His hearing was not what it once was, and so as he reviewed the world of green summer and grey stone about him, he did not realize his son had finally arrived until the call of Dionysios’ very own name reached his ears.

He turned his head and met the kohl-lined golden-brown gaze of his youngest. He was dressed in finery as was his custom, and though Dionysios had never been one for such extravagance, he could appreciate the reactions that such a display often caused, even among the staff who’d known Mihail for long enough to be used to his ostentatiousness.

It was important for Mihail to remind all those around him that he was the one who commanded power. An unfortunate fact of his effeminate nature was that often, people did not take him quite so seriously as a Thanasi ought to be taken. That allowed Mihail to better draw others to him rather than repulse them, but it was also often an unfortunate invitation for those who sought to test him.

Dionysios could not blame the boy. Had Mihail taken after him as Dysius had, he might have found himself forever compared to two men. Instead, he was wholly his own creature, and nobody with eyes would compare him to either the men or the women in his family. Quite a cunning decision of presentation, if that was indeed a decision at all. As far as Dionysios could remember, Mihail had always been this way.

As a boy, of course, Dionysios had not been wholly supportive of such a thing. He thought it a phase when Mihail was younger, refusing to cut his long hair and fussing over his appearance as if a young girl at her first blossoming. Dionysios had not wanted his son to bring dishonor upon himself or his house, and so Dionysios sought to correct behavior.

It had not worked and, instead, seemed to make Mihail more committed to doing as he liked. Dionysios had, at some point, stopped trying to correct the boy’s behavior and view of the world and instead allowed him to move about it as he wished while Dionysios observed. Lo and behold, Mihail had developed his own presence and mind without a shadow of judgement hovering over him. The young men at court laughed and the young ladies cast curious gazes, but eventually, Mihail was no longer an oddity and instead an icon within the Colchian court.

Even tavern keeps in Athenia knew his name.

“Son” Dionysios returned, reminding Mihail that his disregard did not change that he was a product of Dionysios. His eyes darted from Mihail's feet to the top of his circlet-adorned head. Nothing seemed amiss save for the rather simple design about his eyes rather than a more dramatic decoration. He’d even come much earlier than Dionysios assumed he would come. Perhaps the years had tempered his favor for the conspicuous.

Mihail grasped the shelf of his hip and extended one hand in his usual fashion. Though Dionysios did not mind the use of his first name so indifferently, and was quite used to it, he had never appreciated the use of touch or lowering oneself as a greeting.

One did not need to touch another in order to acknowledge their presence, and should one need another to lower themselves before having a discussion, then their superiority was never cemented enough without the reminder.

Before he left, or even yesterday, he might have looked at Mihail’s hand with a lifted eyebrow and continued as he wished. However, yesterday had been an enlightening experience. His children had changed in his absence, and if Nethis’ behavior was any indication, Dionysios could not assume he could simply pick up where he left off.

It was not the first time in his life he had to approach a situation with inquisition and caution. When he first began attending court an age before, and senate years after, and then matters of business, he played along with those around him. Seemingly just like them, seemingly unobtrusive and nondescript until he had fallen into the background. People forgot that he was present until he became far richer and more influential than them—and that was before he wed a princess.

And so he would have to do so again. Pride and stubbornness were traits of simpletons and those who were easily led astray, for wise men knew it would cost a man everything and leave him with nothing. Dionysios would always have pride in his house, for it was the labor of his life. But in himself? As his philosophy tutor used to say, any mortal that required awe from others in order to be in awe of himself must not be that magnificent to begin with.

And so, he did not cast a withering glance at his son’s hand as he might have before his illness. Instead, he clasped it with both of his own, enveloping Mihail’s elegant fingers within the warm cage of his palms. Aged and wrinkled his hands may be, but Dionysios at least took great care with his skin, covering himself every morning and evening with oils and lotions to keep unpleasant dryness from himself. Rough skin textures had always been irritating to him.

“I heard you spoke to Net yesterday; I suppose it was only a matter of time before I too was finally permitted to see my father, although I must admit surprise that I was not left for last as per your custom," Mihail said.

Dionysios released his son's hand and grasped his staff instead, turning his head as he thought. It had indeed been his custom to leave Mihail as his last review, but there had been a reason for changing his usual behaviors. If his children were to be unpredictable, then he would not give them the benefit of being able to depend upon a usual behavior either.

