Nature has a surer plan than mortals can devise.
Gods colliding, ethos and mythos trying to combine. The Sacred Band caught up in a whirlwind not of any god's devising: he and Niko had wanted to save twenty-three pairs of fated Theban fighters. Now everything feels fated and fighting oversweeps its boundaries of time and place and plane.
What would the world be without him, and those like him?
There are stranger things here than Thebans know about.
Humans create their futures every day of every year; only you can alter your worlds.
The Fates are here because of supernal anger, celestial imbalance, and arrogance of men and gods that must be curbed.
Men make their own fates - it's personal, not a matter for debate.
If cities have souls, Sanctuary's was troubled long before Tempus got here, and will be troubled long after he and his are gone.
It's in the god's hands.
Stop grieving. Start giving thanks to me. You live to fight on other days.
What doesn't bend must break, when dooms are apportioned and destiny takes the lead. As it will now, and as it must, until this struggle ends.
War's balance will prevail.
Makes you wonder if the gods are always right.
A wise one determines his own fate.
Look to the souls of Your own soldiers, God, who labor in Thine awful cause.
Every man heals himself.
One lot apiece, one chance to undo an error or secure a fate.
"Learn what can, and cannot, be asked from destiny."
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