Kaelen sat alone in the dark of his borrowed room, the stone from Sister Corvane warm in his palm, and thought.
First: A god must create without devouring. If it builds only by consuming, it is not a god. It is a hunger.
Second: A god must judge without lying. If it twists truth to bind its followers, it is not a god. It is a tyrant.
Third: A god must love without needing worship. If it demands praise as payment, it is not a god. It is a merchant of souls.
And the last thing he was told calamities happen when a god is awakening.
He turned that last truth over like a blade. The Hand had taught it as a warning, not a prophecy. Calamities were not the wrath of a god. They were the contractions of a birth. When a god stirred in the womb of the world, the world strained to hold it. Pestilence, famine, madness, was, these were not punishments. They were symptoms. The world was not being judged. It was being stretched.