Mihail’s sarcasm, however, was duly noted. Dionysios knew the boy disliked him, and he could quite guess that it had something to do with his absence and subsequent harsh criticism when he was present in the past. At the time, Dionysios had simply been too busy to take note of such things. It wasn’t until Ulla’s mistreatment was brought to his attention that he realized Mihail needed him at all.

In hindsight, Dionysios could appreciate that he’d been quite careless and foolish with his children. After he’d poisoned the Kotas cunt, however, he’d been quite present in the household. Not that it seemed to set anything to rights. At that point, he simply had to work with what he’d allowed to fester.

“Does this displease you?” Dionysios asked, “Not being summoned last?”

“I was in the bath. I have a routine and, sudden return or not, I do not quite like it being interrupted when my head hurts and I only wish to relax,” Mihail said.

Ah, Dionysios saw the discontent here. Mihail was used to his way. Unfortunately, Mihail would need to reconfigure his routine with an additional body in the household once more.

“You infer my company is not relaxing,” Dionysios intoned. “And your appearance suggests that you successfully completed your bath.”

“To what do I owe this meeting?”

Dionysios was quite used to the boy’s indifference and would have been surprised at any other consideration. However, there was some seemingly additional disdain in his tone. It was easy enough to tamp down irritation at such a thing. Dionysios was a frail old man to all. Surely Mihail and the rest of his children would see his decay as a weakness to be taken advantage of. He had never been a man who allowed words to be a deterrent against behavior he disapproved of, but actions. No doubt he would need to make an example at some point, though hopefully it would not be so soon. That would blight reconnections and be quite tiresome so soon after arriving.

It would behoove Mihail to curb his enmity sooner rather than later.

“I wanted to see my son, naturally.” Dionysios reached beside him and picked up the small wooden box with one hand, holding it out to Mihail. Inside were various baubles of jade and ivory, a sister to the box he’d gotten for all the girls. He had never enjoyed touch, but he showed his affection in gifts. Cold though it may be, it was the only form of affection he would tolerate unless more was earned.

Dionysios grasped his staff and stood before Mihail, his cold blue eyes darting across his son’s face. Had Mihail been more interested in matters of senate or business, Dionysios would have received dozens of invitations to various houses throughout Greece in the hopes of matching a daughter to the youngest Thanasi. He was, as far as Dionysios was concerned, the most symmetrical of his children. All of them were renowned for their beauty and poise, but it was Mihail who had not a single imperfection, oddity, or mar about him. Even his mis-healed nose seemed to compliment his features rather than take from them.

Alas, he was a hedonist. Perhaps, before Dionysios died, he could encourage Mihail to use his cleverness for something other than scathing remarks. It was not a terrible idea, though Dionysios would have to get reacquainted with his son once more before diving head-long into such a venture. Mihail did not respond well to brow-beating and insistence.

“Come, tell me of yourself these past years. I have missed much.” Dionysios held tightly to his staff and stayed poised to stroll upon the slim stone walkway as soon as Mihail joined him. No doubt Mihail would bring up his archery, in which case Dionysios would ask to be taken to his son's practice area. He'd placed a marvelous invention there, something his son would make sufficient use of.

He’d been kept updated upon Mihail, just as he’d been kept updated of all his children. Dionysios did not know if his son had gotten better with his practice or stayed at relatively the same skill level, for reports simply stated that ‘Lord Mihail attended his bow today.’

Body language hardly ever escaped his notice. Even when his eyesight was less than ideal, Mihail’s momentary stiffening—a passing tension from shoulder to shin—was indicative of his personal discomfort.
Mayhaps it was the flippant use of his status as Dionysios’ spawn, though the question remained as to why. Mihail was, after all, mortal. He was not Athena, who sprung from Zeus’ head in full armor. He had been born a small, wailing child and grew as any mortal. He was created with seed and womb as any man or woman.
The rigidity in his frame was there and gone, so swift it could have been a trick of the eye. Perhaps it was. Dionysios sometimes suffered from them, after all. If it were not a mirage produced by his aged mind, however, it was something he could use. To impel a closer relationship with his son might necessitate said son’s cooperation and, by extension, his sisters who were much more difficult to press into delegated tasks.
And Dionysios would not be personally adverse to a closer connection with his family before he died.
Mihail’s mouth quirked into a small, sly smile accompanied by an arc of the eyebrow. He quipped, “No. I am merely...surprised.”

