The great hall was silent, the weight of expectation pressing down upon the air as the old priest bowed.
No one spoke. No one moved. The only sound was the faint rustle of Elios's robes as he straightened.
Alpheo's eyes drilled into the old man, his stare unwavering, sharp as a blade poised against the throat. He studied every wrinkle on the priest's face, every movement of his hands, every breath he took
Then, Alpheo broke the silence. His voice was even, almost casual, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it, as he would have liked nothing more than to cut the man where he stood.
"We were quite surprised when we heard that certain nobles in the north had made a rather... generous land donation for the construction of a temple." He let the words settle in the air, watching for any flicker of reaction.