The scene shifted abruptly. Eleanor now saw five elderly men seated at a round table. At its head sat the white-bearded lord. Only one seat remained empty, directly opposite him.
The door opened, and the white-haired Priestess entered. She greeted the lord, then took the vacant seat.
"Priestess, we have been waiting for you. What is your opinion on today's matter?" the Lord asked.
"I examined the patients," she replied. "There is no sign of plague or curse. But the protection granted to us by the gods… the very shield that allows us to live here is weakening. Those with lesser resistance to magic have fallen ill because of this. Especially the elderly and the children. Their souls cannot withstand the pressure of magic in Vanaheim."
The Lord frowned. "When the Goddess saved us from the giantess Rán and gave us a home here, she clearly said we would be under her protection. We never stopped offering tribute every Friday. What has changed?"
