Seirion remained silent for a moment that felt eternal.
Erian's question still hung in the air, thrumming with unexpected force.
"Are you Seirion, the God of Ruin?"
The words had come out with the calm of someone ready to face the truth regardless of the answer, and that struck Seirion deeper than any reproach or prayer.
No one had called him by name in centuries. No one had dared to pronounce it without a tremor in their voice, without hatred or supplication, and much less with that shade of curiosity and respect that Erian had placed in his question.
A wave of emotions surged in Seirion's chest, disarming him.
Pride, because his name still carried weight, still could be recognized.
Nostalgia, because it reminded him of distant times when humans raised prayers to his figure, when the stars were his messengers and the temples his dwelling.
