For a moment, Septimus' eyes flash, the green hardening--it's an expression surfacing more often in recent days, particularly the last week or so, and a distinctly arrogant one.

But it's only for a moment. Because it's an instinctive reaction, one he's been letting himself fall into unconsciously more and more lately and which he has only been dimly aware of. But preparing mentally to talk to the Emperor has been neatly setting up a series of switches in his mind, and--

And with a sigh, he sits back up (a faint thump, stretching out all six-foot-four of him had tilted the chair ever so slightly) and rests his elbows on the desk. Kyle is right, of course--and Septimus is far more shaken than he'd like to admit. He'd seen his share of battles, come close to death more than once. Close to death and dying are different, I suppose. He suddenly misses everyone from home viciously.

"Septimus," he says after pregnant pause--and stops. It sounds strange even to his own ears, after a year of never hearing it said aloud. "My name." And he knows, as long as he's talking about it at all, and he owes Kyle this after nearly killing him--

But it hurts, forcing himself to say the syllables out loud. "Gaius Septimus."