It was no secret that Dionysios had always preferred order and structure over impulse. He did not like his food to touch and instead ate according to the order of intensity—olive before date, root before bread. He addressed his slaves from most senior to newly appointed. He prepared his skin before frocking himself.
However, the older he got, the less structured he became. Sometimes he participated in things upon a whim, the summoning of his children being one instance. Rather than order of birth, they were called according to order of thought.
Mihail was used to Dionysios’ usual behavior, and he could use that as well. The youngest within a family oft received the most adoration, but they also received the least amount of recognition and consideration. Fostering a closer bond with his son whilst simultaneously elevating him in regard should make the boy easy to control. He was always more receptive to gifts and acknowledgement than anything else.

Arrogance tended to form such thick chains; coupled with a lifetime of being treated as if incapable tended to thicken the iron shackles winding round the throat.

“I completed my bath. I did not complete my usual routine.”

Dionysios gave Mihail a flat look, not overly deep or condescending, merely mildly inquiring. “Careful. If you become any more perfectly presentable, correspondence inquiring after your betrothal status may double and I would have no choice but to allow at least a handful of those tittering fools near us.”

Dionysios did not give out flattery often, but sometimes it served a purpose. Mihail would not be getting married any time soon—Dysius would be the first to go, then Thea, then Mihail. As for his eldest son, he was at least easier to market. The boy actually enjoyed the thought of essentially owning another human being. Perish the thought of Thea or Mihail wedding a simpering and easily controlled idiot.

“To what do I owe this meeting?”

“I wanted to see my son, naturally.” Dionysios poffered the small wooden box and Mihail took it wordlessly, opening the lid and sifting through the contents. His expression wasn’t that of distaste, so Dionysios could only assume he’d selected the correct items for his son.

“Thank you.” Mihail said. It was simple, only two words, two syllables, but the tone was not laced with any sarcasm, irony, or venom. Dionysios was not used to such a tone gracing any one of his children’s voices, not since they were much, much younger. Perhaps the years had indeed tempered Mihail into something more cultivated than his acid-spitting siblings.

“You’re welcome,” Dionysios replied simply. He was glad that his affection was not rebuffed. Old and harsh he may be, but still very much a human who craved connection. It was a weakness he was never able to fully carve away from his decrepit soul. Sometimes he siphoned it from others by locking them inside sensory deprivation chambers until they were on the brink of madness and more than willing to impart a kiss to Dionysios’ foot in gratitude, desperately clinging to his robes to capture even the barest form of human interaction.

Sometimes he liked to deny them a little longer, sometimes doing so shattered them too quickly.

He did not do such things to his family, and truly, theirs was the only consideration he truly valued. An unfortunate thing, at least subdued to a point of non-interaction. Well...Thea had always been a problem child, and Dionysios was unfortunately forced to lock her in the punishment box more than once.

And then, strangely, Mihail’s mouth curved in a smile. Not a smirk or a sneer, but a true expression of mild mirth. This pleased Dionysios. Happiness was as strong as terror. When one relied on him to make them happy, his absence meant neutrality, negativity, and all manner of unpleasant emotions. It made others jump to do his bidding out of a pure desire to do so. Not that Mihail would. Unfortunately, the boy was too old and Dionysios’ time was not long on this earth.

As they strolled, Dionysios was pleased again by his son’s etiquette. Naturally, his children were versed in proper protocol—the best teachers for every subject that money could buy. That did not mean his children used them at all times. A bolt of pride welled in his chest as his son fell into step slightly behind him with nary a word. No sneers, no brisk steps to take the lead. Mihail was, for all intents and purposes, being considerate of his aged father.

No doubt he had some nasty things spinning around in that pretty head, but at least outwardly, his mannerisms were without fault, and really that was all that mattered.

