The aurora shifted, patterns of verdant-blue light rearranging themselves above as if the Emperor were gathering thoughts that had waited eight summers to be spoken.
"But I will tell you what I learned in life, and what death has only confirmed. If a man walks these cruel Lands and carries his honor with him when it would be easier to set it down, if he helps others when helping costs him, if he rises when rising invites the blade, then he has lived well. The Amadlozi do not count the years a life contained. They count what was carried through those years, and what was given to those who had nothing."
The Emperor's voice deepened, and the verdant-blue light in his manifested eyes seemed to reach for his son across the impossible distance between them.
"You have carried honor, my Son. You have helped those who had no claim upon you. You have risen when rising should have killed you. For this, I am proud."
Damian's eyes burned with brilliance!
