Omega had grown used to the loneliness of the ministry, the empty quiet halls, the long days without a single word being spoken to him. He chose to pretend that it did not bother him, and people tended to believe it. There was nothing but rumors left of a de-throned leader who ruled with an iron fist and the portraits left hanging on the wall of the now-deceased Papa, Omega looming behind him ominously, protectively, as though he were the man's shadow. No one spoke of the previous era, none dared even speak the name of the late Emeritus, or his towering knight who still seemed to haunt the ministry with his presence. Currently, he was walking the halls on his own, his emotions hidden beneath a mask of silver, his eyes distant and cold.