“You missed three years of my life.” He began. Dionysios did not interrupt or offer apology, for he did not apologize for anything at any time, much less something that would highlight his disgustingly weakened state. “Rather significant years, in truth. The end of my education, which is a shame since I have certainly blossomed more than the rest of your children, and I had to teach myself most things, given that none of your assigned tutors had the required mental capacity. Did you know they call them the finest in Greece? And yet…”

Dionysios’s thin eyebrows shot up and he turned his head long enough to observe the eyeroll that accompanied Mihail’s scoff. It may have been the boy was overly dramatic, it may have been that he enjoyed finding fault with all save for himself to reassure his superiority, but he was always a clever child and although he was rather useless in all manner of things that required work, his mind was sharp as any blade. It could be that the sophists Dionysios researched, interviewed, and selected were indeed as dull as Mihail claimed. If that were the case, then every student before his son must have simply been simple-minded enough that any man of above average intelligence was considered an enlightened genius.

Something to look into. Dionysios did not enjoy being duped. If any of them were still alive and plying their trade in Colchis, it would be a simple thing to pluck them from the streets and forums to get to the bottom of the claim. Nobody wasted Dionysios’ time, nobody wasted Thanasi money.

“I taught myself philosophy and rhetoric and Coptic and Hebrew and all manner of subjects better than any of them, and I made more than certain they were aware. I can show you, if you care.”

“I would like to witness this claim, yes. What is your preferred subject?” He was not so stupid as to think it couldn’t be done, though he would be the judge of whether it was done well. If it was, then Dionysios could die easily knowing Mihail was not as useless as Dionysios always thought. Even if he did not do anything with his knowledge, at least he had it and could easily stay at home and write all manner of dissertations on whatever subject he excelled most at. And if it wasn’t, well, hopes were meant to be dashed upon the ground, weren’t they?

“I remain unmarried, as I assume you care, though I remain without any intention of doing so until I can make my own decisions. Do not worry, however, I have been entertaining myself appropriately. I have spent quite a while in Nethisa of late; the province and everything it has to offer have always been delightful. Besides, the baron and I are close personal friends, so I have wonderful standing chambers there. You know, he would do most anything for me.”

Dionysios made a thoughtful sound and did not mention that Mihail would be marrying someone. He did not mention that the boy was old enough to make his own decisions if he so chose. He did not mention the baron of Nethisa was soon to be disposed of. Better to allow all things to happen without comment, as if naturally. To do otherwise would encourage dissent, and Dionysios was not yet settled into his household enough to upset any child to such an incredible degree. They were no longer afraid of him, and so he would need to find a way to make them so again. Otherwise, he risked poisoning.

“I did indeed miss much.” Dionysios said, “Though I am glad to hear you have been increasing your presence among at least one of the barons and...entertaining yourself, as it were. Your autodidactism is something of impressive note, even if the cause of the symptom was your tutors’ ineptitude. Formal education does not a great mind make, but the perseverance of the man to keep thinking long past it.”

Dionysios did not slow his pace in order to face his son in conversation. Eye contact was not so important to him as it was to others. Only when he wanted his conversational partner to squirm or listen well, and this was more or less a casual and informal exchange.

“I suppose you wish to know about my archery?”

His tone sounded all manner of nonplussed and expectant. Dionysios liked to think he could hear the pusing of his son’s lips without ever having to look at him. It might have been said before that it was the only commonality Dionysios shared with his son, and he’d been relieved when his son took to it as a boy. However, his possible polymathematic aptitude could very well be another thing he inherited from Dionysios, at least in some tertiary fashion. If Mihail wasn’t careful, he might actually become something of a legend among his own house generations after his death.

“I have not stopped. I take two or three hours each morning, and I continue to excel.”
Mihail lead them now, and as Dionysios caned his way along the path, he listened attentively to his son and parsed through word and tone carefully as his gaze lingered on the surroundings they passed.

“I would prefer to keep my practice uniform, although given that the staff are so vastly and commonly incompetent, it can be rather difficult. I shoot from ninety metres on most days with slight variations, and I assure you I can hit a target from any distance you request under any conditions.”

Dionysios chose to ignore his complaint of the staff. They weren’t incompetant, Mihial was simply overly demanding and over expecting of others, assuming them able to read his mind or keep him as their primary priority regardless of their daily task list. Mihail was given body slaves, and yet he treated all the staff as if they were assigned similarly. It was something of an inconvenience when his temper rose enough that he eliminated them. Wasted money was no light matter.

“Any condition, you say? Visibility is not a concern?"

