An arm to swing, a leg to stand upon, and eyes to see with.

Atlas d'al Decter, interim Prime Minister for The Unified Kingdom of Vastime, was currently waiting to be announced for a televised address to the Cortes and Vastime as a whole. In the days since the 'death' of Hayden he had been called back to 'service' so to speak, with the emergence of multiple coalitions in politics things where becoming heated. With her majesty, Abalia, currently preoccupied with Gotei affairs including some stipulations laid out in Hayden's will so to speak the position of Prime Minister had been formed. In order to legitimize the title, if the word of their dead king was not enough, an election was in the process of being scheduled.

Until then, Atlas would serve as the position. With his record in the war, including the unquestionable record of loyalty he had, his reputation was unimpeachable. Nearly unanimously he was approved to hold the position until a time deemed acceptable to hold the election, something many held their misgivings about. Eventually, an election would need to be held- the quicker the better.

Atlas himself was not eager to hold this position at all. At first, anyway.

A callous hand would reach into his pocket to remove what appeared to be a stopwatch, a peculiar artifact but it served it's purpose. Soon he'd be going on stage to address the nation, effectively one of it's co-leader's so to speak. The least Atlas could do was serve to strengthen the monarchy, a small but vocal anti-monarchist faction was rising and he'd be damned to let such a thing tear about Vastime. His brow would furrow with displeasure at the thought, his jaw tightening.

Some part of him wished to flee this entire situation. To return to the Eastern plains with his wife and settle into normalcy. The war was supposed to be the ending of his purpose, it was supposed to allow him to either die a meaningful death or choose his own meaning. In some strange way, a part of him couldn't forsake his nation even though none would fault him. This place was the birth ground of the legacy of a man whom he held great respect for.

It was their shared legacy. He acted as his left hand in matters of war and peace. They created something which was greater than the sum of it's part. A weary people turned into one of the greatest powers in all of creation. Where man or woman could decide their own fate, their own destiny, should they have the strength of conviction to embark on it. Though the war was over, his duty was not.

Perhaps this was what Desmond felt, all those times. The brief and fleeting feeling of dutiful conviction when all the odds where against him. Atlas d'al Decter was not Desmond Hayden, he had not his strength of character. The same character which allowed him to unite this land. Atlas was a war hound, a beast of burden set upon his enemies to bring them to heel.

Atlas was a murderer. A ruthless human who had committed atrocity upon man and demon. Tho' he took no pleasure in such acts, it meant little to the dead. If there was a such thing as Justice in the world, then he knew that one day he would die horribly. Screaming perhaps. It was only right he pay for such sins. A man so tainted as he had no right to be the symbol of the people of Vastime, to be their leader in times of triumph and failure.

His gloved hand closed tightly around the stop watch closing it. He had no right to the title he now bore, and yet, the people expected him to perform his duties all the same. Thus he would. In doing these duties, even if he did not believe this, perhaps he could find some measure of redemption.

He stepped forward walking towards the podium which overlooked the entire assembly. A mix-match of African tribal leaders, elected representatives, and nobility whom all seemed to be waiting on him. Some looked to him in reverence, eyes which held brief glimmers of hope. While others held a indifference, already plotting ways to circumvent this entire process.

Each and every one, was a Vastimian.

He reached the podium wearing not his battle-fatigues, but a simple ceremonial uniform. Each award he had been given in his career missing from it's place. Only his name, and the rank of General seemed to be visible. Careful brown and blue eyes looked over the entire assembly making random eye contact, before drawing a breath speaking.

"My fellow Vastimians, ladies and gentlemen of the Assembly, I am honored to be given the position of Interim Prime Minister. I am well aware that great duty which is entrusted in me, to safe guard and protect while we.." His voice trails off for a moment. Confusion seems to erupt among people, as he looks away briefly. This feels wrong to him. The carefully planned speech. The way in which he address them.

They deserve better than this. Than him. When he speaks again, the cold visage of the hound is gone. He looks aged despite his youth, his voice heavy and earnest. Something very few had sound of the war hound.

"I'm sorry. It appears I may be going off-script. I want to address something, and I don't quite know how to say it." His eyes drift from the crowd, to the flag which was next to him. The symbol of Vastime. "When his Majesty found me I was nothing but a two-bit warlord waging an impossible war against Shadow Fall. Here. In Africa. Like many of you here, I did not know the great destiny ahead of us. He saw something within me, that I did not within myself. Maybe it was a goodness. Maybe it was a usefulness." He'd chuckle solemnly as the assembly seemed to become quiet. Deathly so.

"His Majesty, saw something in people. Not just in humans, or shinigami, or whatever your race. To those that call Earth home, he saw something worth protecting. Worth fostering. And now he's gone. Ya' know, I thought it be impossible for some like him to just- not lead us. But he did. Always looked ahead of us, always further in the future. He always claimed to not be the wisest, but he found people whom understood things he didn't." He pauses for a second his eyes closing as both hands came to grip the podium. The people of this nation, needed to hear this as much as he needed to say it.

"He wanted this nation to be made of people whom could decide their own destiny. Everything he did was to give us the chance to be the dictators of our lives. I always believed he had a destiny for us, but that was the furthest from it. I did not see it, until recently, that his Majesty gave us the greatest gift we could ask for: A world where we can decide our own fates."

"I did not want to accept this position. I do not believe myself worthy, I wanted to retire. Yet, here I am. To fulfil my duty. Our king left us big shoes to fill, impossibly large. I do not think I can fill them myself, but perhaps with the help of my countrymen I can. And if, and if.. we cannot I reckon ourselves all the better for trying!"

Rarely did Atlas raise his voice, rarely did emotion effect it. But in this moment, as the weight of the world came to rest upon his shoulders like his namesake, something touched him. Perhaps a glimmer of the spirit of his forefather, of the man whom he now desperately had to match. Though Atlas was the furthest thing from Hayden in his own mind, he had to try.

And as the assembled Cortes stood up, a thunderous applause washing over the sacred house, he knew in some ways he had succeeded tonight. Even those whom held their reservations, or was actively opposed, could not resist the barest of restrained smiles.

And Atlas, smiled, as well.