Auren's grin stretched wider, his teeth glinting in the dim light like a predator's. Crimson mist coiled tighter around his feet, pulsing with each beat of the heavy silence.
The King didn't flinch. He merely shifted his bulk in the throne, fingers drumming lazily against the armrest.
"Brazen?"
He chuckled—a dry, rasping sound.
"No, boy. Practical. Gods don't feed the starving. They don't halt blades mid-swing. If your Dark God seeks reverence, perhaps he should've shown his face before my people began dying."
Auren's grin didn't falter, but something in his eyes grew colder. Sharper.
Oh, this is fun.
He took a single step forward—just one—and the nobles nearest him recoiled as if scorched. The mist surged, tendrils licking at their boots.
"You mistake silence for absence,"
he said, voice singsong, almost playful.
"The Dark God has been watching. He's always watching."
He tilted his head, the smile never reaching his eyes.
"And right now, he's very disappointed."