He has been proficient before, and he may simply be bragging in his arrogant way, but if what he claimed was true then that was quite a feat indeed. A useful one. If he liked Nethisa so well, The Scorpion's Sting could use an exemplary archer in their ranks. Dionysios never had a hunger to go to war, but military work had a way of injecting discipline into new blood. Perhaps that is exactly what Mihail required. Dionysios certainly wouldn't write it off immediately as a viable avenue.

"If you--" Mihail caught sight of the contraption and Dionysios folded his hands upon his staff, coming finally to the end of their journey. In the right hands, it was a most murderous tool of war. An ingenious invention, and exclusively in Thanasi hands. Or, more accurately, Mihail's.

His son raised an elegant hand and pointed at the weapon. “Is that...? I want it.”

"It is yours." Dionysios nodded at it. "However, do be subtle in your wielding, son. That is no common weapon, and we do not need questions to its procurement arising quite yet."

He caned closer to it and flicked his eyes from the construct to his son. "I have no teachers who might teach you how to load it, but you are clever enough to figure it out without assistance, I'm sure."

In his youth, Dionysios had once traveled north. Before the barbarians came howling from the steppes, he’d surveyed the coastal regions of that barren place. He’d fancied Colchis sending an excursion, to claim the land, and would have been willing to place funds behind such a venture. He would have gone so far as to volunteer himself as the region’s master under the banner of his country.

That had been before he had children.

Those lands were rife with steppe vipers, and he’d taken care where he stepped. One of his escort had been struck upon the foot by a slithering creature. The man hadn’t died and, in fact, made a full recovery within three weeks. What had been extraordinary was the snake itself. Though its head had been cut off, it still moved—in fact, it hadn’t been until after the head was severed that the man was bitten.

It hadn’t occurred to him at the time, of course, but Dionysios reminded himself of that snake, his son the man struck. Even as the boy spoke at length, he yet stepped without worry and spat freely that which was on his mind.

He'd forgotten to be afraid, the little fool. For even wizened, weakened, and halved as a man, Dionysios' fangs were still sharp and it wouldn't be until long after he'd died that Mihail would even know he'd been bitten.

Like a wagon filled with stones, this path could not be stopped once the wheels began carrying it down the hill.

"I find that I am surrounded by ‘tittering fools’ everyday regardless. I take it, thus, that you have not spoken to Dysius just yet?”

Mihail's little smirk was like a smile upon a woman. Somehow, it seemed to light up every feature he possessed. Quite remarkable, truly. When he was too young to even grow hair upon his chin, he did look very much like a girl. It had been a mistake to leave him to his sisters, they only encouraged his femininity. Just as it had been a mistake to leave Dysius to his own devices. But there was nothing for it now save to inject his venom into this family so that they could grow stronger for surviving it.

“I have, actually.” Dionysios tilted his head and pursed his lips, considering, calculating. One should never speak ill of a Thanasi; not even another Thanasi. After a moment, he clicked his tongue and said rather dryly, “Your brother has been busy, naturally, but dutiful as always. He made time to attend me when first I arrived.”

The conversation moved quickly away from the miscalculated jab at Dionysios’ eldest son and onto more pleasant subjects—that of Mihails pursuits with the bow and the mind. This, at least, pleased Dionysios. A lavish and hedonistic child was his youngest, but he’d inherited the infamous Thanasi mind. Lord Hades watched their house with an attentive eye, his dark maids and lesser gods following their masters’ lead. The Thanasi bowed to them and bid them welcome into their house, and for that the house was favored with cunning and brilliance of thought. No other house held the darker gods in patronage, and for that, the great snake was blessed.

People oft assumed that darkness was inherently evil, but it was not so. Those that thought were rarely the sort to smile and laugh in the sun, was all. Too burdened by the weight of truth, they preferred the dark hour when it was less likely they would be bothered. They knew of death and its domain, of Eris’ strife, Moros’ doom, of Deimos’ terror and Phobos’ panic. Respected them and knew them to be as natural as the grass and the sky. Did not shy from them, but welcomed them to dine and debate.

“Philosophy. I spent a few months at the university in Athenia and I write in my spare time. I have published a few works. My latest is on the existing yet underacknowledged dichotomy between one’s sexual and romantic identity, and the perceived notion that they are one and the same. It is a subject that is rather dear to myself, and another addition to my current collection on the topic of identity as a whole.”

