"Well, it's better to save the best for last," Osmund chuckled, casting a side-long glance at Finn, while Finn looked on with a somewhat thoughtful expression. The air between them seemed to vibrate with a new kind of tension now that the word 'faith' had been uttered.
"Yeahhh," Finn drawled. "Now that I think about it, I do remember you saying something about your ancestors and Gods and Transcendents…"
"Of course," Osmund said with a hint of pride in his voice. He stood a little taller, his chest swelling as he prepared to recount the foundation of his people's identity. "The story of how the Transcendents fell to our Great One. With every swing of His arm, twenty one Transcendent lives were reaped. The Transcendents could only flee with their tails between their legs. Only a few of them survived that massacre!"
Osmund's eyes glittered as if he could see it himself. His gaze was distant, and he went silent for a beat, until Finn's voice drew him out of his trance.
