With the boy-Imperator now firmly ensconced in his shadow, Alpheo began to weave his tale.
"The first legacy your brother left you, before we carved a bloody road to this Rock, was a pile of rubble where a fortress should be," Alpheo began, his voice taking on the rhythmic cadence of a master mason. "Your primary concern, above all, is mending these walls. I am no architect, but I know that a man who sleeps in a house with no doors has no right to be surprised when he wakes to a knife at his throat. Start the work tonight. The sooner the mortar dries, the longer your reign shall live."
It was a redundant truth, perhaps even a patronizing one, but Alpheo knew that in the intoxication of victory, it wouldn't hurt to remind them that their feet were on the ground.
