Vaeltharion looked at him with ancient eyes that had adjusted their estimate of the current situation multiple times across the preceding minutes and were now arriving at an adjustment that sat in a different category than the previous ones.
"What are you?" His voice was cold, containing the genuine inquiry of a being who had moved past strategic assessment into the simpler territory of needing an answer. "What do you want?"
Noah's eyes remained closed.
When he spoke, his voice carried the unhurried cadence of a being who had thought about this answer for some time!
"There is an old story, perhaps apocryphal, about a man who lived in a palace for years, convinced the gold leaf on the ceilings was a gift from the heavens specifically for him. He never once looked at the foundation. He never once asked who laid the stone. He simply lived in the light of things he did not build and called it his birthright."
He paused.
