The moment Hoyo spoke the word master, a sound cut through the air, singular, deliberate, and sharp enough to feel as though it struck the inside of the skull.
It was the pluck of a harp string.
Not a gentle note, not something meant for music. This one thrummed with a low resonance that seemed to crawl under the skin, vibrating against the bones of the ear. The effect was immediate. Several of the older clerics faltered mid-step, their knees dipping before they caught themselves. A bishop clutched the side of a wall, his eyes squeezed shut as if the tone had reached directly into his thoughts.
All eyes lifted upward.