“Hm.” Dionysios kept prodding and stabbing at the boy, coaxing him to speak at length without needing his father’s total participation. It was not a difficult feat. Giving little acknowledgements here and there, as if the information given was of import. Romance and sexuality—what an inane subject. At least Mihail was correct in his assertion that they were not one in the same; romance was a fictionalized tool used to make marriages less of a dry agreement. It was an idea for women. Sexuality, however, was not fiction, it was simply what was, and they had need of it in this world for the continued reproduction of the populace. “They certainly aren’t exclusive. Romance is, after all, a product of fantasy while sex is a temporal function. Both can be used as tools, but one tends to see themselves, and the world, as they wish rather than what truly is, and what they truly are."

It was plain what he was saying, Dionysios thought.

“I will have someone to fetch my work if you dearly wish to read it," Mihail said. Dionysios did at that, to judge whether his son's bold claims held merit or if he was exercising his skills as a braggart. If it so happened to be the former, perhaps his arguments were even sound enough to warp how Dionysios saw the world, even if by a miniscule amount. That was the hope, at least, for that was the true test of greatness of articulation–not necessarily thought. Any fool could convince others of their righteousness, but only a truly great mind could convince Dionysios.

"Yes, that would please me greatly. Have it sent to my rooms after we conclude here."

Again, the conversation shifted like the gentle bend of a river, philosophy flowing into archery as if twined to it.

“Do you need me to prove it?” Mihail's voice grew more irate here, displeased at any doubt to his attempts. He would be sorely disappointed as the years rolled on, for people would always doubt until execution were displayed. “I can hit a target without looking. I can split an arrow without looking. Kill a man, if I wish, and I have. Allow me to assure you, Dionysios—there is not one thing I cannot do with a bow in my hand, and I do not accept any implication otherwise.”

The boy was working himself into a tizzy over such a small a thing as being questioned. Displeased, Dionysios yet did not react. All in time.

"Well then, it sounds like you don't need me to believe you." Dionysios said in a tone that was both deceptively light and struck with a challenge in of itself.

In his periphery, Mihail was glancing at him in kind from the corner of his eye. The clacking butt of his staff rang hollow along the stone, sandals scraping purposefully with each step as if Dionysios couldn't quite lift the entirety of his legs as he moved.

And then they came upon the real prize, a weapon masterfully created. It was astounding, this ingenuity of mortals. The orient seemed to be at the spearhead of progress for the most part, and Dionysios would be loathe to dismiss them as so many of his fellow Hellenes did.

“I do not require a tutor. This should be nothing to me.”

Dionysios only watched his son in silence as he studied the bolts, quickly finding the load mechanism without need of assistance. The boy was clever, to be sure. If only he put himself to task more often, he would be a true force to be reckoned with.

When his son spun around and cocked that hip of his, Dionysios simply leaned into his staff with both hands and listened, head tilted slightly to catch all the words he could, not that Mihail was a quiet creature.

“Are you planning to tell me where you have spent the past few years, then? Where did you obtain this? And — perhaps most importantly — what has prompted your sudden return after so long? I can only assume you have some ulterior motive. I cannot suppose it was a sudden realisation that you missed your children. I do think I deserve answers.”

Dionysios jaw clicked aside and he ran his tongue against the backs of what brittle teeth he had left. It was deathly silent, not but the whisper of wind in the grass spoke between them for some long and drawn out moments.

"I'm dying." Dionysios said simply, a statement of fact, "Though I suppose we are all born on a pyre, my end is closer than your own. You don't need to know anything aside from that as of the moment. When you do, then you will."

Dionysios stepped a little closer, eyes flicking from the boy's angular face to his dainty feet, then back. "I wished to see you, and now I have, so I will be taking my leave. Send for your publications and have them delivered to my room."

That said, Dionysios gave his son a parting glance before turning slowly to take his leave. "Do enjoy the weapon, son. I will see you at dinner."

He walked, straining to hear movement behind him as he dragged his feet forward, cutting his way back to the house at a leisurely pace, expecting Mihail to shout something at his back as he departed. It bothered him not. Today was a day of reunion, and tomorrow was not. After today, Dionysios would be remiss if he did not remind his youngest why, precisely, he needed to watch his tongue when he spoke to his betters.

The Medusa once more in sight, he reached out as he passed to press wizened fingers into the curl of her stone tail, and then he disappeared behind the forlorn fountain, leaving Mihail alone in the gardens with his new toy.