It was a sacred space. He didn’t even need memories to tell him that if the Labyrinth had been the heart of Kairatos, this thing… this place… something here had been the breath.

He stepped into the shadowy interior, Asterion following after him with careful, almost respectful steps, the bulls burning coat flaring up brighter until the glow of flame lit the darkness with dancing light, revealing glimpses of what remained of the painted murals, their vibrant colors dimmed, but not as far gone as other places. There were marching bulls in festival flowers and tack, marching with jubilant crowds who held their hands up high in praise to a much faded figure with dark hair he knew had been –her-. Their lady of Mars. Painted black birds danced forever on the walls, in respect for her, and two carved statues of reclining bulls with birds perched on their shoulders stood to either side of, and just behind what had once been an altar, their forward swept wings pointed toward an dark doorway.

Cobwebs of memory showed him the shadow of ceremony, his father, his mother, and many others standing with pride as he walked toward that chamber to claim, properly, the title of the Knight of Kairatos.

He shook them off. He wasn’t here for nostalgia or dead memories, but what he was here for… he was pretty sure it was ahead of him, and he stepped forward into the corridor ahead of him, a narrow hallway too small for Asterion to follow him, making his way almost by touch in the dark until he found an heavy door, which groaned in protest as he pushed it open on its aged hinges, and scraped on the floor in further objection, scratching the tiles.

The glow of light in that small room made him blink, squinting his eyes which had only just begun to become accustomed to the unlit corridor behind him, and somewhere back the way he’d came, he heard Asterion make a low sound of what might have been curiosity or concern.

It was not a glow of the sunlight outside however, no skylight or window was in this chamber. No this light was from a glowing orb the size of a basketball, suspended in the dark. It’s glow gleamed off old suits of armor, too worn to be used in any way, all of them with the familiar motif of a bronze bulls head and the symbol of Mars. The orb had a presence to it, one he knew. While it lacked the misty nebulous qualities of the piece at Olympus, he knew it was another piece of that strange whole, smaller, but never the less powerful. The Code.

He could think of no place else to seek answers to the draw and discomfort that had brought him here. It was supposed to be a source of answers, even if the ones he’d gotten in the past had at best been as nebulous as the shape of the one at Olympus, and he swung the door the rest of the way open, licking dry lips edgily before he asked.

“What’s wrong? Something doesn’t feel right…” It was old doubts and uncertainty that gripped him as he added. “…Did I do something wrong?”
He’d done everything he could to be what he thought he should, but he had only partial memories and old vows. Had he done something wrong? Memories of Titan’s strong arms and soft lips danced around the edges of his thoughts, but he pushed them aside, guiltily. Titan was no enemy… not now.

The Code almost sounded as though it scoffed. “I think the better question, have you done anything right? Look at yourself. Who do you think you are trying to fool, because it’s clearly not me.” The Code fell silent for a moment, then spoke almost coldly. “I don’t know why you ever left the Negaverse. Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

Kairatos blinked at the thing, expression blank, though he felt more as though someone had unlocked a storm inside him, the kind that would have turned ships to kindling. Anger, confusion, guilt, fear, and then anger again. They clawed for supremacy inside his head, trying to think of how to respond to this betrayal, this… verbal knife in the gut.

It was anger he settled on. Anger was familiar, and he had never, never done well with being looked down on. The Code had no face, but he could all too easily paint a familiar sneer on it. Zinkenite, or Castor maybe; anyone who had ever looked at him and seen him as less.

“You son of a…” The first words came out in a low, shaky hiss, and then his hands, shaking with fury, got themselves on a piece of ancient armor. The dusty bronze cold in his hands, he barely registered the shape of the helm, didn’t even look at it until he threw it blindly, the shape of a bull’s head glittering in the light as it whisked neatly past the globe without so much as causing it’s glow to flicker, not even close to hitting anything but the far wall, which it struck with a loud CLANG, and another loud rattle as it struck the floor.

“DON’T YOU DARE GIMME THAT CRAP. YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH ME, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT YOU OUTDATED NIGHTLIGHT.”

How… how DARE it. He’d NEVER… Let it goddamn take his powers if it thought he wasn’t up to the task, he’d grab a damn bat and go hunting Nega’s that way.

“SCREW YOU!” He roared furiously, knocking over the rest of the armor that had gone with the helmet with a swing of his arm. It crashed to the ground with a noise as un-dignified as a pile of spilled kitchen pots, but the Code seemed to have nothing more to say on the matter. He didn’t know if it was ignoring him, or if it was simply considering its options, or a scathing retort, but he didn’t wait to find out. He turned sharply on his heel and fled the room, not running, though he half wanted to, but in long ground eating strides, shoulders thumping roughly on the narrow walls of the dark corridor like a jostling, unfriendly crowd. He didn’t want to be here right now. He wanted to be as far from here as he could get, preferably elbows deep in a brawl. Something was wrong, but whether it was him or the Code he couldn’t say and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It might yet be him.