Agnomakhos' face was a statue. His bronze helm hid most of his humanoid features, making it unreadable. Beneath him, his leonine steed half was ironically far easier to relate to, but even it sat in an austere silent, as stone-faced as possible for a cat.

Below, in the city of Meletis, an entire battalion of leonin returned from war broken, struggling to survive even as healers did their best

Agnomakhos only watched. No hatred, no sympathy, only vigilance. The soldiers who stared at the four pairs of eyes, humanoid or animal, were stricken by feeling of uncertainty, and that ambiguity soon spread a sense of dread even among those that remained faithful.

That was enough, as far as Agnomakhos was concerned. Safety and prosperity preceded love or praise. That was why he was above the gods.

And why the gods hated him.